God’s Rational Warriors: The Rationality of Faith Considered 9783110321326, 9783110321036

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Marion Ledwig God’s Rational Warriors The Rationality of Faith Considered

Marion Ledwig

God’s Rational Warriors The Rationality of Faith Considered

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2008 ontos verlag P.O. Box 15 41, D-63133 Heusenstamm www.ontosverlag.com ISBN 978-3-938793-87-9 2008 No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording or otherwise without written permission from the Publisher, with the exception of any material supplied specifically for the purpose of being entered and executed on a computer system, for exclusive use of the purchaser of the work Printed on acid-free paper ISO-Norm 970-6 FSC-certified (Forest Stewardship Council) This hardcover binding meets the International Library standard Printed in Germany by buch bücher dd ag

For John Sutton, Nicholas Rescher, Isaac Levi, and Peter Machamer

Preface This book stands in the tradition of past and current philosophers of religion, such as Pascal, Otte, Plantinga, Swinburne, Ratzinger, and Wojtyla, who advance the rationality of faith. Yet, this book goes beyond their accounts, for it not only defends the view that faith can be termed “rational,” but it also considers the different senses in which faith can be termed “rational.” While this book advances the idea that faith, as a general category, can be termed “rational,” it does not investigate in such a detailed way whether there are arguments for the rationality of particular faiths, such as Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc., which would go beyond the arguments for the rationality of faith as a general category. Besides discussing whether betting on God in Pascal’s wager and believing in miracles are forms of the rationality of faith, I will provide unique solutions to the problem of evil and the paradoxes of omnipotence and omniscience. Finally, in its account of the rationality of faith, this book draws not only on knowledge from theology, comparative philosophy of religion, psychology, mathematics, and physics, but also on evolutionary theory and biology, to substantiate its position. Marion Ledwig, Las Vegas, 01/14/2008

Acknowledgments This book was written during my visit to the Center for the Philosophy of Science, University of Pittsburgh (2001–2002); the University of Haifa (2002–2003); the University of California, Santa Cruz (2003–2004); the Centre for the Study of Scottish Philosophy, King’s College, University of Aberdeen (summer 2004); the Royal Institute of Technology, Stockholm (2004–2006); the University of Melbourne (summer 2005); the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (2006–2008); and the University of Cambridge (summer 2007). I would like to thank Christopher Alexander, David Beisecker, Jonas Clausen, Riccardo Dossena, Ian Dove, Philip Ehrlich, David Forman, R. Geuss, Itzhak Gilboa, Lorenzo Magnani, Alexander Maltsev, Uwe Meixner, Peter Mittelstaedt, Wlodek Rabinowicz, Paul Weirich, and Gereon Wolters, along with the colloquia at the 26th International Wittgenstein Symposium, Kirchberg at Wechsel; the Royal Institute of Technology, Stockholm; The Royal Veterinary and Agricultural University, Copenhagen; the University of Nevada, Las Vegas; Volgograd State University; and Creighton University; for very helpful discussions and constructive questions.

Table of Contents Introduction …………………………………………………..

7

Chapter One: The Rationality of Faith ……………………….

13

Chapter Two: The Undecidability of Pascal’s Wager ………..

91

Chapter Three: Is it Rational to Believe in Miracles? ………..

143

Chapter Four: Inconsistencies in the Christian Tradition I: An Omnibenevolent God who Allows Evil …………………..

187

Chapter Five: Inconsistencies in the Christian Tradition II: The Paradoxes of Omnipotence and Omniscience ……………

201

Bibliography …………………………………………………..

215

Index …………………………………………………………..

235

Introduction During the last decade or so religion has increasingly waged war on several fronts. On the one hand we have religious terrorists—as evidenced by the September 11 attacks, the terrorist attacks in England and in Spain, and several unsuccessful attacks in Germany, not to mention the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, which might also be religiously motivated given the religiosity of George Bush and Tony Blair. On the other hand creationists are in the process of fighting Darwinists and the theory of evolution on several different levels, including court battles over whether the theory of evolution should be taught in high school, as well as academic battles over whether the theory of evolution really holds. Besides these two battlefields, the Catholic Church has come under increasing attack because of court trials involving claims of child molestation by Catholic priests, so that the integrity of the Catholic Church is doubted. As a consequence of all these developments, the rationality of believing in God gets increasingly questioned. Therefore, in this book, I aim to provide an answer to the question whether it is still rational to believe in God. As I am a Christian and therefore know Christianity best, my investigation into the rationality of faith will be mainly from the angle of a Christian; yet, from time to time, comparisons are made to other major world religions as it seems fit and depending on my restricted knowledge of them. Certainly one of the many different issues which presents itself concerns the rational function served by the Bible. Does it teach us how to go to heaven or does it teach us how the heavens go (cf. McMullin 2001, p. 172)? Or does it do neither of it? How far can we take it as evidence? Should we take it as a proof-text, as is done by certain Bible-believing Christians (cf. Pennock 2002, p. 49)—that is to say, do we use the Bible to support our own worldviews and to answer our own questions? Is such an approach really scientific? It seems as if a further secularization may be needed here; not only do the state and the church have to be divided into different domains with each domain just minding its own business, but also science and religion need their own domains in order to secure a peaceful coexistence. Religion (like emotion) is a topic on which everybody feels competent to have opinions and judge existing theories. Yet, with regard to

8 the debate concerning evolutionism vs. creationism, it seems that many creationists lack the necessary biological knowledge in order to evaluate properly the relevant scientific theories regarding God’s creation. Yet, the latter point seems to be a bone of contention. Phillip E. Johnson (one of the leaders on the creationist side and a lawyer by profession) for example, in his Darwin on Trial (1991, p. 13), is of the opinion that one should be able to follow and reinterpret scientific evidence given that one has critical faculties (cf. Brauer and Brumbaugh 2001, pp. 291–292). While I agree with the latter, this doesn’t have to include that creationists really have taken the time to acquire the necessary knowledge. Moreover, as Johnson is a lawyer, he might not be aware of the principle of charity employed in doing philosophy, namely that one should be charitable with regard to the interpretation of science and the evidence, which is something that I miss in most of the debate. That is, it is always possible to criticize something or someone, so that it is not constructive criticism but destructive criticism—something one often finds in current discussions on the subject matter. While constructive criticism helps one to improve one’s viewpoint in some way, by for instance considering one’s view from a new angle, destructive criticism just tries to destroy whatever point the other person wants to establish. A debate which is mostly fought with rhetorical means—such as has been characteristic of the creationism versus Darwinism debate—doesn’t very likely lead to agreement and/or yield the truth; it tends, rather, to lead to antagonism and polarization of the different parties involved in the discussion. I have found it interesting, in listening to this particular debate, that there were always comments levied at the opposite camp which were below the belt. Hence, there was fairness missing, which I find deplorable. In this book, I hope not to fall victim to the same vices, and I therefore try to be as fair and as objective as I can be. As I grew up in Germany, where creationism isn’t an issue, and as I am neither a theist nor an atheist, but rather a person searching after an answer to that question, I hope I can stay neutral with regard to this debate. I have a Protestant mother and had a Catholic father, the latter of whom insisted on having me become a Protestant because of his experience growing up in what is now Catholic-dominated Poland. In his youth, he experienced church practices as quite rigorous, and he didn’t want me to

9 suffer the same fate. The result is that I am sympathetic to both faiths. Moreover, I was not forced to go to church, but actually wanted to go to church of my own accord when I was a teenager; I sang in various church choirs and even played the church organ in Protestant, Reformed, and Catholic congregations for fifteen years. I do not, therefore, feel antagonistic to the Church just because I had to go to church. As I am not a biologist, I do not have anything personal at stake (like, for instance, Richard Dawkins), and therefore do not feel threatened by creationists, nor do I have the desire to defend my own territory and my workplace against invaders because of my profession. Thus, I hope that I will be neutral enough to come to an objective evaluation of the question of whether it is rational to believe in God. Having given this very short introduction into the subject area, I would like to lay out the content of the different chapters of this book. Chapter One deals with the rationality of faith in general, making clear what this question depends upon, such as one’s understanding of the terms “faith,” “rationality,” and “God.” In particular, I advance the idea that it can be considered rational to believe in God, whether God is conceived of from the perspective of a Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, etc. For, although we are not able to evaluate whether we would actually prefer to live an infinite life, it would at least be to a certain degree contradictory if a living organism tried to undermine its own existence by not believing in an afterlife. Besides good evidential reasons for believing in God, there are also very good pragmatic reasons for doing so. With regard to the question of which theoretical conception of rationality is adequate in the context of religion, it has to be maintained that Kahneman’s, Wakker’s and Sarin’s New Benthamism would turn out to be very promising, if we were able to get a handle on evaluating infinities properly. As long as that is not possible, weaker notions of rationality have to suffice. These may include the idea of a “good reason,” where a reason is considered to be “good,” if it is not contradictory, is solid and robust, and turns out to be either evidential and/or pragmatic. In Chapter Two I advance the following arguments. First, taking Pascal’s wager seriously leads either to a remodeling of decision theory or to a remodeling of the transfinite in decision theory. Because of economic reasons, the latter seems to be preferable to the former. Second, as the

10 utility of a finite life cannot be expressed by the utility of money, it is implausible that the utility of an infinite life can be expressed by the utility of money. Hence, Bernoulli’s law of the diminishing marginal utility of money doesn’t preclude infinite utilities for life. Third, although certain assignments of vague probabilities to God’s existence scotch the wager, these cases aren’t live possibilities. Fourth, as the amount of possible change from the decision-maker’s reference point is very big even for someone who is in the bloom of his life, it is rational to bet on God. Fifth, moral objections against Pascal’s wager aren’t convincing. Sixth, the many gods objection can be thwarted by means of distinguishing between the specific object of worship which one endorses and the kind of object picked out by the positing description. Seventh, parallels to other decision problems don’t yield a better solution to Pascal’s wager. Finally, as human beings don’t have any epistemic or pragmatic access to infinities, Pascal’s wager is undecidable. The question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles, the topic of Chapter Three, depends on what one understands by the word “miracle.” In this regard, it makes sense to distinguish “marvelous” from “miraculous,” but also to distinguish “extraordinary” from “miraculous.” Miracles do not necessarily go against uniform experience. This is true because, on the one hand, beyond deterministic laws there are also probabilistic laws; on the other hand, there are also law-like singularities. It therefore makes sense to define miracles as “transgressions of laws of nature.” Of course, it might be possible that all our laws of nature do, in fact, constitute miracles, while it is the events that appear to be contrary to nature that are actually the occasions when God doesn’t intervene; still, on account of simplicity, the reverse order seems to be more likely. With regard to evidence for miracles, it is possible to transfer most of the factors from criteria-based content analysis for assessing the credibility of child witnesses in sex abuse cases to a general witness account, so that the testimony given by people attesting to miracles can be evaluated quite objectively. If one could show that all the major world religions shared a common core, then miracles in one world religion wouldn’t destroy miracles in other world religions. I will show in Chapter Three that, at least with regard to the Abrahamic and the dharmic current world religions,

11 some fundamental concepts and traditions are shared, so that the miracles in these religions wouldn’t mutually destroy each other. Also with regard to Taoic religions, there are some features held in common with dharmic religions. Yet, the evidence I found with regard to similarities between Taoic, dharmic, and Abrahamic religions is yet so sparse that I have to withhold judgment with regard to the question of whether miracles in Taoic religions destroy the miracles in other major current world religions. Another point that I will make in Chapter Three is that, from a skeptical stance, a miracle doesn’t prove much. In this regard, one could advance the view that an inference to the best explanation would yield God (or several gods) as a probable cause (or causes) of miracles, so that miracles—given that this inference is valid—prove that God (or several gods) exists. Finally, with regard to the question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles, I will show that, under certain conditions, it is irrational to believe in miracles. In Chapter Four I will start looking at inconsistencies in the Christian tradition by investigating how an omnipotent and omnibenevolent God can allow for the possibility of evil. In this regard, it first has to be determined what evil is. I will argue against Rowe’s view, and a similar view put forward by Ratzinger, that intense human and animal suffering is a clear case of evil. For to label something as “evil,” an intention to harm something (or someone) has to be present. Moreover, if the intention to harm someone (or something) gets successfully carried out, I would consider this as sufficient for labeling someone or something as “evil.” In my opinion, God’s omnibenevolence is not incompatible with the problem of evil. For, even though one would expect an omnipotent and omnibenevolent God to prevent evil on this Earth from happening, just because God might be omnipotent doesn’t mean that He has to exert His omnipotence on this world all the time. For if one is omnipotent, one also has the power to withhold one’s power. Moreover, as omnipotence is necessary for exerting one’s omnibenevolence, while the reverse relation doesn’t hold, there is an explanation for the fact that an omnibenevolent and omnipotent God might allow for the possibility of evil. The fifth and final chapter continues with some further inconsistencies in the Christian tradition: namely, the paradox of omnipotence and the paradox of omniscience. I will advance the view that

12 the paradox of omnipotence can be solved by transferring David Lewis’ solution to the grandfather paradox in time travel to the paradox of omnipotence in order to prevent the paradox of omnipotence from arising. The paradox of omniscience can be prevented if one adopts a certain account of knowledge. The common knowledge assumption provides a problem for the paradox of omniscience, for it leads to indeterminate answers with regard to the question of whether God and humans can trust each other. This problem has to be solved in a pragmatic way, so that trust can be built up again.

Chapter One: The Rationality of Faith I. Introduction In following Luther, Plantinga (2000, p. 293) distinguishes between believing in God and believing that God exists; the latter comes in two varieties: (1) theism, and (2) believing de re of God that He exists. Moreover, according to Plantinga (2000, p. 293) a theist is someone who believes that there is an omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent person who has created and sustains our universe. When considering the rationality of faith, I will consider both whether it is rational to believe in God, but I will also deal with the rationality of theism. In order to find out whether it is rational to believe in God and whether theism is rational, one first has to make clear what one understands by “rationality” in the context of religion, and which rationality concept is adequate in that context; similarly, it is necessary to clarify what one understands by “faith” with regard to the religion under investigation, and what kind of God concept one finds in the different religions, along with whether any of them are adequate. As the question of whether it is rational to believe in God or not is ultimately a decision problem, it seems adequate to look at the rationality concepts in rational decision theory in order to evaluate them for their adequacy. As Chapter Two is mainly about Pascal’s wager and, therefore, rational decision theory, this task will be mainly done in that chapter. Furthermore, in order to determine whether it is rational to believe in God it is also pivotal finding out which kind of evidence is permissible in the context of religion. Whether reasons for a certain faith can not only be based on evidential grounds, but also on pragmatic grounds, is one of the central questions here. As I am mainly familiar with the Christian tradition, this book will limit itself to that tradition for the most part. With regard to references to the Bible, I will always refer to The New American Standard Bible (1995), because with regard to English translations of the Bible of the 20th century it is considered as one of the most literal translations. Yet, why should we look at the rationality of faith at all? Why is it of general interest? First of all, religion over the centuries has been a central part of the culture of human beings in their daily lives, but also had a

14 considerable influence on the sciences and has even the status of a science itself. Moreover, even nowadays with secularization in the Western capitalist and scientific world, religion is not in decline, but flourishes more than ever—even though particular knowledge of one’s own faith might be in decline. After all, what do people know of the Bible nowadays? Furthermore, Plantinga (1977, p. 3) points out that the rationality of theistic belief has not only been discussed by philosophers, but also plays a prominent role in literature: in Milton’s Paradise Lost, in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, in some of Thomas Hardy’s novels, in Gerard Manley Hopkins, T. S. Eliot, Peter De Vries, and perhaps even the contemporary John Updike. After having looked at the motivation for studying the rationality of faith, what kind of consequences follow if we could prove that atheism is the right choice with regard to religion? Does this have to mean that it is irrational to believe in God? According to Rowe (1992), this is not so. Rowe (1992, p. 39) defends friendly atheism, namely that the atheist is permitted to believe that some theists are rationally justified in believing in the existence of the theistic God. How can this be? In rational decision theory, one’s choices depend on one’s subjective wants and beliefs, and sometimes even one’s intentions (depending upon which decision theorist one follows; cf. Kaufmann 1996; Ledwig 2000, chapter one). Of course, these three can be quite irrational. (For more information on the assumptions of rational decision theory, see Chapter Two). Hence, it might be possible that atheism goes together with rationally-justified theism. Still, why should one think that the concept of rationality applies to religions at all? After all, religion has been a prevalent motive for war (Dawkins 2006, chapter seven; cf. Ledwig 2007a), has led to horrendous inquisitions throughout history, and nowadays (as well as in previous decades) has even been a motive for terrorism (Islam, Ireland). Also one might want to say that at least the God of the Old Testament is a jealous God (Exodus 20:5) and a revengeful God (Exodus 21), which doesn’t seem to be very rational at least on first sight. Against the claim of jealousy and revengefulness one can come up with another passage, though, namely Exodus 22:27 where God states that He is gracious in order to soften the harshness of the previous claims. Similarly, Ward (1977, p. 167) speaks of a jealous, wrathful, consoling, forgiving, personal God in the Jewish

15 tradition. Nevertheless God’s jealousy is stated in the Ten Commandments, which is a very prominent place and therefore should be given its due. Yet, perhaps jealousy might not be such a negative emotion after all—unless it is extreme—for jealousy might signal that the persons who are the objects of that jealousy are cared about, and that one is not indifferent with regard to them. Moreover, if God has really created this Earth and more-or-less everything on it, then it would be appropriate to honor, respect, and love such a God, so that a bout of jealousy, and even anger, would be quite clearly understandable and even reasonable if a different God were loved instead. For sometimes anger signals the persons with whom one is angry, indicating that they have done something wrong; it therefore works like an incentive to change their behavior. Moreover, that emotions can be rational has been thoroughly argued in the literature (Ledwig 2006a; de Sousa 1987, among others). With regard to God’s vengefulness in Exodus 21, one can take into account Ratzinger’s (2007, p. 156) position as he analyses the Book of the Covenant (Exodus 20:22–23:19). Ratzinger points out that one can distinguish between two kinds of law, namely the casuistic law and the apodictic law. The casuistic law has prescriptions regarding concrete questions, such as laws with regard to slaves, physical injury by humans and animals, etc.; this law prescribes concrete sanctions proportional to the injustice done. Meanwhile, the apodictic law is spoken in the name of God without any concrete sanctions (Ratzinger 2007, pp. 156–157). One can consider the apodictic law as a set of meta-norms which assume the role of a critical instance over the rules of the casuistic law (cf. Ratzinger 2007, p. 158). Moreover, Ratzinger (2007, p. 156) points out that the casuistic law is an historically-given law which can be criticized, which often even needs criticism, and which gets developed within the Old Testament. Hence, God’s vengefulness in Exodus 21 (such as Exodus 21:12 in which a person who kills another person gets punished by the death sentence), can be explained as instances of the casuistic law which was deemed appropriate at the given time; therefore, at least from the subjective viewpoint of the given culture, it can be considered rational. That is, “when evaluating the decision of someone from a different culture, perhaps far removed in both time and place, it will often seem appropriate to adopt the agent’s own egocentric perspective or some standard that is relative to the

16 community of the agent (Foley 1991, pp. 368–369); for it may be thought unfair to evaluate the agent’s decisions in terms of the evaluator’s more sophisticated standards.” (Ledwig 2006a, p. 74)

Yet, what about the different churches that exist? Do they consider rationality as part of their doctrine? On first sight one might think that faith balks at having a rational foundation for, after all, why should one otherwise say that one makes a “leap of faith” when one starts believing in God? Yet, it is an essential dogma of Roman Catholicism as seen by the First Vatican Council that “the one and true God our creator and lord can be known for certain through the creation by the natural light of human reason.” (Denzinger 1953, #1806) Moreover, Karol Wojtyla as John Paul II states (Wojtyla 10/30/1998): “In my recent Encyclical Letter Fides et Ratio, I warned against a fideism which fails to recognize the importance of the work of reason not only for an understanding of the faith, but even for the act of faith itself.” While these two last passages can still be read substituting the term “reason” by the term “intelligence,” in the next passage it becomes clear that actually the term “rationality” is intended when one uses the term “reason.” For in Fides et Ratio, Wojtyla (09/14/1998) elaborates: “Against the temptations of fideism, however, it was necessary to stress the unity of truth and thus the positive contribution which rational knowledge can and must make to faith’s knowledge: ‘Even if faith is superior to reason there can never be a true divergence between faith and reason, since the same God who reveals the mysteries and bestows the gift of faith has also placed in the human spirit the light of reason. This God could not deny himself, nor could the truth ever contradict the truth.’”

According to Wojtyla (09/14/1998) this last quotation stems from the First Vatican Ecumenical Council’s “Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith,” Dei Filius, IV (DS 3017). While it might be interesting to know why faith might be superior to reason (perhaps because faith doesn’t doubt, while reason always doubts?), it is of importance to see that the Roman Catholic Church considers reason as important for an understanding of faith and for the act of faith. Whereas the “importance” of reason can refer to reason being necessary for an understanding of faith and for the act of faith, it is not so obvious—and perhaps even wrong to assume—that reason might also be sufficient for an understanding of faith and for the act of faith. After all, one also needs

17 some evidence for one’s faith which, for example, one can find in Scripture. That is, someone who believed in God without having had any kind of evidence would probably even seem suspicious to the Church. Moreover, reason alone wouldn’t be sufficient for the act of faith for the simple reason that one at least needs beliefs and wants going together with it. That is, in case I might have the desire to be irrational, reason alone wouldn’t be sufficient for believing in the Christian God. From an historical and philosophical perspective, Hume, Kant, and Nietzsche are usually cited as main sources against religion and even against the rationality of faith. Yet, Willard (1992, p. 219) points out that, with regard to both Hume and Kant, this might be an overstatement. Willard (1992, p. 1992) quotes Hume from the “Introduction” to The Natural History of Religion to prove his point: “The whole frame of nature bespeaks an intelligent author; and no rational enquirer can, after serious reflection, suspend his belief a moment with regard to the primary principles of genuine Theism and Religion.” With regard to Kant, Willard quotes from The Critique of Pure Reason, B 857, to support his thesis: “belief in a God and in another world is so interwoven with my moral sentiment that as there is little danger of my losing the latter, there is equally little cause for fear that the former can ever be taken from me.” Moreover, Wood (1978) even advances Kant’s rational theology. In particular, Wood (1978, pp. 65–66) stresses that Kant advances a possibility proof as part of Kant’s transcendental theology in the Beweisgrund essay. Wood (1978, p. 25, p. 73), for instance, cites Kant (1978, p. 24) to support his point of view: “What interest does reason have in [theological] knowledge? Not a speculative, but a practical one.…Our morality has need of the idea of God to give it emphasis.” And Kant (1978, p. 68): “My reason makes it absolutely necessary for me to assume a being which is the ground of everything possible. Because otherwise I would be unable to know what in general the possibility of something consists in.” Lilla (2007, p. 138, pp. 140–142) even advances that in Kant “our noble ideas of God could have arisen only from our highest faculty, our reason.” and that Kant poses an argument for rational moral religion in his Critique of Practical Reason (1788). Moreover, Hermann Cohen—a Neukantianer—defined religion as the religion of reason (1919, p. 13). With regard to Nietzsche (1989, p. 81), one also finds something positive

18 in his writings on Christianity: “There is perhaps nothing so admirable in Christianity and Buddhism as their art of teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves by piety to a seemingly higher order of things, and thereby to retain their satisfaction with the actual world in which they find it difficult enough to live—this very difficulty being necessary.” Hence, as the main pillars for skepticism (Hume) and rationalism (Kant) cannot be taken as chief proponents of atheism and as even Nietzsche found something positive to say about Christianity, one has to look at the particular objections brought forth against the rationality of faith in a Christian God. Here is a list of such particular objections against the rationality of faith in a Christian God—the list is not exhaustive: (1) the following crucial Christian doctrines are incoherent or necessarily false (Plantinga 2000, pp. viii–ix): (a) the Christian doctrine of three divine persons with one nature isn’t coherent; (b) it is not logically possible that a human being is also the second person of the Trinity; (c) it is impossible that one person’s suffering atones for someone else’s sins; (2) there is not enough evidence for Christian belief (cf. Plantinga 2000, p. ix); (3) it seems arbitrary to hold that belief in a Christian God is true and everything incompatible with it is false (cf. Plantinga 2000, p. ix); (4) the existence of suffering and evil in the world makes it irrational to hold that belief in a Christian God is true (cf. Plantinga 1977, p. 7; 2000, p. ix; cf. Chapter Four of this book); (5) the paradoxes of omniscience and omnipotence suggest that it is irrational to believe in a Christian God with such properties (cf. Chapter Five of this book); (6) if belief in God is inborn, it cannot be rational to believe in Him; (7) there are many objections to Pascal’s wager to show that betting on God’s existence is irrational (cf. Chapter Two of this book); (8) it is irrational to believe in the Christian God, if the cosmological, teleological and ontological proofs for the existence of God have failed; and

19 (9) there is no scientific evidence for miracles (cf. Chapter Three of this book). With regard to point (6), Livi (2005, p. 26) maintains that Aquinas, Aristotle, Augustine, and John of Damascus have claimed that the belief in God (or the belief in gods in the case of Aristotle) is inborn. Yet, Malcolm (1992, p. 100) points out that he himself has immense problems with the notion of belief in the existence of God, while the idea of belief in God he considers intelligible. Similarly to Malcolm, Plantinga (2000, p. 482) points out that belief in God can be basic, so that rational belief in God does not depend on one’s having good arguments for the existence of God. In 1979 (p. 27), Plantinga even claims that the mature theist accepts belief in God as basic. According to Plantinga (1992, p. 135), in classical foundationalism “a proposition p is properly basic for a person S if and only if p is either selfevident or incorrigible for S (modern foundationalism) or either self-evident or ‘evident to the senses’ for S (ancient and medieval foundationalism).”

Plantinga (1979) has argued that both forms of foundationalism are incoherent and, therefore, have to be rejected. Yet, why should a belief in God which excludes the existence of God be inborn? Why should we just believe in an idea and not in the existence of that thing? As nature for the most part doesn’t produce superfluous things, there has to be an explanation for that. Perhaps the belief in God makes living, and especially dying, easier. The experimental psychologists Tom Pyszczynski, Jeff Greenberg, and Sheldon Solomon (1997, p. 1) argue in their widely influential and fruitful terror management theory (which has considerable empirical support) that “the most basic of all human motives is an instinctive desire for continued life, and that all more specific motives are ultimately rooted in this basic evolutionary adaptation.” What the belief in God promises us is that continued life, so that the unavoidable fact of death—and, in most cases, even a hard life— might get obliterated by believing in a God who promises us an eternal life full of bliss. Against the view that we just believe in the idea of God and not in the existence of God, one can argue as follows: belief in God necessitates passion, doubt, uncertainty, etc., for otherwise it wouldn’t be belief in God, but only belief in the idea of God (Unamuno 1954, p. 193; cf. Kellenberger

20 1992, p. 321). There are some people who really struggle for their faith, so belief in God does indeed necessitate passion, doubt, etc. in certain cases. In this regard, I agree with Plantinga (1977, p. 2), who points out that one can’t reasonably believe in God without believing that He exists. Anything to the contrary would amount to the fact that one believes in Santa Claus without believing that he exists, or that one believes in unicorns without believing that they exist. To believe in Santa Claus might just mean to believe in the mystery of Santa Claus, namely what kind of positive effect believing in Santa Claus has; this might, then, be compatible with believing in his non-existence. Yet, with regard to the unicorn, there is no such myth available. Of course, it has been said that the unicorn’s horn has healing powers, but there is not such a positive effect associated with believing in unicorns as there is with believing in Santa Claus. Everybody would find it quite clearly implausible to suppose that believing in God is of the same kind as believing in Santa Claus. If belief in God were really inborn, then we wouldn’t find atheists in this world. So, in its generality, this claim cannot hold. Yet, as we find variation in various traits in nature, one can also expect that such a belief, if it were inborn, would vary in nature, allowing for the possibility that some people don’t have it. Although “the Bible has little of relevance to offer toward either the formulation or evaluation of scientific theories concerning biological history” (Van Till 2001, p. 151), one could nevertheless ask whether the Bible has anything to offer with regard to which human traits are inborn or not. In this regard, one could argue that, as God made a Covenant with His people, it doesn’t seem that He considered the belief in Him to be inborn. Moreover, what kind of function did miracles serve, if they were not considered as signs of Him in order to strengthen the faith of His people? Such a strengthening wouldn’t be necessary if belief in God were inborn. Of course, this does not serve as proof that belief in God is inborn, but only makes clear what Scripture says with regard to whether belief in God is inborn or not. With regard to point (8), Rowe (1975, p. 269) points out that the theist should abandon the view that the cosmological argument proves the truth of theism, but instead look into the possibility that the cosmological argument shows the rationality of theistic belief. Yet, Plantinga (1977, p. 2) claims that the typical function of natural theology, which is concerned

21 with giving proofs for the existence of God has been to prove that religious belief is rationally acceptable. In order to evaluate point (8) appropriately, namely that it is irrational to believe in the Christian God, if the cosmological, teleological and ontological proofs for the existence of God have failed, it should be made clear what the respective arguments are. While the ontological argument is supposed to prove the existence or necessary existence of the most perfect conceivable Being, the cosmological argument strives for a proof of the existence of a necessary Being who is the First Cause of the Universe (Cahn 1992, pp. 241–242; with regard to God being the first cause of things, see the last section of Chapter One in this book). The teleological argument, seeks to demonstrate the existence of an all-good designer and creator of the universe (Cahn 1992, p. 242; cf. Chapter Four of this book). Swinburne (1977, p. 263, footnote 10) describes the traditional version of the ontological argument for the existence of God by Descartes as follows: “God is by definition a most perfect being. A being which exists is more perfect than one which does not. Therefore God, being most perfect, exists.” Now, some have objected to Descartes’ argument that existence cannot be a part of a concept of a thing. Some have also asserted that it was Kant who claimed that existence is not a predicate and therefore cannot be included in a concept (cf. Sobel 2004, p. 67). Similarly, Rowe (1975, p. 215) claims that one finds two ideas in modern empiricist philosophy, namely: (1) that existence is not a characteristic of things, and (2) that when we assert that God exists we are not ascribing a characteristic to some object, but are stating that the concept “God” is exemplified. But Sobel (2004, p. 67) points out that the most that Kant says in the Critique of Pure Reason (A598/B626) is that there “can be no point to adding it to a concept.” Additionally, Sobel (2004, p. 35) rightly objects that it is part of the concept of an historical person that it once existed. Hence, existence can be a part of a concept of a thing. Yet, one can also question the first premise of Descartes’ argument, because one could say that an argument which is based on a definition might not be very strong. We have seen such a weak argument in the following case: definitional arguments have been posed against the possibility of backwards causation, in which causes precede their effects in

22 time. Yet, the priority condition has come under increasing attack, for one can argue (cf. Faye 1989) that we usually think causes precede their effects due to a conflation of temporal orders with causal orders. Likewise, when we say that God is, by definition, a most perfect being, we would have to justify that definition. That is, definitions—with the exception perhaps of persuasive definitions, precising definitions, and theoretical definitions (cf. Salmon 2007, chapter two)—are supposed to correspond to the facts. From what else should they otherwise derive their meaning? What kind of hard scientific evidence do we really have to support the premise that God is the most perfect being? If we took the statements of the Bible as facts, then God might be the most perfect being. But then the further question abounds, what does “perfect” actually mean, especially if one considers existence to be a perfection? The latter seems quite clearly odd, because we would think that perfection refers to skills and capabilities which one has, but not to one’s existence. Moreover, even if we took “God is the most perfect being” as an analytical statement, there is the possibility of concept change given, so that even here this statement might not hold for all times. Besides Descartes’ argument, Thomas Aquinas’ “Five Ways” are offered as proofs for the existence of God (Flew 1992, p. 29). Yet, Velecky (1968, p. 226) denies that they have that function. The latter claim seems to me without foundation, though, for Thomas Aquinas (1920) quite explicitly says that there are five ways to prove the existence of God in that publication. As there are so many publications on Thomas Aquinas’ work which I won’t be able to do justice and as a discussion of Aquinas’ work will lead us too far away from what I want to pursue in this book, I will continue by giving you the structure of this chapter. In the next section, I will deal with the question of which rationality concept is adequate in the context of religion. After that, I will investigate what is meant by the term “faith.” Following that, I will try to illuminate the Christian “God” concept. Then I will look at evidential reasons for Jesus being the son of God. In the next section, I will consider pragmatic reasons for believing in the Christian God. Finally, I will look at the creationism versus Darwinism debate and tackle the question of whether creation teaches us something about whether it is rational to believe in God. Finally, I will summarize the main conclusions of this chapter.

23

II. Which rationality concept is adequate in the context of religion? As the question of whether it is rational to believe in God is mainly a decision problem, I start by looking at game and decision theory in order to find out which rationality concept is adequate in the context of religion. For a thorough introduction into game and decision theory, see Ledwig (2000, chapter one). I will begin with game theoretical concepts. With the exception of games against nature, in which one does not need to assign outcomes to the other player, game theory and its rationality concepts seem inadequate in the context of religion for the simple reason that we are not able to assign utilities to the outcomes which God is supposed to get. That is, we don’t know how much, in particular, He values humans who obey, for example, the Ten Commandments. As games against nature don’t differ in principle from ordinary decision problems, we can already leave the concepts of game theory to see whether rational decision theory might be of better help to find an adequate rationality concept in the context of religion. With regard to rational decision theory, it is a minimal condition of rationality that decision-makers are coherent (cf. Ledwig 2000, chapter one). This can be achieved by fulfilling the axioms of the mathematical probability calculus. If the decision-maker’s probabilities are incoherent, he is in a position to face a betting situation, which has become known as “Dutch book”—a bet or a combination of bets whereby the bettor will suffer a net loss regardless of the outcome of the bet (Kennedy 1995, p. 213). Moreover, Ramsey (1931) and de Finetti (1937) argued that consistent or coherent probabilities should satisfy the mathematical probability calculus, so Skyrms (1992, pp. 374–375); and a bettor is coherent, if no Dutch book can be made against him. Coherence seems also a minimal condition for faith, because humans find it problematic to believe in an omnibenevolent and omnipotent God and see at the same time evil in the world. In rational decision theory, where the decision maker’s beliefs and wants figure into a rational decision, evidential and pragmatic reasons can figure as support for beliefs and wants and sometimes even intentions the decision-maker has (see later sections for more on evidential and pragmatic

24 reasons). For example, the decision-maker might want to support one of his wants as follows: “I want to believe in God, because people who believe in God are not as afraid of death as other people who don’t do that.” Of course, evidential reasons and pragmatic reasons cannot only support beliefs and wants the decision-maker has, but can amount to beliefs and wants themselves, such as, “I believe that people who believe in God are not as afraid of death as other people who don’t do that, and I want that people who believe in God are not as afraid of death as other people who don’t do that.” With regard to evidential and pragmatic reasons, it is a crucial question whether these really amount to good reasons. There is a whole branch in rational decision theory which only advances evidential decision theory (Jeffrey 1983, 1988; Eells 1981, 1982, 1985), so that they wouldn’t consider pragmatic reasons as good reasons. Yet, the debate about Newcomb’s problem has actually shown that evidential decision theories have to be modified quite drastically in order to provide the right solution to it (cf. Ledwig 2000). Moreover, even if they provide the right solution to the problem, their reasons for coming to the right solution are not adequate (cf. Ledwig 2000, chapter two). Hence, one might want to exclude evidential reasons as good reasons in rational decision theory. Yet, just because evidential decision theory is flawed with regard to Newcomb’s problem, this doesn’t mean that it can’t provide proper solutions to other decision problems. Moreover, so far it has only been shown that the given evidential decision theories are problematical, but not that all possible evidential decision theories turn out to be flawed. Hence, evidential reasons might still be good reasons in rational decision theory. Evidentialism cannot only be found among decision theorists, but also among normativity theorists concerning reasons for belief (cf. for instance Adler 2002; Kelly 2002; Parfit 1986; Railton 1994; Wedgwood 2002). In this regard it is proper to distinguish strict evidentialists from weak ones, where strict evidentialist only permit evidential reasons as good reasons, whereas weak evidentialist also allow for pragmatic reasons as good reasons. I will show in later sections that both evidential reasons and pragmatic reasons can be good reasons in the context of faith. In this regard, it will be pivotal to determine what happens if evidential and pragmatic reasons for believing in God conflict. In my

25 opinion, what happens in such a case might depend on what kind of goals the agent has besides justifying his faith, such as belonging to a certain group, having a certain self-image, etc. If evidential and pragmatic reasons remain in conflict despite a specification and weighing of goals, it seems reasonable that the subjectively stronger reason prevails; if, on the other hand, they are subjectively of equal strength, they should cancel each other out. With regard to updating one’s belief in God by the relevant reasons, Bayesian belief formation should be used, although even here we have the problem of assigning initial probabilities to believing in God. Yet, it is likely that the initial probabilities are due to one’s upbringing; alternatively, they might also be taken over from people whom one considers as authorities in the field. So far, I have only considered what figures into a rational decision with regard to believing in God, but have not said anything with regard to which decision principle to employ. Traditionally, one uses the principle of maximizing expected utility in rational decision theory in order to figure out which is the rational decision (see Chapter Two of this book for more detail). Yet, on first sight it seems a bit calculating, and therefore morally objectionable, to say that I maximize my expected utility by believing in God (for more arguments based on this objection see Chapter Two of this book). Since this decision principle seems to be problematic at least on first sight, let’s have a look at other candidates to find an adequate rationality concept in the context of faith. With regard to the rationality of the emotions, philosophers have sometimes argued that emotions can be considered to be rational if the emotion is appropriate for the given situation (cf. Ledwig 2006a). Yet, with regard to the rationality of faith, it seems a bit odd to say that faith is appropriate in a given situation, because this might sound as if, depending on which situation one encounters, different kinds of faith are required and can be adopted. Of course, one might want to object that, in a certain sense, one can advance something like that. For instance, if one were held hostage by Muslims, it might be to one’s advantage to have faith in Allah, and therefore it might be rational to adopt this faith in that situation. Yet, of course, one could object that we are here talking about the faith which one has, and not about the one which one confesses; and, of course, it is impossible to adopt a faith in Allah just in a few minutes. Moreover, one

26 might want to say that adopting a faith just to save one’s life is only shortterm rational, but not long-term rational, given that there is something like an afterlife. Furthermore, one’s rationality concept with regard to faith should include both short-term rationality and long-term rationality. Hence, to believe in God, just if it is appropriate in the given situation, doesn’t turn out to be an adequate rationality concept in the context of faith. In Ledwig (2006a, pp. 23–24), I dealt with the question whether Kahneman’s, Wakker’s and Sarin’s (1997) New Benthamism can be applied to the emotions, where an emotion can be termed “rational” if it maximizes the agent’s total experienced utility of temporally-extended outcomes. With regard to the rationality of the emotions, this principle turned out not to be feasible. What about faith, then—is this a good candidate for a rationality concept in the context of faith? In order to get a better understanding of what Kahneman et al. mean by “total experienced utility of temporally extended outcomes,” consider the following example: “A patient suffering from unusually profound amnesia has two toasters in his kitchen. The toaster on the right functions normally. The toaster on the left delivers an electric shock when the toast is removed. The patient’s gasp and quick retraction of his hand indicate that the shock is painful. Because the patient does not remember the experience, however, he does not anticipate the shock the next morning, and is consequently indifferent between the toasters. The patient’s decision utility for using the two toasters is equal, but his experienced utilities are quite different. The patient’s choices of the left-hand toaster will not maximize utility in Bentham’s sense.” (Kahneman, Wakker, and Sarin 1997, p. 376)

Hence, given normal conditions, non-amnesiac agents would not be expected to choose the left-hand toaster. Yet, also with regard to the rationality of faith, the principle to maximize the total experienced utility of temporally-extended outcomes seems problematic, for the simple reason that we have not experienced how the afterlife is. As a result, we simply cannot apply this principle to the question of whether it is rational to believe in God. Of course, one could defend Kahneman et al. by claiming that the term “experienced” just refers to this life and not to an afterlife. But that doesn’t seem so obvious, for the simple reason that Kahneman et al., in their example, also refer to the future. Yet, in their example, “experienced” refers to what kind of experiences the patients already had and how that influences their future

27 decisions; it does not refer to their future experiences. One could quite clearly maintain that one’s experiences with faith should have an influence on one’s decision about which God in which to believe. Yet, if only the experienced utility counts, what about the people who have been abused by the Church, such as all the victims of sexual abuse by Catholic priests, or who have been persecuted by the Church, such as Galileo or the witches of the witch hunts? Should they lose their faith just because humans abuse their power and don’t behave properly? That doesn’t sound convincing either. Depending on what humans have to offer and what God has to offer, the experiences which one has had should have an influence on whether it is rational to believe in God. That is, if humans have always been nice to the decision-maker, they have infinity at their disposal, they are willing to give infinity to the decision-maker, and the decision-maker values something infinite, so that it outmatches everything which is finite; then it doesn’t seem necessary any longer to believe in God and would more amount to a waste of time and energy. Yet, if humans had never been nice to the decision-maker and they don’t have infinity at their disposal, whereas God has infinity at his disposal and God is willing to give infinity to the decision-maker, and the decision-maker values something infinite, so that it outmatches everything which is finite, then it is rational to believe in God. Thus, it becomes obvious that, although our experiences should have an influence on our decision whether to believe in God, experiences don’t account for everything. One can also be persuaded by sheer numbers or other arguments that prove that God exists. One might want to object that we cannot know that we value something infinite such that it outmatches everything which is finite. Isn’t even here an experience of something infinite and of everything which is finite a precondition for such a judgment? Yet, while we have experienced something finite before and can, in principle, have many different experiences—although it seems impossible to experience everything that is finite just because of our limited lifetime—the same doesn’t hold with regard to something infinite. Moreover, even if infinity were not at God’s disposal but only something finite which no one has ever experienced before, how can the decision-maker judge that he or she would like it? So, even here experience seems to be necessary to make a proper judgment.

28 Hence, under the principle of maximizing the agent’s total experienced utility of temporally-extended outcomes, the rationality of faith cannot be decided because we are unable to evaluate the different possibilities adequately. Yet, if we had the respective experiences, then this principle would be quite clearly applicable. So, let’s look further to find a rationality concept that doesn’t have problems with infinities and which seems adequate for the rationality of faith. With regard to the rationality concept of classical, symbolic artificial intelligence, “reason could be mechanically explained as the operation of appropriate computational processes on symbols, where symbols are non-semantically indivisible items…and computational processes are mechanical, automatic processes that recognize, write and amend symbols in accordance with rules.” (Clark 2003, p. 310)

Yet, which computational processes on symbols would turn out to be appropriate and which rules would be suitable to apply? This could be difficult to determine. Moreover, can this model really be transferred to humans? For after all, it is meaning which is of importance to us and not symbols, which are non-semantically indivisible items. Of course, a computer would never get the computation wrong and would also be able to deal with infinities using one of the different infinite number systems (see Chapter Two of this book). Yet, I think the loss of meaning is crucial for the problem at issue, so that this model is not of help in determining the rationality of faith. In Ledwig (2006a, chapter one), I advanced, with regard to the rationality of the emotions, that an emotion can be termed rational if one has good reasons for the particular emotion in the given situation. As it appears, one cannot simply transfer this relatively weak notion of the rationality of the emotions to the rationality of faith for several reasons. First of all, with regard to the emotions, there are many different emotions given; that is to say, every human being experiences different kinds of emotions, not simply one, whereas with regard to faith, although there are different faiths, one just adopts one faith or another or none at all at a given time. Some people might want to object that there are also mixtures of faith in certain religions; for instance, I recently saw on TV that there is a religion which combines Christian and Hindu elements. So one can adopt

29 more than one faith at a given time. Yet, I wouldn’t count a mixture of different religions as more than one faith, because in that way every religion would count as several faiths. After all, certain elements are usually taken over from different religions in case another religion is founded. Second, with regard to the emotions, not only humans have emotions, but also animals, while I have not heard of a religion which animals adopt. Third, with regard to the transference of the point that one has good reasons for the particular emotion in the given situation to the rationality of faith, although situations do change with regard to our earthly life, it is not clear to us what the overall situation is. That is, given that there is an afterlife, and given that God is omnibenevolent, of course it is rational to believe in him and act accordingly. But as long as we don’t know for sure what the overall situation is, or as long as we have serious doubts about the possibility of an afterlife and how it looks, it doesn’t seem such a brilliant idea to stake all that one possesses into it; rather, the situation looks rather like a risky business. As humans are inclined differently with regard to how much risk they are willing to accept (cf. Chapter Two of this book), it might be the case, then, that it is not always rational to believe in God. Nevertheless, if the reward were infinite, and given that we would actually appreciate something infinite (cf. Chapter Two of this book), it would be rational to believe in God. Thus, in order to make a better informed decision, we should be in a position to assess the overall decision situation better and we would have to come to terms with the infinite. Whereas the latter will be approached in Chapter Two of this book, the overall decision situation will be evaluated when we look at the evidence that we have for a Christian God. This will be done later in this chapter, but also in Chapter Three and Chapter Four. What we have learned from the foregoing is that, if we wanted to transfer this relatively weak notion of the rationality of the emotions to the rationality of faith, we would have to reformulate it in the following way: one’s faith can be termed “rational” if one had good reasons for it, given the overall situation. Then we would have to specify more clearly what counts as “a good reason,” which I will do in a later section. On first sight, nothing speaks against adopting such a weak account with regard to the rationality of faith.

30 With regard to the rationality of the emotions, de Sousa, among others (de Sousa 1987; cf. Ledwig 2006, chapter one), has successfully maintained that emotions serve a rational function. Can one similarly find a rational function which religion might serve? Do we have a spiritual need for reflection, so that people who attend church services turn out to be healthier than other ones? Yet, even if there were figures to support this hypothesis, such data could also get alternative interpretations, such as church goers are the healthier people from the very start, or just belonging to a community makes one feel better. With regard to the question of the rationality of faith, given that (for the sake of the argument) the Christian God exists, besides the question of what He gives us when we believe in Him, there is also the question of whether what He demands of us is irrational. For if He just expects of us to do the good enough instead of the best, then it doesn’t cost us so much to believe in Him, and it might make believing in Him much easier. Yet, the question then is: what is “good enough” and what is the “best?” In this regard, we would have to turn to Scripture in order to find out what, in particular, is demanded of us. In this regard, certain Bible passages quite clearly come to mind, such as “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:25) Yet, how is one supposed to understand such passages? Perhaps one should be very careful when interpreting such passages. Honeck (1997, p. 73; cf. Ledwig 2007b, p. 136) reports that proverb use is disliked in speeches given at the United Nations, for example, for their translation might lead to many interpretation problems. What holds for proverbs might not only hold for proverbs, but also for allegories, metaphors, and similes unless the allegory, metaphor, etc. is also interpreted by the person giving the allegory, metaphor, etc. Yet, with regard to the stated case, we have an interpretation already given in the passage before, when Jesus talks to the rich man: “Looking at him, Jesus felt a love for him and said to him, ‘One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.’” (Mark 10:21) If one looks at nuns, monks, priests, etc., such a life seems to be possible, hence, not going beyond our human capacities. Nevertheless, I think it wouldn’t be rational to believe in God if what He demanded of us was beyond the humanly possible, for whatever reward

31 He is willing to give to us for our faith. Yet, how are we to understand “what is beyond the humanly possible?” First, one could understand this phrase in such a way that what is beyond the humanly possible is just simply something which is impossible for a certain human being to accomplish. Of course, with more and more instruments at one’s disposal, many more things come into the range of what can be accomplished by a certain human being, and also—depending on one’s age—certain things can be accomplished by a certain human being or not. So one has to give the humanly possible a time index. Beyond the humanly possible is, of course, what is impossible for a certain human being to accomplish at a certain time. The phrase “beyond the humanly possible” could also mean what one wouldn’t ask of any person at any time, such as sacrificing one’s life for another person. But what about cases such as caring for one’s old and sick mother? In most Western societies, this seems already too much of a burden, if one looks at the number of nursing homes. Yet, isn’t it also the case that the more one asks of oneself, the more one can accomplish in the end, given a certain limit beyond which humans are not capable of functioning any longer? Moreover, the more technology one actually has at one’s disposal, and the more one is able to use that technology, the more that can actually be asked of every person.

III. What is faith? According to the Bible, faith can be defined as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1) Yet, I have a conviction that electrons exist, but I have never seen one. Moreover, even with an electron microscope, one cannot really say that one sees electrons, for an elaborate theory of how an electron microscope works has to be used in order to explain that what we see is electrons. Yet, it would be odd in that case to speak of “faith” in electrons or “faith” in the existence of electrons. So the definition of the Bible is too wide. This particular Bible passage doesn’t speak of faith in God in particular, but of faith per se. Yet, even for faith per se, this definition turns out to be too wide, for we do not say that we have faith in electrons. Of course, one could also advance that the Bible quotation is about religious

32 faith, for any other kind of faith is not relevant with regard to the Bible and its contents, so that my electron example would fall out of the range of that definition. Yet, that this is the case—that is, that the Bible quotation is just about religious faith—would have to be proven, too, and is not obvious from the start up. With regard to further historical meanings of faith, Swinburne (2005, p. 154–155) points out that in early Christian theology, we find ambiguity in the definition of faith. That is, for Clement of Alexandra faith is firm conviction; and for Cyril of Jerusalem faith is putting one’s trust in uncertain things, and that faith is needed for all human institutions—such as marriage. Moreover, according to Swinburne (2005, p. 156) in the early Middles Ages, Abelard considered faith as an estimate of things not apparent, and considered hope as a species of faith which is concerned with good things and the future. With regard to the latter, it might be the case, however, that one hopes things will turn out to the better, but that one doesn’t believe that things will turn out to the better. Kellenberger (1992, p. 325) suggests that the unifying feature of faith is trust. Kellenberger (1992, p. 327) even goes so far as to say that faith and trust are nearly synonyms; for what necessarily shows a person’s lack of faith in another being is a lack of trust. Yet, we trust that the computer facilities work properly, while we don’t say that we have faith in the computer facilities working properly. Of course, one could object that we don’t really trust in the computer facilities working properly, because we only trust persons and not things. Yet, even with objects in most cases, persons are involved at least indirectly. For the computer facilities have been built by persons and have been installed by persons. But even with objects that are not built by humans at all, one would still say that one has trust but not faith in them. For one could surely say, “I trust that the earth beneath my feet is not sliding away,” but one could not say, “I have faith in the earth beneath my feet not sliding away.” The latter, of course, only holds if one interprets “faith” in such a way that it doesn’t mean “belief.” That is to say, when we talk of “faith,” this differs from “belief,” because one believes all kinds of things, whereas “faith” seems to be restricted to religion. Similarly, Swinburne (2005, p. 110) claims that faith in God is not identical with belief that there is a God; while faith may involve total commitment, belief is not completely

33 confident. Yet, with regard to the latter, it is not so obvious that belief cannot, in principle and at times, be completely confident. For isn’t there also full belief in certain things, such as is exhibited by the statement, “I fully believe that I am at Cambridge, England, on the 9th of July, 2007.” With regard to faith being restricted to religion, a modification is also needed. For surely we also say, “I have faith in you,” in the sense that you will manage or accomplish the particular task given to you. In such a case there is no religion involved, and also no total commitment is necessary. What can we conclude from the foregoing? In my opinion, one could say that trust is necessary for faith, but it has to be trust restricted to persons, and not to things. One would also say that, if I trust God, I hold certain beliefs, and these certain beliefs have to have a religious content in order to account for a religious concept of faith. One crucial objection to the foregoing might be that one is actually able to say, “I have faith in you, but I don’t trust you.” For instance, one can imagine a situation wherein one quite clearly knows what kind of abilities a person has, but one doesn’t know whether one can trust that person. A real life example would be the following: with regard to Lance Armstrong, many people had faith in his abilities to win the Tour de France after his initial two or three consecutive victories; but if one looks at all the different allegations of doping that have come forth during those years, it is not so obvious whether many people would have trusted him not to dope. Yet, couldn’t one explain that this divergence, and therefore the falling apart of these two concepts just is the case, because one has faith respective trust with regard to one subject area, whereas one doesn’t have faith respective trust with regard to another subject area? For quite clearly this seems to be the case here. We had faith or trust with regard to Lance Armstrong’s bicycling capabilities, because he had demonstrated his abilities previously; but we did not have faith or trust with regard to Lance Armstrong’s being a fair player and not taking any performance-enhancing drugs, for the simple reason that the bulk of people didn’t know him personally at all. So, there is no real contradiction here, because these different claims pertain to different subject areas. Getting back to the idea that beliefs of religious content are involved in faith, we may assert that beliefs come in different degrees. Yet, does this also hold for beliefs in God? With regard to the latter, Swinburne (2005, p.

34 109) points out that for Kierkegaard, what is required for faith is certainty. Yet, if this were really so, wouldn’t one have to say that one has knowledge of God and not belief in God? Not necessarily, for there is also full belief. The way in which full belief differs from knowledge seems to be an open question. Perhaps with regard to accepted knowledge by a scientific community or with regard to public knowledge one wouldn’t say that this amounts to full belief; we rather would call this “knowledge.” With regard to privately-held accepted knowledge, however, one would be more willing to say that one has full belief in the claims. Hence, it is not so obvious that full belief includes knowledge, or whether there is still something like a categorical difference between full belief and knowledge. For this difference would indicate, however, that one can have full belief in something false, such as the false belief of many people in the Middle Ages that the Earth is flat. It seems a bit of a contradiction, though, to claim that one knows p and, simultaneously, that p is false. The case of belief in the Earth’s flatness also demonstrates that one can have public knowledge of a thing that amounts to full belief. Getting back to the point that one has knowledge of God, in what way do we actually know Him? Of course, one could say that because some persons have literally known Jesus, and given that Jesus is part of the Trinity and therefore God, there were really persons who have known God. Yet, there are different degrees of knowing a person: one can just know a person by means of certain media, such as books, TV, etc.; there is also the possibility of knowing a person through the mediation of other persons, which is a very shallow way of knowing someone. A better knowledge is given when one is personally acquainted with a person. If one is friends with a person or is a close relative, one has some in-depth knowledge of that person. Only in the latter case would we actually say that we really know the person. But it is also possible that one can know a person only by the function a person has—for instance, as a teacher or as a colleague. In the latter case we could only assume partial knowledge, although it is more knowledge than in the cases of acquaintance and the media. Of course, Mary and Joseph knew Jesus as a son (although, according to the Bible, Joseph is not the biological father, but only the person who takes the father’s role in Jesus’ case; nevertheless, intimate

35 knowledge is given here). With regard to Jesus’ disciples, we can at least assume that they knew Him as a teacher; this becomes obvious when He teaches them the “Our Father,” given that what Scripture says is true. One can also assume that some of His disciples were closer to Him than others, which might become clear when He takes just certain disciples with Him into the garden of Gethsemane in order to pray to God before Judas’ ultimate betrayal. Then there are all the people whom Jesus has healed Himself, and to whom Jesus has spoken, such as in the Sermon of the Mount and in His final trial. Here, one can only talk of acquaintance. Yet, even if we consider the cases in which intimate knowledge of Jesus is involved, according to Scripture Jesus is just one part of the Trinity, so how can anyone really claim to have in-depth knowledge of God? Hence, in order to at least appear as if one has knowledge of God today, it makes sense to claim that the Bible is God’s divinely inspired word. In many cases it is claimed that one can know God through religious experiences or through prayer. Yet, such an account seems difficult to defend, for how can one be sure that, even if one had these religious experiences, it was really He who was involved in them? Even in ordinary life there is miscommunication possible; that is, one believes that one speaks to a certain person, but it turns out later that one has spoken to a completely different person. What holds with regard to real-life communication, might also be possible for heavenly communication. That different degrees of certainty are involved in religious faith becomes obvious when we look at Kellenberger’s (1992, p. 321) view that there are two truths with regard to religious faith. On the one hand, faith requires certainty of the believer as one finds it in Kierkegaard’s (1968, pp. 22ff., especially pp. 36–37) Fear and Trembling; for Abraham believed with fear and trembling, but did not doubt (Kellenberger 1992, p. 321). On the other hand, belief in God requires uncertainty of the believer as one finds it in Kierkegaard’s (1941, p. 182) Concluding Unscientific Postscript, for belief in God necessitates passion, doubt, uncertainty, etc., otherwise it wouldn’t be belief in God, but only belief in the idea of God (Unamuno 1954, p. 193; cf. Kellenberger 1992, p. 321). In the Concluding Scientific Postscript, Kierkegaard also makes it clear that one never is a Christian; at best one can be said to be becoming a Christian (cf. Geuss 2002, p. 82).

36 With regard to Kierkegaard’s first concept, the agent is certain of God, and therefore believes in him; with regard to the second concept, by contrast, the agent starts out in doubt, and strives to maintain his faith despite his own doubts (Kellenberger 1992, p. 322). If, in the latter case, the believer succeeds in maintaining his or her faith, Kellenberger (1992, p. 323) calls this the “absurd model of faith;” in case the believer doesn’t succeed, it is called the “paradox model of faith.” The first concept of faith falls under the Biblical model. As becomes clear from these three different models, a person can just hold one of them at a given time, so that these different requirements of the believer cannot really be requirements holding for the same person at the same time, contrary to the first impression given that there are two truths with regard to religious faith. But one might want to object that one really cannot ascribe faith to a person when he or she is starting out in doubt and is not successful in attaining faith. This seems hardly believable, and very difficult to justify. Just because one aims at faith, doesn’t mean that one has faith. Of course, one could say that, even if one starts out in doubt, one already has a minimum of faith. Yet, the latter doesn’t seem so obvious to me. After all, one can start out being a Muslim and wants to attain faith in the Christian God. In such a case, it seems implausible to me that a minimum amount of faith in the Christian God is already given from the very start. Be that as it may, how one attains faith, and the development of that faith, seem quite relevant for the issue of faith, but they are actually not parts of the concept of faith—unless one quite clearly wants to say that faith is only faith if one has gotten it in the right way. Yet, it does not seem obvious to me that faith has to be attained in a certain way in order to call it faith. For instance, it is not expected of Christians to go through the same experiences as Paul did, when he changed from Saul to Paul. According to Swinburne (2005, pp. 138–140), the Thomist view of faith consists in believing that God exists, plus an addition and two qualifications. The addition is that, besides believing that there is a God, one has to believe other propositions as well—such as propositions about what God is like and what He has done; one has to believe these latter propositions on the ground that God has revealed them. The first qualification is that the belief which is involved in faith does not amount to scientific knowledge, for scientific knowledge doesn’t only involve strong

37 belief that something true is true, but also understanding of what makes it true; the latter is missing in faith. The second qualification is that faith is not meritorious, for also devils have faith. Similar to the first qualification, Larrey (2005, p. xi) claims that religious truth claims have a different nature than scientific truth claims. With regard to this point, I would like to know, however, what is actually a scientific truth claim? If we look at quantum theory, this theory works better than previous theories; nevertheless, we don’t know why Schroedinger’s cat dies or lives, so this is no better than religious truth claims. Also, if we look at the scientific truth claim that the Earth is round, it is not quite clear what makes this statement true, for it seems so obvious that one may ask what kind of proof is needed in order to support this statement (just fly around it once). Hence, we could even consider this claim a basic scientific claim. But is this really what is meant when we want to know what makes a statement true? While there might be a scientific explanation as to why the Earth is round, such that we could come up with a general explanation of the Earth’s roundness, nonetheless its particular shape, with its continents, oceans, mountains, etc., might be too difficult to explain. This is so because we simply do not have an idea, and probably never will know the kinds of influences to which the Earth has been exposed in the past, and what particular forces and substances were involved in its making. Hence, this is not so much different from religious truth claims where we also don’t know, for instance, how a miracle comes about. With regard to the second qualification above (i.e., that also devils have faith), we may observe that this goes very well together with the basic assumption in the Thomist account of faith, namely the belief in God’s existence. But wouldn’t we say that a true faith also includes acting in accordance with that faith, namely keeping the Ten Commandments, etc.? Isn’t this why one distinguishes between belief in God’s existence (on the one hand) and believing in God (on the other)? That is, if one believes in God’s existence, one doesn’t have to believe in God, whereas if one believes in God, one also does have to believe in His existence, unless one only believes in the idea of God. Or is believing in God only a shorthand for believing in God’s existence? Against the latter, I might note that I find it rather appalling to share my doubting faith with devils, given the

38 Thomist account of faith. Yet, perhaps the latter feeling might be just due to the fact that I grew up within the Lutheran tradition which has a different account of faith (see below), or due to conceptual changes over the centuries. That is, one cannot expect for a concept to stay the same over such a long period of time, and one can only try to capture the current account. Also with regard to the Thomistic view of faith, it has to be made clear in what a revelation by God actually consists; is it a prophecy, a miracle, the holy Scripture, etc., or even all of it? In general, it is said that “A religion based on faith in the unseen, particularly on the belief that the Bible is the divinely-inspired word of God, is known as ‘revealed religion.’” (Ruse 2006, p. 10) Yet, was the selection of the Bible texts also done by God? According to Swinburne (2005, p. 142), in the Lutheran view of faith, one not only believes that there is a God and believes certain propositions about God, but also trusts in God and commits oneself to Him. Swinburne (2005, p. 142) claims that later Lutheran theologians differentiated three parts of faith, of which the first two were subordinate to trust: (1) knowledge, (2) assent, which is a public confession of faith, and (3) trust. In my opinion, however, under certain circumstances, it would have been better not to have had public confession of faith as part of one’s faith. For instance, one could argue that secret resistance by Dietrich Bonhoeffer could have had better results for him and for the German resistance than public resistance under the Nazi regime. Moreover, if only a few Christians were alive and one’s faith were persecuted, in order to pass along the faith, it seems much more reasonable not to confess one’s faith publicly, but to go underground. When Jesus asks the rich man to follow Him in Mark 10:21, He doesn’t say that he has to follow Him openly. That is, although in that passage the term “follow” should probably be taken literally, one can also understand the term figuratively. Similar to the Lutheran view of faith, Plantinga (1977, p. 2) also stresses that believing in God means trusting God, accepting God, and committing oneself to Him; that is, Plantinga (1977, p. 1) makes quite clear that one has to distinguish between belief in God and belief that God exists. According to Plantinga (1977, pp. 1–2) belief that God exists means accepting a certain proposition, which states that there is a personal being,

39 who is omnipotent, is perfectly wise, etc. Plantinga (1977, p. 2) also points out that one can’t reasonably believe in God without believing that He exists. Plantinga (1977, p. 2) cites Hebrews 11:6 to support his position: “And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him.” Yet, I might accept that He exists, but nevertheless not act on my acceptance, so I have to commit myself to Him. But what is meant by Plantinga’s notion of commitment to God? Is this similar to being loyal to a person or to a cause? Yet, it sounds really strange to say that I am loyal to God. Commitment at least implicitly includes that one is doing something about it, whereas being loyal doesn’t so directly refer to actions which follow out of one’s loyalty. That commitment is related to action can become clear when one looks at the meaning of the Latin word “committere,” from which the English word “commitment” stems. According to Whitaker (07/10/2007), committere means “to bring together, unite/join, connect/attach; put together, construct; entrust; engage (battle), set against; begin/start; bring about; commit; incur; forfeit.” Yet, if one looks at the meaning of “loyal” in the Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary (07/10/2007), then one gets “unswerving in allegiance,” “faithful in allegiance to one’s lawful sovereign or government,” “faithful to a private person to whom fidelity is due,” “faithful to a cause, ideal, custom, institution, or product,” but also “showing loyalty,” which quite clearly refers to active behavior. Moreover, if one takes seriously the title of Jesus as the King of the Jews, the Christian crusades into the Holy Land in the name of God, or the Covenant of the Old Testament as a lawful and binding document, then being loyal seems very much synonymous with being faithful. Yet, that the belief that God exists is tantamount to accepting the proposition that God is a personal being who is omnipotent, perfectly wise, etc. doesn’t seem so obvious to me. Yet, if one accepts that God consists of the Trinity, and if Jesus is part of the Trinity, at least part of the Trinity is a person. But what do we know of the other two parts? Would we intuitively say that a spirit is a person? That seems implausible to me. Yet, this also depends on what we understand a person to be. What about the third part? How can we know that He is a person? If we take the Bible literally, where

40 Moses sees the back of God, but not the face of Him, because he covers Moses’ eyes with His hand (Exodus 33:21–23), of course, such a view seems justified, if one is to understand the term “back” literally. But is such a literal interpretation scientifically justifiable? This is not at all clear. But God also appeared as a talking burning bush in the Old Testament (Exodus 3), so God cannot be a person. But does person really have to refer to the body of a human? It seems much more likely that “person” refers to something that has personality characteristics and which at least has the potential to will, desire, feel, think, reason, judge, remember, etc. From the foregoing, one could get the impression that there is no unified account of faith given. Partly, this has to do with the fact that the doctrine of the respective churches determines what faith is in their particular religion; partly, this also has to do with the fact that there is a conceptual change over the centuries. Yet, at least one thing seems to be common to the Christian account of faith, namely that the object of the Christian faith is ultimately God (cf. Ward 1977, p. 60). Yet, in my view, faith in the Christian God consists in believing in God, and therefore also accepting Him as God, trusting Him, and committing oneself to Him. That the Christian God has to be omnipotent, omnibenevolent, etc. in order to be accepted as the Christian God has to be determined in the following sections and chapters. With regard to religions in general, Swinburne (2005, p. 161) claims that a religion involves the following two elements: (1) a way, which is a certain life style consisting of certain kinds of actions, (2) and a creed, which is a doctrinal system. Swinburne (2005, p. 161) maintains that the creed of a religion explains why pursuing its way will lead to one’s salvation, and the fulfillment of the other reasons for pursuing its way. With regard to a creed, this is very similar to a confession of one’s faith in the Credo, although a creed encompasses a whole doctrinal system, while a confession of one’s faith doesn’t have to do that. It can be just a declaration of one’s belief in God. Of course, one could also say that the first point, namely a certain lifestyle, could include a confession of one’s faith as part of an ordinary church service. In general, Swinburne’s two elements of religion can be found in the Christian tradition. For as I said earlier, faith in the Christian God means committing oneself to Him, which includes certain kinds of actions. Part of

41 the Christian creed is the Ten Commandments; yet, if one thinks about it, huge parts of the Bible explain why one should pursue the Christian way, and why pursuing its way will lead to one’s salvation. One just has to look at the apocalypse or the passion of the Christ in order to make that plausible. Given that Swinburne didn’t want to name the whole Bible as encompassing a creed, he probably meant something different and more specific by the term “creed.” That is what we actually find since, as I pointed out earlier, for him a creed is a doctrinal system, and one cannot consider the whole Bible as a doctrinal system. We actually find such a doctrinal system in the Christian catechism, however, so even here Swinburne is right.

IV. The Christian God concept Ward (1977, p. 212) claims that “The Christian concept of God has been definitely formulated as the concept of a Trinity, three persons in one substance, co-equal and co-eternal, not confused one with another, and yet not three Gods, but one God. The Son is begotten by the Father, and the Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son (except for the Orthodox Churches), and yet no person is before, after, greater or less than another.”

Although one quite clearly finds this concept of the Trinity in the Christian tradition, to say that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are persons seems to be problematic. For more on God concepts, see the fifth section of Chapter Three. One way out of this problem is to advance a process theology, where processes avoid this problem because they “can conflate with and interpenetrate one another.” (Rescher 2007, p. 35) That Jesus was a person seems, at least in one sense, quite obviously true, because He was human. Yet, if one considers His divine and human natures, one could either think that He was two persons in one, so that He might have suffered from a multiple personality disorder, which wouldn’t be so desirable, because then one wouldn’t consider Him to be perfect; or one could more desirably think that the modular concept of the mind can be applied to Him, so that different parts of the brain are responsible for the different natures He exhibited. Also, to say that none of these persons was before or after any of the other persons needs at least an explanation, for this seems to assume that Jesus already existed before He was born.

42 Moreover, we then would have to explain the fact that Jesus is the Son and God the father, which quite clearly at least to our ordinary understanding includes a before relation. But in what way are we justified in ascribing personhood to God and even more so to a spirit, I find problematic. Just because God was the father of Jesus doesn’t make God a person. After all, if science advances as fast as it does, it is imaginable that a whole human embryo is artificially produced (and hereby I don’t mean artificial insemination, but rather to produce the whole DNA and the first cell artificially, out of which the whole human embryo evolves). That being the case, God could have produced Jesus artificially. Even if one takes into account that the Holy Spirit was produced by God and Jesus, this doesn’t make It a person. For after all, God could have created anything. Moreover, if one assumes that God had existed since eternity or outside of time, have Jesus and the Holy Spirit also been created from eternity or outside of time? If Christ had a divine nature, then one could assume that He was created from eternity or outside of time. But what, then, of His human nature? Perhaps even human nature can exist eternally or outside of time; for after all, Christians are promised eternity, if they behave accordingly. In order to determine whether God and the Holy Spirit can be considered as persons, one has to make clear what a person is, and of course one could well advance that such a claim that God and the Holy Spirit are persons depends on which concept of a person one employs. One of the few distinctions which one can draw in this respect is that the concept of a “person” and the concept of a “soul” differ from each other. For according to Meyer (2006, p. 216) “Aquinas insists that ‘my soul is not me’ (anima mea non est ego), or, as Brian Davies puts it: ‘I have intellect and will by my soul. But it is not my soul which understands and wills. I do’. In sum, the person is not identical with the soul, nor can she be reduced to any faculty or activity of the soul, such as the mind, will, or consciousness.”

The first quotation here stems from Aquinas, T. (1993), Super Epistolam Pauli Apostoli, in T. Aquinas, Selected Philosophical Writings, trans. by T. McDermott, Oxford University Press, Oxford, p. 192, and the second quotation is from Davies, B. (1992), The Thought of Thomas Aquinas, Clarendon Press, Oxford, pp. 213–214.

43 Yet, with regard to the Holy Spirit, one would have thought that the concept of a “spirit” and the concept of a “soul” are very similar to each other. Moreover, if the concept of a “soul” is not identical with the concept of a “person,” then of course this lies near to saying that the concept of a “spirit” is not identical with the concept of a “person.” But perhaps the crux of the matter lies here in the fact that “soul” and “spirit” are not identical, because—of course—everyone would say with regard to human beings that they have souls, but that they have spirits doesn’t seem to be so easily said. As the article by Meyer (2006) makes clear, however, researchers seem to disagree over what a “person” is and also when “personhood” begins. For example, Shannon and Walter (1990, p. 613) argue that “until the process of individuation is completed, the ovum is not an individual, since a determinate and irreversible individuality is a necessary, if not sufficient, condition for it to be a human person.” Yet, in the previous section I had doubted that the concept of a person does really have to refer to the body of a human. For if this were really the case, how can the Holy Spirit be a person? It can only be a person, if It does have a body according to Shannon and Walter. But spirits don’t have bodies at least as it is ordinarily conceived, so the Holy Spirit cannot be a person. Therefore, in order to ascribe personhood to the Holy Spirit, one has to look for another concept of what it means to be a person. It seems much more likely that the term “person” refers to something which has personality characteristics and which at least has the potential to will, desire, feel, think, reason, judge, remember, etc. Yet, even animals can will desire, feel, think, etc., but we wouldn’t ascribe personhood to them. So it must be more than that. Perhaps the potential to control themselves has to be added to this list, because this is what animals, for the most part, lack. Moreover, from such phenomena like multiple personality disorder, where one body has several persons going together with it and where one speaks of several different persons being in the very same body, it becomes clear that a certain unity has to be going together with being the same one person, such as that there exists a certain continuity in one’s willing, desiring, feeling, thinking, etc. For continuity, as a criterion, suggests also that Alzheimer patients and people with amnesia forget who they are as persons, that is, they have personal identity problems.

44 If one takes this rather rough characterization of personhood as granted, can we then ascribe personhood to the Holy Spirit? While what we know of the Holy Spirit by means of the Bible is rather limited, one can at least claim that this rough characterization of personhood is not inconsistent with Scripture. Yet, one might want to say that the Holy Spirit is even more than a person, for it enables other people to speak languages which they were not able to understand before, such as is exemplified by the events during Pentecost (Acts 2:4). Ward (1977, p. 217) maintains that the doctrines of Christ and the Holy Spirit are integral parts of the Christian concept of “God.” Ward (1977, p. 225) also points out that the Christian can take the person Jesus as a model for God. Yet, the Christian cannot only take Jesus as a model for God, he can also take Jesus as a model of how one is supposed to live one’s life and how one can attain salvation. Ward (1977, p. 225) stresses that “the workman or playwright model of God, as controlling his creation completely from outside, is appropriately qualified by the notion of the Spirit, the life-giver, the breath of God within the world, actively working to create new levels and complexities of consciousness in creatures.” Yet, what kind of complexities is Ward here actually relating? One could get the idea that he is talking about evolutionary development, which would be an interesting idea. While in Sobel (2004, p. 581, note 21; cf. also Ledwig 2007a, pp. 368–369) we find a religious account of how old our universe is (which is in agreement with the popular scientific account of 15 billion years), here we could get a religious account of the development of all the different species, which is in agreement with evolutionary biology. After having looked at the issue of personhood and the concept of the Trinity, one might get a better idea of what God is like and/or how we conceive of Him by looking at His name. Perhaps that also signifies something. According to Sobel (2004, p. 6), Thomas Aquinas claimed that “God,” because it is appellative and because it signifies “the divine nature” of the thing that possesses it, is not a proper name (Summa Theologica I, q13, a9). Yet, Sobel (2004, p. 6) disagrees, for not only the term “God,” but also a proper name can signify something, or it can express something. (For more on that, see the following pages). According to Sobel (2004, p. 10), “the strongest semantic demand on the correct use of ‘God’…in its actual religious use is that God would be

45 the one and only proper object of worship.” The latter seems to suggest that only one God is assumed to exist, but independent of our finding out whether this is really the case, there existed enough religions which had several gods at their disposal, and surely in certain cases it might be impossible to worship several of them in the same degree at the same time. So God wouldn’t be the one and only proper object of worship. Yet, wasn’t it the case when there were several deities that each had its proper name, such as Zeus for the Greeks or Ra for the Egyptians, so that the term “God” alone wouldn’t be used, but rather the sun-God or the proper name of the deity? Hence, it could still be the case that the term “God” alone would refer to the one and only proper object of worship. Similar to Sobel, Swinburne (1977, p. 21) claims that the sentence “If God exists, then he is worthy of men’s worship” almost certainly expresses an analytic proposition on our normal understanding of God. Yet, if one envisages the Greek gods with all their humanlike characteristics and faults, or even the more personal God of the Old Testament who makes a Covenant with His people, who gives the Law, and who is jealous, vengeful, etc. (cf. Ward 1977, p. 167), then this doesn’t seem so analytic to me anymore, but rather looks like something contingent. Swinburne (1977, pp. 21–22) rightly points out, though, that many other theological sentences are not incoherent to deny, for they make factual statements and not statements which are logically necessary. In order to evaluate Sobel’s claim that God is the only proper object of worship, one has to have answers to several questions. First, what makes something a proper object of worship? Next, what kind of qualities or skills does one have to possess? Following upon this, is it only gods that are worshipped? Starting with the latter, if one looks at how certain rock and pop stars, and even actors such as Madonna, Tom Cruise, Arnold Schwarzenegger, etc. are worshipped, one might even claim that besides gods, idols are worshipped. Why is this so? Because they have something which most of us seem to lack, such as an extraordinary musical ability in the case of Madonna, an enormous energy in the case of Arnold Schwarzenegger, a certain charisma in the case of Tom Cruise (notwithstanding the fact that most critics think that he is not much of an actor). Worship doesn’t need infinite capacities or infinite capabilities, but

46 something beyond the ordinary. That is, the person or being has to be extraordinary, at least in one sense in order to be an object of worship. What Sobel’s claim also makes clear is that, if only God is a proper object of worship, then worshipping rock and pop stars and actors shouldn’t be done at all. The latter seems to be right, for besides their extraordinary capacities or capabilities, they are human, after all—with all of their human faults, such as showing lack of control when jumping on sofas in the case of Tom Cruise. But also the Greek gods were known for their humanlike features, showing their passions, etc. It is perhaps not that what distinguishes humans from gods, but rather that all gods seem to be beyond our ordinary reach, and that they have powers which surpass our human powers by far. But perhaps it is not only powers, such as capacities or capabilities, which make them gods, but also some other feature, such as wealth? That is, would we call something a god if it were just fabulously rich beyond any monetary amount of which we know? Perhaps not, because if one is just fabulously rich, but not immortal, such as Donald Trump, then we wouldn’t want to call him a god. Also one could maintain that if God is the one and only proper object of worship, then God has to have worshippers. In this regard, I have always wondered whether we could call God “God” any longer, if there were no people to worship Him at all. I find it a bit odd to claim that God is not called “God” any longer just because no humans are present any longer. After all, allegedly He still has His superhuman powers. So, worshipping doesn’t seem to me crucial for calling God “God,” but rather that He is beyond our reach, that He is immortal, and that He has superhuman powers. Perhaps God should also have superanimal powers, for would we still call Him “God” if a bat had better sonar hearing capacities than God? Something similar is appropriate with regard to the plant kingdom. So God should be able to surpass the capacities of all living beings in some way, and the latter should hold for the past, present, and future. Similar to Sobel (2004) Swinburne (1977, p. 226) considers God to be a proper name, for if one treated God as a definite description (i.e., shorthand for “the omnipotent, omniscient, etc. spirit”), then the term “God” would apply to an individual only as long as He had the stated characteristics. The latter is something which one wants to avoid. Yet, Sobel (2004, p. 5) is right to claim that “God” is unlike most other names,

47 for if people discovered that the being they named “God” did not have Godlike features, they wouldn’t call him “God” anymore. Although also our first names often have meanings—and therefore features—associated with them, we wouldn’t give a person another name just because he happened to have other features than those associated with the name, or just because the person changed his own features. For instance, “Christopher” means “bearer of Christ,” and “Catherine” means “pure,” but we don’t rename people with these names if they don’t behave according to their names. There are differences between “God” and other proper names. First, it is completely unclear how God got His name and who named Him, whereas with regard to persons, this can (in most cases) be determined. Second, we don’t say “the Marion” as we say “the God,” and we also don’t say “a Marion” as we say “a God.” Contrary to this, in the movie “The Good Shepherd” (directed by Robert De Niro), there is a scene in which it is explained why one doesn’t say “the CIA,” but just simply “CIA,” for one also doesn’t say “the God,” but simply “God.” Also we sometimes say “this is the Humphrey Bogart” emphasizing the importance of a person. Moreover, we sometimes say “the God of the Christians” or “the Christian God,” but we just do that, if we want to talk about a particular religion. When we are talking about our own religion, however, we don’t include the definite article. Furthermore, in certain cases we even say such things as “the Marion,” for instance, we sometimes speak of “the Boing 747” or “the BMW 500 series” or “the big bang.” In such cases, we actually refer either to a whole category or to a particular object that we have in mind, whereas when we talk of “the Christian God,” we don’t refer to a whole category. In the case of “the Greek gods,”—that is, when we have a plural case—we do refer to a whole category, however. When we speak of “a god,” which we sometimes also do, we don’t refer to a particular god, but to any god. Hence, there are some differences between the term “God” and proper names. Holmer (1992, p. 111) points out that the concept of God as a first cause cannot be found in the first few chapters of Genesis. Yet, that seems very surprising, if one considers that Genesis 1:1 says, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Assuming that there are not several beginnings and that the term “the beginning” is used, what else

48 should God be than the first cause? Of course, one could say that the term “first cause” was not used or ascribed to God, but that is not how we would ordinarily understand such a claim that the concept of God as a first cause isn’t found in the first few chapters of Genesis. Holmer (1992, p. 113) emphasizes that the concepts of theistic metaphysics are not components in most of the concepts of God found in Scripture, prayers, liturgy, and perhaps in most sermons. Yet, what should we learn from this? That simplified concepts of God are used for prayers, liturgy, and sermons, and perhaps also in Scripture, seems reasonable, for after all everyone should be addressed and convinced by means of Scripture, prayers, liturgy, and sermons, and not just theologians. If one confronted the masses with the paradoxes of omniscience and omnipotence, they might start rethinking their belief in God. Moreover, sermons might have more the purpose of giving consolation and guidance for leading our lives properly. Also, most people would not have the slightest clue if someone started talking about theistic metaphysics. So, depending upon one’s audience, different concepts of God seem to me adequate to use. In order to find out who God is, what His name is, and/or what kind of qualities He exhibits, one can consult the Bible to get a clearer idea of the different subject matters. In this regard, Ratzinger (2007, p. 177) points out the passage in which Moses asks God who He is and God answers that He is who He is. Ratzinger concludes that it was right that one has not spoken JHWH as the name of God in Israel. Yet, this passage where God says to Moses that He is who He is (Exodus 3:14) reminds me of the short phrase which one uses with people familiar to oneself, such as when one says on the telephone, “hi, it’s me”—and the other person usually recognizes instantly who is talking. If God is our God, then we should be able to recognize Him. Yet, in Exodus 3:14 God says to Moses also: “‘Thus you shall say to the sons of Israel, ‘I AM has sent me to you,’’” which seems a bit mysterious and makes the previous passage even less clear. One could get the impression that “I AM” refers to the being who always is, so that everlastingness can be ascribed to God. But perhaps God wants also to leave some mystery with regard to who He really is. In Exodus 3:15, however, God finally specifies who He is and what His name is: “God…said to Moses, ‘Thus you shall say to the sons of Israel, ‘The

49 LORD, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you’ This is My name forever, and this is My memorial-name to all generations.”

V. Evidential reasons for Jesus being the son of God In order to answer the question of whether there are evidential reasons for Jesus being the son of God, we first have to determine what an evidential reason is. According to Harman (1999, p. 17) “R is an [evidential] reason to believe P only if the probability of P given R is greater than the probability of P given not-R.” Yet, shouldn’t one also distinguish between good evidential reasons and bad evidential reasons? What Harman seems to aim at is trying to find out what is a good evidential reason. Even if Harman is aiming at good evidential reasons, his definition is open to criticism. For suppose we have already proven something to be true, that is, we have already assigned a probability of one to a certain proposition (for instance, to a logical truth); then finding some more evidence for that logical truth by, for instance, asking a logician about it and getting confirmation of one’s view, doesn’t make it the case that the probability of the logical truth given confirmation is greater than the probability of the logical truth given disconfirmation. That is, logical truths should get probabilities of one assigned regardless of whether they get further confirmation or disconfirmation. Moreover, if one has already assigned a probability of one to a certain proposition, it is very difficult to get down from it by means of Bayesian conditionalization. Therefore, even the Bayesian method supports this point of view. Yet, is it not too much to demand that logical truths should get probabilities of one assigned regardless of whether they get further confirmation or disconfirmation? Some logical truths are very difficult to detect, so shouldn’t a confirmation or a disconfirmation make a difference, especially with regard to the not so easily detectable cases? So, Harman’s definition seems to be a good one. But what about the simplest case there is, namely x = x? Surely in such a case, finding some more evidence for that logical truth by, for instance, asking a logician about it and getting confirmation of one’s view, doesn’t make it the case that the probability of the logical truth given

50 confirmation is greater than the probability of the logical truth given disconfirmation. Yet, actually, I think this is the case. For this all depends on which logic one employs. Just imagine that we have a logic in which we sat as an axiom that x = y and exclude the possibility that x = x. In such a case it would make a difference in the judgment whether a logician confirms or disconfirms our view. In order to make that more plausible, just look at one feature of Cantor’s transfinite cardinals (cf. Sobel 1996, p. 25, p. 37; Sobel 2004, p. 523; Cantor 1952, p. 97, p. 104, p. 106; for more details, see Chapter Two of this book): given that ∞ is a standard Cantorian infinity, ∞ + ∞ = ∞. Here we have already something that goes against our ordinary understanding of numbers—namely, that 1+1 = 2, and not that 1+1 = 1. So how are we supposed to know whether it is the case that ∞ = ∞? Hence, even with the simplest of all logical truths—namely that x = x—it is not so obvious that we can assign a probability of one to it on first sight. As a result, one shouldn’t either assign a probability of zero or a probability of one even to logical truths, but just make them approach zero or one. Besides determining what evidence is (and especially what good evidence is (Achinstein 2001, chapter one)), it is also important to determine how the evidence should be interpreted. Yet, I have already made that point clear in Ledwig (2006a, p. 82), where I basically said that consistency over time with regard to certain phenomena might eliminate certain interpretations as rational for accepting and that consistency with other evidence might make an interpretation rational to accept. One can, of course, also eliminate certain interpretations of evidence by means of experiments, especially by means of experimentum crucis. In Ledwig (2006a) I also clarified what a good reason is: namely, “good reasons are those which show the qualities of consistency, robustness, and solidity, besides being epistemic and/or pragmatic reasons.” (Ledwig 2006a, p. 5; see especially chapters one and two in Ledwig 2006a) Furthermore, “Reason a is called robust with respect to reason b if P(a) is high and equal or very close to P(a⎢b).” (Ledwig 2006a, pp. 39–40; cf. also Jackson 1979) Moreover, “Reason a is considered to be solid relative to a belief set K, in the case where a is robust against the removal of inconsistencies in this respective belief set K.” (Ledwig 2006, p. 40; cf. also Fuhrmann 1997) I also pointed out that Dretske’s (1971)

51 conclusive reasons (at least with regard to the emotions) don’t turn out to be good reasons (Ledwig 2006a, p. 40). Finally, I clarified that good reasons may be either internal or external reasons (Ledwig 2006, pp. 40– 43; cf. Bittner 2001; McDowell 1995; von Wright 1983; and Williams 1995, to name just a few who take part in the internal vs. external reasons debate). Two of the things which I still left unspecified at that time are what a pragmatic reason in particular is, and whether a good reason may be an evidential and a pragmatic reason at the same time. While I will provide a characterization of what a pragmatic reason is in the section on pragmatic reasons in this chapter, here I will try to find out whether an evidential reason might also be a pragmatic reason at the same time. Consider the following case: my partner, who is generally very reliable, has told me that he has seen agent X at a certain location at a certain time. So I now have evidence for believing that agent X was indeed there at the specified time. But I also have pragmatic reasons for believing that agent X was indeed there at the specified time, for if I do believe in what my partner tells me, at least I don’t annoy him. Hence, trying to keep personal relationships intact may, in many cases, yield good pragmatic reasons for believing certain propositions, and we see that a reason can serve both evidential and pragmatic purposes for belief at the same time. But not only trying to keep personal relationships intact may, in many cases, yield good pragmatic reasons for believing certain propositions. Also trying to establish new relationships may, in many cases, yield good pragmatic reasons for believing certain propositions. If one, for instance, wanted to establish a business relationship with another firm, then one might have good pragmatic reasons at least not to doubt openly in front of one’s future business partner what he tells you, for otherwise one’s future business partner might already be annoyed by you from the very start and might not consider establishing a business relationship with you after all. But getting back to evidential reasons, Plantinga (2000, p. 86) raises an important, and actually quite revolutionary question: namely, what is bad about believing in the absence of evidence? Similarly, Nielsen (1992, p. 123) claims that Phillips directly, and Holmer indirectly, have stated that religious claims are not claims for which there can be evidence or grounds,

52 for this is irrelevant with regard to the logic of religious discourse. If this were really so, then one could say that we have found an important difference between religion and science. For while, in science, evidence is the foremost criterion for judging whether a scientific theory is true, in religion, evidence wouldn’t be necessary following Plantinga’s, Phillips’, and Holmer’s suggestion. To answer Plantinga’s question, in my opinion, there is nothing bad about believing in the absence of evidence, as long as one can trust the other person or being who wants us to believe something and/or who makes a certain claim. But whom can one really trust, and with regard to which matters? I have lived and traveled all the different continents with the exception of South America and the Antarctic, and the more I have seen, the less I came to trust others—which is, of course, sad but quite realistic. One of the lessons that I have learned during my travels is that the less valuable something is, the more one can trust others. (For example, I normally trust others to tell me the time correctly, for in such a case it is easier to tell the truth than to tell a lie, and, in ordinary cases, nothing really hinges on telling another person the exact time). Yet, with regard to more important things, I have come to trust only a very few people. For example, one wouldn’t put one’s purse on a public table or important documents in a public place. Moreover, if one is a foreigner in a country, it seems reasonable not to trust other people too lightly, for if the locals know you as a foreigner who probably will not stay in the country for too long, there is no reason to build up a good relationship with the foreigner and win his or her trust by showing good behavior. With regard to believing in God, there are several parties who want us to believe in God, such as the various churches. Then there is also God Himself. The questions then become: (1) can one believe in the various churches, and (2) can one believe in God? Although the churches have a selfish interest in having us believe in God, since they live, to some considerable extent, from our money, they would lose all credibility if they lied to us with regard to God’s existence and the reasonability of believing in God. For it is their main message: that God exists and that it is reasonable to believe in God. With regard to trusting the various churches, one can say that the Christian Church has had roughly two thousand years to establish a good trusting relationship with us, and although the Christian

53 Church during the inquisition, witch trails, and homosexual child abuse cases has lost its credibility to some degree, one cannot really claim that they are discredited. Believing in God is not a small thing, but is rather fundamental, for it has far-reaching and time-consuming duties and lifestyles associated with it. Therefore, I think it is quite rational not to trust the churches and God blindly, but to want some evidence for that belief. Of course, one could say that, if God is the being who wants us to believe in Him, then He should be trusted, and that it is, therefore, rational to believe in Him even in the absence of evidence. Yet, perhaps there are reasons not to trust God. He is, after all, mostly a stranger—one could even say a foreigner—to us, even though He allegedly created us. Moreover, as one tells children not to trust strangers, why should we trust God? But why is God a stranger to us? He is a stranger because one doesn’t encounter Him or experience Him in one’s everyday life. In order to believe in Him one would, in many cases, have to trust the testimony of others who are not personally known to us, and who lived approximately two thousand years ago (or even longer, in the case of the Old Testament); who would actually do that? How can we be sure that He is not a God who punishes those who believe in Him? After all, in the Old Testament He killed all the people in the flood, except for Noah and his family, which means that He even killed innocent children, if the Bible turns out to be true in this instance. Something quite extraordinary is demanded of us when we are supposed to believe in Him and believe that He is a good God. Or is it possible to turn this extraordinary thing into something ordinary? That is, shouldn’t it be possible to find conditions under which it is rational to commit a leap of faith? Perhaps comparing such a leap of faith with a regular leap might illuminate the situation. With regard to regular leaps, in which one tries to reach the other side of a chasm, I think one can take such a leap if one is able to see the other side and judges it absolutely possible to jump over the chasm without incurring any injuries and without taking any serious risks. With regard to leaps of faith, one could argue that Christians have partly seen the other side of the chasm by having had Jesus live among us, especially after having seen His resurrection; also miracles, one could argue, are signs of the other side (if

54 one takes them as divine interventions). Also prophecies, such as the apocalypse, one could maintain, are signs of the other side. Hence, one has an idea of what the other side is like, and one also knows how one can reach the other side, because of Scripture. If it is the case, then, that it doesn’t take too much to make such a leap of faith, why shouldn’t one do it? Yet, perhaps for you it takes quite a lot to make such a leap of faith, because you just simply love to indulge in all your vices. Moreover, you doubt Scripture and only believe in science, and not in religion. Why should it be rational for you to make such a leap of faith? Perhaps the following further comparison between regular leaps and leaps of faith might help to find an answer to this question. One could claim that a regular leap is justified, and therefore rational, if there is no other option left and the leap at least gives you a positive chance, whereas, if you don’t jump, you are not going to make it anyway. In order to make that plausible, consider the following scenario. Suppose you are followed by several serial killers who want to kill you, and you stand before a large chasm. Jumping across it is nothing that you would attempt under ordinary circumstances. You don’t have anything with which to defend yourself against these serial killers, and you are neither skilled in martial arts nor do you have the convincing rhetorical powers of a Hitler. Moreover, these serial killers are just several yards away, there is no one coming to your rescue (as far as you know), and there is no other escape route. In such a case, I think it would be rational to jump, for it is rational to trade certain death for even a slight chance of living. Similarly, if you are close to your own death and there is no escape route, making a leap of faith—that is, believing in God—turns out to be rational, given the possibility that there is the omnibenevolent Christian God, for in that way you at least have the chance of gaining infinite life, instead of being doomed to hell. Of course, in ordinary life it is also said that one shouldn’t jump head-first into unknown water, because of rocks which one might encounter, and because one doesn’t know how deep and turbulent the water is. But if there is no other escape route, one’s life is at stake, and there is no other chance of survival, one would nevertheless jump (although probably feet-first). Another way of reasoning is that the infinite gain which one can get if one believes in God (presuming, of

55 course, that God exists) is an incentive which trumps all other possibilities and can, therefore, make a leap of faith reasonable. Yet, we will see in Chapter Two that Pascal’s wager is actually undecidable, because we have no basis for evaluating something infinite at all. Nevertheless, even if we don’t have a basis for knowing whether we actually like something infinite or whether God is omnibenevolent, we have a desire to stay alive—to continue our own existence—because it would be, at least to a certain degree, contradictory if a living organism tried to undermine its own existence. Moreover, as we also have the impression that we can (to a certain extent) have an influence on our wellbeing and on our future, and that the future is open, we also think that this might true hold for the afterlife as well. The openness of the future would only be questionable if we existed out of time in the afterlife. Hence, to a certain extent, one can still justify and consider it rational to believe in God and to strive for an afterlife. While believing in the absence of evidence might be reasonable under certain kinds of circumstances—namely, if one trusts another person—there is a much more serious question that needs to be answered: what is one supposed to do if there is evidence against the point of view that Jesus is the son of God? For Matthew’s Gospel states (in 28:15) that the Jews maintained that Jesus’ corpse was stolen by His disciples (Swinburne 2003, p. 28). Of course, one can view this claim as a political statement in order to reduce the credibility of the disciples, or in order to throw doubt on Jesus’ status. Moreover, they had a selfish interest in doubting Jesus’ status—for in that way, they could still maintain their own religion. Another possibility is that the Jews just thought a natural, and not a supernatural, explanation for the disappearance of Jesus’ corpse would be more reasonable. If, however, there is no evidence supporting the claim of the Jews, it has to be dismissed. Yet, similar to the Jews, the Christians also had a selfish interest to protect, namely that Jesus indeed was God’s son and therefore Jesus’ status (and also their own as followers of the true and only God) had to be maintained. Thus, they would have had a reasonable motive for stealing Jesus’ corpse. By doing so, however, they would have had to go against Jesus’ own teaching and they would have violated the Ten Commandments, and therefore they would have shown inconsistent

56 behavior that would have violated Jesus’ reputation and would have gone against His own intentions. Hence stealing Jesus’ corpse wouldn’t have been a worthy commemoration of Jesus. Of course, this doesn’t prove that this didn’t happen, but it makes it clear that there is not only a motive for such a crime, but that there is also a motive against stealing Jesus’ corpse. Therefore, a mere look at possible motives doesn’t decide this case; real evidence is needed. What about Jesus’ visions and His belief that He entered into conversations with God? One possible explanation is that He ate certain hallucination-inducing mushrooms, such as Amanity muscaria or FlyAgaric, which were common in Israel at that time. Yet, this mushroom explanation doesn’t go together with the healing powers Jesus had and with the miracles He performed, presuming that Scripture is correct in this regard. In short, we wouldn’t have an overall explanation for Jesus’ behavior at that time. Perhaps even the miracles and the healing powers, however, can be explained by the mushroom hypothesis: namely, as hallucinations which everyone had, because everyone took these mushrooms and therefore saw things that were not real. In the same way, the speaking of tongues at Pentecost, the changing of water into wine, the resurrection appearances, etc.—all these things become explainable. Besides considering the idea that Jesus ate these mushrooms, one could even be more radical and advocate the view that Christianity is just the result of a certain mushroom-eating fertility cult in the ancient Near East (cf. Allegro 1970; Irvin and Rutajit 2006; James 2004). Of course, wouldn’t we find anything about mushrooms in Scripture if that were true, similar to what we know of the practices of the oracle of Delphi? One could certainly maintain that no one was aware of the effect of these mushrooms, but I think that this is rather implausible, especially if such things were taken for quite some time. In the end, I think, one figures out that certain things have certain effects on human beings. An alternative explanation is that we don’t find anything in Scripture, because Scripture was written in such a way that only the people in the know could understand it properly. That is actually what Allegro (1970) advances. Yet, in order to evaluate Allegro’s particular claims properly, one would have to be able to understand ancient Sumerian, which is supposed to provide a bridge between the Indo-European languages and the Semitic group. As

57 that goes beyond my knowledge by far, I can only refer the reader to an excellent article by Michalowski (2004) about the Sumerian language to get a better-informed view on that subject area. With regard to further natural explanations, in Chapter Three (on the rationality of miracles) I will deal with the claim found in the literature that Jesus actually didn’t die at the cross, but survived it, so that one has a natural explanation for His resurrection appearances, and so that no miracles occurred. With regard to Jesus’ resurrection appearances, Swinburne (2003, p. 28) points out that there are inconsistencies with regard to where the resurrection appearances occurred, to whom, and over what period of time. Moreover, Swinburne (2003, p. 29) emphasizes that Paul fails to mention the empty tomb when he cites witnesses who saw the risen Christ. With regard to these inconsistencies, it is quite evident (and important) to remember that humans don’t have perfect recall (cf. the third section of Chapter Three of this book). Moreover, the relevant parts of Scripture were written decades after the events took place, so it is not to be wondered at that there are inconsistencies in the different resurrection accounts. Just try to remember things which happened years or even decades ago; with the exception of subjectively very important events, one doesn’t have a very good memory of them. Yet, one might want to argue that Jesus’ resurrection appearances were so extraordinary, as were His miracles, that one should remember them particularly well, so that no inconsistencies should occur. Nevertheless a certain amount of imperfect recall with regard to these experiences is to be expected, especially if one is of the opinion that episodic memory is not reproduced, but that it is constructed, and that it is prone to illusion and various kinds of errors (cf. Schacter and Addis 2007, p. 773). Besides the imperfect recall of memory, one can also expect that oral transmissions before the first written records might have lead to changes in the stories over time. One just has to look at the game in which one person whispers something into another person’s ear (and so on) till the person at the end of the chain has to tell everybody what was said by the first person; this does lead to quite some distortions in comparison to the original message in some cases, and might account for the inconsistencies with regard to the resurrection appearances. Of course, Christ’s story was not

58 whispered, but one can nevertheless imagine how a long chain of narrators (or even of one’s own narration over time) might lead to distortions of the original story. Here is another quite different possibility to account for the inconsistencies with regard to the resurrection appearances. If God is almighty, He could have appeared to anyone at any place He wanted, even if it means that He appeared to different persons at different places at the same time, or that He appeared just to one of two different persons at the same time and the same place. But this explanation is not able to account for cases such as that according to one author, Jesus appeared to John at a certain time and place and, according to another author, Jesus didn’t appear to John at the same time and place. Because this account is not the most simple there is—it involves many divine interventions—and because certain inconsistencies still remain unexplained, one can consider this account as less likely than the other, which explains these inconsistencies by means of imperfect recall, reconstruction of episodic memory, and distortion by means of several narrations. With regard to Paul’s omission of the empty tomb, it could have been the case that he simply forgot it. After all, Scripture was not supposed to withstand the scientific investigation of the 21st century. Moreover, it happens very easily in a piece of writing to forget something; just try to write a long essay or a book and you will discover that you forgot something when you proofread it. Furthermore, isn’t it usually the case that one forgets to mention the obvious because of its obviousness? Hence, when Paul writes about Jesus’ resurrection appearances, isn’t it obvious that His resurrection appearances include that Jesus’ tomb is empty? Perhaps not quite. For one might have thought that, if God is almighty, He could have produced an occupied tomb and resurrection appearances at the same time. To explain Paul’s omission of the empty tomb further, one could also come up with the view that Paul might just have had witnesses for the resurrection appearances at his disposal, but no witnesses for the empty tomb. Hence, I don’t consider Paul’s omission of the empty tomb as such a huge mistake. An inconsistency with regard to Jesus being the son of God is that He not only wanted to get baptized, but eventually did get baptized. This is an inconsistency for, viewing Jesus as sinless (an idea that was developed

59 in the early Church) has as an implication that He didn’t need to get baptized (Swinburne 2003, p. 77). So, the quite clearly justified question is why did He get baptized? Swinburne’s (2003, p. 111) answer to this question is that Jesus got baptized because He was offering His life for the sins of humans, and as they needed to repent and to get baptized; He repented and got baptized on their behalf. Similarly, Ratzinger (2007, p. 45) claims that Jesus’ baptism is the acceptance of death for the sins of humanity, and that the baptism voice that says that Jesus is His beloved son is a pre-reference to Jesus’ resurrection. In that way one can also understand that in Jesus’ own speech that the word “baptism” refers to His own death (Mark 10:38; Luke 12:50), Ratzinger (2007, p. 45) maintains. Yet, couldn’t one object that one cannot repent and get baptized on another person’s behalf? For in that way one doesn’t leave the other person any free choice. The latter doesn’t seem justified, though, for as it is assumed that God has given us free will, one can still say I do not accept your gift and reject it. An alternative, or even an additional, explanation of Jesus’ baptism is the following: one could argue that Jesus, as a role model, set standards which everyone else was supposed to follow and, as He explicitly asked people to follow him, He was also aware of the fact that whatever He was doing would be imitated in the future. Moreover, by His baptism by John the Baptist, He also legitimated John’s action—and John’s position—as a prophet. Furthermore, John stated that he was actually not worthy to even untie the thong of Jesus’ sandals (Mark 1:7), and that it actually should be the other way around and Jesus should baptize him (Matthew 3:14); in this, Jesus’ position also gets acknowledged and even strengthened. Additionally, one could interpret the baptism voice as God’s first public acknowledgement of Jesus as His son. The latter reminds me of a blessing which an elder gives before one sends a close friend or relative out on his or her way, similar to the anointing of Jesus’ feet by the female sinner (Luke 7:37–38). Hence, there are multiple reasons for Jesus’ baptism which are not inconsistent with His being sinless. With regard to evidence for God’s existence in general, Plantinga (2000, p. 34) maintains that it is intuitively implausible to claim that an infinite and omnipotent God could not cause us to experience Him. Yet, if infinity amounts to a qualitative difference (and not only to a quantitative

60 difference) in comparison to the finite, then indeed why should we finite beings, who have so far only experienced something finite, be able to experience Him? But, just because we have, so far, only experienced something finite, this does not prove that we are not able to experience something infinite. Moreover, God could bring about something finite which we could definitely experience and, in that way, we might still be able to experience Him. Furthermore, Jesus was something finite, and the people who lived at His time were able to experience Him. In that regard Swinburne (2003, p. 35) points out, though, that the Jews and pagans of the first century AD didn’t expect an incarnation. Swinburne (2003, p. 96) highlights the fact that, in the literature of early Judaism, including Old Testament Apocrypha, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, and Dead Sea Scrolls there is only one passage stating that the Messiah (called by that name) will die, namely in 2 Esdras 7:29. So why should the Jews and pagans of the first century AD have taken Jesus seriously and have considered experiencing Him as part of experiencing God? God should have given more forebodings of Jesus’ coming, if He really wanted people to believe in Jesus as His son. Yet, perhaps faith is not faith if there is too much evidence for it. Moreover, perhaps people simply didn’t see the evidence, because people didn’t consider Scripture as applicable to their daily lives with the exception of the Covenant, the Ten Commandments, the apodictic law, and casuistic law. In that regard, it is pivotal to remember that Jesus always tells His disciples that certain happenings are already found in Scripture, and that He just fulfills Scripture (see John 2:22), when He, for instance, takes a young donkey for entering Jerusalem (John 12:14)—a fact of which they seem to be mostly unaware. Of course, one could also claim that these Bible passages (in which the reader is reminded of the fact that this was already mentioned in Scripture before) could also be explained by the view that the architects of the Bible just wanted to establish their claim to being the only and true religion. I don’t see how one can eradicate such a view from the very outset, or even at all. Besides the signs present at Jesus’ birth, the miracles He performed, and that even Plato anticipated Him in the Politeia (II 361e–362a) (cf. Ratzinger 2007, p. 120), other signs for Jesus’ significance are pointed out in the Bible, namely that (1) Ratzinger (2007, p. 36) suggests that Matthew

61 gives evidence for Jesus being the ultimate David, who renews the kingdom of David as God’s own kingdom. Matthew divides history into three groups of fourteen generations, and fourteen is the numerical value of the name David: first we have the period from Abraham till David, then there is the period from David till the Babylonian exile, and after that follows another fourteen-generation period, of which Jesus is the endpoint. In general, when we look at significant numbers in the Jewish tradition, such as twelve for the tribes of Israel and the twelve apostles, fourteen as the numerical value of David, and seventy for the people of the world, then one might want to say that as David doesn’t have any kind of significance for us any longer today, the number fourteen also doesn’t have any kind of significance for us any longer, otherwise even my birthday would be religiously significant. Moreover, nobody associates the number seventy with the people of the world any longer. Similarly with regard to the number twelve, I am sure there are not many Christians for whom the number twelve (including the number of apostles) is associated with the twelve tribes of Israel. Besides these associations with historical facts (or even with historically alleged facts), such number games appear nowadays not really scientific any longer, but rather appear as superstitions, such as the number thirteen being associated with bad luck (although this number actually goes back to a terrifying historical incident), or as products of wishful thinking. For if one thinks about it, even if fourteen were a significant number, there were actually many people in the generation of Jesus, so how can one be sure that Jesus was the chosen one at the endpoint of another fourteen generations? In this regard, I think, it is rather the cumulative evidence which counts and not some fitting numbers, which might be purely coincidental. Hence, it is opportune to look at other evidence for Jesus’ God status. (2) Ratzinger (2007, p. 48) thinks it is important that Jesus was crucified during Passover, and therefore appeared as the real Passover lamb in whom gets fulfilled the meaning of the Passover lamb of the exodus from Egypt—namely, liberation from the Egyptian reign and release to wander into the liberty of the promised land. In comparison to the original Passover lamb, Jesus stands for something bigger: namely, liberation of the whole world (Ratzinger 2007, p. 48). In agreement with the latter is the

62 fact that the Synoptics (i.e., Mark, Matthew, and Luke) portray the Last Supper as a Passover meal, so that the trial of Jesus and His execution are taking place on Passover, for Jewish days began at sunset (Swinburne 2003, p. 79). Yet, Swinburne (2003, p. 79) also points out that, according to John, the trial of Jesus and His execution take place one day before Passover, which would be in accordance with the law, and which would make sense of a Passover amnesty for Barabbas. Hence, according to Swinburne, the Gospel of John seems more reliable than the Synoptics, although the majority of the more liberal twentieth-century scholars take John’s Gospel as an unreliable source (Swinburne 2003, p. 78). Yet, which laws are we actually talking about: the Roman law or the Jewish law? Perhaps both, for one can imagine, even though Pilate was the governor of the Roman Province of Judaea, it would have been very difficult for him to rule against the religious authorities. Even in the former communistic East Germany, where churches were downgraded in status, they came up with ceremonies—such as a special ceremony in which teenagers are given adult social status similar to the Christian tradition, such as confirmation or communion, in order to appease the needs of the people. Yet, crucifixion was not a capital punishment in the Jewish tradition. Stoning, burning, slaying by the sword, and choking would have been adequate according to The Talmud, Tractate Sanhedrin, chapter VII.1 (07/14/2007); crucifixion was a Roman tradition. That crucifixion is not a Jewish tradition can also be supported by Deuteronomy 21:22–23 (cf. also Galatians 3:13). So, this speaks in favor of Roman tradition and not in favor of Jewish tradition. Hence, it might have been also the case that Jesus was killed during Passover and not one day before Passover. One might want to ask whether one day really makes so much of a difference. Perhaps Ratzinger would say not. For with regard to the interpretation of the “Our Father,” Ratzinger (2007, p. 167) states that we find it in Luke in a shortened version, whereas in Matthew it is given in a longer one. Ratzinger (2007, p. 167) points out that the discussion of which text is the more original is not superfluous, yet, is not decisive, because in either form we pray together with Jesus. Yet, whether one prays together with Jesus or not might not be of such importance as knowing whether Jesus’ crucifixion day signifies something and when, in particular, it took place. From a scientific point of view, however, the more evidence one

63 gets that Jesus was the son of God, the more that point of view gets confirmed, so having one less piece of evidence, especially if it is only a symbolic one (i.e., Jesus being the real Passover lamb) is not of such fundamental value, at least for scientists. The different Christian Churches might think differently about this issue, though, because whether Jesus was the real Passover lamb or not might have quite some religious value. Against the fundamental significance of Jesus one could object that He might be just the king or the God of the Jews and not interested in the rest of the world population. Yet, Ratzinger (2007, p. 114) points out that, according to Zechariah 9:10, the country of the peace king is not a national state, but reaches from sea to sea. This passage, however, might be just indicative that the Christian Church wants to become the religious sovereign of the whole world, so that it might be just a territorial claim which is made in that passage, and not something which is true of Jesus. Moreover, it is very difficult to disprove the latter interpretation. Similarly to the claim that the country of the peace king pertains to the whole world, Ratzinger (2007, p. 132) emphasizes that the corporal line of descent from Abraham is no longer of relevance with regard to the Torah of Jesus, but the spirit. Yet, why should the latter be the case? Because Jesus distances himself from the God of the Old Testament by working on the Sabbath? In this regard, one can defend the view, however, that Jesus thinks that the law not to work on the Sabbath is part of the casuistic law of the Old Testament which needs a new interpretation. As I said earlier, Ratzinger (2007, p. 156) himself has pointed out with regard to the casuistic law that is a historically-given law which can be criticized— indeed, which often even needs criticism—and which gets developed within the Old Testament. So, perhaps Ratzinger is right in that the corporal line of descent from Abraham is no longer of relevance with regard to the Torah of Jesus. Yet, there are other passages, in which Jesus distances Himself from the God of the Old Testament: Ratzinger (2007, p. 134) points out that Jesus portrays the relationship of the Moses-Torah to the Torah of the Messiah in the form of anti-theses, that, is, it was told the ancients, but I tell you; moreover, the “I” of Jesus steps forward with a rank that no rabbi is allowed to use. As a result, people got scared because of Jesus’ way of preaching (Matthew 7:29). He didn’t preach like a rabbi, but like someone

64 who has the authority of God (cf. Mark 1:22; Luke 4:32). Yet, the latter may either indicate that He was indeed the son of God, or at least that He was someone with the same rank as Moses; or it might indicate that He was just very confident. Suffice it to say that the attitude He conveys in His speech is not a conclusive sign for the alleged fact that He was the son of God. Yet, this attitude might make clear that, indeed, the corporal line of descent from Abraham is no longer of relevance with regard to the Torah of Jesus, because by His attitude He quite clearly distances Himself from His predecessors. With regard to the claim that Jesus’ kingdom is universal, Ratzinger (2007, p. 216) admits, however, that only Luke tells us in 10:1–12 that Jesus built a second group of disciples which consisted of seventy (or seventy-two), and which was sent away with a similar task like the twelve, namely to spread the gospel. Because of a combination of Deuteronomy 32:8 and Exodus 1:5, seventy was considered as the number of all the people of the world. Thus, based on Luke, the gospel has a universal character (Ratzinger 2007, p. 217). Moreover, although traditionally the number twelve refers to the twelve tribes of Israel, even the sending out of the twelve in Mark 6:7–13 doesn’t speak of a restriction to a particular people or nation with regard to the preaching of Jesus. In accordance with the latter, Ratzinger (2007, p. 149) answers the question of what the Messiah has actually accomplished: He has brought the God of Israel to all the people. With regard to the interpretation of the Bible, it is of course pivotal that the different texts are more-or-less consistent with each other. Moreover, it is also of significance which parts of the Bible one can take literally as historical facts, which parts of the Bible can be only interpreted figuratively, and which parts have to be taken politically and were just included to make a political statement or claim. Also, there is significance in the choice of which texts were to be part of the Bible and why other texts were not included; this seems to be of utter importance for evaluating whether one can take the Christian belief seriously. Additionally, whether one can identify the authors of the respective parts of the Bible clearly, whether they can be considered as reliable sources, and when they composed their texts, is of critical importance for the Christian belief.

65 In the following, I will first consider historical facts (but see also Chapter Three for more on the historicity of the Bible), then I will deal with figurative interpretations of the Bible, and after that I will have a closer look at the Gospel of John and the Synoptics. Finally, I will say something with regard to the epistles and other parts of Scripture. With regard to the Bible’s consistency, I already discussed and explained inconsistencies in the Bible previously in this section. Moreover, I will say something with regard to the surprising consistency of the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and Thomas in Chapter Three on the rationality of miracles, and from where it might stem. First of all, I will have a look at historical facts. That eyewitness reports are part of the gospel, can be supported in a number of ways. Ratzinger (2007, pp. 273–274) points out that there are three important passages in the Gospel of John where the author uses the term “to remember”: (1) John 2:17; (2) John 2:22; and (3) John 12:14ff. Yet, it is not obvious from these passages whether the author of the Gospel is, himself, an eyewitness, for all these passages just state in a general way that Jesus’ “disciples” remembered such-and-such, and not that “I remembered” such-and-such. Perhaps other passages in the Bible are clearer in this respect. There are similar instances of memory in Luke, such as 2:19 and 2:51 (Ratzinger 2007, pp. 275–276). Yet, also here it is not obvious whether the author of the Gospel is an eyewitness, for here it is just stated of Mary that she remembered such-and-such. With regard to such eyewitness reports, I think it would make quite a difference if eyewitnesses themselves wrote the Scriptures instead of just including eyewitness reports of others. Although it is not obvious from the passages above that these passages were written by eyewitnesses themselves, I nevertheless think that these eyewitness reports are significant, for they make clear that at least these two Gospels drew on eyewitnesses and were not taken out of the blue. Of course, the task still remains to test these passages for their authenticity, and unfortunately we are not able to do that properly here, because for that we would have to question the eyewitnesses themselves; in Chapter Three we will see an outline of how this can be properly done in principle, and whether testimonies of miracles and other kinds of testimonies can be deemed reliable.

66 With regard to the figurative interpretation of the Bible, I will point out in the last section of this chapter how Genesis should be interpreted. Ratzinger (2007, p. 223) points out that, at Jesus’ time, allegories were used as a means of figurative speech, so that it seems obvious to interpret the parables of the Bible as allegories. In favor of his view Ratzinger (2007, p. 223) rightfully states that one finds several allegorical interpretations of parables by Jesus in the Gospels, such as in the parable of the sower (Mark 4:1–20). Moreover, as long as interpretations of parables are already given in the text, it seems relatively unproblematic to understand these passages properly. Yet, if such interpretations are missing, one should be rather careful when one interprets them. For over the centuries and from the perspective of a different culture, it might be very difficult to come up with the correct meaning. With regard to the Gospel of John, Ratzinger (2007, p. 260) points out its being so different in that it does not have parables and locates its main center of Jesus’ activity in Jerusalem instead of Galilee. This has prompted the modern critical research tradition to deny the Gospel (with a few exceptions, such as the report of the passion of the Christ) its historicity, even though the Gospel has been written in the first century. Yet, Ratzinger (2007, p. 262) points out that current research tells us that the Gospel of John is based on extraordinarily precise knowledge of times and places, so that it can only stem from someone who knew Palestine in Jesus’ time very well. But given that this is true, what do we have to say with regard to the Synoptics? If Jesus acted mainly in Jerusalem, He cannot have acted mainly in the Galilee, so the Synoptics have to be false. Yet, there is a way to make this inconsistency disappear, namely by advancing that the Synoptics stress other parts of Jesus’ action than the Gospel of John. Swinburne (2003, p. 74) remarks that symbolism is important in John’s Gospel. Yet, we find symbolism also in the Synoptics with the reference to the numbers fourteen and three in Matthew, the number seventy in Luke, and the number twelve in all the Synoptics. With regard to the interpretation of Scripture (as well as other kinds of texts) one has to take into account the literary genres used by an author in his writings, their written traditions, and their oral or informal antecedents, in order for a

67 proper interpretation of an author’s work (cf. Kristeller 1985, p. 622; Ledwig 2007c). I think it is a bit of an exaggeration to say that the content of these works is different just because it is written in another genre or uses different stylistic elements. I think that one can rather say the following with regard to the interpretation of any kind of text: which genre or stylistic elements an author uses might be due to the fact that he or she prefers to write in a certain style; it might be due to the fact that, at a certain time, a certain genre was in fashion; it might be due to the fact that it goes well together with the purpose one has in mind; and/or it might be due to the fact that he or she had a teacher who advocated a certain writing style. (For more on that last point, see below). Hence, that John uses a different way of writing than the Synoptics might be just due to his personal preferences, might be due to the fact that different styles of writing go together with writing a gospel (such as Mark’s, Matthew’s, Luke’s, and John’s), and/or might be due to the fact that he very likely wrote at a later time than the Synoptics. In agreement with the latter point is that, according to Swinburne (2003, p. 75), John is the latest Gospel and that Ratzinger (2007, p. 261) reports that the Gospel of John must have been composed at the end of the first century. Furthermore, writing at a completely different place might make a difference in writing style, especially if one thinks of the time difference from our own day. For, although nowadays the world is very small because of flight possibilities to everywhere and because of the Internet (to which everyone, at least in principle, might have access), at that time these texts were composed, people were not as mobile as people are today; the result is that one can expect that there were local traditions with regard to writing style. According to Swinburne (2003, p. 81), early tradition unanimously reports that John’s Gospel came from Ephesus, which was a Christian Church in the mid-50s, cultivated by Paul and visited by Apollos. Hence, it is at least plausible to entertain the hypothesis that there might be similarities between Paul’s, Apollos’, and John’s writing styles. With regard to all the Gospels, Swinburne (2003, p. 82) claims that the Gospels were recorded in different places, which might explain certain differences in style, but also certain of the few inconsistencies in the Synoptics, such as the fact that, according to Luke, Jesus was visited by shepherds at His

68 birth, whereas according to Matthew He was visited by wise men (Baigent, Leigh, and Lincoln 2006, p. 343). Besides the literary genres used at a particular time, one also has to take into account the intellectual development of a writer in order to interpret him correctly, and this includes which works he has studied at which point in his lifetime, and which people have had an influence on him during which period of his life. After all, in philosophy there are several philosophers who have changed their views quite considerably over their lifetimes, such as Leibniz, Wittgenstein, Putnam, and Jeffrey, and one can expect that to hold for theology and other subject areas as well. In this regard, Ratzinger (2007, p. 263) points out that John 18:14ff. might indicate that the Gospel of John stems from someone who belongs to the priest-aristocracy of Jerusalem, for one of the disciples was known to the pontiff and was even able to enter the pontiff’s palace with Simon Peter after Jesus’ arrest; Ratzinger takes this disciple to be John. On p. 266 Ratzinger (2007) even suggests that John was related to the family of the pontiff because of John 18:15. Ratzinger (2007, p. 266) also emphasizes that, according to the Gospel, Zebedee was no simple fisherman, because he employed several people, so that his sons were able to leave him. Taken together, this all implies that John was very likely quite well educated. With regard to who the author of the Gospel of John was, Ratzinger gives the following further support for the view that the Gospel of John was written by the disciple John. (For a contrary view, namely that Lazarus was the author of the Gospel of John, see Baigent, Leigh, and Lincoln 2006, pp. 366–373). From John 19:35 Ratzinger (2007, p. 264) derives that the Gospel of John was written by an eyewitness. Moreover, Ratzinger (2007, p. 264) points out that this witness is identical with the disciple who stood in front of the cross and who was the disciple whom Jesus loved (John 19:26). Furthermore, in John 21:24, this disciple is called the author of the Gospel. In accordance with this evidence, Ratzinger (2007, p. 265) points out that, since Irenäus of Lyon (who died ca. 202 AD), the Church considers John the son of Zebedee as the author of the Gospel of John and as his most favorite disciple. Yet, Ratzinger (2007, p. 268) admits that John the Presbyter and not John the son of Zebedee has an essential function with regard to the final layout of John’s Gospel, although John the Presbyter considers himself as

69 the trustee of John the son of Zebedee. That the Gospel of John was edited by another person might also account for the fact that there is a difference between the Synoptics and the Gospel of John. In general, with regard to all of the writings which John allegedly wrote, it is an open question whether the apocalypse, the Gospel of John, and the Epistles of John are written by one and the same author, Ratzinger (2007, p. 265) maintains. With regard to the Epistles of Paul, Swinburne (2003, p. 70) maintains that the genre, author, and date of many of the Epistles of Paul (1 Thessalonians, Galatians, Philippians, Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, and Philemon) are clear. Yet, with regard to the epistles (and also with regard to other parts of Scripture), understanding the position the writer had with regard to his addressed audience requires taking into account to whom the texts are addressed and who has written them. Epistles might not be as carefully written as theological papers, but because they are written to friends in spirit, they might, on the one hand, be much more honest than letters written to complete strangers. On the other hand, as the epistles were written by leaders of the first Christian congregations, they might not be as personal, honest, and purposeless as letters to personal friends and relatives are expected to be. Of course, letters to family members and friends may not be so personal and honest when family members or friends have become estranged, or in the case when family members have never been psychologically close to each other at all. It makes a difference whether the epistles and other parts of Scripture were written by the authors named, were edited by other persons, or were written by scribes. In the latter two cases, besides checking the reliability of the author, one would also have to check the reliability of the editor or scribe and whether he or she had an incentive to change the text. Moreover, in order to take the document seriously, one also would have to know whether the author checked his own document or the edited or scribewritten document for mistakes. Another important thing with regard to the interpretation of the epistles and other parts of Scripture is that, even though the epistles were addressed to the first Christian congregations, one wonders whether the authors could have been completely honest in their writings. After all, during the time when most of the epistles were written, Christians faced persecution. So, one could suspect that, in order to protect oneself against

70 possible traitors, the writing style might not have been such an open and trusting one.

VI. Pragmatic reasons for believing in the Christian God In order to determine whether there are good pragmatic reasons for believing in the Christian God or other kinds of gods, one first has to make clear which kind of reasons fall under the class of pragmatic reasons, and then one has to specify what distinguishes a good pragmatic reason from a bad pragmatic reason. I will start with the first point. Pragmatic reasons may be either moral reasons or prudential reasons. Fear of the unknown after death may be, for many people, a very salient pragmatic reason for assigning a positive probability to God’s (or even to several gods’) existence, as long as they believe that this God (or gods) corresponds in His (or their) behavior to the person’s expectations. This is a pragmatic reason in the sense of a prudential reason, for in order to quench that fear, one just assigns a probability greater than zero to God’s (or these several gods’) existence, regardless of whether one has proof that God (or gods) exists or not. Moreover, this turns out to be a good pragmatic reason if it, indeed, reduces or eliminates that fear for that person at that time, at least to some extent. Hence, a good pragmatic reason turns out to be a pragmatic reason which fulfills a certain purpose, at least to some extent. In this regard one might want to know whether it is possible to specify exactly what “at least to some extent” means. Of course, a good pragmatic reason shouldn’t worsen the condition one is in, and shouldn’t leave the condition in the same state as it had previously been; in other words, a good pragmatic reason has to improve the condition in which one finds oneself. Yet, if there is a continuum of improvement—that is, a quantitative improvement and not a qualitative improvement—it might be very difficult to determine the exact borderline at which one definitely feels an improvement which one deems acceptable. Moreover, this borderline might change from day to day to a small extent, depending on the personal condition and circumstances the respective person faces. Thus, a good pragmatic reason should at least improve the condition in which one finds oneself at the given time.

71 With regard to pragmatic reasons, it could also be the case that a certain habituation takes place, such as in the case of chronic pain, where either one gets used to higher and higher pain levels over time or—in the case that the pain level stays the same—where, over time, one no longer experiences the pain as severely as before. Yet, does such a habituation take place in the case of fear of the unknown after death? On the one hand, one might think that this is so, because during one’s childhood and the beginning adult life death is usually far away from one’s own personal experiences (at least in the Western world of today); the result is that death doesn’t concern us very much during that part of our lives, so that the initial fear which one might have had gets reduced. Yet, as one becomes older and older and shows more and more signs of old age by getting agerelated diseases and ailments, and as more and more people die around oneself, death becomes more and more salient, and the habituation effect could get counterbalanced or might even get reversed. Of course, one could also argue that the more that people die around oneself, the more this becomes a normality. Moreover, one might also get used to these age-related diseases and ailments, so that it is unclear at this stage whether a habituation takes place or not. In such a case, it would be helpful to gather empirical facts by means of questionnaires over a person’s lifetime, in which the participants of such surveys should range over different cultures and nations to get a representative sample of the whole world population. In this way, one could determine without doubt whether a habituation effect really happens with regard to fear of the unknown after death. Yet, fear of the unknown after death might not be the only good pragmatic reason for believing in the Christian God (or other kinds of gods); there might be many other good pragmatic reasons for such a belief out there. Given that believing in God (or gods) made one a better person, this would be a very good pragmatic reason for believing in God (or gods). But to what does “a better person” refer here? If it made one a morally better person, then that would be desirable. With regard to the latter, two responses are possible: first, one could object that some persons might not be interested in becoming morally better, so that such a trait wouldn’t be desirable for them. In such a case, one’s belief in God (or gods)

72 wouldn’t—and even couldn’t—be supported by the good pragmatic reason to become a better person, in the sense of a morally better person. Second, if one looks at the Christian crusades, the holy inquisition in Christianity, the holy wars in Islam, and the religious inspired terrorism in Islam, then this general claim that believing in God (or gods) makes one a better person, in the sense of a morally better person, already gets refuted. Of course, one might want to object that it is impossible to know how bad these people actually would have been if they hadn’t had their religion. So, this is very difficult to evaluate. Of course, one could also respond in such a way as to say that a distinction between the different world religions is necessary in this regard. As far as I know, Buddhism has not lead to any kind of terrorism, inquisition, or wars. Hence, some religions might indeed really lead their adherents to be better persons, in the sense of being morally better persons, and of course in such a case becoming a better person might indeed be a good pragmatic reason to believe in God (or gods). Perhaps we have to make a further distinction here, for it might be the case that subjectively, one experiences himself as a morally better person, whereas others don’t concur with that evaluation. What is of relevance here: the evaluation from the first-person perspective, or the evaluation from the third-person perspective? Perhaps one can solve this problem in the following way. If one talks of good pragmatic reasons for belief in God (or gods), then one’s subjective evaluation is of relevance, whereas if one talks of pragmatic reasons to believe in God (or gods) in general—that is, regardless of who is meant—then third-person perspective evaluations are of relevance. While in the first case, we have subjective pragmatic reasons, in the second case, we have objective pragmatic reasons. Thus the reason why others might not concur with one’s self-evaluation of being a morally better person might be due to their own subjective evaluations of what it means to be a morally better person; but it might also be due to their application of an objective standard. Becoming a better person might not only be understood as becoming a morally better person. For becoming a better person might refer to the many different abilities, capacities, character traits, and skills which one has. Yet, it is not to be expected that believing in God (or gods) makes one a more intelligent person, so “better person” cannot mean a more

73 intelligent person in this context. If one wanted to claim something to the contrary, one would need to know, and also one would have to show, what kind of mechanisms were responsible for making one a more intelligent person. If believing in God (or gods) made one an objectively healthier person, that would also be desirable—with the exception of masochists, who like to suffer, and hypochondriacs, who like to be sick. In this regard one might even want to say that, if believing in God (or gods) made one subjectively feel healthier, that would still be desirable, even if it didn’t correspond to the facts. In this regard, the experiments on the effects of prayer are of interest: people pray and, in that way, try to improve the health of a very sick person (where the very sick person may either be oneself or another person). Hence, ultimately empirical facts have to be taken into account when evaluating whether pragmatic reasons for believing in God (or gods) are effective reasons. Another good pragmatic reason for believing in God (or gods) may be considered here. Accepting a certain disease may be easier for someone who believes in God (or gods) in comparison to people who don’t believe in God (or gods), and in comparison to people who don’t hold a belief in this regard. Moreover, such a reason would ultimately fall under the category of “becoming a better person.” For if one accepts a disease as his own, it seems reasonable to suppose that it would make fighting the disease easier, because the person in question would allow certain medical or psychological treatments to be made to improve his condition. As a result of accepting the disease and allowing certain medical or psychological treatments to be made, the person might also become a more bearable person, so that it is much easier to communicate and deal with him. Another good pragmatic reason for believing in God (or gods) might be that it makes the process of dying easier, especially in the Western culture of today where youth is so highly valued and where old people (for the most part) become more and more isolated by living in nursing homes, and where they are not part of the core of the family any longer with the useful task of caring for their grandchildren. The process of dying differs here from the fear of the unknown after death, for some people might not necessarily be so afraid of what comes after death so much as they are afraid of what happens before death—that is, the actual process of dying.

74 Perhaps this might not sound so obvious to many people, but dying—especially if the actual process stretches over several years (when, for example, one has cancer in the last stage for several years, and the actual process of dying is very painful). This might take quite a bit of courage and effort at endurance in certain cases. Especially it seems to be the case today that one can live much longer because of the advances in medicine, but also that the process of dying gets much prolonged. If it were otherwise, one couldn’t explain why there has been such a public discussion on the humaneness of dying over the last few decades. One can imagine that any possibility which might make the process of dying more bearable and less burdensome could, and even would, be greatly appreciated and welcomed by many people, and that believing in God (or gods) might provide such a possibility. Of course, one could expect that the closer one gets to one’s own death, the more one’s religion’s potential to offer solace and help to cope with dying becomes more salient. That is actually something that I have experienced myself: in the fifteen years in which I played organ and sung in choirs in mostly Reformed and Protestant churches in Northern Germany (from 1981 till 1996) it was mostly old people who attended church services. One might want to object that this might be just a localized reality, which is an objection that I am willing to accept. Yet, one could equally maintain that this doesn’t contradict the hypothesis I have put forward, but rather that the reality supports it. In order to get full confirmation of the hypothesis, however, representative samples would have to be taken. With regard to professional Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Jews, etc., do they have good pragmatic reasons to believe in their respective God (or gods)? One could claim that any priest, pastor, nun, monk, or other member of the clergy could have good pragmatic reasons, in the sense of prudential reasons, to believe in their respective God (or gods), because if it were otherwise, he or she would not be believable in his or her function to the general public, and perhaps also not to himself. Also, theologians and philosophers of religion who, in their writings and teachings, try to establish a faith in God (or gods) and/or try to prove that God (or gods) exists, have quite clear pragmatic reasons, in the sense of prudential reasons, to be consistent with their own writings and teachings,

75 for otherwise they could lose their credibility and reputations if any kind of discrepancy became publicly known. Thus, in general I have shown in this section that there may be many good pragmatic reasons for believing in God (or gods), and I don’t see in which regard they are of lesser importance than evidential reasons for believing in God (or gods). While, with regard to evidential reasons, one always also has to assign a certain interpretation to the evidence in order for the evidence to be understood correctly, with regard to pragmatic reasons this is not so obvious. Yet, in the discussion above of what it means to be a “better person” also here different interpretations were assumed and had to be distinguished. So there is no difference in principle between evidential and pragmatic reasons with regard to possible interpretations. In order to evaluate these pragmatic reasons more properly, I agree with Dennett (2006), though, that one has to view religion more as a natural phenomenon than to take it as a given, and therefore it is advisable to support one’s claims with experimental facts on such issues as to whether prayer really helps, etc. Yet, even if one views religion as a natural phenomenon which is due to evolution one could quite plausibly justify a belief instinct by advancing that evolution “is not a process that favors the misguided, deceitful, and false.” (Rescher 2007, p. 62)

VII. Does creation teach us something about whether it is rational to believe in God? As a response to this question, one might react surprised that creation might have anything to do with an answer to the question of whether it is rational to believe in God, so one needs to find a connection between these two (at first sight) quite different issues. Many different cultures, and especially many different religions, have accounts of how the world was created, and some of these accounts are so ridiculous that it doesn’t seem rational to believe in God (or gods) if this belief amounts to buying creation accounts which quite clearly fly in the face of current scientific accounts. Because these current scientific accounts with regard to how our universe and our planet began to exist, and how life originated and developed on Earth, are quite sophisticated and have received tremendous scientific support—and are, therefore, rational to believe—religious

76 accounts which differ widely from these scientific accounts cannot be rational to accept unless one makes quite an interpretative effort in order to bring these two different accounts into agreement. Of course, there are also some people who doubt scientific accounts of how our universe and the Earth began to exist, and how life originated and developed on Earth; these people take religious claims, in particular claims made in the Christian Bible, more seriously and sometimes even quite literally. These people are usually called “creationists,” and they particularly attack Darwinistic accounts of how life began to exist and developed on Earth. In this section, I will mainly develop my own views with regard to this creationism versus Darwinism debate. If one, however, first needs or wants to have a quite impressive survey of the creationism versus Darwinism debate, it is very much advisable to have a look at Pennock (2001), with its over 800 pages of papers from the creationism and the Darwinism factions. Moreover, for a very good survey of all the different factions found in the creationism camp summarized in one chapter, and for a survey of all the different court trials involved in this debate in recent years (due to the question whether one should teach creationism and/or Darwinism in high schools), one should consult Pennock (2002, chapter one); of course the latter book will not include more recent developments than 2002. With regard to the court trials, it becomes evident that the creationism versus Darwinism debate is a highly politicized topic that doesn’t necessarily contribute to concern for truth. Furthermore, while one finds a very good account of the Darwinian story in the context of religion before and after the appearance of Darwin’s (1975) On the Origin of Species in Ruse (2006), the most vigorous defender of Darwinism today is Richard Dawkins, the Simonyi Reader and Professor of the Public Understanding of Science at Oxford University, who even has his own Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science perhaps set up as a possible counterpart to the John Templeton Foundation, which Dawkins doesn’t consider as much in favor of Darwinism as he wants it to be (cf. Dawkins 2006). That there actually is a debate going on between creationism and Darwinism today might be quite astonishing, for Pennock (2002, p. 39) points out the following:

77 “Pope John Paul II, in an October 22, 1996 message to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences explicitly endorsed the findings of evolutionary theory, stating that ‘fresh knowledge leads to recognition of the theory of evolution as more than just a hypothesis.’ The Pope’s comments were carried by wire services around the world, though his reassurance that there was no opposition between evolution and the faith was old news given that Pope Pius XII had previously attested to their compatibility in his Encyclical Humani generis way back in 1950.”

Yet, while Pope Pius XII still considered the theory of evolution as a theory which cannot be considered as certain, given the scientific knowledge at that time (that is, in the year 1950), Pope John Paul II ascribes much more certainty to it (Gould 2001, p. 745). Hence, nowadays the Catholic Church, and indeed also many mainstream churches—even Protestant ones—have no problem with accepting Darwinism. In agreement with the latter, McMullin (2001, p. 186) points out that St. Augustine, in De Genesi ad litteram, developed his “famous theory of the rationes seminales, the seed-principles which God brings into being in the first moment of creation, and out of which the kinds of living things will, each in its own time, appear.” Of course, if one formulates it like that, these seed-principles very much sound like principles of evolution. Moreover, this interpretation gets supported by St. Augustine himself (1982, p. 175; translation slightly modified by McMullin 2001, p. 195, note 36): “In the seed, then, there was invisibly present all that would develop in time into a tree. And in this same way we must picture the world, when God made all things together, as having had all things which were made in it and with it when day was made. This includes not only the heavens with sun, moon, and stars…but also the beings which water and earth contained in potency and in their causes, before they came forth in the course of time.”

Yet, there is no survival of the fittest or natural selection mentioned here, so this falls short of a Darwinian account. But can one already and plausibly expect a Darwinian account to be spelled out fully at that point of time? That seems quite unlikely. Nevertheless, as far as it goes, there is a remarkable agreement between St. Augustine and Darwinism possible. In particular, one could advance the view that, when St. Augustine remarks that in the seed everything is already invisibly present that would develop into a tree, one could take that to be the DNA which, of course, is invisible to the human eye. Moreover, when St. Augustine states that, with regard to

78 everything in the world, it had to include everything in it from the very beginning, even before it came forth in the course of time, this could refer to the fact that, besides DNA in the case of living beings, heredity is already guaranteed, perhaps also mutation and differential replication, although the latter two might depend not also on the living organism, but also on the environment in which the organism lives. Taking these three together, though, namely heredity, mutation, and differential replication, amounts to evolution by natural selection. So, one could advance the view that even very early Church fathers can be brought into accordance with Darwinism. The latter might be quite remarkable. For, although it was to be expected that Darwinism was difficult to accept for science and the Church when Darwin invented it, to find a Church father several centuries earlier whose views can be made compatible with Darwinism is quite astonishing. Yet, theories usually don’t get invented out of the blue. One usually finds predecessors with similar features in the previous literature. So, after all, it might not be so surprising that St. Augustine’s views on the seed principle can be made compatible with the basics of evolutionary theory. Another reason why there actually doesn’t have to be a debate between the two different camps, although in fact there is a dispute going on between creationism and Darwinism, is pointed out by Allen (1989, p. 53) who claims that “our natural sciences seek to describe and explain the relations between the members of the universe, not their origin. The existence of the universe and its basic constituents are taken for granted by our sciences….When we consider the whole of nature, the relations we find within nature cannot tell us why the universe exists nor why it is the kind of universe that it is. The continuing increase of scientific knowledge, which discovers the relations that exist within our universe, does not get us closer to an answer to either question.”

Yet, there might be several possibilities to object to Allen’s account. First, isn’t it the case that science wants to discover the origin of our universe (the big bang theory) and even, if it is at all possible, to go beyond that? Or is something different meant when Allen talks of origins? Perhaps Allen just wants to talk of event-like or physical origins, and not agent-like or spiritual origins in the case of the natural sciences. Such an account might be problematic, though, if event causation can be reduced to agent causation (cf. Lowe 2001). For more on event and agent causation, see

79 Chapter Two. Moreover, from the quotation above it is not obvious at all that Allen wants to make such a distinction. Furthermore, even if the natural sciences of today were just to describe and explain the relations between the members of the universe and not their origin, this might be due to the fact that they are not able to go beyond that yet because of missing technology and/or missing knowledge, and that there is still so much that needs explanation today with regard to the relations between the members of our universe before they can tackle the ultimate question: namely, its origin. Hence, there might be other reasons than missing desire not to tackle the question of what the origin of our universe is, given that this is not actually done—although, as I stated above, it actually is done. Second, don’t scientists want an answer to the question of why the constants which allow for the possibility of life in our universe have come about? Third, if one tries to modify life by means of genetic engineering, or tries to create life by means of artificial insemination, in what way is this so different from God’s creativity? Fourth, don’t scientists want to replicate the exact conditions under which life originated here on earth; in particular don’t they want to find out what made it the case that the first life-inducing elements appeared on earth and lead to the first life forms? So, I don’t see how Allen can possibly justify his position that the natural sciences just want to describe and explain the relations between the members of the universe and not their origin, unless he has a quite specific idea of what he means by the term “origin.” Yet, Allen is not the only one to propose such a division of labor between the natural sciences and religion. For similarly to Allen (1989) Plantinga (2001, p. 116; cf. also Van Till 1986) states: “Perhaps a more promising approach is by way of territorial division, like that until recently between East and West Germany, for instance. We assign some of the conceptual territory to faith and Scripture, and some of it to reason and science. Some questions fall within the jurisdiction of faith and Scripture; others within that of reason and science; but none within both. These questions, furthermore, are such that their answers can’t conflict; they simply concern different aspects of the cosmos. Hence, so long as there is no illegal territorial encroachment, there will be no possibility of contradiction or incompatibility between the teachings of faith and those of science.”

80 Also Gould (2001, p. 741) advocates territorial division by means of his NOMA principle, which is short for Non-Overlapping MAgisteria, referring to the teaching domain of the Catholic Church: “The net of science covers the empirical universe: what is it made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value. These two magisteria do not overlap, nor do they encompass all inquiry.”

Although it might be very economical, and might even lead to a reduction of conflict potential, if one assigns different domains to faith and religion, it is not entirely possible to do so and to make such distinct assignments, and therefore conflicts cannot be avoided. For (1) if religion focuses on questions of morality and values, there might be a clash with state laws or even with international laws, and (2) if science focuses on questions of fact and theory, there are many passages in the Bible which either implicitly or explicitly refer to facts and theories, so another clash seems inevitable unless, of course, one revises the Bible drastically—which is something no one has considered yet to be feasible, because it would lead to a religious outcry of gigantic proportions. With regard to point (1), that if religion focuses on questions of morality and values there might be a clash with state and international laws, one can observe the following: many states have regulations with regard to abortion, allowing abortion under certain circumstances, yet the Catholic Church values life and therefore is not in favor of abortion. While there is no open clash between the Catholic Church and such liberal states, one could envisage the following scenario in which a clash seems inevitable: a totalitarian state makes it the law that all Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, etc. should be killed because they are inferior beings. Actually this is very similar to the situation that existed in Nazi-Germany, except for the fact that the death camps and concentration camps were not known to the public as death camps, and this was not the law. In such a case, church values and morals would clash with state values and morals. Of course, one could advance the view that a clash in such a case would even be a good thing, for if the state doesn’t protect its citizens and instead harms them, then someone else should protect them and, in that way, act as a guardian to the people. Yet, the point I wanted to make was simply that, even in the areas of morality and values, religion is not the supreme and

81 only master, so that there might be clashes between the Church on the one hand, and the state and/or international organizations (such as the European Union or the United Nations) on the other hand. In this regard, it is interesting to note that philosophers are actually dealing with ethics and values, too, not to mention that they also have the sciences as a subject area. Should they be deprived of these subject areas then, too, if the segregationists have their say? I think actually that different points of view can enrich the discussion with regard to certain subject areas, and some clashes might be even fruitful. In some cases, as we have seen above, such clashes might even lead to the protection of people. In certain cases, one might even think that this could be beneficial for animals and plants, too. Thus, as long as clashes lead to something constructive instead of something destructive, and as long as people have a civilized way of dealing with conflicts, then there is nothing to object to such kinds of conflicts. With regard to point (2), that if science focuses on questions of fact and theory there are many passages in the Bible which either implicitly or explicitly refer to facts and theories, so another clash seems inevitable, one can observe the following: there is Jesus’ resurrection, which differs from everything that we have observed so far. Specifically, nobody gets resurrected. There is the whole account of how God created our universe, the Earth, and life on earth in Genesis which diverges from scientific accounts of how our universe and everything in it was created. Moreover, there are miracles mentioned in the Bible, and miracles don’t go well together with scientific explanations. Hence, one cannot avoid the clash between creationism, on the one hand, and Darwinism (and, more generally, the sciences) on the other hand. Yet, in this regard it is interesting to note that actually many theologians don’t take Genesis literally, although they understand Jesus’ resurrection in that way. Pennock (2002, p. 19), for instance, states the following with regard to how the Hebrew term that is translated as “day” in Genesis is to be understood: “This is an ancient debate. St. Augustine…pointing out in De Genesi ad Litteram that these could not be ordinary solar days if only because Genesis itself tells us that the sun was not made until the fourth ‘day.’”

82 Hence, already one of the Church fathers considers a literal interpretation of Genesis as problematic, at least in certain respects. Moreover, if one thinks about it, why should these “days” be earth days and not some other planet’s days? After all, if God created also the stars, then there are also other planets which have different day and night times than our planet. Hence, Genesis taken literally shows quite an earth-centric view of creation. For such an earth-centric view of Genesis speaks also that it only reports of God’s creation of life on our earth, and not also on other planets. Hence, one has to take Genesis cum granum salis. We have looked at the question of whether one really needs a debate between creationists and Darwinists because of official church doctrine of the Catholic Church; we have considered positions advocated by early Church fathers; and we have considered and denied the view that a division of labor or a division of territory between science and religion is not completely possible. Now we move on to my brief and only partial evaluation of creationist doctrine. My evaluation is only brief, because the creationism versus Darwinism debate is only one small aspect of the overall project of this book: namely, to determine the rationality of faith. My evaluation is only partial because the literature surrounding the creationism versus Darwinism debate is already quite substantial, so dealing with that discussion in all its aspects would amount to another book project in itself. Although I find the solutions at which the creationists arrive to defend their religious worldview quite creative—such as that God created quite recently an old looking earth (cf. Pennock 2002, chapter one, p. 24)—and, in that sense, really impressive, there are also certain discussions within the creationist camp (such as whether Adam had a navel or not) which just make me shake my head and gasp in sheer disbelief. Thus, I am afraid I have to agree with Philip Kitcher’s comment on Plantinga and van Inwagen who support creationist doctrine to some extent. Philip Kitcher (2001, p. 261) writes: “Since Plantinga and van Inwagen have displayed considerable skill in articulating and analyzing philosophical arguments, the only charitable interpretation of their fulsome blurbs is that a combination of Schwärmerei for creationist doctrine and profound ignorance of relevant bits of biology has induced them to put their brains in cold storage.”

83 While the latter passage doesn’t say much with regard to what, in particular, Plantinga and van Inwagen have advocated, let us move on to some more substantial claims of creationism and my evaluation of them. That creationism has to be evaluated as quite problematic can already be seen if one considers one statement by Behe (2001, p. 251), one of the main protagonists in the creationism camp and a real scientist (a biochemist at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, PA): “We can go further and say that, if the cilium cannot be produced by natural selection, then the cilium was designed.” By that statement Behe makes clear what a bad scientist he really is. For as a good scientist, one should know that it is rarely the case that there are only two possible explanations for a certain fact. There are, in fact, an infinite number of possibilities to account for a certain fact. This is actually known in the scientific community, for this is actually called the “Duhem-Quine thesis of the underdetermination of the theory by the data.” If Behe defends creationism by means of science, which he actually does, then how good can his creationism actually be? I leave this for the reader to decide. Besides not knowing the Duhem-Quine thesis, he also doesn’t seem to know the fallacy of black-and-white thinking, which is a mistake in reasoning that occurs when one supposes that only two alternatives are available, although in fact other alternatives are possible (cf. Salmon 2007, chapter one). For even if nowadays one only considers natural selection and design by God as the most plausible explanations of how the cilium was constructed, this doesn’t mean that, in other times, no further mechanisms are discovered which could explain the construction of the cilium equally well or even better. After all, with regard to science, one thing is clear: it is all about progress; that is, even though it can happen that there is a certain time of stagnation within one research field in the sciences, sooner or later stagnation is superseded by progress (and this has been evident with regard to classical mechanics and quantum mechanics). Moreover, it is not so obvious whether natural selection has the same paradigm status as classical mechanics had in the past in physics and quantum mechanics now has, so there might be a further alternative than just natural selection and design. Yet, even if design is considered to be viable alternative for accounting for our world, one has to distinguish here between the world being intelligently designed and the world being the

84 work of an intelligent designer (Rescher 2007, p. 72). That is, an intelligently designed world doesn’t have to be the work of an intelligent designer. While Darwinism advanced to neo-Darwinism—in which Darwin’s theory of the evolution of species by natural selection, Mendel’s theory of genetics as the basis for biological inheritance, random genetic mutation as the source of variation, and mathematical population genetics are integrated—it is not as if natural selection was without rivals. Lamarckian inheritance (that is, inheritance of acquired characteristics), orthogenesis (that is, unilinear progressive evolution due to some internal driving force), and saltationism (that is, evolution by jumps), were considered and, in the case of saltationism, even are considered as alternatives to neo-Darwinism. In favor of saltationism one can speak the phenomenon of polyploidy, in which more than two homologous sets of chromosomes are present in some biological cells and organisms. For polyploidy can result in saltation (that is, in certain cases it can lead to speciation creation in one generation, such as in Salisify which is also known as “goatsbeard”). Moreover, polyploidy is not uncommon in plants, but can also be found in animals. So there is an alternative to neo-Darwinism even given. As a result, neoDarwinism doesn’t have the same paradigm status as classical mechanics had in the past and as quantum mechanics has in the present. Thus, Behe’s claim that the cilium can only be explained by means of natural selection or by design falls short of the fact that there are other alternatives possible as creating mechanisms. To enter the very much heated—not necessarily very fair, and therefore not very charitable—debate over creationism and Darwinism properly, one first has to make clear what one understands by the terms “creation” and “evolution.” In this regard, it is very much advisable to take a look at Ruse’s (2006, pp. 4–5) definitions of the two terms: “The terms evolution and creation each have at least three meanings. Evolution can mean the fact of evolution—the development of organisms in a lawbound way from forms very different, from the earliest organisms to the present. It can also mean the theory of evolution—usually, one includes here mechanisms based on Darwinian natural selection. Or the term can mean the whole metaphysical or ideological picture built around or on evolution—strictly speaking, this is called evolutionism. Creation can simply mean the origins of organisms (or anything else, for that matter). It can also be the Judeo-Christian

85 concept of creation by God from nothing—some people would designate this Creation with a capital C. Or it can be creationism, the specific, biblically based religion of many (especially American) evangelicals—six days of creation, miracles needed to make species, humans given form last, universal flood, and so forth.”

With regard to the discussion to follow, when I talk of evolution I mean the theory of evolution unless stated otherwise, and when I talk of creationism I will refer (and have already referred) to the biblically-based religion of many evangelicals unless stated otherwise. Also in the previous discussion on Behe’s claim about the cilium, I meant the theory of evolution when I discussed Darwinism and neo-Darwinism with its emphasis on natural selection. If one wants to maintain that the Christian God is the first cause of things, then one can argue as follows against Him being the creator of this universe. For Craig (1992, p. 197) claims that, once the cause is given, the effect has to follow; therefore if the cause had been present from eternity, the effect would also have been present from eternity. Yet, as we humans, the Earth, and our universe have not been here from eternity, also God was not here from eternity. Against the latter claim speaks Hebrews 1:10–12, though, for it is stated there: “10 And, ‘YOU, LORD, IN THE BEGINNING LAID THE FOUNDATION OF THE EARTH, AND THE HEAVENS ARE THE WORKS OF YOUR HANDS; 11 THEY WILL PERISH, BUT YOU REMAIN; AND THEY ALL WILL BECOME OLD LIKE A GARMENT, 12 AND LIKE A MANTLE YOU WILL ROLL THEM UP; LIKE A GARMENT THEY WILL ALSO BE CHANGED BUT YOU ARE THE SAME, AND YOUR YEARS WILL NOT COME TO AN END.’”

Yet, of course, such a Biblical passage doesn’t constitute a proof that this was really the state of affairs, unless one can find scientific evidence which might support this passage independently. Of course, one could argue that God Himself isn’t really the cause of things, but actually His will, and this then would explain satisfactorily why we humans, the Earth, and our universe have not been here from eternity, while God at least could have been here from eternity. Moreover, this explanation would go together very well with the passage above from Hebrews. With regard to Craig’s claim that once the cause is given, the effect has to follow, the following can be said: as we don’t have a functioning

86 and undisputable account of action at a distance in quantum theory yet, I think it is permissible to assume (at least for the sake of the argument) that Hume was right with regard to his contiguity condition that direct cause and direct effect have to be close to each other space- and time-wise. For Craig’s objection to hold, that if God had been here from eternity also humans would have been here from eternity, and that the latter is not given and therefore the former is not given either, we then would have to assume that God doesn’t exist outside time and space, but inside time and space. For if God were to exist outside time and space, it would be completely unclear how a cause-and-effect relationship between God and the creation of our universe would look. What we know of cause and effect is just derived from things which we have experienced and with which we have experimented so far which took place inside time and space; we don’t know if we are justified to conclude that what is the case inside time and space can be transferred without problems to things which take place outside of time and space. Yet, one can even argue that, even if God existed inside time and space, it is also not clear how a cause-and-effect relationship between Him and the existence of our universe would look, for, after all, what we have to say with regard to cause and effect is just based on the experiences we have made here on this Earth and small parts of the universe, and is based on what we have verified by means of experiments. As God is such a different entity—at least according to how we ordinarily conceive of Him—it is completely unclear whether what holds for ordinary cause-andeffect relationships also has to hold with regard to entities different from everything we have experienced and experimented with so far. Unfortunately, we don’t have Him at our disposal for experimentation to find out which laws hold with regard to Him. That is, I ultimately agree with Ray and Langton, as I already stated in Ledwig (2006a, p. 109; cf. also Ledwig 2007a, p. 369): “Langton (1996, p. 39, cf. also Ray 1995, p. 179) has pointed out, although biology is the scientific study of life, it is actually the scientific study of life on earth, based on carbon-chain chemistry. As a result, so Langton (1996, p. 39) says, it is impossible to derive general principles from this single example (cf. also Ray 1996, p. 111).”

87 Of course, one can object to my argument that what I have been talking about in that passage is just biology, while what is of relevance with regard to cause-and-effect relationships is actually physics. Yet, even here one could maintain that, with regard to physics, we have just seen what physical laws hold with regard to the objects we have encountered and with which we have experimented so far, and nothing beyond that. That is, we don’t know for certain whether what has been the case with regard to things which we have experienced and with which we have experimented so far actually has to hold for all objects that exist. After all, the laws of physics hold with regard to contingent things—such as planets, stones, etc., where we can still discover new entities and phenomena—and not with regard to logical entities, where it is clear without doubt which truth values hold for particular entities within a particular logic, and where we really don’t discover new entities and phenomena anymore. Moreover, whenever we encounter new entities and phenomena, it is still possible that we have to change our current laws of physics in order to account for these entities and phenomena. Hence, it is still possible that we discover new cause-and-effect relationships and that we have to change our ideas with regard to how an appropriate account of a cause-and-effect relationship has to look. Perhaps it might be even the case that we have to distinguish between different cause-and-effect relationships because a unifying account is not possible. The latter alternative cannot be ruled out a priori, and therefore has to be considered as a viable possibility. Hence, although Craig’s objection is an interesting one (namely, that if God had been here from eternity also humans would have been here from eternity and that the latter is not given and therefore the former is not given either), there are several distinctions to be made. As we are not in a position to evaluate Craig’s objection completely because of missing knowledge with regard to God’s status as being inside or outside of time and space, and because we are unable to determine what kind of cause-and-effect relationship holds between God and His creation, we have to withhold our judgment in that regard, at least to a certain extent. Another argument against God being the first cause of things may be given. Dawkins (2006, p. 31) claims that “any creative intelligence, of sufficient complexity to design anything, comes into existence only as the

88 end product of an extended process of gradual evolution.” Yet, against this view one could object that perhaps God was the end product of an evolution already and then wanted to start all over again. This possibility is quite clearly conceivable and at least on first sight not contradictory at all. Moreover, as biology is only the scientific study of life on Earth, how is Dawkins justified in claiming that any creative intelligence just comes into existence only as the end product of a lengthy evolutionary process (cf. Ledwig 2007a, p. 369) and to what degree is he justified to hold such a view at all? Against the idea that God is the first cause of things one could object, asking “How can we be sure that God was not caused by another God, and so on ad infinitum?” Perhaps definitional arguments about God being only assigned God status if the respective being has not been caused by other beings before could speak against such a claim. Yet, in the introduction to this chapter I already pointed out that definitional arguments can be quite weak. Moreover, if God is omnipotent, He should be able to have offspring. Nothing speaks a priori against this offspring having God status, too. After all, Jesus is supposed to be the son of God, too. So, even from a definitional point of view, it should be possible that God was caused by another God, etc. ad infinitum. Yet, actually we cannot be completely certain that God was caused by another God, and so on ad infinitum, because we do not have enough evidence to prove anything to the contrary; nonetheless, simplicity, as a criterion for successful scientific theories, would speak against such a possibility. That is, an account which advances that one God has created the universe and everything in it is much simpler than an account which advocates many gods being responsible for everything. Of course, simplicity has not always been an adequate criterion for the election of good scientific theories—one just has to compare quantum mechanics, which is very complex, with the much simpler classical mechanics—but perhaps simplicity has to be taken in a more narrow sense as a criterion for good scientific theories: namely, one should choose that theory that is able to account for the given data and that is simpler than other theories which are also able to account for the given data. Hence, one cannot compare quantum mechanics with Newton’s classical mechanics (for Newton cannot account for all the data anyway), but one has to compare quantum

89 mechanics with other theories which can also accommodate all the data, and then the simpler theory of these gets elected. Another argument against the existence of God as the creator of our universe may be given. Willard (1992, p. 217) claims that any sort of evolution of order does presuppose preexisting order and preexisting entities governed by it. Therefore, God couldn’t have created the heavens and the Earth out of nothing. Yet, if one looks at the second law of thermodynamics and that the entropy of the universe tends to increase, our universe becomes actually more chaotic and not more orderly. But perhaps chaotic is not the right expression with regard to the increase of entropy and its effects anyway, for things just become more evenly-dispersed, as in Brownian motion. Another objection to Willard’s claim is as before: that any sort of evolution of order does presuppose preexisting order and preexisting entities governed by it is just based on the experiences we have had until now, and is just based on experiments which have verified this claim so far. This doesn’t mean that this has to hold for all times and has to hold for entities we have not investigated and experimented with scientifically. Moreover, if God is so radically different from us, it is to be expected that different laws have to hold for Him than for us. Hence, Willard’s argument against the existence of God as the creator of our universe is not convincing.

Conclusion It can be considered rational to believe in God, whether it is of the Christian, Jewish, Islamic, Buddhist, Hinduistic, etc. kind. For although we are not able to evaluate whether we would actually prefer to live an infinite life, it would be at least to a certain degree contradictory if a living organism tried to undermine its own existence by not believing in an afterlife. Besides good evidential reasons for believing in God, there are also very good pragmatic reasons to do so. With regard to the question of which decision theoretic conception of rationality is adequate in the context of religion, it has to be maintained that Kahneman’s, Wakker’s and Sarin’s New Benthamism would turn out to be very promising, if we were able to get a handle on evaluating infinities properly. As long as that is not

90 possible, weaker notions of rationality have to suffice, such as being a good reason, where a reason is understood as “good” if it is not contradictory, is solid and robust, and turns either out to be an evidential and/or a pragmatic reason.

Chapter Two: The Undecidability of Pascal’s Wager I. Introduction According to Franklin (1998, p. 109), Pascal’s wager and Leibniz’s theory that this is the best of all possible worlds are latecomers in the Faith-andReason tradition. Yet, they have remained interlopers, for they have never been taken as seriously as the older arguments for the existence of God and other themes related to faith and reason. But Pascal’s wager is of interest for historians of probability and decision theorists for its first instance of explicitly decision theoretic reasoning in print, and its invocation of infinite utility. Moreover, it is of interest for psychologists for its discussion of voluntarism, and for philosophers of religion and theologians as a putative proof that belief in God is an obligation of rationality (cf. Hajek 2000, p. 1). Furthermore, decision theory and the mathematics of infinities are flourishing and have advanced rapidly over the last couple of years (cf. McClennen 1994, p. 115; Rucker 1982, chapter two; Sobel 1996, p. 23; Vallentyne 2000; Vallentyne and Kagan 1997, pp. 7–8). Additionally, it has been observed that belief in God has grown as a result of the last terrorist attacks, and religions have multiplied over the last decades. Hence, it might be worthwhile to look at Pascal’s wager to get a new evaluation of the situation. After having motivated a renewed interest in Pascal’s wager, I will make clear what, in particular, I will be talking about. In this chapter, my aim won’t be historical exegesis or the interpretation of Pascal’s wager, but its decision theoretic treatment given a certain version of Pascal’s wager as a starting point. So, if one wants an historical account of Pascal’s wager, one should consult Armour (1993), Kelly (1992), Ryan (1994), and Wetsel (1994). Moreover, for the autograph manuscript of Pascal’s Wager (fragments 418–426) one should see pages 3, 4, 7, and 8 of the Recueil Original des Pensées de Pascal, Bibliothèque Nationale, fonds français, ms. 9202 (Kelly 1992, p. 317). For a photographic reproduction, one should take a look at Lafuma (1962); and for a reduced reproduction of the manuscript, one should see Kelly (1992, pp. 317–321). Additionally, for

92 the historian it should be of particular interest to know that according to Georges Brunet (1956, pp. 62–63) Pascal was not the originator of the Wager. Finally, Franklin (1998), Hacking (1994), Jordan (2006), McClennen (1994), Mougin and Sober (1994), Quinn (1994), Rescher (1985), and Sobel (1996) also deal with historical and/or interpretive issues, but this isn’t their main aim. In this regard, Sobel (1996) is of particular interest, because he has an enormous collection of Pascalian wagers. For the most comprehensive bibliography of Pascal’s wager so far, see Jordan (2006). For illustrative purposes, consider the following version of Pascal’s wager: suppose you are confronted with the following decision problem. There are two actions from which to choose: either to bet on God, that is, a1, or to bet against God, that is, a2. Two states of the world can be the case: either God exists, that is, s1, or God doesn’t exist, that is, s2. If one combines the respective actions with the respective states of the world, the following outcomes ensue: infinite life, that is, o11, wretchedness, that is, o21, the life of a Christian, that is, o12, and the life of a non-Christian, that is, o22. So, how should one decide rationally in this kind of a problem? The following decision matrix summarizes the situation: s2: God doesn’t exist. s1: God exists. a1: to bet on God. o11: infinite life (∞) o12: the life of a Christian (-10) a2: to bet against o21: wretchedness o22: the life of a non-Christian God. (-1000) (+10) Figure 1. Decision matrix for Pascal’s wager. With regard to symbols for infinity, and to understand the decision matrix above, the symbol for infinity that one sees most often is the eight curve (that is, “∞“, called the lemniscate). Yet, Georg Cantor, the founder of the modern mathematical theory of the infinite, used the symbol “ℵ0” (pronounced alef-null) to stand for the first infinite number (cf. Rucker 1982, p. 1). Thinking about infinities started with the Greeks who used the word “apeiron” for the word “infinity” (cf. Rucker 1982, p. 2). Getting back to the problem, however, in order to answer the question of how one should decide rationally in Pascal’s wager one first

93 has to know what (1) kinds of features are constitutive of Pascal’s wager and (2) what Pascal’s wager is all about: with regard to point (1) Jordan (1994a, pp. 2–3) stresses that Pascalian wagers share three constitutive features, namely (i) Pascalian wagers are a sub-species of pragmatic arguments, where a pragmatic argument is any argument with prudentiallydirected, rather than truth-directed, premises; (ii) A Pascalian wager is a decision situation in which the possible gain or benefit involved in one of the outcomes swamps all the others; and (iii) the object of the gamble must be something that is of ultimate concern. With regard to point (2), Rescher (1985, p. 7) claims that Pascal’s wager doesn’t answer the question of whether God exists, but whether we should accept that He exists. In a similar vein, Jordan (1994a, p. 1) writes: “The wager is not an argument for the claim that God exists. That sort of argument, the appeal to evidence, whether empirical or conceptual, is the domain of the cosmological, the ontological, or one of the other theistic arguments. Pascal’s wager is an argument for the claim that a belief in God is pragmatically rational….Pascal’s concern…is not with the truth of theistic belief so much as it is with the rationality of belief.…the wager is intended to show that unbelief is rationally impermissible.”

This version of the wager also doesn’t deal with the question of which kind of God exists; whether it is the God of the Protestants, of the Catholics, of Islam, of Judaism, of the Bahai’s, of a God who punishes those who bet on Him and who supports those who don’t bet on Him, whether the nontheistic view of Hinduism is true—one finds also theistic views of Hinduism—or the pantheism of Spinoza, etc. This important issue, which deals with the adequacy of the states of the world and which leads to the many gods objection—which is also called the “many-claimants objection” (cf. Jordan 1994b)—will be dealt with later. Pascal’s wager is also not about the question of whether it is rational to pursue a religious way of life. Different lifestyles might result by betting on God or against Him, but initially the question of whether it is rational to pursue a religious lifestyle is a separate one. Moreover, there might be quite non-religious reasons for pursuing a religious way of life—such as a certain up-bringing, a desire to belong to a certain group, the fact that one considers a religious lifestyle healthy, the fact that one evaluates a religious lifestyle as ethical, etc.—which might be quite unrelated to Pascal’s wager.

94 Thus, whether it is rational to pursue a religious lifestyle is a different issue from Pascal’s wager. Besides asking whether the states of the world are the adequate ones, one might also want to ask whether the actions are the right ones. For one might want to question the moral adequacy of these actions (cf. Quinn 1994), and claim that adequate actions might be to believe in God and not to believe in God. But in this regard one might even want to argue that God would frown upon willful believing; that is, God only rewards uncalculated, unstrategic faith (Sobel 1996, pp. 42–43). Hence, all Pascalian wagers are off, or the many gods objection arises again—that is, does God really frown upon willful believing, or do we have to deal with another God than this one who frowns upon willful believing? Besides a God who might frown upon willful believing there might be other reasons not to commit oneself to such kind of behavior. For Sobel (2004, p. 517) suggests that many people think that strategic induced believing is unhealthy and therefore shouldn’t be easily indulged. Whether this claim is true is a question for scientists; yet, one could assume that, if this attitude is widespread among people, they might disapprove of strategic induced believing and even might shun or punish such a kind of behavior, so that it might not be so advisable to display such a kind of behavior. That God only rewards uncalculated, unstrategic faith would go together with fideism, which claims that reason is inappropriate and unnecessary for exercising and justifying religious faith (Amesbury Summer 2005). According to Amesbury (Summer 2005) the Roman Catholic Magisterium has several times warned against fideism, though. Amesbury (Summer 2005) stresses that fideism is mostly associated with Pascal, Kierkegaard, James, and Wittgenstein. Yet, James (1927, p. 197) has pointed out that, whether reason is sufficient to arrive at religious conclusions without the aid of faith depends upon what one means by “reason.” Moreover, if one takes reason as a faculty of inference, then reason is insufficient to put religious conclusions on a solid base (James 1927, p. 197). James claims that, while reason maintains certainty and finality for her conclusions, faith is satisfied with less—namely with probability and practical wisdom. Furthermore, James (1927, pp. 200–201) points out that reason would never have inferred religious experiences of the Lutheran type (where one is strong only by being weak), because these

95 religious experiences are not continuous with our natural experiences and invert its values. Be that as it may, what remains clear is that James can only be accused of fideism under certain interpretations of the term “reason.” That God only rewards uncalculated, unstrategic faith goes against Schilpp’s (1924, p. 211) view that faith is accepted and acted upon only if this faith can be shown to have a rational basis besides being wished and desired. In this regard, it might be interesting to know whether this holds in his opinion from the first- and/or the third-person perspective(s). For it might make a difference whether someone else is supposed to accept my faith or whether the person himself accepts his or her own faith. That is, someone else might want to have more evidence than the person him- or herself for accepting a person’s faith. With regard to faith, Schilpp (1924, p. 211) rightly points out that faith is no longer faith when it has been proved. Hence, faith just needs a rational basis and not a whole proof. Also, if one is supposed to accept another person’s faith, one might want to argue that a certain amount of evidence is enough; that is, adding much more evidence to it might not make such a difference any longer for accepting another person’s faith. Further, Swinburne argues against the view that God only rewards uncalculated, unstrategic faith. Swinburne (2005, p. 188) states that it is sometimes suggested that leading a religious life in order to secure one’s own salvation is selfish. In this regard, Swinburne (2005, p. 189), however, claims that, in pursuing salvation, one is seeking to make the best of oneself, and that is not something bad. For if it is good that I should better my capacities, and if it is good that I should seek to prolong them, a fortiori it must be good that I should seek to make myself a saintly and generous person and preserve myself for eternity. Yet, if one were to make the best of oneself at the cost of others, then surely this could not be something good. Thus, one has to take Swinburne’s view with a grain of salt. Getting back to Pascal’s wager and the moral adequacy of the actions in Pascal’s wager: Armour (1993, p. 2; cf. also p. 61) has already rightly observed: “We must constantly remember that one makes one’s bet in this case not by putting one’s money down at the two-dollar window but by acting as if God exists.” Thus, one doesn’t become a gambler by betting on God or not, but rather one shows adequate behavior corresponding to one’s

96 own decision in Pascal’s wager. Furthermore, Morris (1994, p. 57) has pointed out with regard to Pascal’s wager that “Belief is not under our direct voluntary control.” So, the decision-maker cannot simply choose to believe or not to believe, but has to bet on God’s existence or nonexistence, and to act as if God exists. Yet, whether this is true has to be discussed, too, and will be below. Hence, for decision problems like Pascal’s wager, rational decision theory has two problems to solve: first, which states of the world and which actions should figure into decision situations. Second, after having specified the states of the world and the actions, in favor of which action should the decision-maker decide? Moreover, this predicament is not something new, but also holds for Newcomb’s problem—another foundational problem in rational decision theory—except that the actions are already given in Newcomb’s problem (cf. Ledwig 2000, chapter 1.2). For expository reasons, I start with the above formulation of Pascal’s wager and take it as granted. Now the question arises as to how one is supposed to argue in this decision problem. One solution is to follow the principle of maximizing expected utility, where the expected utility for the respective actions can be calculated as follows (Savage 1954/1972): m

U(ai) = ∑ p(sj)u(oij), j =1

that is, the utility U of an action ai is the sum of the weighted utilities of the outcomes u(oij), where the weights are the probabilities of the states of the world p(sj). With regard to this formula, it has to be pointed out that it not only applies to finite numbers, but also to infinite ones. This is of importance, because Wakker (1993) has emphasized that it is one of the mathematical misunderstandings about Savage’s foundations of statistics that it is finite. After having calculated the expected utilities for the respective actions the decision-maker should use the following principle of maximizing expected utility in order to decide between the respective actions (Savage 1954/1972): in a given decision situation D, the decision maker X should decide for an action ai with maximal expected utility.

97 Given that, what are the expected utilities for the respective actions, then? The expected utility for a1 is the following, if the probability for s1 is 0.1 and the probability for s2 is 0.9: U(a1) = 0.1 x (∞) + 0.9 x (-10) = infinite. And the expected utility for a2 is: U(a2) = 0.1 x (-1000) + 0.9 x (+10) = finite. Because the expected utility for a1 is much bigger than the expected utility for a2 (even if the probability for God’s existence is very small, with the exception of certain infinitesimally small probabilities! Cf. the many gods objection), and because it is rational to maximize one’s expected utility, one should decide for a1. Therefore, it is rational to bet on God. Another possible solution to Pascal’s wager is to say that Pascal’s wager isn’t really a decision theoretic problem, but a game theoretic problem, namely a game against nature, for the states of the world “God exists” respectively “God doesn’t exist” are already given. Yet, even here it would be rational to bet on God, so that such a solution doesn’t make a difference with regard to which action to choose. In the following, I will deal with the respective objections which can be posed against the decision theoretic solution to Pascal’s wager. In a final section, I will compare Pascal’s wager to other decision theoretic problems in order to see whether such comparisons can yield a unique solution to Pascal’s wager—a solution which has not been looked at so far. The chapter ends by drawing some main conclusions.

II. Objections against Pascal’s wager The following objections can be posed against the decision theoretic solution to Pascal’s wager: (1) not all rational decision theories, such as Jeffrey’s (1983) decision theory, which was advanced as an improvement over Savage, allow for infinite utility, so they cannot solve Pascal’s wager (Jeffrey 1983, p. 150; McClennen 1994; but Sorensen 1994; for an evaluation of Jeffrey’s various decision theories see Ledwig 2000); (2) Bernoulli’s law of the diminishing marginal utility of money precludes infinite utilities (cf. Sorensen 1994, p. 143);

98 (3) certain assignments of vague probabilities to God’s existence scotch the wager (Hajek 2000; but Craig 2003); (4) satisfying one’s utility is better than maximizing one’s utility (Slote 1989, 1995; cf. also Simon 1982, 1997); (5) the utility of an action doesn’t only depend on the utilities of the outcomes, but also on other factors, such as the decision-maker’s attitude towards risk and the amount of possible change from the decision-maker’s reference point (Gärdenfors and Sahlin 1988); (6) the many gods objection states that there are more and/or other possibilities than “God exists” and “God doesn’t exist” as states of the world (Jordan 1994b); and (7) it is morally objectionable to bet on God (Franklin 1998; Quinn 1994). In the following, I will consider these different objections against Pascal’s wager and will evaluate whether there are ways out of them.

(1) Finite decision theory One may not attribute infinite utilities to the outcomes, if this has as a consequence that taking the slightest risk—such as leading the life of a non-Christian—is, in general, irrational. One arrives then, at a reductio ad absurdum: for if the attribution of infinite utilities leads to counterintuitive consequences, that is, to something absurd, then this must be false and the opposite must be true. This is in accordance with Jeffrey’s decision theory (1983, p. 150). For in his decision theory, utilities have to be finite, so that Pascal’s wager is outside the scope of his theory. Moreover, one can even argue that anyone who offers to play Pascal’s wager with you is a liar, for he is pretending to have infinite life at his disposal. Jeffrey (1983, p. 154) argues similarly in the case of the St. Petersburg paradox. This kind of reasoning might not only be applied to Pascal’s wager and the St. Petersburg paradox, but also to the two-envelope paradox. For according to Oppy (2006, p. 160) also, the two-envelope paradox poses a problem for a decision theory with infinite utilities. One may object, though, that Pascal’s wager differs from the St. Petersburg paradox, for no one offers the wager, but everyone confronts it; all it takes is the possibility of infinite utility, and not the possibility of anyone offering it.

99 Yet, arguing that God doesn’t have infinite life at His disposal is in accordance with Gale (1991), who argues that a necessarily existent God who essentially has all of the divine perfections is an impossible being and, with Gale and Pruss (1999), who prove the necessary existence of a powerful and intelligent creator of the actual universe, who is not omnipotent. For if one can only prove the latter, infinite life is not at the disposal of such a superior being. Gale and Pruss’ (1999) superior being, who doesn’t have the omni-properties, is also valuable for not being open to the paradox of omniscience (Grim 2000) and the paradox of omnipotence (Rosenkrantz 1980). Another reductio ad absurdum with infinite utilities ensues in the following way (cf. Tabarrok 2000, p. 127): as in the St. Petersburg paradox, one can say that, if an infinite utility ensues, one should be willing to pay any finite amount of money to play the game, that is, to bet on God—which is absurd. For no one would be willing to pay such an amount. Furthermore, if infinite utilities lead to something absurd, then this must be false and the opposite must be true. Similarly, Hajek (2003, p. 29) points out that “The Allais (1953) and Ellsberg (1961) paradoxes, for example, are said to show that maximizing expectation can lead one to perform intuitively sub-optimal actions.” However, giving money for charity, attending sermons, paying church taxes, etc. may be considered adequate means to keep the possibility for infinite life open. Hence, one even finds similar kinds of behavior in real life. In my opinion, decision theory is incomplete if it is only able to deal with finite cases and not with infinite ones (cf. Sorensen 1994, pp. 157– 158). To reach completeness, Sorensen wants to remodel decision theory; yet, is this the only way out? One could also remodel the theory of the transfinite (Sobel 1996, p. 52), or could look for infinities which suit decision theory. Yet, that there are different concepts of infinity out there runs counter to the naive concept of infinity, which says that there is only one infinity; the latter is unattainable and not quite real (cf. Rucker 1982, p. 9). In general, a principal component of one’s concept of infinity is endlessness; other notions are indefiniteness and inconceivability (Rucker 1982, p. 1). So, what kinds of infinities are out there, and which ones are involved in Pascal’s wager? The classic Cantor (1932, p. 378) writes:

100 “The actual infinite arises in three contexts: first when it is realized in the most complete form, in a fully independent other-worldly being, in Deo, where I call it the Absolute Infinite or simply Absolute; second when it occurs in the contingent, created world; third when the mind grasps it in abstracto as a mathematical magnitude, number, or order type. I wish to make a sharp contrast between the Absolute and what I call the Transfinite, that is, the actual infinities of the last two sorts, which are clearly limited, subject to further increase, and thus related to the finite.”

Thus there are a theistic infinity, physical infinities (like space and time), and mathematical infinities. According to Rucker (1982, p. 9), the naive concept of infinity is, for Cantor, the Absolute Infinite, which is the theistic infinity. Yet, there are many more distinctions possible with regard to the infinite. According to Oppy (2006, p. 7), one can categorize infinities in three categories: (1) large and small: if the infinities are large, then they are denumerable; if they are small, then they are infinitesimals, that is, quantities that are nonzero and smaller than any finite quantity. (2) There are denumerable infinities, which are collections that are equinumerous with the natural numbers in some way. There are nondenumerable infinities, which usually are collections that are equinumerous with the real numbers in some way. (3) There are theoretical infinities, like infinite collections of numbers, sets, propositions, etc. and physical infinities, like infinite collections of physical objects, etc. For even further distinctions between infinities see Oppy (2006, p. 231). Getting back to Pascal’s wager, what kinds of infinities are involved from the previously mentioned ones? In my opinion, eternal life in Pascal’s wager should at least involve infinite time; whether it also has to involve infinite space is doubtful. For one could live an eternal life also restricted to a bounded space. Eternal bliss might neither involve infinite time nor infinite space, because this just involves the mind’s state of eternal bliss being equivalent to infinite happiness. Thus, eternal bliss might just refer to a property of one’s state of mind, such as happiness, having an infinite value. Theistic infinities are not involved, because these just pertain to God (or gods), unless one wants to defend the view that humans become Godlike after death. After having specified in what way physical and theistic infinities are involved in Pascal’s wager, one also has to specify which kind of

101 mathematical infinity is adequate for Pascal’s wager, for as one wants to assign a utility to an eternal life, one also has to assign a number to it. Because there are Cantor’s transfinite cardinals (1952), Robinson’s hyperreals (1974; cf. also Magnani and Dossena 2005; Nelson 1987; Lindstrøm 1988), Conway’s surreals (1976), and Kock-Lawvere’s smooth infinitesimal analysis (cf. Kock 1981; Dossena and Magnani in press) as theories of infinite numbers, one first has to choose which number theory is adequate for rational decision theory. Cantor’s transfinite cardinals seem to me inadequate, because they show several anomalies like the following (cf. Sobel 1996, p. 25, p. 37; Sobel 2004, p. 523; Cantor 1952, p. 97, p. 104, p. 106): (a) for every positive rational r and given that ∞ is a standard Cantorian infinity, r x ∞ = ∞ x r = ∞; (b) given that ∞ is a standard Cantorian infinity, ∞ x ∞ = ∞; (c) for any natural number n and given that ∞ is a standard Cantorian infinity, ∞ + n = ∞; (d) given that ∞ is a standard Cantorian infinity, ∞ + ∞ = ∞; (e) sums involving both positive and negative Cantorian infinities aren’t defined; and (f) negative inverses of Cantorian transfinite cardinals aren’t defined. All of these features run counter to our intuitions with regard to infinite utilities. That is, we would, for instance, prefer the utility of 1,000,000 + ∞ to the utility of ∞. Another feature which is of interest here is that Cantor was against infinitesimals; hence, one doesn’t find them in his theory of the transfinite (Oppy 2006, p. 271). That Cantorian infinities are problematic can also be seen by the following argument for applying mixed strategies to Pascal’s wager (Hajek 2003, p. 30–31; cf. also Jeffrey 1983, p. 153): “Pascal’s specious step is to assume that only the action of wagering for God gets the infinite expected utility. To see that this is not the case, consider the following strategy: you toss a fair coin, and wager for God if the coin lands heads (probability ½); otherwise, you wager against God. By Pascal’s lights, this strategy’s expected value is the average of infinity and something finite: ½ (∞) + ½ (f1p + f3(1-p)). This is infinite: ½ (∞) = ∞, and the second summand is finite. So we have found another way to get infinite expected value.…Now that we see the trick, we can run it again and again. Wager for God if and only if a

102 die lands 6 (a sixth times infinity equals infinity…); if and only if your lottery ticket wins next week; if and only if you see a meteor quantum-tunnel its way through the side of a mountain and come out the other side…Pascal has ignored all these mixed strategies—probabilistic mixtures of the ‘pure actions’ of wagering for and wagering against God—and infinitely many more besides.”

In opposition to Cantorian infinities, hyperreals are governed by the same mathematical principles that govern standard real numbers (cf. Sobel 1996, p. 54), and therefore don’t run counter to our intuitions with regard to infinite utilities. Sobel (2004, p. 536) adds another advantage of Robinson’s hyperreals, namely that they are made to behave in all ways as standard reals by definition and not by work, which would be difficult for nonexperts. For a very valuable comparison of Cantor’s transfinite cardinals with Robinson’s hyperreals with regard to rational decision theory, see Sobel (1996, pp. 54–59). Moreover, Skalia (1975) has already shown how nonstandard models of the real numbers can be used in a “nonArchimedean” decision theory, so that we can even employ his method. Hajek (2003) has shown how one can employ Conway’s surreal numbers in rational decision theory. Yet, in order for his decision theory to run smoothly, he includes a principle by Vallentyne (1993, p. 215), making his decision theory more complicated—which one obviously wants to avoid. With regard to a comparison between Cantor’s transfinite cardinals and Robinson’s hyperreals, it is also very valuable what Sobel (2004, p. 627 n. 23) has to say with respect to Martin’s (1990) refutation of Pascal’s wager. Sobel (2004, p. 627 n. 23) states that, “William Martin (1990) claims to refute Pascal’s Wager with the observation that for every hypothesis that there is a God who rewards believers there is a hypothesis that there is a God who punishes believers and rewards nonbelievers. This hypothesis, since logically possible, should, he maintains, be assigned some probability (cf., p. 234). The result, Martin thinks, is that ‘infinite expected values cancel each other out’ (p. 232). This would-be refutation of Pascal’s Wager involves two moves. First, Martin assumes that for any probability p and infinity ∞, p·∞ = ∞. Cantorian infinities, but not Robinsonian infinimals, annihilate finitudes in this manner. Second, Martin assumes that ∞ + -∞ = 0. Robinsonian infinimals, but not Cantorian infinities, behave like that. Martin also assumes (p. 233) that -∞ + -∞ + ∞ = 0. Neither Cantorian nor Robinsonian large numbers behave like that; there are no prospects for intelligible infinities that do.”

103 Pascal himself, though, seems to have had Cantorian intuitions with regard to infinities. For Pascal (1960, 343 in this translation and also 343 in the Lafuma edition, 233 in the Brunschvicg edition), writes: “Yet unity added to infinity adds nothing to it, any more than one foot added to an infinite length. The finite is annihilated in presence of the infinite, and becomes pure nothingness.” Similarly Armour (1993, p. 70) states: “Remember that, because Pascal himself has told us that infinity plus one is the same number as infinity, an infinity of mild pleasures might add up to the same amount of pleasure as an infinity of bliss.” In order to highlight further what Pascal has in mind when he talks of infinity, it is worthwhile to have a look at what Kelly (1992) has to say. Kelly (1992, pp. 111–112) points out that, “when Pascal uses the word ‘infini’ for the first time in fragment 418…he had first written ‘indef….’” Moreover, Kelly (1992, pp. 111–112, p. 116) highlights that the Pascalian infinite has extension, but no boundaries, which corresponds to Descartes’ characterization of the indefinite. Furthermore, Kelly (1992, p. 112) stresses that, in contrast to Descartes, in Pascal the term “infinite” is actual and not potential; and that, in contrast to “Cartesian logical procedure, we can know that this ‘infini’ exists without knowing its nature.” Additionally, Kelly (1992, p. 112) emphasizes that, in Pascal, neither the term “infinite” nor the term “indefinite” implies God. Finally, Kelly (1992, p. 282, note 64) stresses that Pascal (1963), in his “Réflexions sur la géométrie en général,” L. Lafuma (ed.), Œuvres complètes, Seuil-Intégrale, Paris, pp. 351–352, “analyzes time as an order of infinity.” Besides the fact that Cantor’s infinities run counter to our intuitions with regard to infinite utilities, there might be another reason why they might not be the right ones for a rational decision theory extended to infinite utilities. That is, if one considers the following example (cf. Vallentyne and Kagan 1997, p. 6) world1: …2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2… world2: …1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1…, where “2” respectively “1” are units of goodness at locations (for example, times), then one is compelled to say: if the locations are the same in each world, then finitely additive theorists will want to claim that world1 is better than world2. Hence, one would also like to prefer world1 over world2.

104 Yet, perhaps there might be some persons who would like to argue that so much goodness is too much for them; they wouldn’t be able to handle it, because they would be just overwhelmed by that, so that they would prefer less goodness. Moreover, as human beings are finite human beings and have no epistemic or pragmatic access to infinities, one might want to argue that, since infinities are such bizarre and rarefied cases with regard to the experience of human beings, one’s intuitions with regard to such infinities cannot be trusted. Yet, what do I mean by saying that human beings have no epistemic or pragmatic access to infinities? I take this to mean that, for instance, no one has seen, touched, smelled, felt, heard, handled, manipulated, etc. something infinite before and has been aware of it, whereas I grant that one can know that the positive integers form an infinite series and that one can know that an infinite amount of money is greater than any finite amount. One finds a similar kind of reasoning with regard to some Newcomb-like problems, which are also bizarre and rarefied cases, in Levi (1985, pp. 243–244), which speaks in favor of my reasoning. Hence, there doesn’t seem to be a foundation on which to base a decision theory extended to the transfinite. The only way out is to say that, as we cannot decide between the different decision theories extended to the transfinite, we accept all of them as valid theories. After all, there is also a Euclidean and a non-Euclidean geometry out there, and both of them are equally established. Moreover, nothing hinges on that conceptual openness, for whatever decision theory extended to the transfinite one adopts, betting on God’s existence trumps all the other possibilities nonetheless. Yet, one can also argue that, as we don’t have epistemic or pragmatic access to infinities, at least from out present viewpoint (perhaps in an afterlife we can experience infinities due to our possession of infinite capacities), we are unable to say whether we would actually prefer an infinite outcome to a finite one. In favor of my position may speak the fact that already Hobbes in Leviathan, chapter three (cf. Ariew and Watkins 1998, p. 107), has advocated that we can only imagine something finite, and not something infinite. Similarly, Arnauld (1964, p. 357) states that one shouldn’t place infinite things in the balance with any things of the world. Another philosopher who considers infinities (at least in certain areas) as problematic is Wittgenstein (1921/1961, 5.535), who rejects the

105 axiom of infinity. Lilla (2007, p. 141) points out that in Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason (1788) immortality is going beyond our possible experience. Additionally, Hajek (2003, p. 48) states: “Perhaps it is of the essence of a human to be finite, and perhaps a finite being cannot reap an infinite reward; perhaps an infinite reward can only be finitely appreciated by a human.” In order to elucidate my point of view that we are unable to say whether we would prefer an infinite outcome to a finite one, try to imagine your happiest moment extended to the infinite, and then ask yourself, would you really prefer such a moment to the finite moment here on Earth? This seems unclear to me because, first of all, certain physiological reactions are typical of happiness; for example, the neurotransmitter endorphin is released when one is happy, but as our body is only made for a finite life, sooner or later we would run out of endorphins. Moreover, even if our body had an infinite amount of endorphins at its disposal, the question arises: could our bodies cope with so much endorphin? That is, it seems reasonable to assume that, with regard to the infinite, the natural laws of our world wouldn’t hold any longer. If these laws don’t hold any longer, how can one still take anything else for granted? Yet, Cantor has said that mathematical infinities are still related to the finite, so that we should prefer an infinite outcome to a finite one. But my questions are: are they sufficiently related or, even in a relevant way, related with regard to our question? That is, as mathematical infinities are supposed to express our intuitions with regard to the infinite, and as we don’t have any epistemic or pragmatic access to the infinite, how can they express something to which we don’t have any access? Hence, we are actually not able to give a solution to Pascal’s wager. The latter poses problems for Sobel’s (2004, pp. 527–528) view, because—although he values eternal bliss greatly—he doesn’t value it incommensurably more than everything worldly. Yet, Hajek (2003, p. 53, note 5) states, “Earlier in the Pensées (§229) he also writes: ‘nothing would be too dear to me for eternity,’” where Hajek refers to Pascal (1948). Thus, Sobel actually thinks he can evaluate how much he likes something infinite, namely eternal bliss. When elaborating on his view, Sobel makes clear that he would, for instance, trade away a small chance at eternal bliss for himself, if that ensured that his dog wouldn’t be tortured or

106 his daughter wouldn’t be mutilated. Yet, he also points out that he would not for every chance for eternal bliss cut off his arm or suffer other kinds of hardships, such as madness. This is an interesting objection, because surely one could imagine that there are some people who would trade anything for the lives of their children. Such a decision, however, can be a principlebased decision, which doesn’t evaluate the respective outcomes in particular. Hence, it doesn’t pose a threat to my account that we don’t have access to epistemic or pragmatic infinities, and therefore cannot solve Pascal’s wager in this way. Nevertheless one might want to argue that under certain kinds of conditions even principles might fall, and having the prospect of an eternal life or eternal bliss at one’s disposal for the first time might be such a condition. Yet, even here the principle cannot really be reevaluated, for the simple reason that one cannot evaluate whether something infinite is something which one really wants. Thus, my position still stands. In general, one might want to object that humans at least have some grasp of the property of being infinite, for otherwise they wouldn’t be able to understand propositions which refer to infinities (Plantinga 2000, p. 6). Plantinga (2000, p. 6) then suggests that an infinite being is an unlimited being with respect to certain properties. Yet, as we have only experienced things as limited, it might still be difficult for us to understand something as unlimited, for a proper understanding involves experiencing it. For instance, with regard to bats, we know how they hear, but we still don’t know how it feels for them to hear like bats. In support of my position is the fact that there are seventeen so called puzzle cases, such as Al-Ghazali’s problem, Hilbert’s hotel, Craig’s library, etc. which, at least prima facie, question the legitimate application of the concept of infinity outside the realm of logic and mathematics (cf. Oppy 2006, p. 2; Sobel 2004, p. 187). Yet, modern physics actually legitimates the notions of negative, infinite, and hotter than infinite temperatures (cf. Oppy 2006, p. 133, p. 136; Ehrlich 1982); for on Kelvin’s absolute temperature scale, temperatures range from coldest to hottest in the following order: 0,…, ±∞,…, -0. Moreover, there are systems in the world with hotter than infinite temperatures (cf. Oppy 2006, p. 136). But Ehrlich (1982, p. 233) maintains that the existence of an infinite temperature doesn’t imply the existence of an actual infinity. Yet, what is

107 an actual infinity? Craig (1992, p. 187) claims that, according to Hilbert, the main “difference between an actual and a potential infinite is that a potential infinite is always something growing toward a limit of infinity, while an actual infinite is a completed totality with an actually infinite number of things.” Besides Ehrlich, with regard to infinite temperatures, also Aristotle (1941) argues against the possibility of an actual infinity (cf. Ehrlich 1982, p. 273, note 27). Even Craig (1992, p. 187, p. 189) maintains that an actual infinite cannot exist in the real world, and he also points out that Hilbert was of the opinion that the concept of an actual infinite has no relation to the real world as it is. Also when Magnani and Dossena (2005, p. 16) refer to microscopic lenses with infinitesimal numbers, to macroscopic lenses with infinite numbers, and to windows which point at a point with at least one infinite coordinate and which are called telescopes, they don’t refer to the real world, but only to mathematical tools. Yet, if the universe began from a point of infinite density to expand, one could argue that there is an actual infinite in the real world. In physics, however, infinite refers to something very big and infinitesimal refers to something very small (in a non-formal sense), whereas in mathematics we have more precise ideas with regard to both concepts and where something infinite exhibits a qualitative difference to something finite, whereas an infinitesimal is still something very small. One could argue, though, that one understands “finite” and one understands “not” and therefore one understands “infinite” (cf. Lavine 1994, p. 181). Yet, is “infinite” the only other possibility? Might there not be a third possibility, as there is in three-valued logic? Actually Descartes, in the third meditation of his Meditations of First Philosophy (cf. Ariew and Watkins 1998, p. 38), already considers the possibility of such a third alternative. Yet traditionally, the infinite was regarded as that which isn’t finite, and the finite as that which isn’t infinite. Moreover, even nowadays they are often characterized in this way. Following Cantor and Dedekind in set theory the infinite and the finite are treated this way. Yet, Tarski showed that it is possible to give characterizations of finite and infinite sets in which one neither defines the infinite as that which isn’t finite nor the finite as that which isn’t infinite. They are also sometimes treated that way in non-Archimedean mathematics, but not always. Veronese, for example, argued that geometric segments that are finite, infinite, and infinitesimal

108 with respect to a given segment are mutually exclusive. Therefore, infinite segments couldn’t be characterized as those which aren’t finite in Veronese. Hence, it is not self-evident that because one understands “finite” and “not” one therefore understands “infinite.” Rather it seems like, depending on one’s own mathematical theory, one can understand “finite” and “not,” and therefore one can understand “infinite.”

(2) Bernoulli’s law of the diminishing marginal utility of money One may argue with an analogy to money that the utility of an infinite life isn’t infinite, but reaches a limit. That is, if one adds one million dollars to one million dollars which one already has, this doesn’t really double one’s utility. Each new dollar tends to have less influence on one’s welfare than the preceding dollar. This has been termed “Bernoulli’s law of the diminishing marginal utility of money” which, according to Bernoulli, is a logarithmic function precluding infinite utilities (cf. Sorensen 1994, p. 143). Yet, Sorensen (1994, p. 143) has remarked that the rate of diminution actually resists precise calculation, so that infinite utilities might not be excluded after all; moreover, he has pointed out that slowing growth is no guarantee of convergence to a limit. For if one takes the harmonic series, formed by adding the reciprocals of natural numbers—that is, 1/1+1/2+1/3+1/4+…—the addend gets smaller, but goes beyond any finite value. As human beings don’t have any experience with infinite life, it is hard to say whether the utility of an infinite life is infinite or not. Yet, even if the utility of an infinite life isn’t infinite for human beings, it might be infinite for Martians. As there is no a priori argument to show that the utility of an infinite life isn’t infinite, and as it isn’t logically impossible that the utility of an infinite life is infinite, one should at least consider this possibility. Moreover, it would be nice, if one were able to deal with all possible cases. Furthermore, as money differs in many respects from life, it seems plausible to suppose that the utility of money differs in many respects from the utility of life, especially if one considers the fact that, although one can buy many goods, one cannot buy oneself another life, and that it is hard to say how much money a life is worth. That is, one can buy

109 oneself another life only in the sense of buying single organs which are life preserving; yet, one cannot buy oneself a whole new body. Hence, as the utility of a finite life cannot be expressed by the utility of money, it is implausible to assume that the utility of an infinite life can be expressed by the utility of money.

(3) Vague probabilities and two other probability-related objections Hajek (2000, pp. 2–3) has pointed out that Pascal’s wager depends on the decision-maker assigning a probability greater than zero to God’s existence. Hence, decision-makers who can only assign a zero probability to God’s existence maximize their expected utility by betting against God, and decision-makers who cannot assign any probability to God’s existence (= undefined probability) cannot calculate their expected utility at all. One might want to object the following to these two counterexamples: Pascal neither wants to convince strict theists nor strict atheists by his wager, but those Christians who remain suspended between a state of faith and one of unbelief. Moreover, one can pose the question, “Is there actually a basis for assigning a zero probability to God’s existence?” After all, our universe must have some origin. Yet, in a cyclic universe there is no origin, for there is neither a beginning nor an end in such a universe. Moreover, our universe could be such a universe. So, this objection fails. Another argument for a godless universe is as follows: “Natural selection, the blind, unconscious automatic process which Darwin discovered, and which we now know is the explanation for the existence and apparently purposeful form of all life, has no purpose in mind.” (Dawkins 1986, p. 5) Moreover, not only all life is ultimately due to evolution, also the creation of our universe is part of an evolutionary process, so that different universes have evolved on the basis of evolutionary principles. Hence, a god is not necessary for the creation of our universe. Yet, of course this view that different universes have evolved on the basis of evolutionary principles is highly speculative, at best. Dawkins (2006, chapter four), however, is of the opinion that the weak theories which we currently have in physics are, in combination with the anthropic principle, better than the designer hypothesis. Yet, in my

110 opinion, wouldn’t we like to know where the anthropic principle and the weak theories and their laws have their origin? That is, what kind of justification do we have to stop there and not go one step further? Of course, Dawkins (2006, chapter four) then responds, “Why should we stop at the designer and not ask for the designer of the designer?” The reason why to stop at the designer and not at the designer of the designer (ad infinitum) is simply that it is economical, whereas stopping at the laws still leaves oneself unsatisfied. That is, we believe more in agent causation than in event causation. Hence, there is actually no basis for assigning a zero probability to God’s existence. Of course, one might want to object that, whether we believe more in agent causation than in event causation is not the issue here, but whether agent causation is the better account, or whether even event causation can be reduced to agent causation (cf. Lowe 2001). For contemporary accounts of agent causation, see O’Connor (2000), Cuypers (1998), Clarke (1993), Chisholm (1966), and Taylor (1966); agent causation goes back to Thomas Reid (1994; cf. also Ledwig 2005, chapter seven). As event causation is the much more prominent account of causation, I will not enlist the numerous proponents of this account. Yet, couldn’t one argue as follows in order to defend agent causation in the form of God as the first cause of things: whereas one would always like to know where the laws come from and/or why the laws are as they are, this is not necessarily so with regard to God, especially if one thinks that He has always existed and will always exist? Hence, there wouldn’t be an explanatory gap to fill in the case of God, whereas such a gap would still be given with regard to the laws. Of course, if one looks at science, it looks as if there are always basic facts where one hasn’t found an explanation for them either. Yet, this doesn’t mean that there are no explanations possible and that we wouldn’t like to have them. Besides asking whether there is a godless universe, one can also ask whether there really are any strict atheists in this world. For if one is really desperate, doesn’t one usually pray to God? Or if one is at death’s door, doesn’t one think it is better to believe in God? Even John von Neumann, one of the pioneers of classical game theory, had converted to Catholicism by the time he was confined to bed by an advanced and incurable cancer, and he was reported to have said that Pascal had a point: if there is a chance that God exists and that damnation is the lot of the unbeliever, then

111 it is reasonable to believe (cf. Macrae 1992, p. 379). One might want to object that this is only anecdotal evidence and an argument by authority. Yet, this case stands for uncountable other not-so-prominent cases. One further objection is that, indeed, there are real atheists in this world, for they defend atheism theoretically. My reply is to ask, “What is this atheism worth, if its defenders don’t follow it in reality and practice?” Another objection is that babies and very small children don’t believe in God, so, they might be considered as atheists. Yet, one can doubt that babies and very small children have the concept of a god at their disposal. Moreover, although babies and very small children might consider their parents as authoritative figures with incomparably greater powers, this is not the same as considering them as Godlike figures. Hence, the fact that babies and very small children don’t believe in God doesn’t prove that there are atheists in this world. Even if the probability the decision-maker assigns to God’s existence is very small, to bet on God still obtains the best result. According to Jordan (1994b, p. 108), however, the product of an infinitesimal and an infinite number is infinitesimal. If this is true (it is true only for certain infinite and infinitesimal numbers; cf. objection 6), and if one assigns an infinitesimal to God’s existence, then the principle of maximizing expected utility leads to bet against God. Yet, Hajek (2000, p. 3) has claimed that Pascal’s argument is addressed to human beings. And, in fact, human beings don’t assign infinitesimal probabilities to propositions, for most of them don’t even know what an infinitesimal number is, so how could they assign an infinitesimal probability to a proposition? One may object that, although human beings, in fact, don’t assign infinitesimal probabilities to propositions, they can assign such probabilities. For suppose a dart is thrown at a unit square. Can’t I assign an infinitesimal probability to its hitting a particular point in the square? Hence, even though one in fact doesn’t assign infinitesimal probabilities to God’s existence, one can assign such probabilities. In Robinson’s (1974, p. 56) non-standard analysis of number theory, which Robinson (1974, p. 2) considers as an advancement of Leibniz’s theory of infinitesimals, zero is infinitesimal; moreover, in internal set theory, zero is the only standard infinitesimal (cf. Oppy 2006, p. 40). Of course, human beings can assign a probability of zero to God’s existence,

112 so in that sense they can assign an infinitesimal probability to God’s existence. Yet, in most cases they would be ignorant of the fact that zero is an infinitesimal in Robinson’s non-standard analysis of number theory and in internal set theory. Hence, they wouldn’t consider zero to be an infinitesimal number. Moreover, although one can assign a probability of zero to God’s existence, whether one does so is what I question. Fear of the unknown may be, for many people, a very salient pragmatic reason for assigning a positive probability to God’s existence. Even more so, the fact that there is no proof against God’s existence (the misery and evil found on Earth can be explained by all kinds of things) may be a very good reason to assign a positive probability to His existence, even if it is only a very small one. With regard to the case in which decision-makers cannot assign any probability to God’s existence, the following can be said: Pascal’s wager simply doesn’t arise for them. Unfortunately, Hajek doesn’t tell us which kind of decision-makers he has in view. Very young children or mentally retarded people might not be able to assign any probability to God’s existence, for they might not have any concept of probability and/or of God yet. With regard to adults with sound minds, they might not be willing to assign any probability to God’s existence, but if one presses them to do so, I doubt that they cannot come up with some kind of probability assignment—even if it were a probability interval. Hence, this argument isn’t valid. In fact, one can find an aversion to uncertainty in human beings (cf. objection five), which might explain why they don’t assign a probability to God’s existence. But this doesn’t explain that they cannot assign a probability to God’s existence, which is the contentious case. Hajek (2000, p. 3) has also pointed out that the belief states of human beings are vague; that is, human beings cannot assign probability, precise to indefinitely many decimal places, to all propositions. Moreover, Hajek (2000, p. 4) claims that vague beliefs will typically be represented by probability intervals like the probability interval (0, 0.6), so that the relevance of the following discussion for Pascal’s wager is established. For the decision-maker might assign a probability interval to God’s existence. Moreover, according to Hajek (2000, p. 6) this probability interval might even cover zero, which is problematic (as we have already seen). Yet, with the exception of Kyburg (1980), all other decision theorists conceptualize

113 their decision theories not in terms of interval probabilities, but in terms of point probabilities, so that they must have a justification for doing so. Two reasons for point probabilities and against interval probabilities come to my mind. First, one should prefer a simpler decision theory to a more complicated one, if the former theory is as adequate as the latter for solving the problems in its field. Because a decision theory with point probabilities is simpler than a decision theory with interval probabilities, and because there is no reason why a decision theory with point probabilities shouldn’t be able to deal with all the problems in its field, a decision theory with point probabilities should be preferred to a decision theory with interval probabilities. Second, if one uses interval probabilities, one has to provide a justification for both borders, whereas if one uses point probabilities, one just has to justify one point. The former can be seen by the following: if the decision-maker claims that his knowledge situation that it is very likely that there is going to be good weather tomorrow here in Cambridge is best represented by the probability interval (0.7, 0.9), one can ask the decisionmaker why his knowledge situation isn’t best represented by the probability interval (0.69, 0.91)? In the case of point probabilities, however, one can only ask the decision-maker why he uses this point, for example, P = 0.9 in the weather example, and not any other one, like P = 0.91. In either case—in the case of interval probabilities and in the case of point probabilities—it is difficult to provide justifications, and because it is better to need as few justifications as possible, point probabilities should be preferred to interval probabilities in decision theory. One might want to object that it is easier to justify the probability interval (0, 1) than the point probability (0.79, 0.79), for anything might lie in the probability interval (0, 1), whereas something very specific has to be the case with regard to a point probability. Yet, assigning such a huge probability interval to a proposition doesn’t really express anything. That is, in all possible cases, such an assignment turns out to be true and cannot be falsified, and therefore is void of content. Hence, one would always want to prefer a point probability to such a huge probability interval. Moreover, to argue against a point probability in the Gestalt of an interval probability doesn’t seem fair to me. That is, if one wants to argue against point probabilities in comparison to interval probabilities, one should do so

114 in the Gestalt of a point probability and not in the Gestalt of an interval probability. In other words, the interval probability (0.79, 0.79) is not really an interval, but a point. Hence, this objection against point probabilities in decision theory isn’t convincing. Yet, what happens in the following case? Suppose someone says that his probability for a certain proposition is P ≤ 0.01. The first question that arises is whether this is a probability interval or a probability point. In favor of an interval, we see that this probability actually covers the range of an interval, namely (0, 0.01). In favor of a point, we see just its outward appearance, which mentions only one point, namely 0.01. Hence, as the probability’s outward appearance is inessential to its content, probabilities (like those mentioned above) are actually interval probabilities, and therefore need justifications for both boundaries. Moreover, because in the case of these kind of interval probabilities, and in the case of point probabilities, it is difficult to provide justifications, and because it is better to need as few justifications as possible, point probabilities should be preferred to these kinds of interval probabilities in decision theory. Kyburg (1974, pp. 264–267) admits that, in opposition to point probabilities, interval probabilities only fulfill in certain special cases the axioms of a generalized mathematical probability calculus for intervals. This is a serious defect of interval probabilities, for it is a minimal requirement in decision theory that the decision-maker’s probabilities are coherent. As a result, the decision-maker is open to Dutch books. Because interval probabilities only fulfill in certain special cases the axioms of a generalized mathematical probability calculus for intervals, Kyburg’s interval probabilities are limited in their applicability to certain special cases. Yet, Hajek (2000, pp. 5–6) objects that a sure way to avoid being Dutch booked is to remain totally vague, which is true, but has as a consequence that the decision maker isn’t willing to bet on anything anymore, which leads to complete inaction. Moreover, I don’t think it is ideally rational—besides not being feasible—never to decide anything in one’s whole life. However, one might be able to rewrite the axioms of the mathematical probability calculus in such a way that they can accommodate interval probabilities. Furthermore, Dutch books might be avoided if there is a suitable decision rule for the use of interval-valued probabilities. Decision rules can look at bets already made and stay away

115 from new bets that would make a Dutch book. Hence, this argument against interval probabilities isn’t convincing. In favor of interval probabilities may be the fact that there are certain phenomena which might be better represented in terms of interval probabilities than in terms of point probabilities, and that God’s existence may be one of these phenomena. For instance, if someone has cancer, it might be more adequate to the facts to tell the person that the probability that he will recover from the illness lies in an interval. This is more adequate to the facts, because the causes of cancer and what influences it are mostly still unknown. In most cases it is also not clear in which kind of group a certain person falls—whether he, for example, has a cancer gene. Another example might be found in space travel security. Due to the complexity of the involved systems, and due to the possibility of failures in different systems, it might be more adequate to assign a probability interval to an accident in space. One might want to object to these examples that they are due to our missing knowledge and that, if we gained that knowledge, it would be possible to assign point probabilities instead of interval probabilities. Yet, whereas in the latter two examples it doesn’t seem a priori impossible to gain that knowledge, the knowledge of God’s existence, at least from a scientific point of view, seems to be beyond our reach. The critical case, however, is whether the interval probability covers zero and, as I have already contended, there are several good reasons not to assign a zero probability to God’s existence. But if one uses interval probabilities instead of point probabilities, why doesn’t one also use interval utilities instead of point utilities? After all in the game show The Price Is Right, human beings have problems assigning prices to everyday goods, too—that is, they have vague conceptions of which kinds of price might be the right one with respect to particular goods. In my opinion, using interval utilities instead of using point utilities leads to unnecessary complications of decision theory. That is probably also the reason why one doesn’t find any decision theory with interval utilities. Besides Hajek’s position on vague probabilities, there are two other probability-related objections to Pascal’s wager. Here is one of them: in the German translation of the fragment 559b of Pensées (Brunschvicg edition) Pascal says that “Das ewige Wesen [Gott] ist immer, wenn es einmal ist.”

116 To say it in English, “The eternal being [God] is always, if it is once.” If one follows tradition and interprets “necessary” and “possible” temporally (namely, “necessary” by “always” and “possible” by “once”), then Pascal says: “The eternal being is necessary, if it is possible” (to say it in other words: “The eternal being is impossible, if it isn’t necessary”). From this it follows: “The eternal being exists necessarily, if it exists.” From this it also follows: “The eternal being exists necessarily not, if it doesn’t exist.” Pascal nevertheless considers it to be rational to ascribe subjective probabilities other than zero and one respectively to the propositions that God exists and that God doesn’t exist, which has to be defended from every defender of Pascal’s wager. Yet, why should one interpret “possible” by “once?” If something is possible, it doesn’t have to be realized even once; it can be realized once, but it doesn’t have to be—it could also be realized more than once. Moreover, Pascal’s wager was addressed to human beings who wanted to believe but were in doubt about the conditional sentence, “if it is once” and not about the whole sentence, “The eternal being [God] is always, if it is once.” Because of that, they only assigned a small subjective probability to God’s existence. Another probability-related objection to Pascal’s wager is this: as single case probabilities are problematic in quantum theory, they might also be problematic in the case of Pascal’s wager. That is, if an agent is just once confronted with Pascal’s wager, how can he or she assign a subjective probability to God’s existence respective to God’s non-existence? Yet, the agent’s probability for God’s existence can be based on different kinds of evidence he or she has accumulated in his or her life, like the evidence of the Bible, the evidence of past revelations he had, etc., so that the subjective probability the agent ascribes to God’s existence is not single case based. Moreover, in my opinion, the probabilities of the decisionmaker have to be subjective ones, for as far as I know, no one has yet been able to determine the objective probability of God’s existence. Furthermore, a relative frequency account of the probability of God’s existence also doesn’t seem to be fitting, because different decision-makers might value differently the evidence they have each gotten for God’s existence.

117

(4) The satisficing principle It is irrational to maximize one’s expected utility. For if one looks at cases like the following, this leads to absurd consequences: you have just eaten an ice cream. Now someone offers you another ice cream (it doesn’t cost you anything), and then a third one, a fourth one, etc. Would it be rational for you to take each offered ice cream? According to the principle of maximizing expected utility: yes. Yet, what do you want with all this ice cream? It is enough for you to have eaten one ice cream, that is, one follows the principle of satisficing, where to “satisfice” means “to choose or do the good enough rather than the most or the best” (Slote 1995, p. 712; cf. also Simon 1982; Simon 1997; Slote 1989). One may object to this kind of reasoning that eating ice cream differs very much from living an infinite life. For while one becomes saturated by eating ice cream after one or two ice creams, one doesn’t become saturated by living one or two days, weeks, or years longer, given that old age, illness, and living conditions don’t become a burden. Yet, as human beings don’t have any experience with infinite life, it is hard to tell whether human beings become saturated with living an infinite life. But as humans don’t become saturated living a finite life, the same might apply to living an infinite life. One might want to object that at least depressives who commit suicide seem to be saturated living a finite life, and one can imagine lots of scenarios in which one doesn’t want to live infinitely—for example, living in a concentration camp for an infinite amount of time would be considered unbearable by most people, I would imagine. Hence, at least the following provisos have to be made: (a) that the person involved is mentally and physically healthy, and (b) that the living conditions are acceptable. Under these conditions, it seems at least initially plausible to assume that human beings don’t become saturated living an infinite life. But going back to the ice cream example: is this really a successful argument against the principle of maximizing expected utility? Probably not, for if someone continues to offer me ice cream, I would start thinking about starting an ice cream selling business, so in that sense I wouldn’t be satisficed after one or two ice creams and still could maximize my expected utility by taking each offered ice cream. Hence, this argument isn’t successful against Pascal’s wager.

118 Another argument against this kind of reasoning in Pascal’s wager is that Simon’s work is mostly descriptive, whereas Pascal’s wager poses a normative question, namely how one should decide rationally in Pascal’s wager, so that Simon’s satisficing principle doesn’t apply at all to Pascal’s wager. Yet, even though Simon’s intentions might have been different ones, one could at least try to find out whether his principle might be useful for solving Pascal’s wager. Moreover, there is an argument in favor of the satisficing principle with regard to Pascal’s wager. For according to Neu (2000, p. 136), it has been argued that eternal life wouldn’t be desirable, but boring (cf. Williams 1973), so that one has reason to prefer a non-Christian life to a Christian life. Against the view that an eternal life would be boring one could object that, if in an eternal life (like in one’s temporal life) something new happened all the time—like new discoveries, new technologies, new scientific results, etc.—how could this be boring? Yet, as one doesn’t know whether one’s eternal life resembles one’s temporal life, one cannot really evaluate whether an eternal life would be boring and whether one would be satisficed with less than an eternal life. Neu (2000, p. 136), however, poses another question, namely if finite life is meaningless or absurd, might not unending life be infinitely meaningless or infinitely absurd (cf. also Nagel 1979)? My reply is as before: because one doesn’t know whether one’s eternal life resembles one’s temporal life, one cannot say whether an eternal life would be meaningless or absurd. Yet, of course, this possibility exists. Hence, one still needs to suspend judgment with regard to the applicability of Simon’s satisficing principle to Pascal’s wager.

(5) Attitude towards risk and change from reference point One might want to argue that taking the sparrow in one’s hand is better than trying to get the dove on the roof, for the sparrow is already there, whereas the dove is uncertain. Hence, leading the life of a nonChristian wins. This kind of reasoning seems to suggest that the utility of an action is determined by other factors than the utilities of the outcomes as well. Gärdenfors and Sahlin (1988) argue in this direction. They claim that the utility of an action doesn’t only depend on the utilities of the outcomes, but also on other factors, like the decision-maker’s attitude

119 towards risk (Arrow 1971; Pratt 1964) and the amount of possible change from the decision-maker’s reference point (Kahneman and Tversky 1988). Gärdenfors and Sahlin (1988) report that, in the economic literature, a decision-maker is risk-averse if he prefers the monetary utility of a gamble to the gamble itself, and a decision-maker is risk-prone if he has the opposite preferences. If you are highly risk-averse in Pascal’s wager, that is, if the utilities of the actions are determined by the utilities of the outcomes and by the degree of risk-aversion, and if you follow the principle of maximizing expected utility, then you should lead the life of a non-Christian. Yet, the question remains whether it is rational to be risk-averse or risk-prone. Probably neither; that is, the decision-maker is probably best off if he stays in the middle between risk-aversion and risk-proneness. For neither total risk-aversion nor total risk-proneness are survival enhancing for the individual and for the species. Now, if the decision-maker’s attitude towards risk is located on the middle of the scale between risk-aversion and risk-proneness, betting on God’s existence still seems rational. Yet, Griffiths (1997, p. 91) explains phobias and irrational distastes in evolutionary terms; that is, failing to respond to danger may lead to death, while responding unnecessarily merely wastes a little energy. Hence, riskaverse choices in the context of fear seem to be rational (cf. Griffiths 1997, p. 121). Moreover, the agent’s own death is undoubtedly a context of fear, so that a risk-averse choice seems to be rational in Pascal’s wager, too. Yet, what is a risk-averse choice in Pascal’s wager? On the one hand, one may argue that a risk-averse choice in Pascal’s wager is taking what is certain, instead of taking what is doubtful. Hence, leading the life of a nonChristian wins. But on the other hand, one may claim that human beings are so afraid of death that they bet on God’s existence to improve their chances to live an infinite life. Hence, leading the life of a Christian wins. So, depending on what decision-makers fear more (that is, losing what is certain with a finite outcome in view or losing what is doubtful with an infinite outcome in view), different recommendations for Pascal’s wager ensue. Perhaps we get more unique results with regard to Kahneman’s and Tversky’s concept of a reference point in view. Kahneman and Tversky (1988, p. 199) explain the concept of a reference point as follows:

120 “When we respond to attributes such as brightness, loudness, or temperature, the past and present context of experience defines an adaptation level, or reference point, and stimuli are perceived in relation to this reference point….The same principle applies to non-sensory attributes such as health, prestige, and wealth. The same level of wealth…may imply abject poverty for one person and great riches for another—depending on their current assets.”

Furthermore, they claim that the relationship between the utility of an action and the reference point is the following (Kahneman and Tversky 1988, p. 200): “Strictly speaking, value should be treated as a function in two arguments: the asset position that serves as a reference point, and the magnitude of the change (positive or negative) from that reference point.”

To make it more precise, the utility of an action is determined by the possible changes from the reference point rather than by the utility of the outcomes. Applying this to Pascal’s wager one gets the following result: someone who is close to death might value an infinite life much more than someone who is in the bloom of his life. Hence, if the decision-maker is close to death and the amount of possible change (from the decisionmaker’s) reference point is very big, he should decide to bet on God; whereas if the decision-maker is in the bloom of his life and the amount of possible change (from the decision-maker’s reference point) is very small, he should decide to bet against God. In a similar vein, Swinburne (1969, p. 220) writes: “A…fault of Pascal’s argument is this. Pascal assumes that all men would evaluate in the same way as he the various outcomes. But in fact, rightly or wrongly, men will put very different values from each other on the different outcomes. Life in the Christian heaven appeals to some more than others, and the life of worldly bliss enjoyed by the non-believer also appeals to some more than others.”

In accordance with this is Don Giovanni’s behavior in Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni. For Don Giovanni boldly refuses warnings to repent, even in the face of death, so he simply puts a different value on eternal life than other human beings. Whether he does so out of courage, pride, or principle is irrelevant for the problem at hand; just that he does so is important. But like Rescher (1985, pp. 19–20), one can counter this example—and Swinburne’s claim—by stating that Pascal’s argument is simply addressed to those who do have the evaluative stance that an infinite life is worth

121 more than an earthly life, and that agreement on the exact size of values is unnecessary to the argument. It is enough that the heavenly alternative is infinitely greater than the other ones. Furthermore, human beings are confronted with Pascal’s wager very early on in life. One might even want to claim that once one is aware of Pascal’s wager, one is confronted with it every further second of one’s life, so that we actually have no one-shot decision problem, but a finitelyiterated decision problem in front of us. Hence, static decision principles might not be applicable in Pascal’s wager, but only dynamic ones. Yet, as Pascal’s wager is in fact always out there and doesn’t get iterated, static decision theory seems to be more appropriate after all. Or one might even want to argue that Pascal’s wager gets iterated at the different times the decision-maker becomes aware of the problem. Yet, this becomes then very fuzzy. Similarly Hajek (2003, p. 28) states: “The decision to wager for or against God is one that you make at a time—at t, say. But of course Pascal does not think that you would be infinitely rewarded for wagering for God momentarily, then wagering against God thereafter; nor that you would be infinitely rewarded for wagering for God sporadically only on every other Thursday afternoon, for example. What Pascal intends by ‘wagering for God’ is an ongoing action—indeed, one that continues until your death—that involves your adopting a certain set of practices and living the kind of life that fosters belief in God.”

Addressing Pascal’s wager cannot be evaded; that is, Pascal’s wager is an existential problem. Sooner or later one has to make a decision whether to bet on God or against him. Pascal himself supports this position. For Pascal (1960, 343/233) writes: “At the extremity of this infinite distance a game is in progress, where either heads or tails may turn up. What will you wager? According to reason you cannot bet either way; according to reason you can defend neither proposition.…‘Both are wrong. The right thing is not to wager at all.’ Yes; but a bet must be laid. There is no option: You have joined the game.” James (1956, p. 6), however, argues against it: “It is evident that unless there be some pre-existing tendency to believe in masses and holy water, the option offered to the will by Pascal is not a living option.” Yet, this is actually no counter objection. For Pascal’s wager isn’t made for nonbelievers, but for skeptics whose belief in God can be very weak. In order

122 to support this position, one finds the following passage in Pascal (1960, 343/233): “You desire to attain faith, but you do not know the way. You would like to cure yourself of unbelief, and you ask for remedies. Learn from those who where once bound and gagged like you, and who now stake all that they possess. They are men who know the road that you desire to follow, and who have been cured of a sickness of which you desire to be cured. Follow the way by which they set out, acting as if they already believed, taking holy water, having masses said, etc. Even this will naturally cause you to believe and blunt your cleverness.”

One might object to the latter that taking holy water, having masses said, and acting as if one believed sounds very much like opportunistic behavior. Yet, also Ratzinger (06/26/2000) has pointed out: “But then we remember that Paul did not hesitate to say to his communities: ‘imitate me’ (1 Corinthians 4:16; Philippians 3:17; 1 Thessalonians 1:6; 2 Thessalonians 3:7, 9).” Moreover, acting as if one believes is meant in such a way that it amounts to a program to attain real faith and not to attain the best result by opportunistic behavior. There is a distinction in intention here. Since Pascal’s wager is an existential problem, it is better to decide sooner rather than later, because death by accident or illness can happen each day. Hence, because infinite life is infinitely greater than any of the other outcomes, and because the amount of possible change from the decision-maker’s reference point is very big even for someone who is in the bloom of his life, it is rational to bet on God. One might object the following to Rescher’s position, though: are there really any people out there who take that stance that an infinite life is worth more than an earthly life? If they really say so, one can ask them for their justification. That is, how do they know that an infinite life is better than a finite one? What kind of evidence do they have? Have they experienced something infinite before and have evaluated it as better than something finite? I am afraid there is no one in this world, who has had such kinds of experiences before. Moreover, I think one should rather say in the case of Pascal’s wager that, as human beings don’t have any access to epistemic or pragmatic infinities in their life-times, they are actually not able to decide whether they would prefer leading infinite lives to finite ones. Hence, Pascal’s wager is undecidable.

123 One might object to that by stating that something which is undecidable cannot be rational. Yet, won’t you agree that, in some cases, it might be rational not to decide, in particular in situations in which one doesn’t have enough information about what to choose? Against the latter position, Pascal might point out that one isn’t able to suspend judgment in Pascal’s wager. That is, suspending judgment amounts to the same thing as betting against God. But does this really have to be the case? Suspending judgment doesn’t necessarily mean that one has to live a sinful life. There might be other reasons why one chooses to be a morally good person. Hence, I don’t see why suspending judgment shouldn’t be considered as a third possibility in Pascal’s wager. After all, rational decision theory is not only about considering which decision is the rational one given certain choices and certain states of the world, it is also about considering whether the states of the world and the choices are adequate for the decision problem at hand. Besides Arrow’s (1971) and Pratt’s (1964) concept of risk-aversion, one can find another kind of risk-aversion, namely an aversion to uncertainty in human beings (Bewley 2002, p. 81). Bewley (2002, p. 80) illustrates this kind of aversion by Knight’s (1921) intuition about investor behavior: “If an individual found a new investment opportunity uncertain and hard to evaluate, he would be unlikely to undertake it, for he would do so only if it had positive expected value for each of a large set of probability distributions.” According to Bewley (2002) this kind of behavior is best captured by an inertia assumption the intuitive idea of which is as follows: if a new alternative arises, an individual makes use of it only if doing so would put him in a preferred position. Moreover, one can consider Pascal’s wager as a new alternative. For there is a first time when one becomes aware of Pascal’s wager. Furthermore, according to Knight (1921), a random variable is uncertain if its probability distribution is unknown. Additionally, in Pascal’s wager one doesn’t know the probability distribution, so a case of uncertainty is given. Finally, although Bewley (2002, p. 82) proposes his Knightian model of behavior in order to rationalize many economic phenomena which otherwise seem difficult to explain, he wants his model also to be a normative one. Hence, one cannot argue that because Pascal’s wager is a normative problem and aversion to

124 uncertainty is a descriptive phenomenon, this kind of risk-aversion is irrelevant for Pascal’s wager. Yet, what happens if one applies the inertia assumption to Pascal’s wager? As it is still philosophically undecided whether betting on God or betting against God puts one in a preferred position, one should not make use of Pascal’s wager. That is, one should neither bet on God nor bet against Him, but should suspend judgment till it is clear which kind of decision puts one in a preferred position. Moreover, this kind of behavior, namely suspending judgment, is very common in real life with regard to the question of whether one believes in God. That is, most people say they don’t know whether they believe in God or not and evade this question till they are about to die—that is, when they cannot evade dealing with this problem anymore. Yet, addressing this problem cannot be evaded. For Pascal’s wager is an existential problem in which suspending judgment is not an option. Hence, the inertia assumption doesn’t help us in solving Pascal’s wager. Moreover, one could even argue that agents who say that they don’t know whether they believe in God or not are nothing else but agents who bet against God, for it is not to be expected that their lifestyles will be the lifestyles of true Christians. Yet, as we have already seen before, this doesn’t have to be the case, so suspending judgment might be a viable third option for choice. The saying, “taking the sparrow in one’s hand is better than trying to get the dove on the roof” not only points to the fact that the decisionmaker’s attitude towards risk, the amount of possible change from the decision-maker’s reference point, and an aversion to uncertainty in human beings might have an influence on Pascal’s wager, but also that Richard Herrnstein’s matching law might modify a solution to Pascal’s wager. For according to Frank (1988, p. 78) Herrnstein’s matching law implies that human beings heavily discount distant future rewards and accord near primacy to those that occur immediately. Yet, even if it is the case that human beings act like that, the question arises of whether this is the rational thing to do. Discounting of the future may be rational with regard to this world, because one first has to secure one’s present survival; for what sense does it make to think of the future in this world if one doesn’t even know how to get food, shelter, and work for the present day? Hence, the more one’s present life is already secured and problem-free, the more

125 one can think of the future in this world. Yet, as the future is uncertain in this world, in the sense that it is always uncertain whether one’s plans always turn out the way one has predicted them to turn out, how can one value something uncertain as much as something that is present with regard to this world? Hence, this implication of the matching law seems to be rational with regard to this world. But how can one say that it is also the rational thing to do with regard to an infinite world to which one doesn’t have any access? Hence, it is not rational to apply the matching law to Pascal’s wager.

(6) The many gods objection The many gods objection, in its simplest form, is this: “An Imam could reason just as well this way.” (Diderot 1875–1877, p. 167) But is this really a counter-argument? Couldn’t we respond: rightly so! For “Perhaps we take more seriously than Pascal the idea that, if God has all the goodness claimed for Him, then ‘He’s a good fellow, and ‘twill all be well,’ so that belief in any particular religion cannot be necessary for salvation.” (Franklin 1998, p. 111) Yet, this response presupposes that God is omnibenevolent. Do we have any reason to think that? After all, there is evil in this world, and as God created the whole world, this evil must be due to Him. According to The New American Standard Bible (Genesis 3:1– 24), however, evil came into the world with mankind. Yet, trying to detect the origin of evil opens up Pandora’s box and leads us away from the main topic of this chapter. Hence, we better stop with this line of thought. For the problem of evil and in which way it might be inconsistent with an omnibenevolent God, see Chapter Four. Yet, what follows if one supposes that God isn’t omnibenevolent, but evil? Actually this is indeterminate, for He might punish those who bet on Him and/or don’t bet on Him. Hence, Pascal’s wager doesn’t get solved that way. Rescher (1985, p. 93) takes Diderot’s utterance more seriously, although he argues against it: “If (like most of us) one is prepared to set the probability of strange gods at zero, the argument cannot point one in their direction.” Yet, are Allah, Yahweh, etc. really so strange gods for us? Moreover, what about the even finer distinctions between the Protestant God, the Catholic God, etc.? God, however, would be really pedantic, if he really took into account all of these finer distinctions (pace Ratzinger and

126 Levada). I dare say figuratively, God has something better to do than looking into every bedroom at midnight. He wouldn’t be a German “Kleingeist.” (The latter remark wasn’t meant to denote Ratzinger, in case anyone might by chance come up with that association.) Similarly, Rescher (2007, p. 43) considers the intuition that “God has far more important work to do than to involve himself in the disputes of philosophers,” when discussing God’s place in philosophy. But what about the bigger distinctions between a Christian God, Allah, Yahweh, etc.? Is it irrational to believe at the same time in different degrees in a Christian God, Allah, Yahweh, etc.? In my opinion, being rational seems at least to demand that decision-makers are coherent within their beliefs and wants, and at least to some extent consistent over time. Thus, the question arises whether this many gods objection fulfils these two criteria. My answer is “yes,” for with regard to the coherence factor, it is coherent to believe at the same time (although in different degrees) in the Christian God, Allah, Yahweh, etc. For these are competing hypotheses. It is not coherent to believe in the existence of the respective gods together, though, in the sense of having full belief in the existence of the respective gods together. For these different gods exclude each other. After all, at least the Christian God demands “You shall have no other gods before Me.” (The New American Standard Bible, Exodus 20:3) (For a very valuable explication of the concept of coherence see Bartelborth (1999).) With regard to the problem of consistency over time, some prima facie arbitrariness on the side of the decision-maker can be traced back to the learning factor, for being rational seems to demand that decisionmakers learn from experience. Thus, decision-makers can be inconsistent over time, but still be rational, if the decision-makers’ beliefs and wants change adequately—that is, rationally—by experience. Hence, it is consistent to change one’s beliefs in these different gods over time. So, this many gods objection falls through. Yet, although these different gods exclude each other, there may be gods who don’t exclude each other. One just has to look at the Greek gods or the Egyptian gods. In accordance with this, Martin (1992, pp. 44–45), while elaborating on Wesley Salmon’s argument that the existence of God is improbable, points out that, based on our experience, we can only say that order of a large magnitude has never been produced by only one

127 designer, and that our universe has a large magnitude. Thus, it seems probable that our universe has more than one designer. Yet, couldn’t one very plausibly reply that our universe only has a large magnitude from our human standpoint? Another argument for the improbability of the existence of God is, given that God is a disembodied intelligence, never in our experience has a disembodied intelligence produced order (Martin 1992, pp. 44–45). Therefore, based on these features, namely the large magnitude of the universe and the production of order by a disembodied intelligence, it seems improbable that the universe was created by an intelligent disembodied being (Martin 1992, p. 45). Yet, besides the possibility that the universe is just large for all animals and plants that we know, perhaps our universe might have been built by several intelligent embodied beings. Swinburne (2003, p. 31, footnote 13), however, claims that the hypothesis of many lesser deities who keep the universe moving is, because of its greater complexity, less likely to be true than a universe ruled by one deity. Yet, in the sciences also, some more complex theories have substituted for simpler theories, such as Einstein’s quantum mechanics has substituted for Newton’s classical mechanics. Swinburne (1992, pp. 209–210; cf. also Descartes in his Meditations of First Philosophy in Ariew and Watkins 1998) points out that, if more than one god created the universe, one should expect characteristic marks of the handiwork of different gods in different parts of the universe in analogy to the fact that we see different kinds of workmanship in the different houses of a city. Yet, as the universe is so vast, will we ever be able to find out whether the universe is uniform in its appearance with regard to laws, etc.? At least now we don’t have the means yet to discern that. If one wants to argue that Pascal’s wager isn’t an argument for believing in the Christian God, but for believing in the God of Islam, then I have nothing to object to that. For as long as the appeal to evidence, whether empirical or conceptual, in the cosmological, ontological, or other theistic arguments isn’t successful, and as long as the belief in the God of Islam doesn’t prove to be incoherent—it is a minimal requirement of rationality to be coherent—then Pascal’s wager is an argument for betting on the God of Islam; it all depends on the beliefs and wants of the decision-maker. Yet, as Pascal’s wager was directed at “those nominal

128 Christians, whose name is legion, who do indeed espouse the godconception on which the argument is premised” and whose “range of godpossibilities they are prepared to consider as real possibilities…is one at most,” Pascal’s wager is an argument for betting on the Christian God (Rescher 1985, p. 97). Jordan (1994, p. 108; cf. also Gale 1991, pp. 349–351; Oppy 1990) poses a weaker version of Rescher’s many gods objection by not putting the probabilities of strange gods at zero, but at infinitesimally small numbers. So let’s see whether this argument works. Here it is: the product of an infinitesimal and an infinite number is infinitesimal. Moreover, there is a denumerable infinity of possible gods. So the probability of any one of the denumerably many possible gods is infinitesimally small. Hence, Pascal’s wager doesn’t generate an infinite expected utility for theistic belief, but only an infinitesimal one. Therefore, the wager is useless as any sort of support for theistic belief. If one wants to elaborate on the idea that there is not only a finite number of gods at our disposal, but even an infinite number of gods, please have a look at Vallentyne (2000) for a treatment of infinitely many possible states of the world in rational decision theory. But is the product of an infinitesimal and an infinite number really infinitesimal? One can question this point: for the product of an infinitesimal with an infinite number may be finite, infinite, or infinitesimal, depending on the infinite and infinitesimal numbers in question. If one considers a non-Archimedean ordered field and supposes that x is an infinite member of the field, then 1/x is an infinitesimal member of the field and x times x, that is, x square, is an infinite member of the field and the following holds: (i) x times 1/(x square) = 1/x is infinitesimal; (ii) x times 1/x = 1 is finite; (iii) x square times 1/x = x is infinite. Hence, this version of the many gods objection only works for certain infinite and infinitesimal numbers. One might even want to argue against this many gods objection that, even if there is a denumerable infinity of possible gods, they don’t have to be equiprobable; yet, applying the principle of indifference might be justified in case one doesn’t know anything about God (cf. Jordan 1994b, p. 108). Furthermore, one can even claim that a solution to Pascal’s wager shouldn’t hinge on technicalities like what kind of numbers to employ—

129 that is, conceptual arguments should have more weight than technical arguments with regard to a solution of Pascal’s wager. Hence, this version of the many gods objection is not so important. If one considers the possibility that the decision-maker ascribes a small, but not infinitesimal, probability to a god who rewards with an eternal life, those who bet on God’s existence and a smaller, but still not infinitesimal probability, to a god who rewards with an eternal life those who don’t bet on God’s existence, with the third possibility being that God doesn’t care, then both betting on God and betting against God have an infinite utility. Yet in my opinion, they don’t have the same infinite utility, for the first God has the higher probability than the second. That is, we still would have the intuition that it is better to take the first option. But as I already said, intuitions with regard to infinities seem to differ and, as human beings don’t have any epistemic or pragmatic access to the infinite, it seems problematic to rely on our intuitions with regard to the infinite. According to Armour-Garb (1999), Lycan and Schlesinger (1992) maintain they can avoid the many gods objection by applying the principle of simplicity; yet, Armour-Garb argues against it. For when one is choosing among competing theologies, it is both the ideology and the ontology that are of relevance (Armour-Garb 1999). That is to say, it is not only crucial which ideology is most simple, but that the specific object of worship is a member of the kind picked out by the positing description (Armour-Garb 1999). Yet, one cannot guarantee that the specific object of worship ever is a member of the kind picked out by the positing description (Armour-Garb 1999). That is, the question of whether anything satisfies the description D of a particular god within a particular religious tradition T is independent of the question of whether anything satisfies the description “the object of worship of T” (Armour-Garb 1999). The latter follows from the fact that satisfaction of the positing description is neither necessary nor sufficient for the existence of the posited entity (ArmourGarb 1999). As a result of all this, Armour-Garb (1999) then advocates that there is no many gods objection, because we are not faced with the question of which God to believe, but are rather faced with the question of which God concept to believe. As Pascal has convinced us that a theistic worldview is the right one, Armour-Garb (1999) maintains that the latter question can be

130 solved by applying a more worldly set of criteria, such as convenience, familial and social ties, etc. to the remaining theistic alternatives in a second decision-theoretic process in order to choose one’s religion. Similarly, Lycan and Schlesinger (1992, pp. 274–275) claim that three factors are of relevance with regard to the kind of God in which one should believe: (1) one should take into account empirical indications (some of the major religions have more evidence accumulated than others throughout history); (2) one should look at the respective payoffs of the different major religions and decide for the religion with the most attractive afterlife and/or the worst form of damnation; (3) one should keep one’s faith as ecumenical as one dares, that is, some religions grant salvation to anyone who has led the right sort of life, while others are much more strict. With regard to strange gods, such as a divine rewarder of non-self-shaving or a reclusive god, Lycan and Schlesinger (1992), emphasize that their unlikelihood is already proven by empirical means; that is, such kinds of gods don’t have any kind of empirical evidence going for them, whereas one finds evidence for a Christian God, the God of Israel, or even Allah. Lycan and Schlesinger (1992, p. 274) even claim that a religion which is attracting and sustaining millions of believers over thousands of years shows epistemic marks in its favor. Yet in my opinion, and in contrast to Armour-Garb (1999), Pascal hasn’t convinced me that a theistic worldview is the right one. For as I said before, we don’t have epistemic and/or pragmatic access to infinities, and therefore cannot solve Pascal’s wager. Hence Armour-Garb’s solution to the many gods problem which follows as a second step in the decision process is not viable for me.

(7) Moral concerns As belief is not under our direct voluntary control (Morris 1994, p. 57), and as there are no other ontological or cosmological proofs for God’s existence, we can only bet on God or against Him. Betting on God then takes the form of taking holy water, having masses said, etc. (Armour 1993, p. 2; cf. also p. 61). Yet, why is belief not under our direct voluntary control? Can’t we gather evidence in such a way that only one particular belief is supported, whereas others don’t get supported? Don’t we have a will to believe (James 1956)? One might want to object that gathering of

131 evidence to support a belief isn’t a direct, but only an indirect, form of control of belief, which is true. Moreover, one has to start with a certain set of beliefs, which are usually taken over from one’s parents and/or caregiving persons in childhood. But from there onwards, one can revise one’s beliefs according to one’s wants. As emotions can, to a certain extent, be controlled—we can direct our attention away from our emotions (the chess player who is in pain and who diverts himself from his pain by playing chess) or we can view our emotions under a different perspective (the brain activity of pain becomes the focus of attention and not the subjective feeling of pain)—why shouldn’t we be able to control our beliefs, too? Surely emotions might be much more difficult to control than beliefs. After all, at least at first sight, many people would agree that emotions are not very rational (for a contrary view see Ledwig 2006a), whereas beliefs seem to be much more rational. With regard to the emotions, Ledwig (2006a, p. 26) states: “Actually Schnall and Laird (2003, pp. 787–788; cf. also Adelmann and Zajonc 1989; Capella 1993; Izard 1990, Laird and Bresler 1990) report that many studies support the thesis that feeling states can be induced by changes in people’s bodily activities. For example, they report that people who are induced to adopt facial expressions or postures of various emotions feel the corresponding emotion…In an experiment Schnall and Laird (2003) have found that practicing expressive behavior typical of various emotions, for about half an hour, did have effects on emotional feelings and on access to emotional memories that endured about ten minutes beyond the practice period.”

Hence, we don’t have to bet on God’s existence or His non-existence; “to believe in God” and “not to believe in God” are possible options for Pascal’s wager, too. Yet, even though beliefs might be under our control, are they voluntary? As the American attitude to always at least try to smile, that is, to intend to smile and accordingly as a first step to set up a smiling face, might induce, contribute, or lead to the arousal of the emotion of happiness, the attitude to intend to believe a certain proposition might also induce, contribute, or lead to the arousal of the corresponding belief. Moreover, intending to believe is voluntary. Hence, to a certain extent, even beliefs might be termed “voluntary.” Now some have argued that betting on God or against Him is morally objectionable, because it is inadequate with respect of the gravity

132 of the subject. Franklin (1998, p. 110), for instance, quotes Abbé de Villars (1671, pp. 354–355): “I lose patience listening to you treating the highest of all matters, and resting the most important truth in the world, the source of all truths, on an idea so base and so puerile, on a comparison with a game of heads and tails more productive of mirth than persuasion.”

Even Voltaire (1964, letter 25), whom we expect to be a little bit more liberal, states: “This article seems besides a little indecent and puerile; the idea of gaming, of loss and gain, little suits the gravity of the subject.” Also James (1956, p. 6) remarks on Pascal’s wager: “We feel that a faith in masses and holy water adopted willfully after such a mechanical calculation would lack the inner soul of faith’s reality.” Yet, if there are no ontological or cosmological proofs of God’s existence available, and if one doesn’t have an inner soul of faith, what options are left to persuade unbelievers? Moreover, if unbelievers can be convinced by reason, why shouldn’t one employ it? The purpose sanctifies the means. In particular, if unbelievers use reason as a justification for their lack of faith, it is a question of prudence to use the weapon of the “enemy”—to say it figuratively—to persuade him to the contrary. Another moral objection to Pascal’s wager is this: “It is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone to believe anything upon insufficient evidence.” (Clifford, 1999, p. 77; cf. also Quinn 1994, pp. 64–66, 71–74) Moreover, because the title of Clifford’s essay was “The Ethics of Belief”, it is obvious that “wrong” means morally wrong; for if it meant epistemically wrong, Clifford would have been stating the empty tautology that it is epistemically wrong to believe anything upon insufficient evidence, that is to say, that it is epistemically wrong to believe (Gale 1999, chapter four). What if there is some proposition, however, for which there is little evidence, but which would be beneficial for us to believe (Foley 1994; James 1956; cf. also Gale 1999, chapter four)? As there is no question that there is little scientific evidence for God’s existence, one only has to prove that it is beneficial for us to believe in God’s existence. This proof can take several forms. Let’s start with the most difficult one: (i) Does it logically follow that the agent’s belief in God’s existence has beneficial consequences? No, for the agent’s belief in God’s existence might imply that the agent believes that God will take care of the agent, but

133 it also might imply that the agent believes that God will not take care of the agent, depending on which kind of God in which the agent believes. (ii) Does it causally follow that the agent’s belief in God’s existence has beneficial consequences? No, for the agent’s belief in God’s existence might cause other agents to treat the agent better, but it might also cause other agents not to treat the agent better, depending on how these agents evaluate the agent’s belief and, therefore, the agent himself. (iii) Does it analytically follow that the agent’s belief in God’s existence has beneficial consequences? Following Kant’s definition in the introduction (A7–A8, B10–B11) to his Kritik der reinen Vernunft (1990), a judgment is analytical, if the term of the predicate is already contained in the term of the subject, so that nothing new is added in this way. In his Prolegomena (1976) Kant adds the criterion that the negation of an analytical judgment leads to a self-contradiction, so that analytical judgments are necessarily true. Thus, a proposition P is analytically necessary if and only if the term of the predicate is already contained in the term of the subject and if the negation of an analytical proposition leads to a self-contradiction. According to this explication, beneficial consequences don’t follow analytically from the agent’s belief in God’s existence. For while “unmarried man” follows analytically from “bachelor,” given that there is no concept change, “beneficial consequences” do not follow analytically from “God’s existence.” Hence, I have proven that it is not beneficial for us to believe in God’s existence. Moreover, although there might be little scientific evidence against God’s existence, nevertheless it might be beneficial for us to believe in His non-existence, because then one can at least enjoy the pleasures of leading the life of a non-Christian. Yet, even if one cannot prove that it is beneficial for us to believe in God’s existence, there might be other propositions for which there is little evidence, but which would be beneficial for us to believe. Hence, Clifford’s general objection isn’t convincing.

III. Parallels of Pascal’s wager to other decision problems Sometimes drawing parallels between different decision problems highlights unique solutions which one would not have found if one had just

134 considered the problem alone. Therefore, I will consider several suggestions found in the literature in this regard. Sobel (2004, p. 628, note 28) points out that one can draw a parallel between Newcomb’s problem and the following wager: “Suppose a Being in whose power to predict your choices you have enormous confidence. Suppose that you are not merely almost certain, but absolutely certain, that this Being’s prediction about your choice in the situation to be discussed are correct. There are two lives you can live. This Being—your Creator—has made you a free agent. He has given you the power to choose whether to live piously and correctly according to His wishes, or to indulge your fancies, yield to temptation and, prudently as regards this-world consequences, have much more fun. And He has decided what will be your prospects after death. Eternal bliss has been arranged for you if he predicted that you will exercise your freedom according to his wishes—otherwise nothing: infini–rien. All that is settled. There is nothing you can do to affect your eternal prospects. He not only will not alter the arrangements he has put in place for you after your death; no matter what—no matter how you were to live—he would not alter these arrangements. However, while there is nothing you can do about your objective prospects, you can affect your subjective expectations for them. Your life, though you are sure that it cannot be a cause of the Being’s grace, is for you, given your theology, a possible sign of it. What do you do? What life do you choose? Does it matter to this question how much longer you expect to live in hope or despair?”

In order to compare this version of the wager to Newcomb’s problem, it is best to have a look at Newcomb’s problem first. For a whole range of Newcomb-like problems, please have a look at Ledwig (2000, pp. 80–87). Newcomb’s problem is described by Robert Nozick (1969, pp. 114–115) in the following way: “Suppose a being in whose power to predict your choices you have enormous confidence. (One might tell a science-fiction story about a being from another planet, with an advanced technology and science, whom you know to be friendly, etc.) You know that this being has often correctly predicted your choices in the past (and has never, so far as you know, made an incorrect prediction about your choices), and furthermore you know that this being has often correctly predicted the choices of other people, many of whom are similar to you, in the particular situation to be described below. One might tell a longer story, but all this leads you to believe that almost certainly this being’s prediction about your choice in the situation to be discussed will be correct. There are two boxes, (B1) and (B2). (B1) contains $1,000; (B2) contains either $1,000,000 ($1M), or nothing. What the content of (B2) depends upon will be

135 described in a moment.…You have a choice between two actions: (1) taking what is in both boxes, or (2) taking only what is in the second box. Furthermore, and you know this, the being knows that you know this, and so on. (I) If the being predicts you will take what is in both boxes, he does not put the $1M in the second box; (II) If the being predicts you will take only what is in the second box, he does put the $1M in the second box.…The situation is as follows. First, the being makes its prediction. Then it puts the $1M in the second box, or does not, depending upon what it has predicted. Then you make your choice. What do you do?”

Furthermore, Nozick (1969, p. 143) adds the following: “If the being predicts that you will consciously randomise your choice, e. g., flip a coin, or decide to do one of the actions if the next object you happen to see is blue, and otherwise do the other action, then he does not put the $1M in the second box.” Taking Nozick’s original formulation of the problem, the decision situation of Newcomb’s problem can be represented by the following decision matrix (cf. also Ledwig 2000, chapter one): s1: The predictor has s2: The predictor has predicted at t1 that I predicted at t1 that I will take the content of will take the content of B2, and he has put $ both boxes, and he has 1,000,000 in B2 at t2. put $ 0 in B2 at t2. a1: I take the content of o11: $ 1,001,000 o12: $ 1,000 both boxes at t3. a2: I take the content of o21: $ 1,000,000 o22: $ 0 B2 at t3. Figure 2. Decision matrix for Newcomb’s problem of the possible outcomes o11, o12, o21, o22 which result from combining the possible actions a1, a2 with the possible states of the world s1, s2. Now, if we have a look at this representation of Newcomb’s problem and compare it with the decision matrix of Pascal’s wager, then there is already one way in which both matrices are quite clearly different: whereas in the case of Newcomb’s problem the principle of strong dominance can be applied, in the decision matrix of Pascal’s wager not even the principle of weak dominance can be applied (for the principles of dominance, see

136 Ledwig 2000, pp. 27–30). When Newcomb’s problem was first formulated by Nozick (1969) and also in many accounts subsequently (for a listing of nearly all of the literature on Newcomb’s problem, see Ledwig 2000), this decision problem was described as a conflict between the principle of maximizing expected utility and the principle of dominance. So this is a fundamental difference from Pascal’s wager, and one cannot simply transfer the solution from Newcomb’s problem to Pascal’s wager. Moreover, as Newcomb’s problem is such a difficult decision problem as it is (although most decision theorists now more-or-less agree on what the correct solution is), it might not be advisable to transfer the solution of Newcomb’s problem to Pascal’s wager due to the controversies surrounding Newcomb’s problem. Of course, one could try to argue that living the life of a Christian is actually not something which has a negative utility, but actually a positive one, for it yields all kinds of benefits. First of all, if one leads a Christian life, one knows of oneself that one is a good person, which one might value highly. Second, although there are many people out there who don’t adhere to Christian standards, one can build a network of friends and business partners who share one’s values, so that the positive benefit from those friends and business partners could outmatch the negative consequences which one might have to face from all the people who don’t share those values. Another point is this: in Newcomb’s problem, nothing of an infinite value is at stake, while in Pascal’s wager the positive infinite outcome quite clearly trumps all the others. Also this feature is a fundamental one, for the simple reason that there are decision theories such as Jeffrey’s (1983), which are unable to deal with infinite numbers. Of course, one could reply to this objection that this just shows the deficiency and insufficiency of Jeffrey’s theory. Another possible reply is the following: there might be people out there who would consider $1,000,000 to be something beyond reach for them and who will, therefore, see it as something infinite. After all, at least for the ordinary person, something infinite is something beyond reach; moreover, what is of relevance in decision theory is the subjective evaluation of outcomes, unless this subjective evaluation is completely irrational. That is, Rabinowicz (1982) rightly maintains that Lewis’ (1981) idea to apply rational decision theory

137 to fully- and partly-rational decision-makers must have some limits, because one cannot permit that the decision-maker is as irrational as he wants to be (cf. Ledwig 2000, p. 13, p. 203). According to Rabinowicz (1982) rational choice theory would have problems with a decision-maker whose wants cannot be consistently represented by a utility function and/or whose beliefs cannot be represented by a credence function, for he believes in impossibilities. Yet, I don’t see how the subjective evaluation of $1,000,000 as something infinite is so horribly irrational and would violate the last two constraints by Rabinowicz. There is another fundamental difference between Newcomb’s problem and Sobel’s variation of the wager: Newcomb’s problem, as it was originally formulated, has an almost perfect predictor, whereas Sobel’s variation of the wager has a perfect predictor. Moreover, in Newcomb’s problem, it was crucial that the predictor was not infallible, but only almost always correct in his predictions, because in the case of an infallible predictor one would have the quite clear intuition that one should just take the second box, and the pull behind the different choices wouldn’t be so clearly felt. One might want to object that Sobel doesn’t talk about the infallibility of the predictor, but of the decision-maker’s absolute certainty that he will be correct. Nevertheless, in the original formulation of Newcomb’s problem, the decision-maker is not absolutely certain that the predictor will be correct. Yet, even if we assumed the predictor’s infallibility in both cases, it might be the case that God’s infallibility might differ from the predictor’s infallibility in Newcomb’s problem. (For different accounts of infallibility with regard to Newcomb’s problem, see Ledwig 2000, pp. 169–172; cf. also Sobel 1988). For God might have other means at his disposal than an ordinary predictor. If we considered wretchedness or hell as something which yields -∞, which many researchers do, then the contrast between the different choices in Pascal’s wager with regard to the condition that God exists is huge in comparison to the almost negligible contrast of $1,000 under both states of the world in Newcomb’s problem. Of course, how much one experiences the contrast as negligible under both states of the world in Newcomb’s problem and in Pascal’s wager also hinges on one’s own reference point (see Ledwig 2000, pp. 61–66, for Newcomb’s problem). Nevertheless one would think that a difference of $1,000 would only, under the most

138 extraordinary kind of circumstances, be considered as something equivalent to infinity. Hence, although there is a certain similarity between Newcomb’s problem and Sobel’s variation of Pascal’s wager, there are also considerable, and even fundamental, differences between them. As a consequence, one cannot transfer the solution of Newcomb’s problem to Pascal’s wager. Cargile (1992, p. 283) draws a parallel between a certain version of Pascal’s wager and the following decision problem: “Consider the following case. A very rich man who is fond of jazz promises that in two years, he is going to toss an unbiased coin. If it lands heads, he will give each devoted jazz fan a million dollars. If it lands tails, he won’t do anything. Every Sunday for the next two years, a one-hour jazz concert is scheduled. It is known to be highly likely that if you attend these concerts religiously, and avoid listening to classical music, you will become a devoted jazz fan. This case is clearly analogous to the situation of the man who is reflecting as to whether or not he should take up religious observances. And in either case the answer is obvious: You had better start listening uncritically to a lot of jazz. You may return to classical music as a millionaire, and you may get to heaven and not have to listen to sermons anymore.”

In order to evaluate this parallel between Pascal’s wager and Cargile’s jazz-rewarder, it is best to have a look at the decision matrix for Cargile’s problem: s1: The coin lands heads and the devoted jazz fan gets $ 1,000,000. a1: I attend the o11: $ 1,000,000 Sunday jazz concerts minus the effort for for the next two years. attending the concerts

s2: The coin lands tails and the devoted jazz fan gets $ 0.

o12: $ 0 minus the effort for attending the concerts = slightly negative utility a2: I don’t attend the o21: $ 0 plus enjoying o22: $ 0 plus enjoying Sunday jazz concerts one’s spare time = one’s spare time = for the next two years. slightly positive utility slightly positive utility Figure 3. Decision matrix for Cargile’s jazz-rewarder problem of the possible outcomes o11, o12, o21, o22 which result from combining the possible actions a1, a2 with the possible states of the world s1, s2.

139 While one can see that there is a certain parallel between these two decision problems, one thing is quite clearly different, namely there is no equivalent to hell or wretchedness with Cargile’s jazz-rewarder. Perhaps, one might object that, if the agent sees the result that the coin land heads and he hasn’t attended the Sunday jazz concerts, the agent—although he has enjoyed his spare time—feels wretched, because actually it wouldn’t have cost him much to attend the jazz concerts. In that way, the $0 plus the enjoyment in o21 doesn’t reflect his overall misery to have foregone the possibility of getting the $1,000,000. Thus, o21 should actually equal the wretchedness of the respective outcome in Pascal’s wager. Yet, as in the case of Newcomb’s problem, there are no infinities involved in Cargile’s problem which, for the same reasons as cited before, might make for a fundamental difference between Cargile’s problem and Pascal’s wager. Nevertheless, like in Pascal’s wager, the possibility of getting $1,000,000 in Cargile’s problem trumps all the other possibilities. Hence, although there are similarities between Cargile’s jazz-rewarder and Pascal’s wager, overall the similarities are not perfect, and therefore don’t justify a solution transfer from Cargile to Pascal. Williams (1981, p. 94) points out that Rawls’ (1972) argument for his two principles of justice is similar to another argument which leads to enormous moral consequences, namely Pascal’s wager. In particular, Williams (1981, pp. 97–98) highlights the following structural similarity between Rawls and Pascal. In Rawls we have: (1) ¬R (min) is much worse than R (min), that is, “the worst one might get by taking a non-Rawlsian choice is very much worse than the worst one would get by taking a Rawlsian choice.” (Williams 1981, p. 97) (2) ¬R (max) is not very much better than R (min), that is, “they have no great interest in benefits over the minimum.” (Williams 1981, pp. 97–98) Williams (1981, p. 98) points out that in Pascal, we have: (3) ¬B (min) is very much worse than B (min), that is, “the disadvantage of being an unbeliever if the worst happens and God turns out to exist (i. e. going to Hell) is evidently vastly greater than the worst that can happen if one is a believer—namely, that God should not exist and one should have wasted one’s time in

140 going to church, passing over some pleasures etc.” (Williams 1981, p. 98) (4) ¬B (max) is not very much better than B (min), that is, “the best you get as an unbeliever (pleasures, no church, etc., and no Hell), is not all that much better than the worst outcome for a believer (church, fewer pleasures, and no Heaven or Hell).” (Williams 1981, p. 98) Besides these structural similarities, Williams (1981, pp. 98–99) mentions the following parallel between Rawls and Pascal. While Pascal “has no reason to think that the outcomes of the courses of action are independent of the strategic deliberation itself,” that is, a Christian God might not favor those persons who came to believe in Him by such betting strategies, in Rawls one could say that what preferences people have in a certain social situation depends, in part, on the social system, and what social system the people will be in depends on their strategic decision. Here is an objection with regard to the last point. Not in all possible cases does the social system which one is in depend on one’s own strategic decision. If one has been born in Africa being very poor, so that one’s parents didn’t even have the money to nourish him, then one might want to say that whatever decision he takes, he will never end up studying at Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, Princeton, Yale, or any of the other elite universities. Of course, there might be exceptions to this general objection, but in general I think it might be nearly impossible to make it that far. Moreover, although Williams is very vague with regard to what a Rawlsian choice actually is—perhaps he thinks that this is self-evident—one thing seems to be clear, namely that there are no infinities involved with regard to outcomes in Rawls, which is a fundamental difference from Pascal’s wager. So all of my possible candidates for good parallels to Pascal’s wager seem to be deficient, at least with regard to the involvement of infinities. Hence, it doesn’t seem to be justified to transfer any of their solutions to Pascal’s wager.

141

Conclusion First, taking Pascal’s wager seriously leads either to a remodeling of decision theory or to a remodeling of the transfinite in decision theory. Because of economic reasons, the latter seems to be preferable to the former. Second, as the utility of a finite life cannot be expressed by the utility of money, it is implausible to assume that the utility of an infinite life can be expressed by the utility of money. Hence, Bernoulli’s law of the diminishing marginal utility of money doesn’t preclude infinite utilities for life. Third, although certain assignments of vague probabilities to God’s existence scotch the wager, these cases are not live possibilities. Fourth, as the amount of possible change, from the decision-maker’s reference point, is very big, even for someone who is in the bloom of his life, it is rational to bet on God. Fifth, moral objections against Pascal’s wager are not convincing. Sixth, the many gods objection can be thwarted by means of distinguishing between the specific object of worship which one endorses and the kind of object picked out by the positing description. Seventh, parallels to other decision problems do not yield a better solution to Pascal’s wager. Finally eighth, as human beings don’t have any epistemic or pragmatic access to infinities, Pascal’s wager is undecidable.

Chapter Three: Is it Rational to Believe in Miracles? I. Introduction In order to answer that question, one first has to determine what a miracle is. In that regard it also makes sense to ask whether it is rational of God to reveal Himself to us by means of miracles (cf. also Ward 1977, p. 179). Moreover, besides making clear what constitutes a miracle, one has to be clear about what a miracle proves. Other questions of relevance in the context of miracles are these: if there are miracles supporting different religions, how is one to proceed? Does the religion with the mightier miracles, or with the most miracles, or with the miracles which have the best and most evidence, win the contest? What, then, about future miracles? These cannot be figured into the present evaluation. Yet, also with regard to science, only present and past evidence is used to support a hypothesis, so that one can discard future miracles from one’s present evaluation. Of course, future miracles might disprove the current hypothesis, but that also holds with regard to science. With regard to contests between different religions on miracles, one finds a passage in the Bible (Exodus 7:8–12), where Aaron and the magicians of Egypt compete with each other, and where Aaron wins the game, so that the Bible wants to make us believe that Christianity or Judaism is the superior religion. Yet, Christianity and also Judaism have a selfish interest for showing to the world that they are the superior religion, so it is not clear whether we can take the Bible here seriously. If we had independent confirmation of this event by someone who did not have a personal interest in the outcome of the contest, then it would be much easier to believe this miracle report. Another problem with miracle accounts in the Bible is that the God of the Old Testament differs very much from the God of the New Testament; compare, for instance, Genesis 6 and 7, where God killed all creatures except the ones which survived on Noah’s ark, with the sermon on the mount (Matthew 5; Luke 6:20–49). As a consequence, one cannot really say whether the Christian God holds the same position, regardless of

144 when it was said. Of course, one could advance the view that stories in Genesis, such as Noah’s ark and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19), shouldn’t be taken literally, but only allegorically or as symbols (cf. Dawkins 2006, pp. 237–240). This, however, although a very important and crucial issue, opens up Pandora’s box, which leads us too far away from the main topic of this chapter, and therefore will not be further pursued here. For more on this, see the last section of Chapter One of this book. Unfortunately we cannot demand of the various gods that they prove their Godhood, like we can ask scientists to prove their theories by means of experiments. That is to say, it seems unlikely that our asking will definitely lead to an answer in the case of proving Godhood by means of evidence and experiments; after all, we might not be as lucky as doubting Thomas (John 20:17–29). But perhaps one can compare experiments and miracles in some way. For instance, one demands of experiments that the results are repeatable. Surely if miracles can be repeated, such as the healing of people by Jesus (Matthew 15:30), that should be taken as better proof for whatever a miracle proves. Moreover, if miracles can explain things which cannot be otherwise and better explained, one should at least consider a miracle as a possible candidate for explanation. Furthermore, if one takes prophecies as miracles (see further below), and if the prophesied thing really happens and cannot be otherwise explained as being due to natural causes which have worked in such a way as to make the miracle come true, then a miracle seems a plausible explanation. One could also maintain that a miracle just turns out to be a chance event. Yet, if several such events occur under similar circumstances, such as miracle healings after relentless prayer, then one could come to, and even should come to, a common cause explanation of these different events (cf. Reichenbach 1956), which turns out to be a better explanation under these circumstances than an explanation in terms of chance or randomness. For Reichenbach’s (1956, p. 157) common cause principle, which can take the following simplified form, states: “If an improbable coincidence has occurred, there must exist a common cause.” But then the question arises as to what exactly constitutes “similar circumstances,” and this question might be difficult to answer. For circumstances might be similar with regard to one aspect, but not with regard to another aspect. Moreover, if

145 these different aspects all lie on continua, then we might have problems deciding where to set the borderline between similarity and dissimilarity, due to vagueness—so that arbitrariness ensues. Furthermore, is it enough if most of the different aspects show similarity, or even alternatively: do these different aspects have to be weighed differently depending on the specific purpose of comparison? That seems to be another open question. Hence, although miracles might also be explained by means of a common cause, to justify such an account turns out to be complicated, and needs quite some justification. If one wants to determine whether a miracle has happened or not, one could try to learn from institutions which have quite clear regulations for finding out whether an event can be deemed miraculous or not. One of these institutions is the Catholic Church, and indeed the Vatican has quite clear procedures for giving persons sainthood, including regulations for identifying miracles (cf. The Sacred Congregation for the Causes of Saints 02/07/1983). With regard to the latter, regulations quite clearly specify what kind of evidence is considered as good evidence for identifying miracles. For instance, the regulations quite clearly indicate who is allowed as a witness for proving miracles and sainthood. What I found especially problematic with regard to which witnesses are permitted in this procedure is the following: “18. Blood relatives and relatives through marriage of the Servant of God are the first witnesses to be proposed as well as other friends and acquaintances.” (The Sacred Congregation for the Causes of Saints 02/07/1983) Yet, blood relatives, friends, and perhaps even acquaintances might have personal interests in establishing their relatives’ and friends’ sainthood unless they did not believe in God and/or instead worshipped Satan. For who would not like to have a saint as a relative or friend? Such a fact might open doors for the witness which were heretofore closed. Moreover, regardless of the possibility of sainthood, relatives and friends might not be objective with regard to the candidate for sainthood under investigation, for they might have affections for their relative or friend—whether these affections are positive or negative doesn’t matter—which might cloud their objective judgments. Hence, I wouldn’t consider this criterion for identifying miracles to be a good one.

146 In the following section, I will characterize what a miracle is, drawing on historical accounts of miracles, but also on contemporary ones. Then I will deal with the evidence we have for miracles. In particular, I will consider which criteria are reasonable and should be employed when one wants to prove a miracle, and under which conditions testimony can be accepted as credible. In the section after that, I will have a look at miracles in other major world religions besides Christianity, and whether all the different major world religions attest to the same God. Then I will try to find an answer to the question of what a miracle proves. Finally, I will come to terms with the question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles.

II. What is a miracle? Before we try to account for apparently miraculous events and to prove them by means of evidence (or in some other way), and before we try to determine whether a miracle has happened or not, we first have to know what a miracle actually is. The term “miracle” stems from the Latin term “miraculum” which means “a wonderful thing, prodigy, miracle; wonder, surprise” (University of Notre Dame Archives 06/26/2007). When trying to categorize miracles, one can distinguish miracles which are scientifically verifiable, such as physical cures or the changing of water into wine, from miracles of a moral character, such as the conversion of Saul (which are not scientifically verifiable, but rely instead on subjective, introspective reports). Of course, one could also advance the view that, if there is a miraculous change of character, then the person involved has to show changes in behavior, too, and not just for a short period of time, but continuously. Certainly one can scientifically check such changes in behavior. Yet, the person might just fake such good behavior, so that behavior alone is not 100 percent foolproof with regard to positive changes of character. Moreover, how are we to make sure that the change in character is really due to a miracle and not due to a personal insight the person had? Here, due to our missing scientific knowledge to-date, we would have to rely solely on the person’s verbal report, which is difficult to verify and, therefore, open to dispute.

147 In order to determine more precisely what a miracle is it might be very much worthwhile to look at historical accounts of miracles first. As the medieval locus classicus for an account of miracles, Thomas Aquinas (1905, 3.101) in Summa Contra Gentiles can be mentioned: “THINGS that are done occasionally by divine power outside of the usual established order of events are commonly called miracles (wonders).…An event is wonderful relatively to one man and not to another. The absolutely wonderful is that which has a cause absolutely hidden. This then is the meaning of the word ‘miracle,’ an event of itself full of wonder, not to this man or that man only. Now the cause absolutely hidden to every man is God, inasmuch as no man in this life can mentally grasp the essence of God (Chap. XLVII). Those events then are properly to be styled miracles, which happen by divine power beyond the order commonly observed in nature. Of these miracles there are several ranks and orders. Miracles of the highest rank are those in which something is done by God that nature can never do. Miracles of the second rank are those in which God does something that nature can do, but not in that sequence and connexion. Thus it is a work of nature that an animal should live, see and walk: but that it should live after death, see after blindness, walk after lameness, these things nature is powerless to effect, but God sometimes brings them about miraculously. A miracle of the third rank is something done by God, which is usually done by the operation of nature, but is done in this case without the working of natural principles, as when one is cured by divine power of a fever, in itself naturally curable, or when it rains without any working of the elements.”

Aquinas distinguishes here between different kinds of miracles and makes clear that a miracle is an event full of wonder, where the cause— God (meaning the Christian God)—is absolutely hidden, and which lies beyond the order of nature. What is of importance here is that, according to Aquinas, miracles are only done occasionally and not regularly, so that one cannot account of them by means of the laws of nature. Yet in this regard, one can transfer an objection Otte (1996, pp. 155–156) rightly poses against Mackie’s account of miracles to Aquinas’ case: “It is possible that…miraculous events are very probable and events in accordance with the laws of nature are very improbable.…suppose we have a world in which it is a law of nature that when a staff is thrown down onto the ground, it remains a staff (and does not become a snake). When God intervenes and performs a miracle, staffs thrown on the ground become snakes. In this world suppose that God almost always intervenes when staffs are thrown on the ground; in at most a couple of cases has he not intervened. Thus it is very likely

148 that God will intervene and perform a miracle, and very improbable that events will happen according to the law of nature. In this world we find that the probability of the miracle is very high, and the probability of an event consistent with the law of nature is very low. Thus events are not maximally improbable simply because they are miraculous violations of laws of nature.”

With regard to Otte’s valuable objection it is of pivotal importance to find out whether we will ever know for sure that our laws of nature are actually not God’s miracles. Moreover, taken in a very wide sense, laws of nature constitute miracles, if one is of the opinion that they are not given by us human beings, but by God. For according to Aquinas, miracles have causes which are absolutely hidden; and, as we don’t know at all the causes of our laws of nature, our laws could turn out to be miracles, given that they are caused by God. Because Aquinas qualifies the absolutely hidden condition of miracles by the condition that miracles happen by divine power and are beyond the order commonly observed in nature, one cannot expect Aquinas to subscribe to this very wide sense of miracles, however. Yet, is Otte’s scenario—that our world could be so constituted that our laws of nature are actually God’s miracles—credible, while what we consider to be miracles are, in fact, instances when God does not intervene? This is very similar to a Humean skeptical scenario in which one can also doubt whether everything really is like the way it appears to people. Do I really exist or am I just a brain in a vat? This is one of the central questions in that regard. Yet, as is well known, skeptical positions have problems getting off the ground, for the simple reason that one has to start with something as a basis of one’s reasoning, but as a skeptic, one would even have to question these basic statements which one makes. Another reason that speaks against Otte’s scenario is actually that an account of this world which takes laws of nature not as God’s miracles, whereas improbable not further explicable events might be taken as God’s miracles, is the much simpler account in comparison to Otte’s scenario. It is much simpler because we need to explain less. Thus, although we have to grant Otte that his scenario is possible, it does not seem to be the best explanation of how the world appears to us. With regard to Aquinas’ miracles of the second rank—namely that God does something that nature can do, but not in that sequence and connection—one has to point out, though, that science more and more is

149 able to “perform” these miracles: walking after lameness, seeing after blindness, resuscitating after death, etc. come more and more within the reach of the sciences and actually are successfully achieved on occasion. Thus, in a certain sense the sciences become more and more equal to God. Of course, one could claim that these miracles of the second rank can only be achieved in the sciences by means of technology, such as by means of artificial limbs for use by those whose legs or arms have been amputated, or by means of electrical shocks when one’s heart has stopped beating. Yet, in certain cases, enormous amounts of physiotherapy can make a human being walk again after lameness. So, after all, one does not always need technology to accomplish a scientific miracle. Nevertheless, if without any kind of scientific intervention, such as medical treatments, etc., such drastic changes occur, and if the event cannot be explained in an ordinary way, one can still speak of a miracle. With the advancement of the sciences, the number of phenomena which are still left unexplained seems to get diminished in the sense that the boundaries of the sciences are pushed further and further into the still unknown. In that way, also defining a miracle as something inexplicable might become problematic, for something might be inexplicable now, but not in a 100 years time, due to the advancement of the sciences, unless something is inexplicable in principle. Yet, how can we know for sure that something is inexplicable in principle? That seems difficult to determine, unless one has logical reasons for thinking so. Of course, one could claim that Aquinas was talking about the capacity of nature to perform these miracles and not about the sciences to perform these miracles when he explicated what miracles of the second rank, in particular, are. Nevertheless, if one wants to determine what a concept all encompasses, then one also needs to delimit the respective concepts from other related concepts, which is something that Aquinas hasn’t done with regard to his miracles of different rank. Perhaps there are other passages in Aquinas’ work where he makes up for the last deficiency. Yet, we don’t find anything in that regard in the following text, where Aquinas (1905, 3.102) argues that only God can perform miracles: “WHAT is entirely subject to established order cannot work beyond that order. But every creature is subject to the order which God has established in nature.

150 No creature therefore can work beyond this order, which working beyond the order of nature is the meaning of working miracles.”

Here Aquinas has assumed that the order in nature is due to God. Yet, why does he not ascribe it to several gods, and why not to a basic principle or law which has always existed? Unfortunately, we don’t find anything in that regard in the above-mentioned text passages. Yet, in Chapter Two I already dealt with the question of whether our universe is the product of several gods and not only the product of one God. Moreover, in Chapter Two I also discussed the possibility that the order in nature is due to a basic principle, namely evolution. Besides Aquinas’ account of miracles, the other important historical figure is David Hume. Price (2000, p. 162) rightfully attributes to Hume (cf. Hume 1998, p. 535) the following view: a miracle is more properly described as an event different from experience than contrary to it. With regard to Hume’s account of miracles, Earman (2000, pp. 79–80, footnote 24) points out the following objection, though: C. D. Broad thought that there could be several resurrection miracles which, according to Broad’s view, goes against Hume’s understanding of miracles, where a miracle goes against all previous experience and not just to some. This observation makes one curious with regard to what Hume’s definition of a miracle really is. Hume (1998, p. 537, note 26) writes in chapter ten of his “Of Miracles” about An Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding, which is the locus classicus for modern and contemporary philosophical discussion of miracles, and which was first published in 1748: “A miracle may be accurately defined a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity or by the interposition of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not.” What is remarkable with regard to this definition is that Hume doesn’t only consider the possibility that a deity might bring about a miracle, but also another invisible agent. So, depending on what Hume understands by the term “invisible agent,” different possibilities for causing a miracle ensue. The term “invisible agent” could refer to a spirit, but it could also refer to some kind of object which is not visible to us—such as an electron, for instance. In this regard, the Hume specialist has to have his say. Yet, if “invisible agent” were to mean “object which is not visible to us,” then we

151 wouldn’t consider this to fall under the term of “miracle” any longer, for the fact that an electron has an effect on another electron which is not visible to our eyes without the help of instruments falls under the category of “laws of nature” and not under the category of a “miracle.” So if Hume meant by “invisible agent” an object which is not visible to us, then his account of miracles is already deficient by ordinary standards. Yet, if “invisible agent” meant “object which is not visible to us even with the help of the best possible instruments,” then Hume’s account of miracle would still go together with our ordinary understanding of what a miracle is. For electrons can be seen with the help of electron microscopes. Hume’s definition of a miracle does not differ so much from Spinoza’s account of miracles, for Spinoza (2000, p. 110) takes “miracle” to mean “that which cannot be explained by natural causes.” Moreover, there are causation accounts (Armstrong 1997) which define causation by means of laws of nature, so that it is possible to come up with a connection between Hume’s and Spinoza’s accounts of miracles. Yet, in order to understand Hume’s definition properly, one first needs to know what, according to Hume, a “law of nature” is, what a “transgression of a law of nature” consists in, and what kinds of instances fall under a “law of nature.” As this would lead us too far into Humean exegesis (which is neither the topic of this chapter nor of this book), I will take a look at more contemporary accounts of miracles and laws of nature to illuminate the relation between the two of them further, below. That a discussion of Hume’s account might lead us too far away from getting an adequate account of miracles by only treating exegetical issues can be supported by the following passage by Levine (Fall 2005) on Hume’s account of miracles: “Philosophical discussion has focused on exegetical issues concerning exactly what Hume was arguing. There is, for example, still no generally accepted view on the fundamental points of whether his argument (Part I of his essay) against the justified belief in miracles on the basis of testimony is (i) meant as an a priori or a posteriori argument; (ii) if that argument can be, or is meant to be, generalized to include first-hand experience of an allegedly miraculous event; or indeed, (iii) if his argument, whether regarded as a priori or a posteriori, is meant to establish that one can never be justified in believing in a miracle on the basis of testimony. Hume does not appear to claim that miracles are impossible—only that justified belief in a miracle on the basis of testimony

152 (may be) impossible. His argument is basically epistemological. There are, however, grounds for supposing that a miracle is not even possible on Hume’s account—at least not given his wider empiricist views.”

With regard to contemporary accounts of miracles and their connection to laws of nature, Levine (Fall 2005) claims the following: “While it is true that a miraculous occurrence would be a positive instance of a true law, because true laws of the form (C & N) → E are never false if N is false (N is false if there is supernatural interference), I want to call attention to the fact that while miracles do not violate true laws (i.e., they are positive instances of them), they should not be thought of as ‘within the scope of the laws of nature.’ This is because laws of nature are meant to account for, or describe, what occurs and what could possibly occur only apart from supernatural intervention.”

Yet, this account seems problematic to me, for if miracles are positive instances of laws of nature, how can they not be in the scope of the laws of nature at the same time? This sounds contradictory to me. While I agree that miracles are not in the scope of the laws of nature, I wouldn’t consider them as positive instances of laws of nature. For, while science (in some cases) can also make lame human beings walk and, in that instance, can be taken as a positive instance of laws of nature, the miraculous healing of a lame person happens just by the intervention of a deity and not by means of some laws of nature. Although I don’t want to go into Humean exegesis, I will indulge in him a bit further in order to get a better understanding of what a miracle is. Hume might help us in delineating which terms have to be distinguished from each other, such as Hume’s (1998, p. 536) distinction between “marvelous” and “miraculous,” when considering which definition is a proper definition of what a miracle is. Hume (1998, p. 536) states: “let us suppose that the fact which they affirm, instead of being only marvelous, is really miraculous,” whereby making clear that marvelous and miraculous are two very different things. The latter seems to be justified, for we usually say “I marvel at your abilities,” whereas there is no equivalent expression with regard to the term “miracle.” Besides making this distinction between marvelous and miraculous, according to Hume (1998, p. 536, note 25), “extraordinary” and “miraculous” also differ from each other:

153 “The operations of cold upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but whenever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event, therefore, may be denominated extraordinary and requires a pretty strong testimony to render it credible to people in a warm climate. But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform experience of the course of nature in cases where all the circumstances are the same.”

While I agree that extraordinary differs from miraculous, I am not so sure whether the example Hume provides is actually an example of something extraordinary. For, if one thinks about it, when a child sees snow and also ice for the first time, the child usually has a look of surprise and wonder on its face, and these expressions “surprise” and “wonder” were actually included in the translation of the Latin term “miraculum” into the English language. Yet, perhaps here the translation from the term “miraculum” into English is not helpful, when one wants to determine whether something is miraculous or not, for no one would actually consider snow and ice to be miracles. They are rather unexpected things, at least to the first time observer. However, Hume is actually of the opinion that surprise and wonder arise in the observer of a miracle, for Hume (1998, p. 537) writes: “The passion of surprise and wonder, arising from miracles, being an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief of those events from which it is derived.”

Still, although surprise and wonder can be expected to accompany the experience of a miracle, surprise and wonder don’t pertain only to miracles, but also arise in other cases. Hence, these reactions cannot be taken as a fool-proof method for identifying a miracle. Going back to the discussion of whether “extraordinary” means the same as “miraculous,” I think that the distinction between extraordinary and miraculous is a good one. Examples of extraordinary things are, in my opinion, the setting of a world record in sports or the ability of a person who can speak ten languages; but we wouldn’t consider these things to be miracles. While something extraordinary is still something accomplishable by a human being, something miraculous is only accomplishable by a deity. Other instances of something extraordinary might be the beauty of the Grand Canyon or the desolateness of Death Valley, but we wouldn’t consider these things to be miracles. While, of course, every miracle is

154 something beyond the ordinary, not everything extraordinary is something miraculous. Hence, the term “extraordinary” is wider, that is, it encompasses more, than the term “miraculous.” In the last quoted passage it becomes clear also that, in Hume’s view, miracles go against uniform experience, which is a view that C. D. Broad attributed to Hume (cf. Earman 2000, pp. 79–80, footnote 24). Yet, besides several resurrection miracles and several healing miracles which quite clearly speak in favor of the view that miracles don’t go against uniform experience, what about singularities which happen only once? Would they automatically have to be considered as miracles on Hume’s account? That might be problematic—for some of them might be miracles caused by some supernatural being, and some of them are not. Or would one have to say that, since there is no uniform experience given in the case of a singularity, one cannot classify this event, state of affairs, object, etc. as “miraculous?” The latter might also be problematic, for surely even among singularities it should at least, in principle, be possible to categorize some of them as miracles, because they were caused by some supernatural being. With regard to Hume’s view that miracles go against uniform experience, one could advance the view that uniform experience has to be interpreted differently than in the sense of the phrase “without exception” in order to obtain an adequate account of miracles. For if one takes uniform experience to mean our ordinary or normal experience, then this seems to be fitting. The reason for the fittingness is that, ordinarily or normally we don’t encounter miracles (or at least what we consider to be miracles). The reason why Hume needs uniform experience (taken in the sense of “without exception”) as part of his account of miracles has to do with the fact that he just has a regularity account of causation and not a probabilistic account of causation. In the latter, uniform experience doesn’t have to be given, while in the former only uniform experience is possible. With regard to what kind of phenomena fall under the heading “miracle,” Hume (1998, p. 543) claims: “What we have said of miracles may be applied without any variation to prophecies; and, indeed, all prophecies are real miracles and as such only can be admitted as proofs of any revelation.” Yet, in order to determine whether a prophecy is a miracle, one would have to clarify what falls under the term “prophecy.” In this regard Ledwig (2002/2003, pp. 96–97) states:

155 “According to Rescher (1998, pp. 53–56) we can distinguish between the following kinds of anticipation: (1) foreknowledge, precognition, or clairvoyance; (2) foresight, rational prediction, scientific prediction, or prognosis; (3) idle speculation, supposition; (4) mere guess, conjecture, or prophecy. The first kind is ‘a matter of insight into the future through a direct, nondiscursive prevision into the makeup of things to come,’ which is not ‘among our natural endowments’ (Rescher 1998, pp. 53–54). The second kind involves three factors, namely: assertion, commitment, and cogency. Assertion in the sense that any meaningful assertion about the future makes a prediction, commitment in the sense that the predictor does really commit himself to it so that he believes it, and cogency in the sense that a prediction has to be based on a compelling epistemic foundation. While in the third case commitment is missing, in the fourth case cogency is absent.”

Thus, in the case of a prophecy, one has (1) a meaningful assertion about the future, which is a prediction, (2) a commitment of the predictor to the assertion, so that the predictor believes it, and (3) a missing compelling epistemic foundation of the assertion. Yet, isn’t it also the case with regard to what we commonly label as prophecies, such as the prophecies of the Oracle of Delphi or the prophecies of Nostradamus, that they are rather cryptic, so that one still has to discover the full meaning of the particular prophecy? That is, although prophecies are meaningful assertions about the future, they can still leave the receiver in a certain amount of darkness. Moreover, would we really call the prophecies of the Oracle of Delphi and the prophecies of Nostradamus “miracles?” I think that the latter is rather doubtful, because it would not go together with the ordinary usage of language. Thus, there are miracles that are prophecies, but not every prophecy is a miracle. In my opinion, for a prophecy to be a miracle one needs to be sure of divine intervention, in the sense that a deity has caused the prophecy. Hence, divine intervention has to be added as a fourth criterion in order to render the prophecy a miracle. From Hume’s (1998, p. 543) last mentioned text, one could get the impression that Hume actually believes that there are miracles which support particular religions, because there are Christian prophecies, prophecies in Islam, etc., and all of them can be used as proof of any revelation. But the next quotation proves it to be otherwise:

156 “I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when I say that a miracle can never be proved so as to be the foundation of a system of religion. For I admit that otherwise there may possibly be miracles or violations of the usual course of nature of such a kind as to admit of proof from human testimony….Thus, suppose all authors, in all languages, agree that from the first day of January 1600 there was a total darkness over the whole Earth for eight days; suppose that the tradition of this extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the people—that all travelers who return from foreign countries bring us accounts of the same tradition without the least variation or contradiction—it is evident that our present philosophers, instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain and ought to search for the causes from which it might be derived. The decay, corruption, and dissolution of nature, is an event rendered probable by so many analogies that any phenomenon which seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe comes within the reach of human testimony, if that testimony be very extensive and uniform.” (Hume 1998, p. 542)

Yet, Hume owes us here an explanation as to why extensive and uniform testimony might work in the case of extraordinary natural events, but will not work in the case of miracles. Perhaps Hume just wants to say that, although religious miracles can be proved, they cannot be the foundation for a religion, because only certain other things can be the foundation for a religion, such as the Ten Commandments, the Covenant of the Old Testament, or the Covenant of the New Testament. Another explanation is that Hume thought that miracles are combined with a love of wonder, and therefore cannot be used as the foundation for a religion, assuming that the foundation for a religion should be based on something more rational.

III. Evidence for miracles Earman (2000, p. 68; cf. Hume 1998, p. 539) rightfully claims that, according to Hume, a miracle for any religion destroys rival religions and their corresponding miracles. Similarly, Sobel (2004, p. 309/310) points out that evidence for some miracles can speak in favor of God’s existence, whereas evidence for some other miracles can speak also against God’s existence. Mackie’s (1982) account of miracles states that evidence for when ~I all As are Bs is evidence against the occurrence of a miracle, where I stands for “God intervenes.” Yet, with regard to the latter, Otte (1996, p. 154) rightfully objects: “a miracle is an instance of A and ~B, when I, and thus evidence for when ~I all As are Bs, which are our laws of

157 nature, is not evidence against the occurrence of a miracle.” For “Evidence for a law of nature is evidence about how the world works when God does not intervene, but a miracle is what happens when God does intervene. Since evidence for a law of nature is not evidence about how the world works when God does intervene, it is not evidence against a miracle occurring.” (Otte 1996, p. 155) In contrast to Hume’s account, Earman (2000, p. 68) proposes that miracles provide partial confirmation of religious doctrines, and not proofs or demonstrations thereof, taking a scientific and Bayesian approach towards miracles as evidence for certain religions. In consideration of the fact that proofs of God’s existence have not been very successful to say the least, to take a confirmation approach towards religion seems to me quite adequate and promising, although Bayesianism is beset with many problems (cf. Earman 1992). Yet, while Bayesianism is still in the process of development and improvement, one cannot say as much with regard to proofs of God’s existence, which quite clearly speaks in favor of adopting a Bayesian approach. From the perspective of a confirmation approach, one could also understand quite well why the Catholic Church is still interested in proclaiming saints, for the more saints one has, the more confirmed one’s own religion is, and the better one’s religion stands in comparison to other religions. Of course, one could alternatively advance the view that God sends us more and more miracles, so that more and more saints get proclaimed, because He wants to ensure us of His existence and because He wants to make clear that He has not deserted us. Hence, the increasing number of saints isn’t due to a selfish interest of the Catholic Church to proclaim more and more saints, but is due to God’s sending us more and more miracles. The only way one could completely exclude selfish or political reasons for proclaiming saints and miracles despite the fact that the Catholic Church takes expert advice from people unrelated to the Church would be the employment of an institution independent of the Church to perform the investigations. Otherwise there will always remain a seed of doubt for the unbelieving person. But getting back to Earman’s confirmation account with regard to miracles, Earman (2000, p. 66) proves that, in analogy to the sciences, whether or not miracles confirm a particular form of theism depends on the

158 prior probabilities assigned to the form of theism under investigation, and to the alternative forms of theism. Yet, one of the fundamental problems of Bayesianism is identifying the source from which to derive the prior probabilities (cf. Earman 1992)—a problem which also arises in the context of religion. In this regard, one could take Sobel’s claims with regard to human testimony into account and try to derive the prior probabilities from these facts, for Sobel (2004, p. 298) maintains that the evidence of testimony depends not only on the reliability of the persons who are testifying, but also on how credulous it is what they attest. The latter we also find in Hume, because Hume (1998, p. 536) recites the proverb: “I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato.” There is a connection between something being a miracle and not being credulous. That is why the Catholic Church has such harsh and lengthy procedures with regard to the attesting of miracles. In my opinion, the following criteria are reasonable with regard to accepting testimony as credible and proving the existence of a miracle: (1) the more eyewitnesses one has, the better; (2) the more witnesses one has uniformly testifying to a certain event, the better; (3) the more independent the witnesses are of each other, the better; (4) the greater the trustworthiness and the expertise of the witnesses, the better; (5) the less likely it is that the witnesses can gain anything by declaring the event a miracle, the better; (6) the less religious the witnesses are, the better; (that is to say, one could argue that if even a non-religious or even an anti-religious person has to evaluate an event as a miracle, say Richard Dawkins or Daniel Dennett, the more such a testimony is believable to others. Similarly Hume (1998, p. 537) points out that “if the spirit of religion joins itself to the love of wonder, there is an end of common sense and human testimony in these circumstances loses all pretensions to authority”). (7) The less likely it is that one can account for the event in some other way than as a miracle, the better. With regard to the evaluation of the different testimonies as a whole, it is of importance what Otte (2000, p. 7) has proven concerning the

159 incremental confirmation of hypotheses, namely that “pieces of evidence may individually disconfirm a hypothesis even though the conjunction of the evidence confirms it. Because of this, when we have a collection of evidence it is a mistake to look at the effect of pieces of evidence on a hypothesis individually.” As there is no reason to believe that Otte’s claim doesn’t hold with regard to hypotheses pertaining to the philosophy of religion, the following can be maintained: if we want to confirm the hypothesis that miracles exist, then we have to look at all the evidence together in order to see whether the hypothesis turns out to be plausible. By looking at the whole evidence together, the effects of Simpson’s paradox can also be avoided, where Simpson’s paradox can be described as follows (Otte 1985, pp. 110– 111): “Simpson’s paradox is that any correlation in a population can be reversed in the subpopulations by finding a third variable that is properly correlated with the other variables. Thus positive relevance can become negative relevance or independence, negative relevance can become positive relevance or independence, and independence can become positive or negative relevance.”

With regard to points (2), (3), and (4) on the list of reasonable criteria for accepting testimony as credible, Earman (2000, pp. 56–59) proves by means of Bayesian analysis that the testimonies of two witnesses to different miracles make it more probable that some miracle has occurred than if either one alone had testified, given that the witnesses are independent of each other, and given their minimal reliability respectively, minimal non-reliability, and that the miracles are positively respectively negatively relevant to one another. Thus, this criterion seems to be reasonable and justified. This result does not hold only with regard to miracles, but also with regard to other kinds of events. With regard to point (5) on the list, the following seems to be relevant: according to Tucker (2004, p. 76) Langlois and Seignobos (1926, pp. 186–187) claim that the easiest way of avoiding misrepresentations of the past is to avoid relying on intentionally written historiographic interpretations or, in the case of insufficient nonintentional evidence, to rely on evidence that goes counter to the interests and vanity of its authors. But even with regard to the latter, one has to determine quite clearly what the true interests and the true vanity of a person are. That is, a person might

160 have an interest in not showing his true interests and vanity, and might be even very good at concealing both. Yet, if what a person says quite clearly goes against his true interests and vanity, his credibility, at least with regard to what he said in this particular case, is quite clearly established. With regard to point (4) on the list, it would be good to know how one can find out whether a witness speaks the truth. Vrij (2005, pp. 5–7) reports the following factors, which are used in criteria-based content analysis for finding out the credibility of children as witnesses in cases of sexual offenses, and it would be interesting to see whether one could use these criteria for finding out the credibility of humans as witnesses in cases of miracle experiences: (1) statements which are coherent and consistent, (2) statements which are not given in a chronological time sequence, and (3) statements which contain a significant amount of detail are more likely to be true. Information is more likely to be true if it includes (4) contextual embeddings, (5) descriptions of interactions, (6) reproduction of speech, (7) unexpected complications, (8) unusual details, (9) superfluous details, (10) details, which are beyond the horizon of the victim’s comprehension, (11) details, which are not part of the allegation, but are related to it, (12) descriptions of the victim’s feelings or thoughts experienced at the time of the incident, (13) descriptions of the perpetrator’s feelings, thoughts, or motives during the incident, (14) spontaneous corrections, (15) admitting lack of memory, (16) raising doubts about one’s own testimony, (17) self-deprecation, (18) pardoning the perpetrator, and finally (19) details characteristic of the offense.

161 According to Vrij (2005, p. 34) this criteria-based content analysis has had an error rate of 30 per cent in laboratory studies. Yet, this is better than chance. Moreover, the interrater agreement rates are adequate, although not perfect (Vrij 2005, p. 34). Although a few of these criteria are quite clearly only related to victims of sexual offenses, one could use most of these criteria also for the evaluation of witnesses in religious experience cases, when they testify with regard to miracle experiences. For while criteria (1) through (9) and criteria (14) through (17) can simply stay the same for a general witness account, most of the remaining victim-related criteria can be reformulated for a general witness account; for example, (10) can be formulated as “details which are beyond the horizon of the witness’ comprehension,” (11) can be reformulated as “details which are not part of the topic at issue, but are related to it,” (12) can take the form of descriptions of the witness’ feelings or thoughts experienced at the time of the incident, (13) can take the form of descriptions of the feelings, thoughts, or motives of the subject under investigation during the incident, and (19) can be reformulated as “details characteristic of the event under investigation.” Criterion (18), namely pardoning the perpetrator, seems to be a bit difficult to reformulate for a general witness account, however. That these criteria can be used with regard to the credibility of witnesses of miracle experiences can be seen if one looks at criterion number (10), for miracles seem to fulfill this criterion by default. That is, it seems to be the case that miracles are beyond the comprehension of any person. So when Mary was told that she bore God’s son by the angels, this is something which would go against the comprehension of any human being. Moreover, if most of the other criteria are also fulfilled to an adequate degree, such as the contextual embedding, where this incident happened, or the reproduction of speech, what was said by the angels, that would speak in favor of the conception of a child by the virgin Mary. Yet, as the Gospels were written so much later after the original events, and as they even received some further editing, and as one doesn’t have the original witness at one’s disposal any longer, it is very difficult to evaluate the credibility of Mary’s testimony. With regard to more contemporary miracle experiences, however, it would have been quite clearly possible to establish the credibility of their witnesses, and therefore also of their

162 accounts. For example, one could have interviewed Maria Lucia of Jesus, Jacinta Marto, and Francisco Marto with regard to their Lady of Fatima appearances or with regard to their miracle of the sun experience, and could have applied these criteria in order to find out whether they really spoke the truth. Independent of this criteria-based content analysis one could construct a questionnaire that checks the witness’ credibility and trustworthiness by, for instance, including a social desirability scale, that is, a scale that checks whether the witness just says what is socially desirable and not necessarily what is the truth. Moreover, in such a questionnaire, suggestive questions should be avoided in order to prevent the witness from just trying to please the researcher. Furthermore, in order to counterbalance any answering tendencies the experimental subject might have, questions should be formulated in such a way that no yes- or notendencies result. According to Campbell (2000, p. 178), in Hume there are two ways in which testimony can be refuted: (1) by means of contradictory testimony, and (2) by discrediting the witness’ character or capacities. While the former corresponds to point number (1) on Vrij’s criteria-based content analysis, and whereby it gets some independent support, the latter could be based on the whole evaluation of the criteria-based content analysis for a general witness account, and on the results with regard to the social desirability scale. Yet, one could object that not all kinds of capacities are measured by the criteria and the questionnaire, for although memory and reproduction of speech are included in the criteria, not much is said with regard to visual and tactual abilities. Yet, of course one could advance the view that criteria such as unusual and superfluous details, contextual embeddings, description of interactions, etc., actually cover also visual and tactual abilities. Swinburne (2003, pp. 12–13) claims that there are two fundamental epistemological principles, namely first that one should trust one’s memories (all other things are being equal), and second that we should believe what others tell us they have done or perceived given that there is no counterevidence. With regard to the principle of testimony, one could advocate the view that it underlies Hume’s idea that testimony can be refuted by means of contradictory testimony and that it is in this way also

163 related to point number (1) on Vrij’s criteria-based content analysis that statements which are coherent and consistent are more likely to be true. With regard to Swinburne’s first epistemological principle, namely that one should trust one’s memories (all other things being equal), this underlies the following points of Vrij’s criteria-based content analysis: (3) statements which contain a significant amount of detail are more likely to be true; information is more likely to be true if it includes (4) contextual embeddings, (5) descriptions of interactions, (6) reproduction of speech, (7) unexpected complications, (8) unusual details, (9) superfluous details, (10) details, which are beyond the horizon of the witness’ comprehension, (11) details, which are not part of the event but are related to it, (12) descriptions of the witness’ feelings or thoughts experienced at the time of the incident, (13) descriptions of the feelings, thoughts, or motives of the subject under investigation during the incident, and (19) details characteristic of the event. For if one cannot trust one’s memories, one cannot trust any of these details or descriptions. Yet, what actually is the status of testimony in comparison to sense experience? In this regard, Campbell (2000, p. 182) rightly points out: “That the evidence of testimony is less than the evidence of sense is undeniable.—Sense is the source of that evidence, which is first transferred to the memory of the individual, as to a general reservoir, and thence transmitted to others by the channel of testimony. That the original evidence can never gain any thing, but must lose, by the transmission, is beyond dispute. What has been rightly perceived, may be misremembered; what is rightly remembered, may, through incapacity, or through ill intention, be misreported; and what is rightly reported, may be misunderstood. In any of these four ways, therefore, either by defect of memory, or elocution, or of veracity in the relater, or by misapprehension in the hearer, there is a chance that the truth received by the

164 information of the senses may be misrepresented or mistaken: now, every such chance occasions a real diminution of the evidence.”

Hence, the seeming inconsistencies in the Bible (cf. Chapter One of this book, section five) can be quite easily explained. After having looked at reasonable criteria with regard to accepting testimony as credible and proving a miracle, after having considered Swinburne’s two fundamental epistemological principles, and after having clarified the status of testimony in comparison to sense experience, it is time to look at some miracles and to consider the evidence we have for them. With regard to resurrection miracles, one problem is apparent: according to Lock (2001, p. 66), “Until the beginning of the twentieth century, eminent practitioners continued to have doubts about their ability to objectively assess death and insisted that ‘nothing short of putrefaction could distinguish death from life’ (Tebb and Vollum 1905; Pernick 1988: 22).”

Moreover, Jesus died, if one follows Mark 15, within approximately six hours of his crucifixion, which is a little bit surprising, for it can take days to die from crucifixion. Furthermore, in order to hasten the other convicts’ deaths, they broke their legs (John 19:31–32); yet, with regard to Jesus, they did not do that: “but coming to Jesus, when they saw that He was already dead, they did not break His legs.” (John 19:33) What does this actually show us, given that we take the Bible as giving us a correct account of the death of Jesus? It shows us that the possibility exists that Jesus’ later appearances are actually not testifying to His resurrection, but testifying that He actually didn’t die. Yet, on the assumption that He actually survived, where did He stay the rest of His life? For after a certain time, He was not seen again, if one can trust the Bible in this regard. With regard to the Fatima appearances, it has not been helpful for evaluating these appearances as miracles that the relevant witnesses were not allowed to speak to the general public or to scientists independent of the Church, so that the truthfulness of the witnesses and their testimonies couldn’t be evaluated independently. Although I can understand that one wants to protect the witnesses from the media and the enormous publicity which might follow, it makes it harder for the general public to acknowledge the miracle status of such appearances, so that one has to withhold judgment instead. As I already said in the introduction to this

165 chapter, one can criticize the procedure the Catholic Church has for evaluating miracles.

IV. Miracles in other major world religions As a starting point for the discussion of miracles in other major world religions, consider Swinburne’s (2005, pp. 116–117) list for the credibility of Holy Scripture by Duns Scotus: “(1) Praenuntiatio prophetica (the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy in the New); (2) Scriptuarum concordia (scriptures have a common message, and that includes the common witness of the New Testament writers to the teaching and deeds of Jesus); (3) Auctoritas Scribentium (the human authors’ conviction that they spoke with God’s authority); (4) Diligentia recipientium (the careful way in which the Church formed the canon of scripture); (5) Rationabilitas contentarum (the intrinsic probability of its doctrines); (6) Irrationalibilitas errorum (the inadequacy of objections); (7) Ecclesiae stabilitas (the long and constant witness of the Church); (8) Miraculorum limpiditas (Biblical and later miracles, including the great miracle of the conversion of the western world); (9) Testimonia non fidelium (alleged prophecies of pagan writers), and (10) Promissorum efficacia (the sanctifying power of the Church’s teaching in the lives of the faithful).”

Like Duns Scotus with regard to the conversion of the Western world, Armstrong (2002, p. 69) evaluates the expansion of the Islamic empire one century after Muhammad’s death as a miracle: “A century after the Prophet’s death, the Islamic Empire extended from the Pyrenees to the Himalayas. It seemed yet another miracle and sign of God’s favour. Before the coming of Islam, the Arabs had been a despised outgroup; but in a remarkably short space of time they had inflicted major defeats upon two world empires. The experience of conquest enhanced their sense that something tremendous had happened to them.”

If one takes such accounts seriously, then nowadays, at least in Western culture, Arabs become a despised out-group again because of the connections between Islam and terrorism. Moreover, with the exception of oil reserves, Arabic countries are not really powerful in the world. Furthermore, because of their undemocratic regimes, they have become targets of liberation wars. Similarly, with regard to Duns Scotus and the conversion of the Western world, even though Christianity is one of the biggest world religions, there are other world religions, too. Moreover, although Christianity is a world religion, in the capitalistic Western world

166 it seems to be in decline, existing more on paper than in reality. When I asked a class of forty students at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, whether they knew of any connection between Islam and Christianity, not a single one of them could come up with an answer—just to provide an example. Of course, this sample might not be representative of the whole capitalistic Western world, and therefore has to be taken with a grain of salt; yet, I found this an interesting and revealing fact. For what kind of faith can these students have if they don’t even know how their religion is connected to other religions? Hence, major conversions might just be a phenomenon of a certain period in history, and/or might just be indicative of a certain fact given on paper, but not indicative of any real substantial faith. Yet, major conversions could also have been due to political reasons because of persecution of one’s own faith, allegiance to certain political allies, and/or just because the monarch of a kingdom converted to a particular religion. Major conversions might have a multiplicity of causes, then, and in order to take major conversions as a miracle, one would have to show that these conversions were due to the right kind of reasons, namely that one is convinced that one’s own faith is the right and only one. Getting back to the topic of this section, namely miracles in other major world religions, the following has to be said: one finds miracles in Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism. With regard to miracles in Hinduism, for example Shattuck (1999, p. 52) reports: “In an apparent miracle one day in 1995, milk drains slowly from a spoon held to the trunk of a Ganesha statue. The elephant-headed god is worshiped as the creator and remover of obstacles.” Yet, as far as I know, we don’t find such kinds of miracles performed by animal gods in the Christian, Muslim, and Jewish religions. So, at least to a certain extent the miracles in different religions are of different kinds, although we also find Mary statuettes with tears in Christianity. If one has already shown that miracles in different religions are of different kinds, can one expect that miracles in the different world religions mean the same thing? One could think that this is at least partially so with regard to Judaism and Protestant Christianity, because both of them have the Old Testament in common. Also with regard to Christianity and Islam, this could at least partially be the case, because “Muhammad was…a mere man singled out by God—the divine name in Arabic, Allah, may obscure

167 the fact that this is in truth the same universal God who spoke to Abraham, Moses, and Jesus.” (Peters 1994, p. 3) In favor of the possibility of a shared miracle concept in Christianity and Islam may be the fact that they have some miracles in common (Peters 1994, p. 30): “One fairly consistent Muslim interpretation of the miracle of the Table was to associate it with the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, here told in Matthew’s version.” In consistency with Hume’s account of miracles that prophecies constitute miracles, Peters (1994, pp. 352–353) points out with regard to miracles in Islam: “Competent orthodox scholars have made a distinction between (miracles and acts of divine grace) by referring to ‘the challenge (in advance),’ that is, the claim made (by the prophet in advance) that the miracle would occur in agreement with the prophetic revelation. It is not possible, they said, that a miracle could happen in agreement with the claim of a liar. Logic requires that a miracle indicate truthfulness. By definition, a miracle is something that can be verified. If it were performed by a liar, it could not be verified and thus would have changed its character, which is absurd. In addition, the world of existence attests the occurrence of many such acts of divine grace. Disapproval of them would be a kind of negative approach. Many such acts of divine grace were experienced by the men around Muhammad and the great early Muslims.”

Moreover, it seems to me that Hume’s account of miracles isn’t necessarily only an account of miracles in Christianity, because Hume does not only look at Christianity, but he looks also at the religions of ancient Rome, Siam, Turkey, and China (Hume 1998, p. 539). Hence, based on Hume’s account and the above quotation, at least Christianity and Islam seem to have prophecies as miracles in common. That authenticity and truthfulness is also demanded of miracles in Christianity, and not only of miracles in Islam, seems to be evident from the following: according to Hick (1992, p. 314), St. Teresa of Avila and the Church used as one of the main criteria for the truthfulness of religious experiences conformity with Scripture. In this regard Paul, in 1 Corinthians 12:3, writes: “Therefore I make known to you that no one speaking by the Spirit of God says, ‘Jesus is accursed’; and no one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit.” Hick (1992, p. 314) mentions another test, namely what kind of effects the religious experience has on the spirituality and morality of the person having experienced it. This criterion is similar to what Jesus Himself has suggested with regard to false prophets (Hick

168 1992, p. 315): “You will know them by their fruits. Grapes are not gathered from thorn bushes nor figs from thistles, are they?” (Matthew 7:16). Paul gives as criteria of the Spirit “22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.” (Galatians 5:22–23) Yet, Hick (1992, p. 315) also points out that it is unclear whether such criteria indicate that a religious experience is actually an experience of God. To confirm the latter, we would have to have some proof of the causal process originating from God to the person who has a religious experience exhibiting continuity of some sort. After we have shown that there are similar kinds of miracles in Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, what about Buddhism and Hinduism? Are their miracles of the same sort as the ones in Christianity, Judaism, and Islam? With regard to Buddhism, we first have to take into account that the first evidence of Buddhism comes from inscriptions made by King Asoka, who ruled over the Maurvan state in North India from 269 till 232 BC and who lived two hundred years after the Buddha (Armstrong 2001, p. xii). Hinduism is even far older than Buddhism, going as far back as the Indus Valley Civilization in 7000–6000 BC (Shattuck 1999, p. 18). Moreover, the “people of the Indus Valley had a written script, examples of which are found on small clay seals, but this script has not been deciphered, so most of the theories about this early civilization are based on deductions drawn from archeological evidence.” (Shattuck 1999, p. 19)

Furthermore, the “earliest religious compositions in India are the IndoEuropean Sanskrit texts, the Vedas. The word veda means knowledge, and these texts contained information necessary to the performance of sacred fire rituals. It is difficult to date the texts accurately, but scholars believe they were composed between 1500 and 600 B. C. E. These Vedas were preserved orally. Priestly families passed on the texts from generation to generation, using elaborate mnemonic systems to preserve them accurately.” (Shattuck 1999, p. 20)

Hence, what we know of the origins of Buddhism and Hinduism might be quite distorted by the enormous lapse of time between the life of the Buddha and its first written records, or might be partly left in mist in the case of Hinduism because of our inability to decipher the texts coupled with the reliance upon oral transmissions over the centuries (which might

169 be inaccurate, although mnemonic systems were used; obviously, oral records are more prone to errors than are written records.) In contrast to Hinduism and Buddhism, Clarke (2003, pp. xvi–xvii) states that all of the Gospels were written forty to sixty years after Jesus’ crucifixion. Similarly, Swinburne (2003, p. 69) states that almost all scholars agree that nearly all the books of the New Testament were written within the first 110 years of the Christian era, that is, within 85 years of the events of their primary focus, and that the vast majority of the books were written at an earlier time than that. Thus, not so much time had passed between the life-time of a major religious figure, such as Christ, and its written records. In particular Clarke (2003, p. xvii) points out that, “Of the four gospels, Mark’s is the earliest and briefest, and if we can trust the tradition that he knew Peter, his is the most ‘apostolic’ of the gospels.” In accordance with this is Swinburne’s (2003, p. 72) claim that Luke got much of his material from Mark’s Gospel and probably much of the rest from Q, a source which Matthew also used. For information on John’s Gospel, see Chapter One of this book, section five. Furthermore, “As for the date of Matthew, if the destroyed city mentioned in a parable at 22:7 looks back to the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70, then the gospel we read today may have been composed around 85, perhaps in a town in Galilee, where it has Jesus spend almost all his time, or more likely in Antioch, capital of the Roman province of Syria, the city where Jesus’ disciples were first called Christians (Acts 11:26).” (Clarke 2003, p. xxii)

As for parallels between the Synoptics and the Gospel of Thomas, Swinburne (2003, pp. 73–74) points out that the Gospel of Thomas contains 114 sayings, roughly half of which are parallel to sayings in the synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Thus, at least these different writings are consistent with each other. Yet, even though the Gospels were written rather early after Jesus’ death in comparison to the writings of Buddhism and Hinduism and their main historic figures, one could advance the general thesis that many books of the Bible were not meant as historical records. In this regard, the following things have been said (but see also Chapter One of this book, section five): Swinburne (2003, p. 70) claims that, in the view of many scholars the books of Jonah and Daniel were not written to give accurate historical reports, but were intended to encourage. Swinburne (2003, p. 71) points out, however, that most of the Acts of the Apostles was written as

170 literal history. Moreover, according to Swinburne (2003, p. 71), Acts is the second part of a two-volume work; the first part is Luke’s Gospel. Swinburne (2003, p. 71) grounds his claim by stating that there is a unity of thought and style between them and that, at the beginning of Acts, its second-volume status is affirmed. Furthermore, Swinburne (2003, p. 71) states that in the beginning of Luke’s Gospel it is confirmed that the author thought that his work was a work of history. Swinburne (2003, p. 72) admits, though, that the long speeches in Acts and the reports of the hymns sung (Luke 1:5–2:52) shouldn’t be taken as literal history. Swinburne (2003, p. 73) adds that Luke thought that Mark was telling us about historical events. Moreover, Swinburne (2003, p. 73) maintains that Matthew’s Gospel was written to tell us about historical events, and because Mark is his primary source, he must have understood him in the same way. With regard to historical events, Ranke (1909) claimed that historiographic consensus can be built on the basis of public documents, Tucker maintains (2004, p. 73). Yet, this doesn’t help us with regard to which story of Jesus’ life, and especially with regard to which story of Jesus’ trial and execution, is the correct one. Moreover, Tucker (2004, p. 74) points out that Ranke ordered known sources according to their temporal proximity to the hypothesized events and that he preferred primary sources written by contemporaries of the events that were not intended to record history, such as diaries and letters, to narrativeinterpreted historiography, because the latter was already designed to create an impression of the past. Yet, although many scholars agree that (1) Mark was probably written before Luke, Matthew, and John; that (2) Luke and Matthew very probably drew part of their writings from Mark, so that these three Gospels are very similar to each other—which is why the three are called the Synoptics; that (3) John was probably the last of these four (cf. also Chapter One of this book, section five); and that (4) it is also not definitely clear whether any of these four were eyewitnesses to Jesus’ life and death (but cf. also Chapter One, section five); one cannot order the known sources according to their temporal proximity with certainty, and also one cannot be sure whether one has primary sources at one’s disposal with regard to these four Gospels.

171 With regard to Ranke’s last statement, namely that he preferred primary sources written by contemporaries of the events that were not intended to record history, such as diaries and letters, to narrativeinterpreted historiography, another question comes up: namely, are parts of the Bible (or is even the whole Bible) intended to record history? Although this might not have been the intention of many Biblical authors, one cannot exclude this possibility from the outset. After all some of the Biblical authors might have been aware of the fact that their writings might influence how history (and the history of the Church, in particular) would be written. Yet, this then might lead to the conclusion that one should value diaries and private letters of the Biblical authors as more credible than the historical recordings of these authors. Also in this regard, it is important to point out that the public letters by Paul which he sent to the different congregations have a different status than any of his private letters, if any of them have survived the passage of time. Because of their public status, Paul’s Epistles could also have been intended to record history, which doesn’t have to hold for his private letters. For more on Paul’s letters, see Chapter One of this book, section five. In case one takes parts of the Bible or the whole Bible as historical recordings, the question arises as to whether one also find an exposition of the Biblical authors’ own ideas in the Bible? Moreover, how can one distinguish between historical records and an exposition of the authors’ own ideas? Especially if one takes an Hegelian standpoint this might be very difficult for, according to Taylor (1984, p. 17), Hegel claimed with regard to the connection between philosophy and the history of philosophy that they are one, that is, it is essential to an adequate understanding of certain topics that one understands them genetically. Yet, it would be quite a pity if one did not take the published Bible seriously due to Ranke’s preference for diaries and letters over narrative-interpreted historiography. After all, one could assume that the Biblical authors wanted their delivered and later published works to be treated seriously. Hence, Ranke’s recommendation to prefer diaries and letters to narrative-interpreted historiography has to be taken with a bit of caution or, to say it in Latin, cum granum salis. One might even want to entertain the thought that an Hegelian standpoint (that philosophy and the history of philosophy are one) is not

172 only inadequate in general, but also is inadequate when it is transferred to religious matters, for the simple reason that every topic has a beginning, namely when people start discussing and/or writing down their opinions on certain issues, so that the general claim that it is essential to an adequate understanding of certain topics that one understands them genetically is not possible in these cases, for there is no previous history to which one can refer. Hence, one cannot equate theology with the history of theology, and this cannot make the distinction between the historical records of the Biblical authors from the exposition of their own ideas more problematic than it already is. Tucker (2004, p. 122) claims that historians value the high fidelity of parish registries and disvalue the official statistics of totalitarian states because of their unreliability. Thus one would expect the Roman recordings of the Roman Judaea Province and even the Jewish records (because of the Roman totalitarian regime) to be unreliable. Yet, Tucker’s claim does not hold generally. If one looks at Nazi-Germany, it is rather frightening in how much detail the Nazis kept count of the Holocaust, and I doubt that serious historians in this case are skeptical with regard to the credibility of the records of the regime. Hence, one has to look at the Roman records—and even the Jewish ones—for clues about whether they are in some way manipulated, in order to get a decent account of the life and death of Jesus. Thus, (1) although it still remains difficult to date the four Gospels, their order in time, and their authors, (2) although it is problematic in many cases to date the other books in the Bible and their authors exactly, and (3) although there is still much controversy with regard to the historicity of the whole Bible, the four Gospels are not as distant in time as the first writings in Buddhism and the first writings in Hinduism which we can decipher. So, one can expect the Bible to be more accurate than the writings of Buddhism and Hinduism. With regard to the Hebrew Bible or Tanakh with its twenty-four books, it was still under construction when the first century Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (October 2001) wrote in Against Apion: “8. For we have not an innumerable multitude of books among us, disagreeing from and contradicting one another, [as the Greeks have,] but only twenty-two books, (8) which contain the records of all the past times; which are justly

173 believed to be divine; and of them five belong to Moses, which contain his laws and the traditions of the origin of mankind till his death. This interval of time was little short of three thousand years; but as to the time from the death of Moses till the reign of Artaxerxes king of Persia, who reigned after Xerxes, the prophets, who were after Moses, wrote down what was done in their times in thirteen books. The remaining four books contain hymns to God, and precepts for the conduct of human life. It is true, our history hath been written since Artaxerxes very particularly, but hath not been esteemed of the like authority with the former by our forefathers, because there hath not been an exact succession of prophets since that time; and how firmly we have given credit to these books of our own nation is evident by what we do; for during so many ages as have already passed, no one has been so bold as either to add any thing to them, to take any thing from them, or to make any change in them; but it is become natural to all Jews immediately, and from their very birth, to esteem these books to contain Divine doctrines, and to persist in them, and, if occasion be willingly to die for them.”

Hence, with regard to authenticity the Hebrew Bible might not fare so well either. With regard to authenticity, Islam fares best, because the Qur’an was revealed to Muhammad in its entirety starting when he was forty years old and continuing until he reached the age of sixty-three—his death in AD 632 (Haleem 1999, pp. 1–2). Yet, one of the major obstacles which Muhammad had to overcome was that Muhammad was illiterate (Armstrong 2002, p. 4). According to Haleem (1999, pp. 1–2), however, the Qur’an even deals with this and considers this actually as a sign sent from God. This resembles the conversion of Saul (Acts 9:1–31), because someone who is unfit—such as a persecutor of the Christians in the case of Saul, and someone who is an illiterate and who is supposed to deliver God’s message accurately in the case of Muhammad—is elected as a messenger of God. After having dealt with the question of the authenticity and truthfulness of the various original writings of the major world religions, we should get back to the topic of miracles in the various major world religions. In this regard, the following can be said: if one could show that all the major current world religions have a common core, so that a single god could actually be responsible for all of them, then miracles which appear in the framework of one major current world religion would not disprove other current world religions, but would mutually support each

174 other. Unfortunately, we are not able to show this for all major world religions throughout history, because we simply don’t have enough knowledge of all of them. That is why I am just considering major current world religions and not all major world religions throughout history. Of course, it would be better if we were able show that all major world religions of all times have a common core, in order to support the hypothesis that a single god could be responsible for all of their miracles. Yet, we don’t even know whether all the past major world religions have miracles, so that the mutual destruction of past major world religions by their respective miracles isn’t even an issue in that regard. If one were able to show that the current major world religions have a common core, so that they could substitute each other in a certain way, one would, however, encounter objections by the Roman Catholic Church, for such a position goes against its doctrine. Ratzinger (08/06/2000), when he was still the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, states in his controversial Dominus Iesus in this regard: “Therefore, in connection with the unicity and universality of the salvific mediation of Jesus Christ, the unicity of the Church founded by him must be firmly believed as a truth of Catholic faith. Just as there is one Christ, so there exists a single body of Christ, a single Bride of Christ: ‘a single Catholic and apostolic Church,’”

where the latter quotation stems from the Symbolum maius Ecclesiae Armeniacae: DS 48. Thus, only the Roman Catholic Church, but not the other Christian Churches are connected to Christ and therefore to God. Something similar is stated by William Levada (06/29/2007), Ratzinger’s successor as the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, where the Christian Churches which were born out of the 16th century reformation are not considered as churches in the proper sense, because they are not based on apostolic succession in the sacrament of Orders. Moreover, Ratzinger (08/06/2000) continues in the same vein as before: “Certainly, the various religious traditions contain and offer religious elements which come from God…and which are part of what ‘the Spirit brings about in human hearts and in the history of peoples, in cultures, and religions’.…Indeed, some prayers and rituals of the other religions may assume a role of preparation for the Gospel, in that they are occasions or pedagogical helps in which the human heart is prompted to be open to the action of God.…One cannot attribute to these,

175 however, a divine origin or an ex opere operato salvific efficacy, which is proper to the Christian sacraments.…Furthermore, it cannot be overlooked that other rituals, insofar as they depend on superstitions or other errors (cf. 1 Cor 10:20– 21), constitute an obstacle to salvation.”

This latter quotation stems from John Paul II’s Encyclical Letter Redemptoris missio, 29. Hence, at least the Roman Catholic Church makes quite clear that she already differs very much from the other Christian Churches and therefore also from the other major current world religions. Nevertheless, at least theoretically and hypothetically, it would be interesting to see whether one can find a common core in the different major current world religions, so that one were able to show that miracles which appear in the framework of one major current world religion wouldn’t disprove other current world religions, but would mutually support each other. In order to do the latter, we have to look more closely at the different major current world religions and try to find features in them where they are similar to each other, starting with Buddhism and Hinduism. Both Buddhism and Hinduism belong to the dharmic religions, where dharmic refers (1) to the basic principles of cosmic or individual existence, that is, to the divine law, and (2) to the conformity to one’s duty and nature (Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary 06/22/2007). Are there any connections from the dharmic religions to Christianity and the other Abrahamic religions? This can be affirmed for Hinduism, for Shattuck points out that one also finds reincarnation in Hinduism: “The word avatara means ‘a descent, an incarnation.’ Whenever there is trouble in the world, God takes on a physical form and descends into the world to reestablish order. Thus, Krishna is not just Arjuna’s charioteer, he is a form of the supreme God who creates, maintains, and destroys the universe.” (Shattuck 1999, p. 43) Moreover, during Jesus’ lifetime, Israel was under Roman law and not under Jewish law, so one can consider this as trouble in the world. Also, during the oppression of the Jews in Egypt God showed Himself according to the Bible. One could think of the sacred cow in Hinduism and the worshipping of the Golden Calf in the Old Testament (Exodus 32:1) as another parallel between Hinduism and Judaism and Christianity. For although the worshipping of the Golden Calf was not approved by Moses and God, it is interesting to see that, from all possible animals or things to worship, the

176 tribes of Israel chose a calf. Hence, one can find some parallels between Hinduism and the Abrahamic religions, and one could even advance the view that God’s reincarnation or appearance in difficult times belong to one of the core points Hinduism and the Abrahamic religions have in common. With regard to the connection between Christianity and Buddhism, Chen (2007, p. 70) points out that: “Many scholars have traced the scriptural source of this practice to the chapter titled ‘The Former Affairs of the Bodhisattva Medicine King’ of the Lotus Sūtra, in which burning the body is referenced as a Dharma-offering.” As a parallel in Christianity, Chen (Chen 2007, p. 88, note 62) mentions the following passage in Romans 12:1: “Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.” Another parallel in Christianity is Matthew 16:24–25 (Chen 2007, p. 70). Yet, whereas the burning of one’s own body seems to have been relatively common in Buddhism in the Southern dynasties during the ceremony of relic-veneration (Chen 2007, pp. 69–70), in Christianity such life-sacrifices were, for the most part, only given during the persecution of Christians, and the more-or-less direct oppression of the Christian faith under Communism. Of course, there is the tradition of crucifixion which one finds in some cultures in order to relive and take part in the suffering of Jesus, and there is the practice of mortification which one finds in Opus Dei and which has been practiced in the Catholic Church for centuries, especially by saints such as St. Francis of Assisi, St. Thomas More, St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Padre Pio, and Blessed Mother Teresa (Opus Dei Information Office 06/28/2007). Yet, these crucifixions and mortifications never concern the whole life of a person. After all, according to Christian doctrine, suicide is by-and-large considered as morally wrong (Cholbi Summer 2007), for Jesus in Matthew 19:18 says that one shouldn’t commit murder (cf. also Exodus 20:13–16 and Deuteronomy 5:17–20). Yet, one could object to this that one usually doesn’t say “murder yourself,” but “kill yourself.” Hence, one could advance the view that these biblical passages don’t make any particular statement with regard to committing suicide. Nevertheless one could maintain that Buddhism and Christianity allow for a certain amount of suffering as part of their religious doctrines.

177 Another parallel between Christianity and Buddhism is the apocalypse in Chinese Buddhism. Chen (2007, p. 90, note 78) cites an article by Seiwert (2000, p. 10) in order to demonstrate that: “The horror of the apocalyptic time is paired with the promise of a paradise-like life after the catastrophe. This paradise is, of course, open only to those who follow Buddhist teachings or, more particularly, the teachings revealed in their apocalyptic scriptures. Thus, the dichotomy of destruction and paradise is complemented by the dichotomy of the annihilation of the sinners and the salvation of the true followers of the teachings. Furthermore, there is a dichotomy of the supernatural agents in this cosmic battle: on the one hand, devils and demons are ravaging the world and its sinful inhabitants. On the other hand, divine powers, Buddhas and bodhisattvas fight to rescue the few that have practiced the true teachings.”

Hence, we not only have an apocalypse in Buddhism and Christianity, but also a paradise for those who follow the relevant scriptures in both religions, which are quite important parallels between the two religions. There are even some further parallels between Christianity and Buddhism. For Chen (2007, p. 110) points out that, in “the Christian tradition, baptism is similar to the ordination ritual of Buddhism.” Similarly, Chen (2007, p. 130, note 111) highlights that John Holt (1983, p. 124) “takes the ordination (upasampadā) as an example of the transition stage of a ritual. He argues that upasampadā represents a spiritual rebirth.” In addition to all these different parallels between Christianity and Buddhism already, Chen (2007) stresses the veneration of relics, the practice of confessions, and the presence of miracles in Buddhism. Hence, there are indeed some parallels between Christianity and Buddhism. So far, there seem to be at least a few important similarities between the Abrahamic religions and the dharmic religions. Yet, we have not looked at another major current world religion, namely at the Taoic religions which, for instance include such religions as Taoism, Confucianism, Shinto and others. There might be some connection between Taoic religions and dharmic religions, because Grotenhuis (1998, p. 11) states that she investigated “certain paradigmatic mandalas from the Japanese Esoteric Buddhist, Pure Land Buddhist, and kami-worshiping (Shinto) traditions. At first glance, these pictorial images seem very different. Looking more closely, we can see meaningful interrelations among the configurations.” Although this is not such a huge overlap

178 between Buddhism and Shinto traditions, it is at least a good starting point for further investigations into the subject area. As I am not an expert in the area, I will leave this issue for the experts to decide. With regard to the interpretations of the similarities between the various major current world religions, one could explain the similarities between them differently than by referring to a common god. For instance, one could explain certain pagan traditions in Christianity, such as the Easter bunny, the Christmas tree, the halo of saints, etc., as the overtaking of some customs in order to make the new religion not appear so alien or make it easier for people to adapt to the particular new religion. Or one could explain certain common features in different religions as a result of competition between religions, so that if they have a new tradition, we should have it also in order not to lag behind. The latter could, for instance, be found in the popularity of the Taizé songs which have spread over the different Christian Churches, although the Taizé community in itself is already ecumenical. Yet, the popularity of the Taizé songs could also be explained as going along with fashion and not necessarily as a process of competition. Of course, both explanations could also be possible. Easter bunnies, Christmas trees, etc. are really superficial similarities, so it wouldn’t matter so much to transfer them to a new religion. Yet, what about the more important features of a religion, such as reincarnation and baptism? If one were to found a new religion, wouldn’t one assume that some of the fundamentals were really new? Not necessarily, for if one considers the different Christian Churches there are, then they have certain fundamental doctrines in common, while differing in many marginalia and perhaps in one or two of the fundamental doctrines. Moreover, one could imagine that, after some time has passed, new religions emerge in analogy to speciation in biology. So, after all, the different major current world religions could go back to one common god or, to be more precise, to one common god concept, so that miracles which are part of one world religion don’t necessarily have to disprove miracles of the other major world religions, and therefore don’t have to destroy other world religions, either.

179

V. What does a miracle prove? Earman (2000, p. 62; cf. also Willard 1992, p. 222) claims that, even if eyewitness testimony were sufficient to establish the resurrection of Jesus, it does not follow that the resurrection is a just foundation for a religion; for the latter would require that the resurrection is due to the volition of God. Yet, how can one know that a deity has intervened in the course of events? One possibility is that one could advance the view that a miracle has happened, and then one would have to prove the occurrence of the miracle, assuming that only deities can produce miracles. Another more interesting possibility is the following suggestion by Levine (Fall 2005): “If there is a supernature, then it is reasonable to suppose, as Locke did, that there are ‘laws of supernature’ and that singular causal statements concerning the supernatural may be understood as implicitly assuming the generalizability of such singular causal statements in terms of those laws.”

But how would we know that these laws are laws of supernature? Couldn’t it also be possible that parts of the universe are ruled by certain laws and other parts of the universe are ruled by certain other laws, and that due to some cosmic event some (to us) foreign laws would all of a sudden intervene in our ordinary life? Also with regard to a supernatural being, how are we supposed to determine that it is supernatural? In order to do that we first would have to know what nature comprises, which seems an impossible undertaking given the vastness of the universe and given that the universe is constantly evolving and changing. Or would we just consider any being, organization, system, or structure as a god if it were superior to us, regardless of whether it was mean-spirited or benevolent? Surely there wouldn’t be many people who would worship a creature such as Alien from the Alien-movies. But why wouldn’t we do that? Because it is evil or because it is mortal? I think we would not worship it because it is mortal, and not because it is evil. For there are also some people who worship Satan, who is evil but is assumed not to be mortal. Another evil God in history is the Egyptian God Seth. For more on the Christian concept of God see Chapter One, section four. But which kind of criteria does a god have to fulfill in order to be accepted as a deity by most of us throughout time? In my opinion, we wouldn’t worship a being as a god if it were so different from us and our world that we had a hard time relating to Him or Her or It in some way.

180 For instance, if that being spoke a language which we were not able to comprehend, although He or She or It shows such an enormous amount of intelligence by its accomplishments and products that we considered He/She/It vastly superior to us. We wouldn’t worship a being as a god if it were completely powerless, or if it just had as much power as we do. Furthermore, it also seems implausible to worship someone or something if it were as easily destructible as we are. Yet, if one looks at these criteria, then one could even declare vampires to be deities, given that they existed as gods—and that is something which seems implausible. So, in which ways does a vampire differ from a god? First, there are too many of them. That is, even in polytheism, we don’t have hundreds or thousands of gods, whereas with regard to vampires, given that they existed, there is no limit to their proliferation; that is, a god would not be considered a god anymore if there were hundreds of them. That is, gods are something special and rare. Moreover, even though vampires are not as easily murdered as humans, nevertheless they are not immortal, and in my opinion one would only consider something to be a god, if He/She/It were immortal. Spinoza (2000, p. 111) claims that one cannot know of God’s existence and providence by means of miracles, so that miracles cannot prove God’s existence and providence, but that one can know God by means of the order of nature. Spinoza (2000, p. 111) induces Scripture to show that God cannot be known from miracles (Deuteronomy 13), and that the decrees and mandates of God are only the order of nature (1 Samuel, 9, 15, 16). Yet, in Deuteronomy 13, the author only speaks about prophets who worship other gods when he talks of miracles. It is not evident that what holds for other gods also has to hold for one’s own God. With regard to 1 Samuel 16 (when Samuel anoints David), the spirit of the Lord comes over David, which one wouldn’t call something which is in accordance with the order of nature. We should also consider that God talks to Samuel in 1 Samuel 9 and 15, and this is not something which is in the order of nature. Alternatively, one could claim that Spinoza has a very narrow sense of what he means by the order of nature. Thus, I have problems following Spinoza’s reasoning here. Shalkowski (1992, p. 67) advances the idea that, if one wants to prove the thesis that matter is all there is, one has to show that all miracle reports are false—which seems like an impossible undertaking, for this

181 encompasses not only past miracle reports, but also the ones to come. Yet, it is not only miracle reports which one would have to disprove: if God were partly a spirit, as is advanced by the Christian concept of the Trinity, or perhaps if God were even a force, then one would also have to disprove that. For spirits and forces are not parts of matter. Of course, one could also evade the latter problem by reformulating the thesis in such a way that matter is all there is inside space and time, and that God exists outside space and time. Nevertheless, it remains an impossible undertaking to prove that all miracle reports are false. A way to circumvent the latter problem is by saying that, since we can neither confirm nor disconfirm many miracle reports of the past, and since we can neither confirm nor disconfirm miracle reports of the future, we just look at the miracle reports which we quite clearly can confirm or disconfirm. If we had, then, one miracle which is undoubtedly confirmed, then this disproves the thesis that matter is all there is. That is, already one proven miracle report is enough to disprove the thesis that matter is all there is. Yet, why does Shalkowski actually think that miracles are not made of matter, or that miracles disprove the thesis that matter is all there is? If someone miraculously gets healed from cancer, for instance, then just the physical state of the person changes, assuming for the sake of the argument that the physical state and psychological state are unrelated to each other, so that the psychological state doesn’t have to undergo a change. How are we supposed to know whether the cause of the change is made of matter or not? Shalkowski seems to assume that miracles are not matter, but he does not give us a justification for this view. Moreover, I do not see a reason why miracles cannot be material. Hence, I do not find Shalkowski’s position convincing that, if one wants to prove that matter is all there is, then one has to show that all miracle reports are false.

VI. Is it rational to believe in miracles? In my opinion, as I already said, the procedure which the Catholic Church uses in order to prove miracles is biased, so that presents a real problem. Moreover, as science has not reached its limit yet (and probably never will reach it), there is always the possibility of a future scientific explanation of an alleged miracles. Nevertheless, we shouldn’t be as

182 skeptical as a skeptic—meaning that, if all the above-mentioned criteria for calling something a miracle are fulfilled, I think it would be rational to assert the existence of a miracle. Yet, what kinds of consequences would such an assertion have? If miracles were not done by a certain god or gods, what or who would account for them? Could they be just random noise? That seems unlikely. Yet, which of the different gods is it then, who is responsible for them? If we go by the principle of simplicity (which is used in the sciences for the evaluation of different theories), and by the maxim that it is easier to speak the truth than to lie (for otherwise one would have to build whole systems around it), then the God who takes responsibility for the particular miracle, should be the cause of the miracle—even if it means that there are then miracles speaking in favor of different religions. Of course, simplicity has not always been such a reliable criterion in the sciences. After all, Newton’s classical mechanics is much simpler than Einstein’s quantummechanics. Yet, for the most part, simplicity works. As I said before in Chapter One, perhaps simplicity should be taken in a more narrow sense in order to work as a criterion for successful scientific theories. Yet, even if we had proven that miracles exist and also that they were caused by, say, the Christian God, then still the question arises of whether it is rational to believe in such miracles? One could state this question also more generally: are there some conditions when it is irrational to believe in truth or are there some conditions when it is rational to believe in falsity? Now imagine the following: there is a person who, whenever he thinks it is rational to believe in miracles, feels compelled to commit a crime. For him (because he will get imprisoned) and for us also (because we don’t want to be his victims), it is better that he thinks that it is irrational to believe in miracles. So, there might be some conditions under which it is better to think that it is irrational to believe in miracles. Another very similar case of when it is rational to believe in something false is the following: you know it is rational for you to believe that your plane to Paris departs at 2:10 p. m., which is false, because there have been some last minute changes in the departure schedule. Moreover, because of your misinformation, you miss the plane, which is actually lucky, because your plane crashes. Therefore, it is much better for you to have rationally believed in something false.

183 Also, if you think it is rational to believe in miracles, you might entertain the belief that whenever something bad happens to you, a miracle might solve the problem, which is rather unlikely unless one lived in a world where miracles always appear when something bad happens. We must, then, specify more clearly what it means to say that it is rational to believe in miracles, namely that it is rational to believe that miracles have occurred in the past. Whether miracles will happen in the future is going beyond the evidence which we have acquired, and therefore we cannot say that it is rational to believe that miracles will occur in the future. Of course, if there were some law-like regularity, which would ensure that miracles occur under certain kinds of conditions, then this would be another case. For instance, it could be the case that, under certain circumstances, God always performed a miracle. Under such kinds of circumstances, one would be entitled to say that, given that the circumstances will also appear in the future, it is rational to believe that miracles have existed and that they also will exist in the future. Yet, what does the term “rational” really mean when we say that it is rational to believe in miracles? As we have seen before in Chapter One, section two, a minimal condition of rationality in decision theory is coherence. Another criterion of rationality that one finds in rational decision theory is regularity (Hajek 2003, pp. 31–32): “Call a probability function regular if and only if it assigns probability 1 only to logical truths (and 0 only to contradictions).” If one does not obey this criterion, then one is open to a semi-Dutch book, which is a series of bets for which there is no possible circumstance in which one enjoys a net gain, and some possible circumstance in which one suffers a net loss (Shimony 1970). As miracles are not supposed to be logical truths, but contingent truths, it seems to be rational not to assign a probability of one to them, for such a probability amounts to certainty which might be doubtful for miracles, because one could at least entertain the thought that a miracle could find a scientific explanation in the future. Hence, miracles would fulfill the regularity criterion. Furthermore, if one were to assign a probability of one to a miracle, it might be problematic to get down from that probability by means of conditionalization, which might be another reason why one shouldn’t ascribe a probability of one to a miracle.

184 Besides the question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles, one might also ask the question of whether it is rational of God to reveal Himself to us by means of miracles (cf. also Ward 1977, p. 179). Depending on what one understands by a miracle, and depending on whether God just employs miracles for revealing Himself, an answer to the latter question might vary. For if God only revealed Himself to us by means of miracles, then in my opinion, it would be rational for God to reveal Himself to us in that way. For if we had no other means of recognizing Him than by His miracles, and if God wanted us to know that He exists, then it would be rational for Him to reveal Himself in such a way. Yet, if one (for instance) distinguished miracles from prophecies, and if there were both miracles and prophecies in our world, then God would not have to reveal Himself to us by means of miracles, given that He wants us to know Him, because prophecies alone would be sufficient to accomplish that task. Yet, if He wanted to demonstrate His powers to us, then of course prophecies alone wouldn’t be sufficient. In such a case, one would still need miracles, so that God—in order to be rational—would have to perform some miracles. As it is inherently difficult for us to know what God’s wants and beliefs are, in the final analysis, it seems an impossible task for us to determine whether it is rational for God to reveal Himself to us by means of miracles.

Conclusion The question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles depends on what one understands by a miracle. In this regard, it makes sense to distinguish the marvelous from the miraculous, but also to distinguish the extraordinary from the miraculous. While miracles don’t necessarily go against uniform experience, because (on the one hand) there are also probabilistic laws, not only deterministic laws, and because (on the other hand) there are also law-like singularities, it makes sense to define “miracles” as “transgression of the laws of nature.” Although it might be possible that all our laws of nature in fact constitute miracles, whereas the not law-like events are actually when God does not intervene, on account of the principle of simplicity the reverse order seems to be more likely. With regard to evidence for miracles, it is possible to transfer most of the

185 factors from criteria-based content analysis for finding out the credibility of children as witnesses in case of sexual offenses to a general witness account, so that the testimony given by people attesting to miracles can be evaluated quite objectively. If one could show that all the major world religions shared a common core, then miracles in one world religion would not destroy miracles in other world religions. I have shown in this chapter that, at least with regard to the Abrahamic and the dharmic current world religions, some fundamental concepts and traditions are shared, so that the miracles in these religions wouldn’t mutually destroy each other. Also with regard to Taoic religions, we see some features in common with dharmic religions. Yet, the evidence I found with regard to similarities between Taoic, dharmic, and Abrahamic religions is so sparse that I have to withhold judgment with regard to the question of whether miracles in Taoic religions destroy the miracles in other major current world religions. From a skeptical stance, a miracle doesn’t prove much. In this regard, one could advance the view that an inference to the best explanation would yield God (or several gods) as a probable cause (or causes) of miracles, so that miracles—given that this inference is valid—prove that God (or several gods) exist(s). Finally, with regard to the question of whether it is rational to believe in miracles, I have shown that, under certain conditions, it is irrational to believe in miracles.

Chapter Four: Inconsistencies in the Christian Tradition I: An Omnibenevolent God who Allows Evil I. Introduction In order to determine whether an omnibenevolent God who allows evil is inconsistent or not, one first has to determine what an omnibenevolent God consists in and what evil actually is. According to Rowe (1992, p. 34), intense human and animal suffering is a clear case of evil. Unfortunately, I have to disagree. Just because someone or something suffers immensely, that does not mean that there is an intention involved to harm the being in question. I take an intention to harm or hurt as necessary for labeling something as evil. Perhaps you might want to object that I have not suffered immensely, and therefore cannot evaluate Rowe’s claim properly that intense human and animal suffering is a clear case of evil. However, I had several years of immense back and tooth pain, I have seen two of my relatives die of cancer, and another of my relatives died because the connection between the different brain systems didn’t work properly together any longer, so that she couldn’t move and speak at all for several years before she finally died. I do not consider any of these cases as cases of evil. In my opinion, this is just what happens in nature. One might want to object that I just didn’t feel any kind of pity in these cases, but also that is not true. I found it quite horrible that my aunt could not move or talk at all, though she was fully conscious. Just imagine you want to scratch yourself, but you can’t do it because you cannot move, or that you want to say something important, but cannot do it. Moreover, I felt so much pity for my uncle who had to take care of her. What a horrible fate! Usually people do not help those in need in such cases, but rather leave them alone, because nobody can stand to look at such cases and these living conditions for long, or even at all. That is, there is quite clearly a reason why, with more and more wealth, people put their old and sick relatives into nursing homes and don’t take care of them in the midst of the family; the sight of sickness and approaching death is just too unbearable

188 for many people. Most people say that they don’t have time to take care of their relatives. But that cannot be a good reason, because with all of the modern instruments and equipment today, surely we are able to do many things faster than our grandparents one hundred years before. Besides the intention to hurt or harm something or someone as a necessary condition for considering something or someone as evil, what can be considered as a sufficient condition in this regard? In my opinion, if the intention to hurt or harm someone gets successfully carried out, I would consider this as sufficient for labeling someone or something as evil. Someone who always lacked success in carrying out his intentions to hurt or harm somebody would just be considered as a joke, and not as someone who is evil. Yet, what about someone who always has the best intentions, but his deeds always result in harm to other people? We would not consider such a person as evil, but would pity this person and give him or her guidance so that further harm would be prevented. Yet, what happens in the case that someone has intentions to harm someone and is successful in carrying out his intentions, but the person who is the object of these intentions doesn’t feel harmed, because this person does not consider these intentions as harmful, or because this person does not consider the resulting actions as harmful or as hurtful? In this regard certain actions can quite clearly be labeled as harmful, such as someone trying to choke another person or someone trying to slit a person’s wrists, etc. In the case that the victim does not consider the resulting actions to be harmful, because he or she has a higher threshold with regard to what he or she considers as harmful, one cannot label these actions as harmful. In the case that the victim does not consider the intentions as harmful, although they were so intended, we would consider the victim as being deceived, and we would ask ourselves what would happen if the victim had direct knowledge of the intentions of the actor,— would he or she still label the intentions as not harmful? After all, humans might differ in what intentions they consider to be harmful. In my opinion, what ultimately matters in this regard is how the supposed victim experiences the intentions and actions of the perpetrator. In principle, we could always tell the perpetrator that we do not like his or her intentions and/or that we do not like his or her actions, so that quite clear boundary

189 lines can be established as regards what kinds of actions and intentions are welcomed or not. Getting back to Rowe’s statement that intense human and animal suffering is a clear case of evil, we may note that, similar to Rowe’s position, Ratzinger (2007, p. 60) asks which is more tragic, and juxtaposes believing in a good god and a savior to human hunger. Yes, I agree that these things are very tragic, but I would not consider them as evil. People, such as Stalin, Hitler, Goebbels, Goehring, Nero, Caligula, Jack the Ripper, Augusto Pinochet, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Genghis Khan, etc., who intentionally killed so many innocent people, I would consider as quite clear examples of evil on this Earth. Yet, what about intentionally killing or harming a bad person, such as trying to kill Hitler or killing Saddam Hussein? Is this also evil? One could advance the view that indeed it is, for the simple reason that one’s own threshold for committing a crime is lowered, so that one becomes like the bad person him- or herself. Of course, one could also defend the view that, under certain kinds of conditions, one does not have a choice and has to defend one’s own life. Yet, even in the case of the necessity of self-defense, the threshold for having committed the deed gets lowered, so that one becomes like the bad person him- or herself, at least to a certain extent.

II. Solutions to the problem of evil From the foregoing, it becomes obvious that there is evil in this world, and as God is not only considered to be omnibenevolent, but also omnipotent, how can one reconcile the existence of evil with both of these features of His Godhood? If He is omnipotent, then He has the power to prevent evil; and if He is omnibenevolent, He wouldn’t want anyone to suffer, so that there shouldn’t be any kind of evil in this world. One might want to reply to this inconsistency in the following way: what is this very short period of suffering in comparison to eternal bliss? That is, in my opinion, Pascal (1960, 343 in this translation and also 343 in the Lafuma edition, 233 in the Brunschvicg edition) is right: “The finite is annihilated in presence of the infinite, and becomes pure nothingness.” Moreover, if everything were just easy and good in this world, how could we show or prove to God that we are either good by following His commandments or

190 bad by not following His commandments? One might want to reply to this objection in the following way: even if there were no hunger and no needless suffering in the world, such as an animal that gets burned in a fire or a human who has cancer, there would still be plenty of opportunity for us to show our good or bad qualities because of freedom of will (just assuming, for the sake of the argument, that we have it). Similarly, Rowe (1992, p. 41, note 1) claims that, on the condition of incompatibility, there is an argument for the position that the existence of evil is logically consistent with the existence of God. As a response to the problem of evil, one could, alternatively, take over the attitude of the founder of Opus Dei, Escrivá (07/17/2007, #208) in The Way and change the values one ascribes to suffering and pain, namely that one should love pain. Yet, how can one justify such a position, and does this not go completely against our natural instincts and impulses? Of course, there are sadists, who love to exert suffering on other people and/or animals, and there are masochists, who love to suffer, but such people are actually not considered normal in our society. Moreover, as we are living beings, it would contradict our very existence if we loved it that someone else suffers. Yet in Darwinism, survival of the fittest is the utmost maxim, which would speak in favor of allowing the suffering of others. One of the coping mechanisms which one could employ to deal with this suffering is to reverse one’s values, so that one indeed should love pain. Continuing in the same vein one could argue that, as Christ suffered and Peter suffered, why shouldn’t we want to imitate them? After all, one could think that one becomes divine by partaking in the same fate. Supporting such a view is Paul who said “imitate me” to his communities (1 Corinthians 4:16; Philippians 3:17; 1 Thessalonians 1:6; 2 Thessalonians 3:7, 9). Nevertheless, one could argue that it would be better to do something good instead of willfully suffering, as priests of Opus Dei do by means of mortification practices. Opus Dei members would probably reply that, to suffer and therewith to partake in Jesus’ fate, and to do good at the same time, would be superior to just doing good alone. But what about the people who don’t intentionally suffer from pain but non-intentionally suffer from pain, such as someone who has back or tooth pain for several years, and despite all of this suffering does some good? Should such a person be valued as much as someone who

191 intentionally inflicts pain on himself and does some good? That is, can one really say of a person who has back or tooth pain and does some good that he or she partakes in Jesus’ fate? One wouldn’t think so, for Jesus’ accepted His fate in the garden of Gethsemane (Mark 14:36), and one usually doesn’t accept one’s own fate when one has naturally-occurring pain. That is, when one is sick, one usually does whatever one can do to get rid of the pain. Of course, one could object that, in order to do something about the pain, one first has to accept the fact that one has pain. Yet, can this acceptance be compared to Jesus’ acceptance? I don’t think so, for Jesus quite clearly accepted the pain and suffering on the condition that He didn’t do anything about it. Moreover, can one really expect from someone who already has had so much pain to suffer even more in order to partake in Jesus’ fate? For instance, can one expect of a cancer patient to suffer even more than he or she already does? That seems quite clearly unreasonable and inhumane and leads this kind of reasoning actually into absurdity. According to Plantinga (2000, pp. 487–488, footnote 35), Camus had a nice solution to the problem of evil given an omnibenevolent God, for Camus realized that it is actually Christ and His suffering that provides the solution to the problems of evil and death. For how could I complain any longer about the evil and death in this world if there is divine willingness to suffer on my behalf? Similarly, Swinburne (2003, p. 44) states that a perfectly good god would judge it as good to share our suffering, to which He subjects us for a greater good, by becoming incarnate in a life that ends incredibly badly. Moreover, Swinburne (2003, p. 45) points out that the suffering of Christ had to be at least partially done in public, for the “parent needs not merely to share the child’s suffering, but to show him that he is doing so.” (Swinburne 2003, p. 45) But couldn’t one reply to Camus that this is just a very effective way to silence someone, and not a very good argument for justifying our suffering? For to reason “how could you complain any longer if I am suffering on your behalf,” makes it really hard for anyone to ask for more, namely a life without suffering, because if one asked for more, one would sound ungrateful, spoiled, pampered, insatiable, measureless. Moreover, could one not argue here as follows: I didn’t ask you to suffer on my behalf; instead I would have preferred a life without suffering and painless.

192 That is, one should always feel free to do whatever one wants with a gift, even if it means rejecting it. Yet, perhaps Christ’s suffering makes it clear that we simply cannot ask for more in this life, because there is nothing more for the taking with regard to this life on Earth. But still the question arises: how can an omnibenevolent God permit a life with suffering and evil in it? Plantinga (2000, pp. 493–494) points out that perhaps God’s reason for allowing my suffering is not that by suffering I can thus achieve a greater good, but because He can thus built a better world overall. Although I cannot see how this world is a better world overall, we have not seen the endpoint of this world yet, so perhaps not now, but in the future, this world will be better overall. Yet, if one looks at the last century with the two world wars with its millions of deaths, one might want to doubt that this world will get better overall. That is, although the wars nowadays don’t take as long as in the Middle Ages—there hasn’t been a thirty years war during the last few centuries—the weapons have advanced considerably to weapons of mass destruction. Perhaps one has to relativize the death tolls in the wars with the given world populations in order to save the hypothesis that the world will overall become a better place. But this, then, becomes more a juggling of numbers than anything to take seriously. Yet, isn’t it also possible that God considered both possibilities as reasons for allowing my suffering, namely that by my suffering I can achieve a greater good, and by my suffering He can create a better world overall? In that way He would be killing two birds with one stone, that is, He would be very economical and rational indeed. Another possibility for explaining the suffering in this world is that, as human beings are finite, they have to die somehow, so that human suffering is inevitable. But why shouldn’t it be possible that all human beings and all animals die peaceful deaths without suffering? Because already the idea of dying is inflicting suffering on people, even if they are completely healthy. But if God were really omnibenevolent and omnipotent, why didn’t He construct a psyche which doesn’t consider one’s own death as a reason for pain? An answer to the latter question isn’t obvious, and therefore must be left open for future investigation. Similar to Plantinga, Leibniz has argued that this is the best of all possible worlds, so that the problem of evil is actually no problem at all.

193 Yet, Swinburne (2003, p. 33) argues that there can be no best of all possible worlds, because given that human existence is a good thing and that God can space us out throughout an infinite universe, the more humans God creates the better; so however many humans He creates, He could do even better by adding one more. Perhaps Swinburne takes this argument to hold with regard to humans in heaven, and not with regard to humans on Earth, because quite clearly who would like to have another six billion people more on Earth? I heard an economist once say, if all the Chinese wanted to own cars, then the world’s steel supply would soon come to an end, not to mention what would happen to the food supply on this Earth if the human population kept growing exponentially (as it does now). So, the more humans God creates above a certain maximum, the worse it becomes. Moreover, so far it is not possible for us to leave this Earth and live in space for an indefinite time. So Swinburne’s condition that God can space us out throughout an infinite universe is not even approximately met. Furthermore, that human existence is such a good thing is at least debatable, for in the whole animal and plant kingdom we are the only species with weapons of mass destruction. If one assumes that God has created everything, then actually one could not only argue that human existence is a good thing, but also to multiply the number of animals and plants on this Earth—including such things as the AIDS virus—is a good thing, which at least some people (especially those infected with this virus might not consider as such a convincing argument). In that way, one can lead Swinburne’s argument ad absurdum, so that Leibniz’s account that this is the best of all possible worlds is not defeated in this way. In favor of the view that this is the best of possible worlds might speak that Rescher (2007, p. 77) argues that the best achievable result for a whole requires a less-than-perfect outcome for its parts, for in a society of many members one cannot put each of them at the top of the social ladder. Moreover, with a car it is inevitable that its features, such as speed, reliability, repair infrequency, etc. trade off against one another (Rescher 2007, p. 77). Another argument by Swinburne is the following: according to Swinburne (2005, pp. 108) Barth maintained that the Christian God differs so much from things in the world that arguments from things in the world

194 by the world’s criteria will not help us in showing whether God exists or not. One can transfer this claim to God’s other properties, such as His omnibeneolence, omnipotence, omniscience, etc. Swinburne (2005, p. 108–109), however, objects that if such words did not apply to God in at least an analogical sense, then we wouldn’t know what we are saying when we state that “there is a god.” According to Swinburne (2005, p. 109), there is an analogia fidei between God and human beings in Barth, meaning that one learns through revelation, that is, through the Bible, to apply such terms as “wise” and “good” to God. Yet, the Bible was compiled by human beings, so how do we know for sure that the Bible only includes God’s revelation to us and not also some human additions? Moreover, analogies are rarely unproblematic, because for an analogy to hold, several criteria have to be fulfilled. In order to see this, here is the basic form for many analogies (cf. Salmon 2007, chapter four): Objects of type X have properties F, G, H, etc. Objects of type Y have properties F, G, H, etc., and also an additional property Z. Objects of type X have property Z as well. According to Salmon (2007, chapter four) the following criteria are of relevance when it comes to assessing the strength of an argument by analogy: (1) the strength of an argument by analogy depends on the relevance of the similarities in the premises (F, G, H) to the similarity stated in the conclusion (Z). One feature is relevant to another feature, if the presence of the first increases (is positively relevant to) or decreases (is negatively relevant to) the probability that the second feature will also obtain. (2) The greater the degree of relevant similarity is between the two types of objects (X and Y), the stronger is the argument that the feature mentioned in the conclusion will also be shared. (3) Other criteria for determining the strength of analogical arguments are (a) the number and (b) the variety of instances mentioned in the premises, that is, the number and diversity of the instances that are the basis of the analogy.

195 Now if God and human beings are compared to each other and are the basis of the analogia fidei in Barth, then we are already in big trouble. For according to criterion (2) above, the greater the degree of relevant similarity between the two types of objects, the stronger is the argument that the feature mentioned in the conclusion will also be shared. For if the Bible reveals to us that God is omnibenevolent, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, etc., whereas humans are none of these things, then there is not much similarity between humans and God, and the strength of the analogy is already weak. Yet, if we take God to be the vengeful and jealous God of the Old Testament, then there is more similarity between humans and God, and the strength of the analogy is not as negatively affected as before. Plantinga (1977, p. 13) considers the following set of beliefs and asks whether they are explicitly contradictory: (1) God is omnipotent, (2) God is omnibenevolent, and (3) evil exists. Plantinga (1077, p. 13) denies this, because this set does not contain (1’) God is not omnipotent, (2’) God is not omnibenevolent, and (3’) there is no evil. An explicit contradiction is, of course, a conjunctive proposition, one conjunct of which is the denial of the other conjunct (Plantinga 1977, p. 12). Plantinga (1977, p. 14) also claims that this set is not formally contradictory, for no laws of logic allow us to deduce the denial of one of those propositions in the set from its other members. Another possibility in arguing for the compatibility of (1) to (3), we might state the following: just because God is omnipotent doesn’t mean that He has created everything, because for this to be the case, He would have had to exert His omnipotence to its fullest degree, even surpassing other possible gods, and this is something of which we are not certain at all. Moreover, an omnipotent God could also show His omnipotence by not exerting His power, for that should be in His power, too. Hence, on the basis of these three beliefs, we cannot exclude the possibility that evil could have been created by someone or something else than God, so that the possibility exists that God is not responsible for the problem of evil at all. Yet, if God is omnibenevolent and omnipotent, then it is also His responsibility to prevent or undo all evil, for otherwise He wouldn’t be omnibenevolent. Yet, also if one is omnibenevolent, does one really have

196 to show this character trait all the time, or does it just include the possibility of omnibenevolence? For the latter would be compatible with the existence of evil and would solve the apparent inconsistency between an omnibenevolent and omnipotent God, on the one hand, and the existence of evil, on the other hand. Moreover, although one might want to maintain that the possibility of omnibenevolence is not the same thing as omnibenevolence, surely an omnipotent God could show his omnipotence by withholding His or Her omnibenevolence, too. That is to say, a certain relationship holds between omnipotence and omnibenevolence, namely that the former is necessary for the latter, whereas the latter is not necessary for the former, for otherwise it is unclear to me how can one perform omnibenevolent actions at all. Ward (1977, pp. 222–223) comes up with a very unique solution to the problem of evil, for he claims: “to say that God is infinitely good or loving is not to say that every created thing, considered in itself, must be supremely good. It is to say that God is the moral standard and goal for all creatures, the course of all values and the guarantor that all things will ultimately work together for good; that personal values will not be thwarted.…One might be tempted to say that parts of the world could have been better—less painful, perhaps—than they are. That is true; but it would always be true, in any finite world, that some particulars could be better than they are.…However, what is the standard of comparison here? One must remember that the Christian belief is that there is an existence after earthly life which is so glorious that it makes any earthly suffering pall in comparison.”

Yet, even if God were our moral standard and Ward’s view turned out to be true, how could something infinitely good permit evil to happen, especially if God is also omnipotent? That is to say, what is God’s moral standard and how can His standard still be high if He allows for the possibility of evil? Moreover, surely most of our parents would do better in protecting their children from evil than God, if they had the means to do it at their disposal, for they would not sacrifice their sons as God did, but rather they would sacrifice themselves. Of course, one could advance the view that because the Christian God concept is the concept of the Trinity, God has sacrificed Him- or Herself by Jesus’ death, so that He doesn’t fall short of the moral standards of many parents with regard to protecting their own children.

197

III. Evidential arguments from evil According to Otte (2000, p. 1), the probabilistic or evidential argument from evil can be formulated as follows: “the evil in our world is evidence against the existence of God, even though evil is logically consistent with God’s existing.” Moreover, in the latter paper, Otte (2000, p. 2) tries to refute Draper’s evidential argument from evil, which is the following: “Draper compares theism (T) and the hypothesis of indifference (HI) by looking at how well they explain the observed human and animal pain and pleasure in our world (O), which he interprets as how likely O is on T and HI. He argues that O is a problem for theism by arguing for principle C: C: independent of the observations and testimony O reports, O is much more probable on the assumption that HI is true than on the assumption that theism is true (p. 333),”

where T means that there “exists an omnipotent, omniscient, and morally perfect person who created the universe” (Draper 1989, p. 331), and where HI means “neither the nature nor the condition of sentient beings on earth is the result of benevolent or malevolent actions performed by nonhuman persons.” (Draper 1989, p. 332) Otte (2000, p. 3) claims with regard to Draper’s (1989) evidential argument from evil: “just because the hypothesis of indifference is a better alternative to mere theism does not mean that the hypothesis of indifference is a better alternative to Christianity, Islam, or Judaism. On the contrary, we can easily argue that Christianity, Islam, or Judaism is a better alternative to the hypothesis of indifference.”

For “We can follow his reasoning and compare the hypothesis of indifference and Christianity (CH) by looking at the probability of evil conditional on HI and on Christianity. I propose principle C* to be true: C*: independent of the observations and testimony O reports, O is much more probable on the assumption that Christianity is true than on the assumption that HI is true. …Since we are working within Draper’s framework, we could reason similarly to Draper and conclude that the truth of C* gives us a prima facie reason to reject the hypothesis of indifference.” (Otte 2000, p. 3)

Moreover,

198 “Christianity, Islam and Judaism make many claims about evil, pain, and pleasure in the world. Some of these are general claims about the types of evil we find in the world, and others are claims about specific evils. If Draper’s O is simply a broad description of the types of pain and pleasure we observe, then Christianity logically implies O. In that case, P(O/CH) = 1, which is much greater than P(O/HI). Under this interpretation of O, CH is obviously preferable to HI.” (Otte 2000, p. 4)

Yet, in what way does Christianity logically imply observed human and animal pain and pleasure in our world? For that statement sounds as if one has to suffer in order to be a true Christian. Moreover, that Eve ate the apple seems to me a contingent thing, and not something logically necessary, for I don’t see a reason why she really had to take it. Couldn’t one alternatively argue that, if you are a true Christian, then all the suffering in the world should be nothing to you, because you already know of your own salvation and because everything will be different in heaven anyway? That is, for a true Christian there shouldn’t be any such thing as suffering, so that P(O/CH) = 0. Against the latter view one could object that, even if one tries to convince oneself as a true Christian that there is no suffering, in reality one still feels the pain of a broken arm or of the loss of a loved person. After all, how could one otherwise explain the millions of people who went to Rome for John Paul II’s burial? Perhaps some people just went there for profane reasons, such as taking part in a huge happening; but I am sure that there were also many people who experienced his death as a loss. So one has to distinguish here between the theoretical conviction that, as a true Christian, there is no such thing as suffering, for you should be happy because of what the Gospel preaches, whereas in reality you experience the suffering which you theoretically deny.

Conclusion In order to determine whether an omnibenevolent God who allows evil is inconsistent or not, one first has to determine what an omnibenevolent God consists in and what evil actually is. I have argued against Rowe’s view (and a similar view put forward by Ratzinger) that intense human and animal suffering is a clear case of evil. For to label something as “evil,” an intention to harm something or someone has to be

199 present. Moreover, if the intention to harm someone or something gets successfully carried out, I would consider this as sufficient for labeling someone or something “evil.” God’s omnibenevolence is not incompatible with the problem of evil. For even though one would expect an omnipotent and omnibenevolent God to prevent evil on this Earth from happening, just because God might be omnipotent does not mean that He has to exert His omnipotence in this world all the time, for if one is omnipotent, one also has the power to withhold one’s power. Moreover, as omnipotence is necessary for exerting one’s omnibenevolence, while the reverse relation doesn’t hold, there is an explanation for the fact that an omnibenevolent and omnipotent God might allow for the possibility of evil.

Chapter Five: Inconsistencies in the Christian Tradition II: The Paradoxes of Omnipotence and Omniscience I. Introduction In order to determine whether the notions of God’s omnipotence and omniscience are inconsistent in the usage of the Christian tradition, we first have to determine what these notions explicitly mean. In accordance with this, Swinburne (1977, p. 50) claims that, in order to judge whether credal sentences make coherent claims, we have to know which claims they make, and the latter depends on how their words get their meaning. According to Swinburne (1977, p. 50) there are two possibilities, namely that theology either uses the words of ordinary language in their normal senses, or that theology gives new senses to the words of ordinary language. Swinburne states (1977, p. 50) that most words used by theology are words which have an ordinary and non-ambiguous use when we talk about non-theological matters, such as being a person, being wise, etc. Yet, Swinburne (1977, p. 50) also points out that there are some expressions, like omnipotent, incarnate, etc. which are peculiar to it, but which can be defined by means of ordinary words. That the terms “omnipotence,” “omniscience,” and “omnibenevolence” are peculiar to theology seems quite plausible, for we actually only ascribe omnipotence, etc. to gods and not to any other being. But don’t we also sometimes say, “He or she is a know-it-all,” where this someone is either a person who has enormous knowledge but doesn’t know everything there is to know, or where this someone is a person who professes to know everything but in reality has very little knowledge? Also with regard to the term “incarnate,” don’t we sometimes say, “He or she is just the reincarnation of his or her father or mother,” because there is such a striking resemblance between the two persons being compared? Yet, the latter might even indicate that one thinks that something unnatural is the cause of the resemblance. Nevertheless, in all of these cases one could advance the view that the terms “omnipotence,” “omniscience,”

202 “omnibenevolence,” and “incarnate” might also have some use in ordinary language. If this is, indeed the case, then the question arises whether the ordinary language notions were there first or whether the theological notions were transferred into ordinary language after a certain time of usage in theology. This is a question that needs to be answered by an etymologist and not by me. Yet, before one delves into topics of etymology, one of the foremost questions is: why should the notions of omnipotence and omniscience be inconsistent at all? The simple answer is “Because they can generate paradoxes.” With regard to the notion of omnipotence, the following paradox arises: if God is omnipotent, then He should be able to create a stone which no one is able to lift, including Himself. As He is omnipotent, however, there shouldn’t be any limit to His omnipotence, so that He should be able to create and lift a stone which no one is able to lift. Also with regard to omniscience one can generate a paradox, for an omniscient God should be able to know things which no one is able to know, including Himself. Another way in which one can generate a paradox involving omniscience is the following: if God is omniscient, then He should be able to predict the future. If He is able to predict the future, then He knows whatever person P will be doing tomorrow. But if He knows what person P will be doing tomorrow, then P’s future is already determined, and P does not have any freedom of will, and therefore cannot be held accountable for any of his or her actions. But this is inconsistent with the fact that God has given us human freedom of will. Moreover, P cannot be only any other person, but also God Himself; in that way, there is even an incompatibility between God’s omniscience and God’s own freedom of will given (Swinburne 1977, p. 177). Yet, why should God have these omni-properties anyway? Do they stem from the Bible? In this regard, Shalkowski (1992, p. 73, note 20) claims that, if one takes the claims of the Bible seriously and as the only basis for the Christian God concept, then God does not have to have the various perfections. In favor of Shalkowski’s position might be the fact that an omnipotent being would not have to rest on the seventh day of creation (cf. Pennock 2002, p. 20). Moreover, one could argue that “the descriptions of Creation in Genesis cannot be from God’s perspective,

203 given that an omnipresent God would know things ‘all at once’ and from all points of view, rather than seeing them in a temporal sequence from a particular point of view.” (Pennock 2002, pp. 17–18) They might, then, be visions which Moses had (cf. Pennock 2002, p. 17). Yet, if one takes seriously the view that the Bible is God’s revelation, that is, it is directly revealed to us, then the creation in Genesis would not attest to God’s omnipresence, and taking a rest on the seventh day of creation would not attest to God’s omnipotence. However, if Shalkowski were right in holding that God does not have to have the various perfections given that one just looks at the Bible as a source, how is one supposed to understand the following Bible passage from Psalm 139, verses 4 and 6–8, then? “4 Even before there is a word on my tongue, Behold, O LORD, You know it all.… 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is too high, I cannot attain to it. 7 Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.”

Although it is not explicitly said here that God knows everything, one could get the impression that the passage wants to convey that He knows everything. Of course, one could alternatively say that the passage supports the view that God’s knowledge is just immensely better than our human knowledge, for the latter view would still be compatible with the wording of the passage. Yet, if one takes the context of the passage into consideration, one would think that these verses just speak of God foreknowing, what one wants to say and that would not have to include knowing everything there is. A similar passage to the one above one can find in the Holy Qur’an (07/21/2007), attesting to the fact that the various perfections might not only be part of the Christian God concept, but also of the Islamic God concept: “6 To Him belongs what is in the heavens and on earth, and all between them, and all beneath the soil. 7 If thou pronounce the word aloud, (it is no matter): for verily He knoweth what is secret and what is yet more hidden.…and Allah doth know all things.” (Suras 20, section 1, 6–7; 24, section 5, 35) In comparison to the psalm verses of the Bible before, here

204 one could think that not only does God know of things which are unspoken, but He also knows of the things which are merely thought. Moreover, in this passage it really is made explicit that God’s knowledge encompasses everything. Because it is not obvious from the Bible whether the Christian God does have all the various perfections, whereas with regard to the Qur’an we have one passage where God’s omniscience seems quite clearly to be encompassing, in the following I will not discuss whether the Christian God actually has the various perfections and where the claim of these perfections originates, but will just take it for granted that He has them. Moreover, I will also not discuss what knowledge or power might mean with regard to God. If the reader wants to find out more about God’s knowledge, there is an interesting account of God’s knowledge in Alston (1987). Furthermore, I will also not evaluate the scope of His knowledge or His power. For interesting accounts with regard to the scope of God’s knowledge see Wierenga (1989) and Hoffman and Rosenkrantz (2002). After this short introduction, I will deal with the paradox of omnipotence in the next section. Then I will provide a solution to the paradox of omniscience. After that, I will investigate the connection between God’s omniscience and the “common knowledge” assumption of game theory. The chapter ends by drawing some general conclusions.

II. The paradox of omnipotence Sobel comes up with two definitions of omnipotence in order to solve the paradox of omnipotence. Both definitions need lots of explanation in order to comprehend them fully, so they are not necessarily ideal. Moreover, these definitions use many terms specific to the discipline of philosophy, which one cannot consider as ordinary (as Swinburne recommends it) (see the previous section). Yet, for illustrative purposes, I have included them. Here is definition number one (Sobel 2004, p. 349): “A being b is omnipotent if and only if, for any universal action a, b can do a if and only if (i) someone can do a (i. e., it is logically possible that someone should do a) and (ii) b’s doing a would not be a case of b’s doing a’, where a’ is a universal action such that, for every being c, even if c does not have a distinctive essential nature* and is not a necessary existent, c cannot do a (i. e., it is not logically possible that c should do a’). [*A being has a distinctive

205 essential nature if and only if there is a universal property such that it has this property essentially, and not every being has this property essentially. A being that has only properties such as being selfidentical essentially does not have a distinctive essential nature.] Clause (ii) is meant to be equivalent to b’s doing a would not be a case of b’s doing a’, where a’ is a universal action such that, for every being c, regardless of its essential nature or necessary existential status,* c cannot do a (i. e., it is not logically possible that c should do a’). [*A being c, regardless of its essential nature or necessary existential status, cannot do a universal action a’ if and only if there is a being c’ that differs from c only in its essential nature or in its existential status not being necessary; such c’ cannot do a (i. e., it is not logically possible that c’ should do a’). I say that if a universal action cannot be done by some agent regardless of its essential nature or necessary existential status, then this action a is a ‘general impossibility’.] By this final definition an omnipotent being would be capable of doing anything, that is, any ‘generally possible universal action’, which is not to say that an omnipotent would be capable of doing everything, that is, every ‘generally possible universal action.’”

In order to account for temporal matters, Sobel (2004, p. 358) then comes up with the following definition of omnipotence: “An omnipotent being b would at one time or other (or in one interval or another) be capable of doing any universal action a such that (i) it is logically possible that a should be done by someone, and (ii) b’s doing a would not need to be a case of b’s doing a universal action a’ where this is a ‘general impossibility.’”

After these rather complicated definitions, let’s have a look at what Sobel actually advances as solutions to the paradox of omnipotence. Sobel (2004, p. 354) rightly claims that an omnipotent being is able to make a stone that it cannot lift, for to achieve that it would have to make a stone, diminish its lifting powers, and thereby relinquish its omnipotence. This is possible, because it is part of the idea of omnipotence that it is diminishable. Otherwise, one couldn’t truly claim that God is omnipotent. Yet, Sobel (2004, p. 362) also claims that an essentially omnipotent being could not make a stone that it cannot lift. For if it did that, it would not be omnipotent anymore. That is, a being which is essentially omnipotent cannot be without being omnipotent, so that it cannot make a stone that it cannot lift. Thus, an omnipotent being cannot be essentially omnipotent, for otherwise it would be open to the paradox of omnipotence. Yet, couldn’t one transfer David Lewis’ (1986) solution to the grandfather paradox in time travel to the paradox of omnipotence in order

206 to prevent the paradox of omnipotence from arising, so that one does not need to say that an essentially omnipotent being is open to the paradox of omnipotence? In order to evaluate this claim properly, we first have to take a look at David Lewis’ (1986) solution to the grandfather paradox in time travel, which is the following: even if one is able to travel backwards in time and intend to kill one’s own grandfather, so that one’s own father is not conceived and therefore the person himself is not conceived either, there will always be something which is happening in between, such as slipping on a banana peel or a gush of wind comes along, so that one is actually not able to kill one’s own grandfather. Similarly, God is omnipotent, yet, when God is intending to make a stone He cannot lift, or when He is intending to lift a stone which no one can lift, always something happens in between, so that He is actually not able to accomplish that. Moreover, He does not consider His not making the stone, or even His not lifting the stone, as a failure on His behalf, for He simply has just not come that far. In that way, God could even remain essentially omnipotent. One might object to this solution by saying, “Surely an omnipotent God is able to accomplish whatever He intended to do.” Yet, perhaps the idea to make or lift a stone which no one can lift has not crossed His mind so far, and perhaps will never cross His mind, one might reply. Hence, a transfer of David Lewis’ (1986) solution to the grandfather paradox in time travel to the paradox of omnipotence is possible; consequently, one doesn’t need to say that an essentially omnipotent being is open to the paradox of omnipotence. Of course, one could also adopt Swinburne’s view, which is similar to Sobel’s account on general impossibilities (see Sobel’s two definitions of omnipotence), that a perfect being would not like to be inconsistent—it would at least adhere to the laws of logic—and would not bring about states of affairs that are inconsistent with each other. In accordance with the latter view, Swinburne (1977, p. 152) defines omnipotence in the following way: “A person P is omnipotent at a time t if and only if he is able to bring about any logically-contingent state of affairs after t, the description of which does not entail that P did not bring it about at t.” In this way, the paradox of the stone can also be avoided (Swinburne 1977, p. 153).

207 Yet, to which logic is God adhering? As there are so many different logics, there would be many different accounts of what consistency consists in, and therefore the different consistency accounts would not be consistent with each other. Moreover, we have seen that God does not necessarily obey all the laws He has imposed on our world—that is, miracles can be seen as transgressions of laws of nature (cf. Chapter Three of this book), so why should He adhere to the laws of logic all the time and not try to make or lift a stone which nobody can lift? Yet, laws of nature might differ from laws of logic, so that He might adhere to the latter, but not adhere to the former—for instance, when He performs a miracle. Nevertheless, certain things might be inconsistent in one logic, but not be inconsistent in a different logic, so that this solution might be problematic after all.

III. The paradox of omniscience Perhaps by looking at the paradox of omniscience we find another possibility for a solution to the paradox of omnipotence. In order to get a first solution to the paradox of omniscience, let us consider Swinburne’s (1977, p. 175) exemplary clear and understandable definition of omniscience: “A person P is omniscient at a time t if and only if he knows of every true proposition about t or an earlier time that it is true and also he knows of every true proposition about a time later than t, such that what it reports is physically necessitated by some cause at t or earlier, that it is true.” By means of this definition, Swinburne (1977, p. 175) first gives an account of omniscience “not as knowledge of everything true, but…as knowledge of everything true which it is logically possible to know,” and second solves the paradox of omniscience. Yet, does this solution to the paradox of omniscience really hold? Lycan and Schlesinger (1992, p. 276) actually entertain the thought that omniscience is not a perfection; for someone who always seeks to learn and increase his knowledge is more to be admired than someone who is not able to do this—such as an omniscient being. Something similar holds for timelessness, for someone who exists in time is therefore in some important sense limited (Lycan and Schlesinger 1992, pp. 276–277); hence, God should exist timelessly. Yet, a timeless being cannot be a

208 person, so that God has to exist in time (cf. Lycan and Schlesinger 1992, p. 277). For the timelessness of God could speak the following, though: “God, as creator of the universe, is not a member of the universe. God can never properly be used in scientific accounts, which are formulated in terms of the relations between the members of the universe, because that would reduce God to the status of a creature.” (Allen 1989, p. 45)

In this regard, Craig (1992, p. 197) points out that, according to James Barr, “the Bible does not make it clear whether God is eternal in the sense that he is outside time or whether he is eternal in the sense of being everlasting throughout all time.” Thus, at least the Bible is not at odds with Lycan’s and Schlesinger’s position. With their last claim, Lycan and Schlesinger highlight the fact that God is a person on their account, which is something that needs proof, and which is something that depends on what they consider to be a person—a topic that is full of pitfalls and not so easy to determine. Fortunately Lycan’s and Schlesinger’s account of God being in time does not have any bearing on their account with regard to God’s omniscience, so that we do not have to solve that problem for them either in this chapter on the paradoxes of omnipotence and omniscience. In my opinion Lycan’s and Schlesinger’s idea that omniscience is not a perfection can be transferred to the phenomenon of omnipotence. For wouldn’t one want to argue here, as in the case of omnipotence, that someone who always seeks to increase his power is more to be admired than someone who is not able to do that, such as an omnipotent being? Yet, when one phrases it like that, does one not also get the idea that some kinds of power (or better, some uses of power) we would not like to increase? For power can always be abused (and also has always been abused, at least by certain persons and certain organizations). As a result of this phenomenon, we actually have restricted certain amounts of power increase, such as in the case of monopolies. Also in politics, power increases always carry the danger of abuse of power in the form of tyranny and dictatorship, so that a balance of power is to be preferred in earthly matters. In matters of sports, however, we still strive for new records and an increase in power. Nevertheless, also in the latter domain, the struggle for more power or for more and more records or better performances leads

209 to the abuse of performance-enhancing drugs in many domains, so that one might want to say that even in the area of sports, an increase in power is not desirable any longer. The following may also bear witness against a limitless increase of power and knowledge: if someone became so excessive in his or her search for power that he or she didn’t do anything else any longer and just worked around the clock to achieve this objective, would we not label him or her as a powerholic similar to a workaholic? Wouldn’t we want to call someone who excessively drove for more knowledge likewise a scienceholic? Yet, there are prizes to be had for exceptional qualitative increases in knowledge, such as the Nobel prize, and there are Olympic medals in the case of sports for exceptional achievements in sports. One could advance the view that, although both for knowledge increases and exceptional sports achievements one has to work very hard, one would not necessarily call these people workaholics. Be that as it may, in my opinion, increases in knowledge and increases in power which, in both cases, are done in order to promote some further good and which, in both cases, are not done excessively one would consider more as perfections than just simply being an omnipotent and omniscient being. Yet, how can something which one still lacks, such as human power and human knowledge, be called a perfection? Here one has to distinguish between the drive for knowledge and for power (on the one hand) as a perfection, and the human power and human knowledge which one actually has at a given time (on the other hand) as a non-perfection. Irrespective of that distinction, however, one can still evaluate an omniscient and omnipotent God as a perfect being. For as He doesn’t need a drive for knowledge and for power because He already has knowledge and power in abundance, He doesn’t have to have them, and therefore can still be a most perfect being. Hence, one could entertain the thought that Swinburne’s solution to the paradox of omniscience actually holds. But regardless of Swinburne’s solution to the paradox of omniscience, one can ask oneself the following question: can one transfer my solution of the paradox of omnipotence to the paradox of omniscience? Let’s try it: God is omniscient yet, when God is intending to know something which no one can know, always something happens in between, so that He is actually not able to accomplish that. Moreover, He does not

210 consider His not intending to know p as a failure on His behalf, for He simply has just not come as far as intending to know p. In that way, God could even remain essentially omniscient. One might object to this solution, though, that surely an omniscient God is able to accomplish whatever He intended to do. Yet, perhaps the idea to intend to know something which no one can know has not crossed His mind so far, and perhaps will never cross His mind, one might reply. A more serious objection, however, is that God does not have to intend to know p, for He either knows something or not, so that the paradox of omniscience does not get solved in that way. With regard to the weaker version of the paradox of omniscience which involves the prediction of the future, there are several ways to solve it. First, one could maintain that God’s knowledge does not include future knowledge, so that God is not able to predict one’s behavior in advance, and one still retains freedom of will (and with it, accountability for one’s own actions). The reason why God’s knowledge does not include future knowledge is that future contingents, such as, “I predict that you are going to see the movie ‘The Bourne Ultimatum’ tomorrow” do not have a truth value yet. Such future contingents get a truth value assigned when the event takes place (Sorensen Fall 2006). Sorensen (Fall 2006) claims that the latter view is developed by medieval philosophers leaning on Aristotle’s ideas concerning logical fatalism in De Interpretatione. Another possibility for solving this paradox is by saying that there is no such thing as God’s foreknowledge of the future, because He exists outside of time, so that He perceives all of time from His eternal perspective. The latter view is developed by Boethius (2001), Borland (2006) claims. For more possibilities to solve this paradox and the exhaustive objections to these particular solutions, please have a look at Borland (2006). I do not want to delve further into the problem of future knowledge, because one would have to get an informed view about time in order to provide an adequate solution to this problem, for which one needs to be a physicist (which I am not). There are other interesting problems which one can solve with regard to the problem of omniscience for which one does not have to be a physicist. Grim (1988, p. 341) poses the following challenge to God’s omniscience: “What I want to suggest is that within any logic we have—in

211 particular, in terms of systems and sets—omniscience appears to be simply impossible.” For there can be no set of all truths (Grim 1988). Grim (1988, p. 356) proves the latter view in the following way: “For suppose there were a set of all truths, and consider all subsets of ℑ , elements of the power set P ℑ . To each element of this power set will correspond a truth. To each set of the power set, for example, a particular truth T1 either will or will not belong as a member. In either case we will have a truth: that T1 is a member of that set, or that it is not.…There will then be at least as many truths as there are elements of the power set P ℑ . But by Cantor’s power set theorem the power set of any set will be larger than the original. There will then be more truths than there are members of ℑ , and for any set of truths ℑ there will be some truth left out. There can be no set of all truths.”

Although this proof is a good one, in the notes Grim already makes clear (and also from the proof it is obvious) that his account is limited. Grim (1988, p. 361, note 1) writes: “For the purposes of this paper, however, all that is crucial is that any omniscient being will believe all and only truths.” That is to say, although knowledge is traditionally defined as justified true belief, one does not have to have a definition of knowledge which refers to truth. For instance, Dretske (1981, p. 86) defines knowledge as belief caused or sustained by information. So if knowledge is not defined by means of truth, and if omniscience refers to knowledge of everything there is, the fact that there is no set of all truths is irrelevant for the paradox of omniscience. Hence, it seems to be obvious that certain definitions of knowledge seem prone to lead to the paradox of omniscience, whereas others do not have to struggle with the same problem. Therefore, one can advance the position that the paradox of omniscience gets solved by not being a problem at all, given that a certain account of knowledge holds.

IV. God’s omniscience and the common knowledge assumption With regard to God’s omniscience, another problem might arise, if the common knowledge assumption not only holds for game theory, but also with regard to our ordinary lives. But what is the “common knowledge assumption?” Ledwig (2006b, p. 44) states: “According to Matsuhisa and Kamiyama (1997, pp. 389–390), two persons (1 and 2) have common

212 knowledge of an event: if both know it, 1 knows that 2 knows it, 2 knows that 1 knows it, 1 knows that 2 knows that 1 knows it, etc.” The reason why the common knowledge assumption might be problematic with regard to God’s omniscience can be seen by the following (Ledwig 2006b, p. 44): “Dupuy (1989, p. 53)…points out that in certain cases common knowledge can lead to indeterminacy, so that it is not…desirable in certain cases to have common knowledge. Dupuy (1989, p. 53) gives the example of a son who is driving the family car in his father’s absence, although the father has forbidden him to do so; the father catches him in the act by coming home early, they both look each other in the eye, and they both know instantly (= common knowledge) that the son has broken his father’s law. The questions with indeterminate answers then are: will the father trust his son the next time and will the son obey?…Dupuy (1989, p. 43) also highlights the fact that common knowledge in certain cases can lead to a runaway phenomenon, so that common knowledge is not desirable in these cases either. Dupuy (1989, p. 43) gives the example of the French government, which for some years has deliberately announced a lower inflation rate than is actually the case, but people have learnt to figure out the right rate anyway. So if the true rate were announced to the public and became common knowledge, the people would act on their earlier expectations, which would lead to a runaway phenomenon.”

So, if I know that God is omniscient and that I have committed a crime, and if God knows that I know that He is omniscient and that I committed a crime, then the father-son problem can be transferred to God and human beings in general. One could say in particular that Eve’s eating of the forbidden fruit in paradise in Genesis 3 is nothing but the father-son problem again. Here we also see that throwing Adam and Eve out of paradise was God’s solution to the trust issue. That is, God did not know whether He would trust Adam and Eve in the future and whether His creatures would obey His laws. Hence, in order to protect His paradise, and in order not to spend superfluous effort on finding out whether His creatures can be trusted again, He had to throw us out of paradise. Moreover, by this move, He also made clear that we have to earn His trust again by making the right choices in the future. With regard to Dupuy’s French government example, though, one could assume that God would not provide us with false estimates in the first place, because—for an omnibenevolent being—it would be morally objectionable to lie to us unless one could obtain some greater good by lying and/or unless one

213 could prevent harm done to something or someone by lying. Hence, the runaway phenomenon would not arise at all. Alternatively one could advance à la Kant that the eating of the forbidden fruit can be conceived as choosing the good over the right, so that the correct order of incentives is inverted resulting in real, radical evil (Lilla 2007, p. 145). Hence, there is no trust issue involved. Yet, couldn’t one also defend the view that trust is involved, because how could one honestly trust someone who is radically evil?

Conclusion The paradox of omnipotence can be solved by transferring David Lewis’ solution to the grandfather paradox in time travel to the paradox of omnipotence in order to prevent the paradox of omnipotence from arising. The paradox of omniscience can be prevented if one adopts a certain account of knowledge. The common knowledge assumption provides a problem for the paradox of omniscience, for it leads to indeterminate answers with regard to the question of whether God and humans can trust each other. This problem has to be solved in a pragmatic way, so that trust can be built up again.

215

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235

Index A Armstrong, K., 165, 168, 173 Aquinas, T., 19, 22, 42, 44, 147– 150 atheism, 14, 18, 111 Augustine, 19, 77–78, 81 aversion to uncertainty, 112, 123–124

B Bayesianism, 157–158 Behe, M. J., 83–85 Bible, 7, 13–14, 20, 22, 30–32, 34–35, 38–39, 41, 44, 48, 53, 60, 64–66, 76, 80–81, 116, 125–126, 143, 164, 169, 171–173, 175, 194– 195, 202–204, 208 Buddhism, 18, 72, 166–169, 172, 175–178

C Cantor, G., 50, 92, 99–103, 105, 107, 211 Catholic, 7–9, 16, 27, 77, 80, 82, 93–94, 110, 125, 145, 157–158, 165, 174–176, 181 Chen, H., 176–177

Christianity, 7, 18, 56, 72, 143, 146, 165–168, 175–178, 197–198 confirmation, 49–50, 62, 74, 143, 157, 159 cosmological proof, 18, 20–21, 93, 127, 130, 132 creation, 8, 16, 22, 44, 75, 77, 82, 84–87, 109, 202–203 creationism, 8, 22, 76, 78, 81–85 crucifixion, 62, 164, 169, 176

D Darwin, C., 7, 8, 22, 76–78, 81– 82, 84–85, 109, 190 Dawkins, R., 9, 14, 76, 87–88, 109–110, 144, 158 decision theory, 9, 13–14, 23– 25, 91, 96–99, 101–104, 113–115, 121, 123, 128, 136, 141, 183

E Earman, J., 150, 154, 156–159, 179 evidence, 7–8, 10–11, 13, 17– 19, 22, 29, 49–53, 55–56, 59–63, 68, 75, 85, 88, 93, 95, 111, 116, 122, 127, 130–133, 143–146, 156–

236 159, 163–164, 168, 183– 185, 197 evil, 11, 18, 23, 37, 112, 125, 177, 179, 187–192, 195– 199, 213 evolution, 7–8, 19, 44, 51, 75, 77–78, 84–85, 88–89, 109, 119, 150

infinite, 9–10, 27–29, 45, 54–55, 59–60, 83, 89, 91–92, 96– 109, 111, 117, 119–122, 125, 128–129, 136–137, 141, 189, 193 Islam, 14, 72, 93, 127, 155, 165–168, 173, 197–198

J F/G faith, 7, 9, 13–14, 16–18, 20, 22–40, 53–55, 60, 74, 77, 79–80, 82, 91, 94–95, 109, 122, 130, 132, 165–166, 168, 174, 176 Gale, R., 99, 128, 132 Genesis, 47–48, 66, 81–82, 125, 143–144, 202–203, 212 God concept, 13, 41, 129, 178, 196, 202–203

Jesus, 22, 30, 34–35, 38–39, 41– 42, 44, 49, 53, 55–68, 81, 88, 144, 162, 164–165, 167, 169–170, 172, 174– 176, 179, 190–191, 196 John, 58–60, 62, 65–69, 144, 164, 169–170 Jordan, J., 92–93, 98, 111, 128 Judaism, 60, 93, 143, 166, 168, 175, 197–198

K H Hajek, A., 91, 98–99, 101–102, 105, 109, 111–112, 114– 115, 121, 183 Hinduism, 93, 166, 168–169, 172, 175–176 Hume, D., 17–18, 86, 148, 150– 158, 162, 167 hyperreals, 101–102

I inconsistency, 58, 66, 189, 196

Kahneman, D., 9, 26, 89, 119– 120 Kant, I., 17–18, 21, 105, 133, 213 Kierkegaard, S., 34–36, 94

L laws, 10, 15, 62, 80, 86–87, 89, 105, 110, 127, 147–148, 151–152, 156, 173, 179, 184, 195, 206–207, 212

237 Ledwig, M., 14–16, 23–26, 28, 30, 44, 50–51, 67, 86, 88, 96–97, 110, 131, 134–137, 154, 211–212 Lewis, D., 12, 136, 205–206, 213 Luke, 59, 62, 64–67, 143, 169– 170

M/N many gods objection, 10, 93–94, 97–98, 125–126, 128–129, 141 Mark, 38, 62, 64–65, 67, 164, 169–170 marvelous, 10, 152, 184 matching law, 124–125 Matthew, 55, 59–63, 65–68, 143–144, 167–170, 176 maximize, 25–26, 97, 109, 117 miracle, 10–11, 19–20, 37–38, 53, 56–57, 60, 65, 81, 85, 143–162, 164–168, 173– 175, 177–185, 207 Muhammad, 165–167, 173 New Testament, 143, 156, 165, 169

O Old Testament, 14–15, 39–40, 45, 53, 60, 63, 143, 156, 165–166, 175, 195

omnibenevolent, 11, 13, 23, 29, 40, 54–55, 125, 187, 189, 191–192, 195–196, 198– 199, 212 omnipotent, 11, 13, 23, 39–40, 46, 59, 88, 99, 189, 192, 195–197, 199, 201–202, 204–206, 208–209 omniscient, 13, 46, 195, 197, 202, 207, 209–212 ontological proof, 18, 21, 93, 127, 130, 132 Oppy, G., 98, 100–101, 106, 111, 128 Opus Dei, 176, 190 Otte, R., 147–148, 156–159, 197–198

P/Q Pascal’s wager, 9–10, 13, 18, 55, 91–102, 105–106, 109, 112, 115–125, 127–133, 135–141 Paul, 36, 57–58, 67, 69, 122, 167–168, 171, 190 Pennock, R. T., 7, 76, 81–82, 202–203 Plantinga, A., 13–14, 18–20, 38–39, 51–52, 59, 79, 82– 83, 106, 191–192, 195 probability, 23, 49–50, 70, 91, 94, 97, 101–102, 109–116,

238 123, 125, 127–129, 148, 165, 183, 194, 197 Protestant, 8–9, 74, 77, 93, 125, 166 Qur’an, 173, 203–204

R rational, 7, 9–11, 13–30, 50, 53– 55, 57, 65, 75–76, 82, 89– 98, 101–103, 114, 116– 119, 122–128, 131, 136– 137, 141, 143, 146, 155– 156, 165, 181–185, 192 Ratzinger, J., 11, 15, 48, 59–69, 122, 125–126, 174, 189, 198 reason, evidential, 9, 22, 24, 49, 51, 75, 89 good, 9, 24, 28–29, 50–51, 90, 112, 115, 188 pragmatic, 9, 22–25, 50– 51, 70–75, 89–90, 112 reference point, 10, 98, 118– 120, 122, 124, 137, 141 Rescher, N., 41, 75, 84, 92–93, 120, 122, 125–126, 128, 155, 193 resurrection, 53, 56–59, 81, 150, 154, 164, 179 risk, 29, 98, 118–119, 123–124 Rowe, W. L., 11, 14, 20–21, 187, 189–190, 198

Ruse, M., 38, 76, 84

S Slote, M. A., 98, 117 Sobel, J. H., 21, 44–46, 50, 91– 92, 94, 99, 101–102, 105– 106, 134, 137–138, 156, 158, 204–206 Sorensen, R. A., 97, 99, 108, 210 surreals, 101–102 Swinburne, R., 21, 32–33, 36, 38, 40–41, 45–46, 55, 57, 59–60, 62, 66–67, 69, 95, 120, 127, 162–165, 169– 170, 191, 193–194, 201– 202, 204, 206–207, 209

T Taoism, 11, 177, 185 teleological proof, 18, 21 testimony, 10, 53, 146, 151, 153, 156, 158–164, 179, 185, 197 theism, 13–14, 17, 20, 157–158, 197 Trinity, 18, 34–35, 39, 41, 44, 181, 196

U/V utility, 10, 25–28, 91, 96–99, 101, 108–109, 111, 117–

239 120, 128–129, 136–138, 141 Vallentyne, P., 91, 102–103, 128 Van Till, H. J., 20, 79 Vatican, 16, 145 Vrij, A., 160–163

W Williams, B., 51, 118, 139–140

witness, 10, 57–58, 65, 68, 145, 158–165, 170, 179, 185, 209 world religion, 7, 10–11, 72, 146, 165–166, 173–175, 177–178, 185