I wrote the following in response to a Muslim on a New York Times opinion piece on Facebook. Everyone who discusses the actions of the Judeo-Christian and/or Muslim gods focuses far too much on the moral and legal ramifications of said actions. No one realizes that, per the theist, their god is perfectly logical. As such, the logical dimension of an action attributed to this god has to be captured. With that in mind, I offered the following.
Even if punishing children for the crimes of their parents is either moral or legal, though we haven’t apprehended that as of yet, there’s still the issue that it isn’t logical. Logic is a priori and therefore, logic for humans is logic for the god of monotheism. Just as we can’t make a round square or sided circle, neither can god. Per the philosophically inclined theist, the laws of logic, as an extension of his creative power, are part of him and as such, he can’t violate his own nature. As such, god would be perfectly logical and would thus reason perfectly, which means he wouldn’t commit logical fallacies. Given that, he wouldn’t commit an act that’s based in the fallacy of guilt by association. To punish a child for their parents crimes is exactly that! God would be finding someone guilty do to their association or more specifically, their relation to a sinner.
To my mind, this is the ultimate defeater because it should be clear that the Judeo-Christian and Muslim gods have acted on the basis of fallacious logic. It would make more sense that such actions are the actions of people who wished to attribute said actions to a god, perhaps for sake of justifying their actions and attempting to spare themselves any guilt they might have felt. Clearly, however, a perfectly logical god wouldn’t base any of its actions on fallacious logic. The doctrine of original sin, for instance, is itself based on guilt by association. So even if a Christian fails to see the moral failing in such a doctrine, they would have to concede that there’s certainly a logical failing.
As is commonplace when discussing religion, there’s always someone who will disagree, either because they’re religious or are agnostics who favor belief over non-belief. This individual contended that the soundness of informal fallacies is established a posteriori rather than a priori. He also stated that god might have written guilt into our DNA and that therefore, it is heritable. I found that both of these contentions neither change my argument nor succeed at defeating it.
The reason for this is because I don’t think that every informal fallacy’s soundness is determined a posteriori. If soundness is reached via reason, and I see no reason to add an empirical dimension to determine the soundness of an informal fallacy, then that is also a priori. Even still, however, a perfectly logical being wouldn’t reason fallaciously, let alone base his actions on fallacious reasoning. Even if inherited guilt was built into our DNA, which no empirical research has shown, there’s still a logical issue with making a child pay for their parents sins. So even if I somehow inherit the guilt of my mother’s marital infedility, that doesn’t mean that I should pay the price for her adultery.
Collective guilt, for example, is a thing. I am, for instance, ashamed of my country’s actions. I am American and at the moment and for practically my whole life, I haven’t been proud to be one. I feel guilty being a citizen of a country that murdered millions of Native Americans and stripped them of their lands, allowed slavery, incarcerated Japanese citizens in internment camps, and incarcerates rates Blacks and Latinos disproportionately in comparison to other ethnic groups — aside from the many other human rights infractions this country has committed. That, however, does not mean that I should pay the price for American crimes. While some people may be perfectly content to make me pay on the basis of guilt by association (i.e. well, he’s an American, so his arrest or death is good enough for me!), a perfectly logical being simply should not and would not be content with passing such a sentence. It isn’t logical, just, or moral, but alas, the Judeo-Christian and Muslim gods are said to behave accordingly. If a theist or an agnostic who favors theism is reluctant to admit that there are moral or legal failings in the actions of these theistic gods, they must admit that there are clear logical failings in their actions. That poses yet another problem in a long list of problems for theism.
In this, Erdogen can learn a valuable lesson that will vastly reduce the negative impacts women in Turkey are currently facing. The return of restrictive policies also marks the return of illegal contraceptive and abortion methods, which, in turn, are a prelude to higher maternal deaths. Turkey, like Albania before it, must not go back to the days when abortion was criminalized. There is precedence in the Muslim World and in the world at large that should discourage Erdogen from continuing his de facto ban on abortion and eventually passing legislation that would officially ban abortion. If nothing else, the history of reproductive rights in the Muslim World not only serves as exemplary for majority-Muslim countries, but also countries around the world — especially countries currently enforcing prohibitive abortion policies.
Restrictive policies do not end abortion. Such policies end the lives of many women. In country after country, women literally bleed to death after experiencing complications related to unsafe, illegal procedures. Legalizing and decriminalizing abortion not only saves their lives, but also slows the cycle of poverty. For women in Afghanistan, the Philippines, Chile, Brazil, Northern Ireland, and other countries not surveyed here, the battle is ongoing. We are morally obligated to see what measures need to be taken in order to provide these women with safe, legal access to reproductive healthcare. Also, once this access is provided, we must ensure that there are no barriers keeping some women, be it for economic, educational, or other reasons, from getting and being able to meet the costs related to reproductive healthcare.
By R.N. Carmona
As sort of a reply to the article I posted earlier, I have decided to present Chapter 4 of my book Philosophical Atheism in full. Plantinga’s version of the Ontological Argument is seen as the most updated and formidable. It also makes use of the clause in Nagasawa’s article, namely that since it’s possible that god is necessary, it follows that he is necessary. In my book I explain why I’m extremely skeptical of that clause because I see the leap from logically conceivable to logically possible as flawed; moreover, I see the jump from logically possible to logically probable as flawed, and therefore, see the leap from logically probable to actual as flawed. Never mind that the necessity of such a being is without warrant. Despite the supposed strength of Plantinga’s argument, it is irreparably more flawed than its predecessors. Please read below to find out why.
In order to be charitable to theists, I will forgo discussing Anselm’s Ontological Argument altogether, especially since most of them consider it less preferable when compared to Plantinga’s version or the modal argument. Since Plantinga’s version fails for the same reasons, I will discuss the modal ontological argument. The modal version is as follows:
P1 If God exists then he has necessary existence.
P2 Either God has necessary existence, or he doesn’t.
P3 If God doesn‘t have necessary existence, then he necessarily doesn’t.
P4 Therefore: Either God has necessary existence, or he necessarily doesn’t.
P5 If God necessarily doesn’t have necessary existence, then God necessarily doesn’t exist.
P6 Therefore: Either God has necessary existence, or he necessarily doesn’t exist.
P7 It is not the case that God necessarily doesn’t exist.
P8 Therefore: God has necessary existence.
P9 If God has necessary existence, then God exists.
C Therefore: God exists.
The first bad assumption is found in the first premise. Before I demonstrate why, it is useful to define necessary existence. An entity that exists in all possible worlds necessarily exists, i.e., a being that cannot fail to exist. Leibniz coined the term when he put forth the idea that god created “the best of all possible worlds,” which is one of the earliest theodicies. Philosophers conclude that it is probable that god is a necessary being; however, that conclusion isn’t indicative of truth. Therefore, it is a bad assumption to begin an argument with such an obscure probability.
Philosophers do not state how probable the necessary existence of god is. It is probable that god does not necessarily exist. That allusion can be found in premise two. Also, one could just as easily argue that either there are seven perfect beings who necessarily exist or any other random number of gods so long as we are able to begin with the unwarranted assumption that there are necessary beings. Nothing but our intuition of simplicity is reason to choose one necessary being rather than seven or eight. The possibility of god not having necessary existence is entirely ignored in premise seven — the second bad assumption and the worst of the two. By what authority does one arrive at that premise? Therefore, it follows that what comes after premise seven isn’t true.
God is believed to have necessary existence for a number of reasons; the greatest of these reasons is the assumption that he is eternal, a belief stemming from Anselm. From there, believers posit that god’s existence doesn’t require an explanation. Richard Dawkins and other atheists ignore this assumption when asking, “where did god come from?” From a believer’s point of view, god isn’t a contingent being. Therefore, to them, the question is nonsensical. There is, however, a better option for atheists and it’s the option normally chosen perhaps without realizing: god is an impossible being. An impossible entity is an entity that doesn’t exist in any possible world, i.e., a being that fails to exist in all possible worlds, e.g., a seven sided octagon; a rectangular oval. With that said, I present the equally valid Modal Anti-Ontological Argument:
P1 If God doesn’t exist then he has impossible existence.
P2 Either God has impossible existence, or he doesn’t.
P3 If God doesn’t have impossible existence, then he necessarily doesn’t.
P4 Therefore: Either God has impossible existence, or he necessarily doesn’t.
P5 If God necessarily doesn’t have impossible existence, then God necessarily exists.
P6 Therefore: Either God has impossible existence, or he necessarily exists.
P7 It is not the case that God necessarily exists.
P8 Therefore: God has impossible existence.
P9 If God has impossible existence, then God doesn’t exist.
C Therefore: God doesn’t exist.
If apologists want to argue that their argument is valid, they must grant that the above argument is also. What’s left is to consider which of the two is sound. Unlike the probability apologists put forth, a probability that is bolstered by theological motivations, I can put forth a concrete probability: it is highly probable that the Judeo-Christian god — the god that the Ontological Argument was designed to defend — does not exist. Thus, the modal anti-ontological is sound. I am, of course, putting the cart before the horse as I have yet to argue for that conclusion. That will, in part, be the task of the second part of this work.
It is time now to turn to Plantinga’s version of the argument and to show why it falls into the same trap. I will also address one of the primary motivations driving believers to accept some version of the ontological argument. Plantinga’s version is considered “victorious” not because it is an ironclad, unassailable version of the argument, but rather, because it succeeds at showing that belief in god is rational. The jury is still out with regards to that, but one thing is for certain, Plantinga’s argument does not succeed where the other versions have failed. In fact, it falls victim to a similar contra-argument. Plantinga’s version can be formulated as follows:
P1 A being has maximal excellence in a given possible world W if and only if it is omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good in W; and
P2 A being has maximal greatness if it has maximal excellence in every possible world.
P3 It is possible that there is a being that has maximal greatness.
P4 Therefore, possibly, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly good being exists.
C Therefore, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being exists.
The contra-argument would begin with (1) and (2); it would, in other words, accept the definitions of a being with maximal excellence and a being with maximal greatness. It would diverge beginning at (3) and would therefore continue as follows:
(3) It is impossible that there is a being that has maximal greatness.
(4) Therefore, possibly, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly good being does not exist.
(5) Therefore, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being does not exist.
Like in the case of the modal version, if a believer claims that Plantinga’s version is valid, s/he must also admit that this version is also. We would again be obligated to consider which of the two is sound.
Curiously, the first premise has another glaring problem. It has, more specifically, an inescapable entailment. The first premise appears to imply that it is possible that there exists a being that has maximal excellence but doesn’t have maximal greatness. There is a being that is omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good in Y, but not in X. This possibility leaves the door wide open for polytheism and also implies that in some possible world(s) there exists beings who can rival god in the worlds in which they happen to exist. Certainly Plantinga doesn’t intend to allow for these implications, but the first premise obviously entails precisely that. Far from being “victorious,” the argument leads to issues that are simply not found in Anselm’s version.
It is useful to note that even if Plantinga or any Christian rejects the contra-argument, the first premise can be challenged. Rather than quibble with what is meant by maximal excellence, an atheist can accept the definition as it stands. The atheist can, however, question whether this is possible world W in where a being of maximal excellence exists and explore the consequences if it turns out that this isn’t that possible world. In other words, if this isn’t that specific possible world, then the argument is speaking of a possible world that is inaccessible to the believer and the believer is therefore in no better position to convince the non-believer. Put another way, if a being of maximal excellence doesn’t exist in this possible world, then it possibly exists in another world that cannot be accessed by any of the inhabitants in this world. There is therefore no utility or pragmatic value in belief. The argument would only speak of a logical possibility that is ontologically impossible in this world.
The atheist can take it a step further. What Christian theists purport to know about god stems from the Bible. The Bible, in other words, gives us information about god, his character, and his history as it relates to this world. Assuming this is possible world W, does he represent a being having maximal excellence? Is he, for instance, identical to a being who is wholly good? Any honest consideration of parts of the Bible would lead one to conclude that god is not identical to a being who is wholly good; god, in other words, isn’t wholly good. So obvious is his evil that Marcion of Sinope diverged from proto-Orthodox Christians in concluding that the Jewish God in the Old Testament is an evil deity and is in no way the father of Jesus. Yet if he’s evil, then he isn’t wholly good and if he isn’t wholly good, he fails to have maximal excellence. Moreover, and much more damning to Plantinga’s argument, is that a being of maximal greatness has maximal excellence in all worlds. Therefore, if this being does not have maximal excellence in one of those worlds or more specifically, in this world, then it does not possess maximal greatness. Far from victorious, Plantinga’s argument would taste irreparable defeat and this, in more ways than one.
It is time now to consider one motivation a believer may have for accepting a given version of the ontological argument, namely abstract objects. The prevalent school of thought among such believers is that all abstract objects depend on god for their existence. More specifically, abstract objects depend on god for their existence. When one considers that abstract objects need not depend on god for their existence, one should no longer have any motivation to accept the ontological argument as sound. Without entering the metaphysical waters of Lewis’ counterfactuals, one can consider specific abstract objects. One can consider the sort of moral truths discussed in the previous chapter and see that they have naturalistic origins.
One can also consider universals. When concerning universals, there are three views: Platonic, Aristotelian, and Nominalist. Given these three views, some have located a controversy. Yet one can dismiss one of the views on a number of grounds. Prior to dismissing one of the views, it is necessary to elaborate on them.
On the Platonic view, known as Platonic realism, universals exist in a supernatural realm, the realm of forms. These forms give meaning to the terms we use. These abstractions actually exist. So when we speak of all people having ‘humanity’, humanity exists in the realm of forms. That is to say that the form ‘humanity’ is an incorporeal form that corresponds to what all people have in common.
According to the Aristotelian view, Aristotelian realism, which was championed by Peter Abelard, universals are properties or relations held in common by given objects. Humanity therefore exists in the natural realm and not in a supernatural realm. It is a relation all people hold in common and the universal is a term that represents this relation. ‘Manhood’ or ‘blackness’ are instantiated in all men and all black things respectively. This leads to a glaring issue. Clearly, a black table, a black chair, and a black shirt are different objects and yet, they have in common the same property. These objects are thus qualitatively equal. The response to this is that though universals are natural, they do not act as natural objects.
The nominalist view denies that universals exist. There are two ways to go about that. The one denies that universals exist altogether whilst the other accepts commonalities like ‘humanity’, ‘manhood’, and ‘blackness’, but denies that they can be aptly called universals. To apply these approaches, one need only offer a paraphrase of sentences that are true and entail universals. Thus, for a sentence like “all men are mortal,” the nominalist need only offer a paraphrase that denies the universal ‘mortality’ or denies that it can aptly be referred to as a universal. There are several ways to confront this.
A nominalist can take the predicate, concept, mereological, class, modal, or resemblance routes. Both the predicate and concept routes accept commonalities, but deny that they can dubbed universals. On the predicate view, the predicate “mortal” applies to men because they’re mortal and this entails the universal “mortal.” On the concept view men fall under the concept “mortal,” but there’s no such thing as “mortality.” The mereological view says that a man is mortal because he is a part of the whole of things that are mortal. Unfortunately, the mereological view cannot be used when speaking of mass or shape, for instance, since the mass or shape of the parts do not equal the sum of the mass or shape wholes. That is to say that the sum of the sides of all equilateral triangles do not themselves equal an equilateral triangle.
Class nominalism avoids these pitfalls by offering that man is mortal by virtue of belonging to the class of all mortal things. This view also runs into issues. So does David Lewis’ Modal Realism, which posits possible worlds on the basis of counterfactuals. There’s also resemblance nominalism, which offers that mortal beings don’t resemble each other because they’re mortal, but rather, they’re mortal because they resemble each other. In the case of sentient beings, resemblance nominalism seems to do well.
There are other versions of nominalism that can be discussed, e.g., causal nominalism, but much of the so-called controversy can do with some butchering. One should therefore employ Ockham’s Razor to cut off some fat. For one, Platonic Realism is simply unnecessary. If one is to offer only necessary postulates, then a realm of forms in where universals exist is unnecessary. Them who have looked instead to the way in which we employ language have the right idea. Either Aristotle’s view is correct or one of the nominalist views is correct.
On the nominalist view, there’s more fat that can be cut off. Color, for instance, is experienced in a particular way by human beings. Some animals don’t see the colors we see; others see no color; others can see in infrared; still others, one can imagine, may see in ultraviolet; we can also imagine a creature that can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Color, in any case, is reducible to light and need not be a property, particular or universal, of any object. On the basis of abstraction, in the same way we imagine a similarity in all black things, we can imagine these objects without ‘blackness.’ Put another way, the black sofa, the black table, and the black chairs can be as they are with no color to be found. The color need not be a part of them.
What we’re left with then is shape, mass, and other extensional properties, and also the space these objects appear to occupy. With color out of the way and with Platonic realism disqualified, we can make progress in solving the problem of universals. Obviously the answer isn’t obvious, since it’s still widely discussed. But for creatures lacking the capacity of a language formed by subjects and predicates, particulars and universals may not occur to them. It is likelier that human language leads to problems such as these and the related one-many problem. The controversy is then lifted by paying more attention to how language creates more problems than it solves.
Given the nominalist views surveyed above, it is clear that universals do not depend on god for their existence. In fact, universals may not have existence proper. In other words, if they don’t exist in a Platonic realm or within the divine thoughts of god, then they do not have a property of existence. One will find that other abstract objects can be explained in similar fashion.
Numbers, for instance, need not be Platonic in any sense. The number 4 or the a priori truth of some equation need not depend on god for their existence. Such a tangent isn’t necessary given that I discuss nominalism as it relates to numbers in chapter eleven, but at every turn when confronted with a so-called abstract object, the atheist can offer the following questions: does this abstract object have the property of existence? What is meant by existence in this case? Certainly abstract objects do not exist in the same way a person or an animal exists. The use of the word existence in this case warrants caution and skepticism. In any case, when thinking of examples of abstract objects, it is clear that all abstract objects can be explained in one or more of the following ways: (a) nominalism (b) reductionism, e.g., colors are reducible to an astrophysical phenomenon, namely light (c) the Lockean thesis, i.e., an abstract object can’t be abstracted in isolation from its physical counterpart or the object on which it acts upon. A bit of elaboration is in order.
According to the Lockean thesis, one cannot think of motion abstractly without also thinking of an object in motion. The same applies to abstract objects. One cannot think of a moral truth, e.g. murder is wrong, without thinking of or imagining a murder. One can’t think of the number 4 without reference to the number as it appears in a book, a sheet of paper, or a chalkboard. Even if one imagines a blue number 4 within one’s mind, one is still representing in one’s mind the number as s/he has seen it before. The numbers and their sequence aren’t innate; we all learned of their value and their appearance at some point in childhood and there’s no way to think of them as abstract in the absence of some physical counterpart. Much more can be said about abstract objects and numbers specifically, but it should be clear now that the purported relation between god and abstract objects is a dubious motivation for accepting the ontological argument. Despite this, there’s a specific abstraction that warrants much attention and it is for this reason, I’ve devoted the entire next chapter to it.
All citations can be found in my book Philosophical Atheism.
By R.N. Carmona
Before I express my most current thoughts about the idea of god and where I now stand, it is important to go over exactly what relation the Game of Thrones character Bran Stark has to a common concept of god. Bran Stark, who is currently an entity known as the Three-Eyed Raven, has omniscience as it concerns people and events. It has been shown that he can be touched in the future (when the Night’s King grabbed his arm), manipulate the present (by employing his warg ability), and influence the past (as shown when he called out to a younger version of his father Ned and when young Hodor heard Meera in the present telling present-day Hodor to hold the door). Yet despite his omniscience, he is powerless to prevent the war between the living and the dead, the armies of men and the Night’s King and his army of White Walkers and wights.
In fact, many theories concerning Bran have been circulated. One theory says that Bran Stark is Bran the builder. Bran the builder, legend has it, built the Wall where Jon Snow completed his watch and also Winterfell. Another postulates that Bran is the Lord of Light, the god of the Red Priestesses who reveals future events in fires. According to such theories, Bran reincarnates and lives forever in a repeating loop or he’s ascended to the role of an all-knowing god. Game of Thrones could be a literal time loop in where Bran is trying to prevent a number of catastrophic events like the creation of White Walkers by the Children of the Forest, the Mad King’s holocaust of Westerosi citizens, and the events that have yet to transpire – which may include the deaths of Daenerys and Jon, not to mention every person in Westeros.
Game of Thrones could literally be a story about an omniscient and all-powerful or nigh-all-powerful mystic or god being rendered powerless by chaos theory. In other words, per Littlefinger: “Chaos is a ladder” and only that ladder is real. All else is illusion. In trying to prevent the creation of the White Walkers or the Mad King’s holocaust, Bran unintentionally sets off other horrific events. The prevention of one bad outcome or consequence results in the emergence of a new bad outcome or consequence. Thinking about Bran’s predicament got me thinking about the idea of an omniscient being.
God’s predicament, should one exist, wouldn’t be any different. Preventing a murder on one side of the world only ensures the emergence of a new, unintended one on the other side of the world. If the flapping of a butterfly’s wings results in a derailed train that kills dozens, a god might reason to prevent the flapping of the wings, but in doing so, an unintended volcanic eruption wipes out dozens in a separate location. The idea of omniscience along with omnipotence would ensure that such a being is rendered powerless! Westeros may not work very much like our world; there is after all magic, undead, dragons, and voices speaking from fires. Chaos theory might not feature in Westeros, but it certainly features in our world. A being like the Three-Eyed Raven would have incredible power, but will resign himself to inactivity.
God, should one exist, might have realized this long ago and has thus resigned himself to inactivity and indifference. Omniscience entails foresight and omnipotence entails prevention of what one foresees, but the two powers together would inevitably result in voluntarily powerlessness. In a world of chaos, an order that prevents all evil and all suffering is simply not possible; it is unachievable. Should there be a god, Nietzsche might be best read literally. God is effectively dead. He is a celestial vegetable, eternally inactive upon realizing that he could never achieve a perfect world. I am firmly a post-theist in that I am beyond entertaining the ideas of religion and writing extensively and frequently about such topics. But should there be a god, I would approach it with compassion and pity because despite having all that power, it’s as though it has no power.
A simply corollary might make things clearer. Humans are no doubt limited and finite in their power to prevent unappealing outcomes and consequences. They are equally limited in their capacity to formulate and execute contingency plans. Yet even when one succeeds at preventing one’s business from failure by taking out a sizable loan, there’s now the unintended consequence of realizing several months down the line that an extensive layoff is necessary to turn enough profit to pay off the debt and continue to operate the business. Preventing one bad outcome seems to ensure the emergence of another. Though some regard this study as debunked, the jury is still out on whether extensive gene editing results in hundreds of potentially harmful mutations.
It could be that chaos requires a balancing of the scales and it is only in that balance that order is achieved. God might have done all he could to prevent the abusive childhood of one person only to ensure the emergence of another person’s abusive childhood. The Three-Eyed Raven’s predicament might not be any different from what a god’s would be if it existed. Joan Osborne’s song comes to mind in thinking that perhaps god is essentially one of us. The poor bastard has all that power and can do absolutely nothing with it.
By R.N. Carmona
Many might be confused by the post-theist label. It does not mean that one is a theist unaffiliated with organized religion. This doesn’t mean one believes in a deity. Post-theism describes an attitude that one is beyond the god question. The atheist label no longer makes sense because the question of god is a settled fact; a god doesn’t exist and never did, so one doesn’t lack belief, but rather proceeds with the knowledge that there’s no god and conducts their life as such.
One no longer dwells on the question or considers the question. Yes, this is compatible with gnostic atheism because it requires knowledge rather than mere non-belief sans knowledge, i.e., agnostic atheism. However, the question of whether a god exists no longer interests the post-theist; it no longer occupies her time in that it’s something she gives no thought to. Religion and belief in god is a relic of human history. So she is as post-atheistic as she is post-theistic.
Post-(a)theism is a stronger position in that it isn’t a proclamation of non-belief or even knowledge of there being no god. It’s a stronger claim: religion was borne out of human ignorance; our lack of scientific knowledge, historical knowledge, philosophical understanding and reasoning, and technological progress resulted in a belief stemming from agency over-detection, among other fallacious conclusions. Religion was the result of primitive thinking, underdeveloped reasoning, and a severe misapprehension of the world we live in.
In many ways we are all post-theistic in that we don’t attribute lightning, tidal waves, strong winds, volcanic eruptions, and earthquakes to the wrath of a god. We moved passed polytheistic explanations of natural phenomena and remain only with the palpably silly idea that a god created the universe and world. The post-theist gets to a point where those notions are as ridiculous as the idea that Zeus launches every lightning bolt everywhere – including on planets like Jupiter. If one is to learn about causation, the dispositions of material objects, and the universe, one will see that these do not allow for such an explanation; never mind that god is a human projection, a way of seeing our own image even behind phenomena we can’t even begin to control.
God is the name of an idealized human, infinite in every domain we are finite in: infinitely knowledgeable, powerful, moral, and good; every one of us will die and yet god is considered eternal. God is the name of human naiveté and arrogance, the notion that the creator of the universe must be a perfect version of ourselves. God is the name of the lack of imagination of our ancestors. If anything, imagination hasn’t discovered a super-human controlling and governing the universe; imagination has discovered natural forces that move celestial bodies and oversee their formation; imagination has scaled down the universe to previously incomprehensible small scales; imagination has proven once and for all that the universe is probabilistic, that chance rather than agency is more prevalent in the universe. Imagination has shown that the idea of god was borne from a lack of creativity rather than masterful ingenuity. Whether you like it or not, we are beyond the need for god as ultimate explanation or temporary placeholder; we are beyond the question of whether one exists. This is the age of post-theism.
By R.N. Carmona
The following argument is based on an obvious truth and also on a theistic assumption. The obvious truth comes from John Mbiti who in his African Religions and Philosophy (1975) said: “I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am.” This isn’t the Cartesian view many people operate from: “I think, therefore I am.” Consciousness, in other words, isn’t born in and doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It isn’t, as it were, a location on a map that can be identified in isolation of other locations; it is like a location that’s identified only in its relation to other locations. I know where I find myself only because I know where all other minds in my vicinity are. Even deeper than that is the unsettling fact that my entire personality isn’t a melody, but rather a cacophony; I am who I am because the people in my lives are who they are and they are who they are because of the influence of others and the circumstances they’ve faced, and so on and so forth. As Birhane explains:
We need others in order to evaluate our own existence and construct a coherent self-image. Think of that luminous moment when a poet captures something you’d felt but had never articulated; or when you’d struggled to summarise your thoughts, but they crystallised in conversation with a friend. Bakhtin believed that it was only through an encounter with another person that you could come to appreciate your own unique perspective and see yourself as a whole entity. By ‘looking through the screen of the other’s soul,’ he wrote, ‘I vivify my exterior.’ Selfhood and knowledge are evolving and dynamic; the self is never finished – it is an open book.
Most people, given the Cartesian view, look at the self through the lens of what Dennett calls the Cartesian theater. There is, to our minds, a continuity between the self when we are children and the self now as adults. We point to attributes, even if only loosely related: our temperament, our competitive nature, the fact that we’re friendly or not, and so on. Few of us consider the circumstances and the people who played a role in molding these seeming consistencies. Where many of us see a straight continuous line, others see points on a graph, and yet, even if there’s virtual consistency in one’s competitive edge, for instance, there are milieus to consider, from the school(s) one attended, to one’s upbringing, to the media one was exposed to. The self is indeed an open and ever-changing book. The Cartesian theater, like the Cartesian self, is a convenient illusion; there is no self without other selves.
The Cartesian view is problematic on its own. “I think, therefore I am” was Descartes’ conclusion, but one can imagine saying to Descartes: “okay, but what do you think about? What is the content of your thoughts?” So even on the Cartesian view, Mbiti’s truth is found. It is, in fact, a tacit admission contained in Descartes’ view because in order to think one must be thinking about something or someone. Some thoughts are elaborate and involve representations of places one is familiar with whether it be one’s living room or local grocery store. Even the content of Descartes’ thoughts acknowledged other people and things, so Descartes didn’t conclude “I think [full stop], therefore I am.” In truth, it was more like “I think [about x things and y people represented in z places], therefore I am.” He identified himself only through other selves.
The theistic assumption is the idea that the mind of god(s) is like ours. On Judaism and Christianity, we were fashioned in his image. This doesn’t apply so much to our physical bodies, but more so to our minds because on the theistic assumption, the mind proceeds from an immaterial, spiritual source rather than from a physical source like our brains or the combination of our brains and nervous systems.
On the assumption that god’s mind is like ours and given the truth expressed by Mbiti, it is impossible for a singular consciousness to have existed on its own in eternity past. In other words, before god created angels, humans, and animals, there was some point in eternity past in when he was the only mind that existed. Yet if his mind is like ours, then there was never a point in where he existed on his own. The only recourse for the monotheist is therefore, polytheism because the implication is that at least one other mind must have existed along with god’s in eternity past.
Muslims and Jews, if Mbiti’s truth is accepted, will have no choice but to concede. Some Christians, on the other hand, will think they find recourse in the idea of the Trinity. Some might try to qualify the notion that the minds of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are distinct from one another. The obvious issue with that idea is that that would undermine the unity their god is said to have. In fact, that has been at the core of much philosophical dispute since the Muslim golden age. As Tuggy explains:
Muslim philosopher Abu Yusef al-Kindi (ca. 800–70) understood the doctrine to assert that there are three divine persons, three individuals, each composed of the divine essence together with its own distinctive characteristic. But whatever is composed is caused, and whatever is caused is not eternal. So the doctrine, he holds, absurdly claims that each of the persons isn’t eternal, and since they’re all divine, each is eternal.
Whether or not these contentions hold is still a matter of dispute and is not our present focus. The Trinity on its own wouldn’t be sufficient because it would require a milieu to exist within. Given this, then there would be other things that also existed in eternity past. Plato’s Forms might be those sorts of things because god’s mind, being like ours, would require a number of things to experience and to assist with maintaining god’s self, per se. Mbiti’s truth applies to cognitive and psychological aspects about humans and other animals even, especially mammals. It also applies, more broadly, to consciousness and as such, the Problem of Other Minds as it is so-called is only a problem if one were to assume that the Cartesian view is the case; other minds and other things are the reasons a self forms and can come to identify itself as distinct. Cognitive and psychological aspects about us don’t exist in a vacuum, but neither does consciousness. The same, on the assumption that god’s mind is like ours, applies to god’s mind.
Ultimately, a singular consciousness could not have existed in eternity past absent other consciousnesses and things. Unless one continues to obstinately assume that Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am” is true over and above Mibti’s “I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am,” there’s no recourse outside of polytheism. Either there were two or more gods that existed in eternity past or there are no gods. What should be clear from what’s been outlined here is that a singular consciousness that once existed in a vacuum at some point in eternity past, i.e., the monotheistic conception of god, is impossible.
By R.N. Carmona
Far above the claim that Christians have the truth, there’s one claim that has been overlooked by many non-believers: the claim that Christians understand the will and thoughts of an immaterial consciousness. This arrogant claim got me thinking quite a bit about our understanding of human consciousness and the consciousnesses of other organisms. As in other cases, a Christian may be cocksure about their pet theory, Cartesian dualism. They might be quite convinced of their theory of consciousness. Less common is the atheist who thinks they have consciousness figured out. Despite these haughty pretenses, none of these people understand consciousness; nor have they ironed out a viable theory of consciousness.
One well-known theory of where the idea of gods came from posits that humans simply created an ideal and then began to believe that the ideal exists. In other words, humans can be loving, good, strong, and knowledgeable, so given that, there must be a being who’s like us and yet perfect in every respect in which we are not. This they called god. When one considers a cross cultural approach, taking, for instance, Greek and Roman demigods into account, the theory holds an ocean of water. This is perhaps the reason why monotheists, Christians most specifically, think they can comprehend god’s thoughts and will.
Why must an immaterial mind resemble our demonstrably material mind? How can you understand a supposedly infinite consciousness if you can’t even comprehend your own finite consciousness? You also can’t understand the finite consciousnesses of other living things. The fact is that if such an immaterial mind existed, it would be beyond comprehension and certainly not as capricious, malicious, jealous, vindictive, and bloodthirsty as the Judeo-Christian or Islamic gods.
On top of that, the idea of an all-loving being is questionable because love is literally reducible to chemical reactions in the human brain. As Shermer explains:
I find it deeply interesting to know that when I fall in love with someone my initial lustful feelings are enhanced by dopamine, a neurohormone produced by the hypothalamus that triggers the release of testosterone, the hormone that drives sexual desire, and that my deeper feelings of attachment are reinforced by oxytocin, a hormone synthesized in the hypothalamus and secreted into the blood by the pituitary. Further, it is instructive to know that such hormone-induced neural pathways are exclusive to monogamous pairbonded species as an evolutionary adaptation for the long-term care of helpless infants. We fall in love because our children need us! Does this in any way lessen the qualitative experience of falling in love and doting on one’s children? Of course not, any more than unweaving a rainbow into its constituent parts reduces the aesthetic appreciation of the rainbow.
Shermer, Michael. The Believing Brain: From Ghosts and Gods to Politics and Conspiracies–How We Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths. New York: Times, 2011. 186. Print.
This isn’t to undermine the experience of love. Rather, this is to highlight the fact that what we call love is very specific to our neuroanatomy–a neuroanatomy that differs from even our closest cousins. I would argue that the jury is still out on whether chimps and gorillas feel or conceptualize anything like love, but one thing’s for certain, an immaterial mind may not even be capable of love or empathy, especially since the latter is dependent on social bonding and care of kin.
All this taken together and it becomes even clearer that humans created an ideal and started to believe that such an ideal must exist. Yet if there were such a thing as a immaterial mind that created the universe as we know it, it would be nothing at all like human beings. There’s more philosophical evidence to consider.
Consider the assertion that god is omniscient. In order for god to be omniscient, he would have to be able to calmly enter the waters of David Chalmer’s important question: what is it like to be a bat? In addition, he’d have to know what it’s like to be a velociraptor, a neanderthal, a wooly mammoth, a dolphin, and a dog. He’d have to be able to fully grasp the somatosensory, auditory, and olfactory experiences of every living being. If you’re persuaded by panpsychism, then god would have to understand what it’s like to be a chair or a blender. So clearly this is an incomprehensible consciousness far exceeding our own and there’s no way we were created in his image.
The fact is that many philosophers have strived and are striving to understand human consciousness; some have tried and are attempting to understand non-human consciousness. We admittedly do not fully understand our own consciousness or the consciousnesses of any other organisms and yet, billions of people claim to be privy to the thoughts and desires of an immaterial consciousness. It is this claim that should drive people away from belief. The claim is highly dubious and certainly wrong. If there were such a thing as immaterial minds, we wouldn’t be able to comprehend them and god being such a mind, is incomprehensible and the so-called revelations rendered to us thus far are woefully inadequate, for it is clear to anyone lacking the deep-seated need to believe that such a mind cannot be like ours, capable of both our feats and our faults.