Tagged: christianity

An Excerpt From My New Book

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.

R.N. Carmona Philosophical Atheism: Counter Apologetics and Arguments For Atheism


Print is Now Live on Amazon.com!

Book is now available for purchase here! Here are the Table of Contents to whet the appetite:


Chapter 1: Philosophical Approaches to Atheism

Chapter 2: Refuting the Kalam Cosmological Argument

Chapter 3: The Moral Argument Refuted

Chapter 4: Refuting Plantinga’s Victorious Ontological Argument

Chapter 5: On Qualia and A Refutation of the Argument from Consciousness

Chapter 6: Refuting the Fine-Tuning Argument

Chapter 7: The Failures of Aquinas’ Five Ways

Chapter 8: Transcendental Arguments and Presuppositionalism Refuted

Chapter 9: The Argument from Assailability

Chapter 10: The Arguments from History and The Multiplicity of Religions

Chapter 11: The Argument from Cosmology

Chapter 12: On the Leibnizian Cosmological Argument


I hope you guys enjoy!

Procedural Realism: Refuting the Moral Argument For God

Proponents of the Moral Argument share a view known as substantive realism, which is the view that states that “there are correct procedures for answering moral questions because there are moral truths or facts, which exist independently of those procedures, and which those procedures track.”1

Let’s consider the fatal flaws this position has:

  • Whether one argues that morality is simply objective or it’s objective because it hinges on god, the view begs the question and thus isn’t justified. Begging the question is a fallacy, so a view that begs the question is either incorrect or must be revised so as to eliminate the fallacy in question.
  • The view is unjustifiably metaphysical. It, in other words, argues that morality is innate. It cannot be learned. It is part of the maker’s mark that god supposedly imprinted in us.
  • Given the weaknesses of this view, we need to look elsewhere; in other words, given that it isn’t enough to posit that morality is contingent on a deity, we’ve more work to do.

Prior to discussing procedural realism as contrasted with substantive realism, the notion alluded to in the second bullet point–which is, in fact, the notion alluded to by any proponent of the Moral Argument–was put to rest by the father of empiricism, John Locke. He argued that moral principles are not innate. One reason for this is because they aren’t universally assented to. We don’t come to immediate consensus on right and wrong the way we do when concerning the laws of logic. To put it another way, no matter the person or culture, the laws of identity, of non-contradiction, and of excluded middle are universally agreed upon. If any person fails to act in accordance with those laws, that person has failed to think or has lost his/her capacity to reason. This is not the case with morality.

Locke argues, for instance, that the consensus on whether an action is right or wrong has everything to do with how generalized the action was. Proponents of the Moral Argument argue that we all know it’s wrong to lie, to murder, or to rape, and from this, they conclude that morality proceeds from god and since we’re created in his image, moral values and duties have been ingrained in our souls since creation. Yet if we were to get more specific, agreement dissolves. Have a discussion, for example, on euthanasia, self-defense murder, and Anne Frank-esque sort of lies, i.e., lies that literally save lives or keeps one from harm, and you’ll immediately see that there’s absolutely no consensus on these matters.

The reason is because, as Locke further argued, we are likelier to provide reasons and justifications for our moral behavior. If it’s innate or proceeds from god, there will be no disagreement on these epistemic fronts. We would, in other words, be readily able to show why such an action is right or wrong. There would be no need to prove the correctness or incorrectness of an action, since this would already be known to us.2 Unfortunately, this isn’t the only claim implicit in the Moral Argument, so there’s more to be said.

Enter procedural realism: “there are answers to moral questions because there are correct procedures for arriving at them.”3 Such a procedure could be Kant’s CI procedure or a problem-solution model. Or it could be something simpler. The procedures could even vary. In narrowing our focus, we should consider Kant’s CI procedure, which can be expressed in the following ways. There are four formulas for us to consider4:

1) The Formula of the Law of Nature: “Act as if the maxim of your action were to become through your will a universal law of nature.”

Kant placed a lot of emphasis on autonomy. Modern Kantians like John Rawls and Christine Korsgaard place similar emphasis on autonomy, but they also speak of self-legislation. This formulation is compelling because moral truths could arise from mere human agency rather than divine authority. One may contend that a psychopath would will murder as if it were a universal law of nature. However, like Goldstein, I would argue that morality is akin to crowdsourced knowledge; morality is, in other words, the culmination of human efforts spanning centuries. Rebecca Goldstein puts it this way:

There’s some ideal algorithm for working it out, for assigning weights to different opinions. Maybe we should give more weight to people who have lived lives that they find gratifying and that others find admirable. And, of course, for this to work the crowd has to be huge; it has to contain all these disparate vantage points, everybody who’s starting from their own chained-up position in the cave [Plato’s cave analogy]. It has to contain, in principle, everybody. I mean, if you’re including just men, or just landowners, or just people above a certain IQ, then the results aren’t going to be robust.5

This is a point I often make about moral epistemology. I argue that there are moral classes that are roughly analogous to economic classes. Some people have more moral expertise and therefore, lead more admirable and ethical lives. The average person is, at the very least, better than the career criminal. Sam Harris has endorsed this idea. He states:

Whenever we are talking about facts, certain opinions must be excluded. That is what it is to have a domain of expertise; that is what it is for knowledge to count. How have we convinced ourselves that in the moral sphere, there is no such thing as moral expertise or moral talent or moral genius even? How have we convinced ourselves that every opinion has to count? How have we convinced ourselves that every culture has a point of view on these subjects worth considering? Does the Taliban have a point of view on physics that is worth considering? No. How is their ignorance any less obvious on the subject of human well-being?6

Sam Harris is talking about moral classes. One reason some of us are convinced that there can’t be moral expertise, talent, or genius is because of fervent religious belief. Christians argue that without god, true morality cannot be achieved. Without god, all we’re left with is human opinion–-as though all human opinion is equal. Some opinions are undoubtedly better than others. The opinions that have been thus far expressed are better than those of Christians who disagree with them. It should be clear to any impartial third party that one side has thought more, read more, studied more, questioned more, and so on, and that in light of this, one set of opinions is superior to the other.

In the same vein as Harris, Goldstein talked about ruling out the peculiarities of certain people. Every moral opinion doesn’t count and that’s because some people and groups are morally superior to others. Unless one wants to argue that people are generally on par with the Taliban when it comes to morality, they’re admitting to the fact that there are moral classes. As stated, a simple corollary are economic classes. It’s clear that some people are prosperous and others are not. Some people can afford mansions and luxury cars; some people can afford a three-story house; others can barely afford an apartment and still others can scarcely afford a room; still others are homeless. In like manner, some people are simply morally superior to others and when looked at objectively, one will quickly realize that religious affiliation has nothing to do with it.

Some people, for instance, can see the injustice in discrimination and perpetrating acts of prejudice against minorities and gays. Some Christians cannot. Any Christian or non-Christian that has the capacity to see such injustice is in a higher moral class than Westboro Baptist and conservative, right wing Christians.

Some are admittedly anti-gay. This makes clear that they advocate restrictive legislation against them. They will protest the legislation of gay marriage though it’s already been made legal. They likely argue to invalidate the love gay couples share; this is quite common among conservatives. They misrepresent gays by accusing them of succumbing to so called sinful concupiscence. I, for one, wouldn’t advocate restrictive legislation against a group if whatever they’re doing isn’t harming anyone. Other than self-righteousness, what do they care if gays marry? Are they at their weddings? Are they watching them as they consummate their marriages? Are they there when homosexual couples choose to raise children? Conservative Christians might clamor about public displays of affection, but it’s not like straight people don’t forget to get a room! Given their self-proclaimed discriminatory stances, it can be stated without hesitation that they’re in a lower moral class than Christians and non-Christians who don’t think that way.

2) The Formula of the End Itself: “Act in such a way that you always treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end.”

What is meant by treating a person never simply as a means, but always as an end? This means to extend kindness to others with no intention of exploiting them, e.g. I’ll befriend this guy because he’s rich. You may contend that this sounds like Jesus’ Golden Rule. The Golden Rule, first and foremost, isn’t original to Jesus. This will be much more relevant shortly. Patricia Churchland puts it succinctly:

The Golden Rule (“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”) is very often held up as a judicious rule, and exceptionless rule, and a rule that is universally espoused, or very close to it. (Ironically perhaps, Confucius, though known to prefer the development of virtues to instruction by rules, might have been among the first to give voice to a version of this maxim, though given his broad approach to morality, it is likely he offered it as general advice rather than as an exceptionless rule.)7

Like Churchland, I don’t think the Golden Rule is sufficient. Also, this formulation is simply not the Golden Rule. Don Berkich, Philosophy professor at Texas A&M stated the following:

“Some  make the mistake of thinking that the First Formulation of the Categorical Imperative is but a badly worded version of the Biblical “Golden Rule”–Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Golden Rule, as Kant well knew, is a deeply misguided ethical principle. To see this, consider the following somewhat salacious example.

Suppose that Martin is 20 year-old college student. Suppose further that Martin has never been out on a date. The woman of his dreams finally agrees to go out with him. So Martin gets all dressed up and takes her out to a nice dinner, after which they drive up to Lookout Point. And…Martin does unto others as he would have done unto himself, with disastrous consequences. Because the same result cannot be obtained by application of the Categorical Imperative, it follows that the Golden Rule and the Categorical Imperative are not extensionally equivalent.”8

Kant argued that if we were to act to harm others, civilization would come to an end. It follows then that we’ll act to the benefit of one another. This is where Kant’s notion of a Kingdom of Ends comes from. We’ll get this shortly.

On the Golden Rule, a necessary tangent is required. The Golden Rule, according to Christians, is original to Jesus despite historical facts to the contrary. Jesus is, however, considered god incarnate. He is one with Yahweh. He is one mode of the Triune godhead. Therefore, if the Moral Argument is right in stating that moral values and duties exist because god exists, then these moral values and duties are based on a flawed ethical view known as egoism. This is precisely what Jesus advocates in the Golden Rule. In other words, any right action is the product of your own self-interest. The benefits I can reap are the basis of all my actions. Without diverging too far, I reject the Golden Rule and all variants of egoism for the same reason Louis Pojman rejected it:

We do not always consciously seek our own satisfaction or happiness when we act. In fact, some people seem to seek their own unhappiness, as masochists and self-destructive people do, and we all sometimes seem to act spontaneously without consciously considering our happiness.9

Given this, if the Golden Rule is a rudimentary formulation of egoism–-and I see no compelling reason to think it’s not–-we can reject Jesus’ ethical system and therefore, god’s basis for moral values and duties. It follows that the Moral Argument is wrong.

3) The Formula of Autonomy: “So act that your will can regard itself at the same time as making universal law through its maxims.”

This is related to the first formulation, but this formulation puts more emphasis on autonomy and like modern Kantians would argue, self-legislation. This formula of autonomy has manifested itself time and again. Morally superior people are not only admirable, but they compel others to emulate them. This formulation is prominent in rearing children. Children learn moral behavior from their parents, so in a sense, this goes back to Locke; if moral principles are innate, they would, in his words, be known to “children and idiots.” Children quickly learn what’s apt and what’s inappropriate given other people’s feedback. If they do something wrong, they’re scolded. If they do something right, they’re commended. Going back to the notion of inverting authority into oneself, the child then becomes an adult who (roughly) follows the moral values instilled in her during childhood. She then becomes an autonomous self-legislator. God isn’t necessary once again and thus, the Moral Argument is wrong.

4) The Formula of the Kingdom of Ends: “So act as if you were through your maxims a law-making member of a kingdom of ends.”

This formulation is the most compelling given that it absorbs, so to speak, the other formulations. Kant didn’t only speak of wills; he spoke of rational wills. Thus, under this formulation, we are to act in such a way that would be acceptable in a community of rational wills. In a community of rational wills, rape and murder would be unacceptable. Since people are autonomous, taking their lives is a violation of their autonomy. Your fellow rational wills will also recognize you as an autonomous individual and thus, without any need for Jesus’ Golden Rule or more generally, egoism, the rights conferred to them will also be conferred to you. It certainly looks as though developed countries look a lot more like Kant’s Kingdom of Ends than like a society of egoists pursuing their own self-interests. Even despite capitalism, people enjoy charity, sharing, altruism, and equality. People, in other words, recognize one another as autonomous and there are strict laws in place to punish people who violate the autonomy of others.

Ultimately, the Christian demand for an authority is quelled by the fact that we, at the very least, possess the potential to legislate. That is to say that anyone of us can be exemplary moral agents. Kant’s rational will is preferable over the Hobbesian sovereign who can bend and break laws as he pleases. Such a sovereign sounds a lot like god. Also, their demand for a viable non-theistic ethical view has been addressed. The Moral Argument has not only been refuted, but the superiority of procedural realism, as a viable non-theistic view, has also been established.

Works Cited

1 Korsgaard, Christine M., and Onora Neill.The Sources of Normativity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. 36-37. Print.

2 See Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding in Cahn, Steven M. Ed. Classics of Western Philosophy, 7th Ed. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. Indianapolis/Cambridge. 2006. 630-632. Print.

3 Ibid. [2]

4  Pecorino, Philip A. “Chapter Two: Ethical Traditions”. Queensborough Community College. 2002.

5 Goldstein, Rebecca. Plato at the Googleplex: Why Philosophy Won’t Go Away. New York: Pantheon Books, 2014. 105. Print.

6 Churchland, Patricia Smith. Braintrust: What Neuroscience Tells Us About Morality. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2011. 168. Print.

7 Pojman, Louis P. Ethics: Discovering Right and Wrong. Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth Pub., 1990. 84. Print.

8 Ibid. [4]

9 Bagnoli, Carla. “Constructivism in Metaethics”. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2011.

The Failure of The Golden Rule

By R.N. Carmona

The Golden Rule (“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”) is very often held up as a judicious rule, and exceptionless rule, and a rule that is universally espoused, or very close to it. (Ironically perhaps, Confucius, though known to prefer the development of virtues to instruction by rules, might have been among the first to give voice to a version of this maxim, though given his broad approach to morality, it is likely he offered it as general advice rather than as an exceptionless rule.) So it must be asked: since we are familiar with the Golden Rule, and it seems like an excellent rule, why are moral philosophers still hunting around for the fundamental rule that should guide all behavior? What more than adherence to the Golden Rule do we need to live a virtuous life?

The general appeal of the Golden Rule has not gone unappreciated by moral philosophers, but they have also realized it has shortcomings as a reliable guide in moral conflict. Under scrutiny, the Golden Rule is not quite what it is advertised to be. First, although “do unto others…” is serviceable enough in the early stages of a child’s socialization, and even a moderately good rule of thumb for common daily social interactions, its application is nothing like as general as is assumed. Consider one huge domain of human action, namely defensive war. Soldiers do kill their enemies while earnestly desiring that their enemies not kill them. And this is regarded as the right thing for a soldier to do, though it contravenes the Golden Rule. Unfortunately, if a soldier does unto his enemies as he would be done by, he stands to be done in.

More generally, in policing and maintaining the peace, “do unto others” applies only problematically, and usually not literally. As a police officer, I might put a child kidnapper in a headlock without at all wishing he put me in a headlock. Likewise, jurors might feel obliged to send the accused to prison without wanting themselves to be sent to prison, even had they been similarly guilty, and so on and on.

Well, one might respond, the Golden Rule is obviously not meant to apply to those situations. Fine, but its claim to be universally applicable is therefore compromised, and in any case, the exception-to-the-rule problem arises again: if there are rules “all the way down,” what more basic rule do we invoke in saying the Golden Rule does not apply? To what are we appealing when we claim a fairly obvious and morally acceptable exception? Perhaps, a deeper, more Golden Ur-Rule—the Platinum Rule? What would that be ? As remarked earlier, knowing what is “obvious” here depends, exactly as Aristotle thought, on background common sense and moral judgement. That, however, is not a capacity that consults a set of rules to tell us when an exception is an allowable exception to the Golden Rule. Most people recognize an obvious exception when given a case, but there’s no evidence that they achieve this recognition by application of a deeper rule.

So the basic answer concerning the Golden Rule as the unconditional, universally applicable rule to guide what we ought to do is quite simple. It is not unconditionally and universally applicable. In many cases, such as the Memorial Hospital tragedy, the Golden Rule just does not get us very far. Worse, in cases where the do-gooder is a besotted ideologue, his application of the Golden Rule may give him precisely the justification he wants for doing what others regard as absolutely heinous things, such as engaging in genocide with the best will in the world.

Churchland, Patricia Smith. Braintrust: What Neuroscience Tells Us About Morality, p. 168-169, 173. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2011. Print.

Churchland’s remarks are in line with the criticisms of other philosophers. The Golden Rule is a rudimentary iteration of egoism. Aside from giving an ideologue justification, it also leaves one open to being taken advantage of. More importantly, the Golden Rule fails on a number of practical fronts. As Churchland states, it isn’t universally applicable and it falls short of being a reliable guide in the social and ethical spheres. Let us review this failure in more detail.

Given that Jesus and the father are one, I related the Golden Rule to the Moral Argument. If moral values and duties hinge on god’s existence and Jesus is god, then the basis of these moral values and duties would be the Golden Rule: “whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them” (Matthew 7:12). Yet there’s a problem in that the Golden Rule is a rudimentary iteration of egoism: what I find beneficial or harmful dictates my moral decisions. This is analogous to the Golden Rule.

That leads to some questions, however: how do I know that what I find satisfactory will be considered such by others? How can I know that what works for me will work for others? To simply assume that would be fallacious, namely the subjectivist fallacy: what works for me works for others. Yet this is precisely what the Golden Rule calls for. Unfortunately, the Golden Rule doesn’t ask us to account for personal or cultural differences. In Hispanic cultures, we expect full hospitality when we’re guests in your home. Specifically, if you’re a close friend or family member, and you’ve invited us over, we expect to be fed. We expect a seat at your dinner table and some of your home cooked dinner. Other cultures don’t always expect this of their friends and families. Living in an urban populace has acquainted me with that fact firsthand.

There is, however, a glaring issue with the Golden Rule. Jesus, god incarnate, has made you the moral arbiter. Whatever you wish people do to you, do also to them; he stated that “this is the Law and the Prophets.” Not only are you assuming that because something works for you, it will work for others, but you now have final say on what’s right or wrong. God no longer makes that decision, so his commands are arbitrary. If the Golden Rule is the basis of the Moral Argument, then the Moral Argument is self-contradictory. Either morality is contingent on god or it is up to us to decide what’s right and what’s wrong. It can’t be both. Yet god gave you the keys to the moral kingdom.

In ethicist fashion, the Golden Rule is utterly inapplicable. If applied to business, it simply wouldn’t work. Again, the Golden Rule doesn’t account for personal and cultural differences. Businesses have failed to succeed in other countries because they assumed that what works for their population will work for other populations. In other words, if Americans like sweet soft drinks, the Chinese will also. If I were to be CEO of an airline, and I were to reason that because I find coach satisfactory, none of my planes should have first class seating, my airline would certainly fail. In business, I cannot treat others as I wish to be treated.

In medicine this doesn’t work either. When removing my wisdom teeth, I chose nitrous oxide over anesthetic injection. If I were a doctor, on the basis of the Golden Rule, since I wish for doctors to use nitrous oxide during my surgeries then I’ll give nitrous to all of my patients. Where is their autonomy? Where is their choice? Where is their right to decide how they want to go about this? The Golden Rule cannot apply to medicine.

It doesn’t apply to education. If I were to become a professor that teaches students based on how I like to be taught, I will actually harm some of my students. What works for me doesn’t work for everyone. Just because I wish for my professors to be (preferably) passionate about their fields, enthusiastic when they speak, and do their best to teach using visuals doesn’t mean that I should become a professor who teaches using mostly visuals. Some students may even be put off if I’m too enthusiastic though, in general, that doesn’t pose an issue. What does pose an issue is the assumption that everyone learns equally.

Ultimately, the Golden Rule, Jesus’ and therefore god’s basis of morality, is inapplicable to our everyday lives. If applied in the fields discussed and certainly others not discussed, the results would be disastrous. It’s also fallacious since it falls victim to subjectivist fallacy. What works for me does not work for everyone else. Aside from this, it is a primitive iteration of egoism, which is generally considered a failed ethical system. As stated earlier, we often act without thinking about our own happiness or benefit. We often act selflessly rather than on the basis of self-interest. Moving outside of the Golden Rule, it fails to account for personal preferences and cultural differences. It fails to account for a person’s autonomy: this is how you want to be treated, so this is how I’ll treat you. Does a person not have a choice in how they want to be treated?

Given this, the notion that the Golden Rule is a principle of empathy is wrong. I think empathy is fully achieved when you have developed the ability to attend to someone else whilst knowing what a given circumstance means to them and on the basis of this, treat them in accordance with or even via their perspective. This sort of empathy is perfectly in keeping with Neo-Kantian ethics. In treating you this way, I honor your autonomy. I’m not, for instance, lecturing you on how the death of a loved one gets easier over time because that’s what worked for me. I listen, I inquire, and then I do what I think you find most meaningful. You may not want a spiel on how it gets easier and the cliche “time heals all wounds”; you may instead prefer a hug, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear that will listen to the memories you have of this loved one. And that’s what I’ll offer you. I will not offer you what works for me because I recognize that we’re different people that are perhaps from different cultures; we have different preferences, had different upbringings, and ultimately, have different brains. We simply work differently and the Golden Rule fails to account for that. So if the Golden Rule is god’s basis for moral values and duties–and given that Jesus is god, I see no reason to think otherwise–he can keep his values. We have advanced far beyond his failed ethical view. For us atheists, there’s no wonder as to why that’s the case.

The Kalam Cosmological Argument and The Problem of Induction

By R.N. Carmona

Though the Kalam Cosmological Argument (KCA) is a deductive argument, it imports inductive reasoning. Since there’s a distinction between argument and reasoning, it should apply to, at least, some deductive arguments.1 To see where this occurs, it is necessary to restate P1 of the KCA: Whatever begins to exist has a cause.2

Before demonstrating how P1 imports inductive reasoning, a distinction must be made between the common application of the Problem of Induction and what it is it actually entails. The common application of the problem focuses on the notion that given the uniformity of nature, the future will be like the past. For Hume, the uniformity of nature is used to justify induction. It is, however, important to note that Hume never explicitly mentioned induction. The Problem of Induction is derived from Hume’s discussion on causation.3 This notion is at the center of the common application of the Problem of Induction. It does, however, have broader application.

The problem should focus on beliefs concerning matters of fact that extend beyond experience and observation. These beliefs could be about past, unobserved present, and future events, objects, or phenomena.4 This is key to seeing how the first premise of the KCA imports inductive reasoning.

Disregarding discussions on the nature of time, i.e. whether time corresponds with A-theory or B-theory, the past and the future, intuitively speaking, have something in common. In science, predictions are often made about the future and the past; the latter is increasingly being referred to as a retrodiction.5 The reason predictions are necessary about the past and the future is because they are out of the reach of our experience and observational apparatus. Since we cannot directly observe or experience the past and the future, inductive inferences are necessary to draw conclusions about both.

When one argues that, whatever begins to exist has a cause, one is employing inductive reasoning. During one’s lifetime, one has noticed that every effect is preceded by a cause. However, in order to argue that this has always been the case, per Hume, one has to assume the uniformity of nature. It follows that one is making an inductive inference about the past.

From an epistemic standpoint, the Problem of Induction is also the problem of transfer of belief in the evidence. Though it is true that people believe things that lack evidence, conclusions are often supported by evidence. So the problem occurs in the bond between a conclusion and the evidence said to support it–specifically in the transfer from belief in the evidence to belief in a given conclusion. This transfer of belief is what Hume sought to address. He didn’t want to call into question the belief itself, but rather, the grounds of said belief.6

Much of this shouldn’t be news for the Christian or theist. When addressing proponents of scientism or when attempting to downplay the superiority of scientific over religious reasoning, they are both fond of invoking the Problem of Induction.7 Unfortunately, they fail to realize that it’s imported into an argument they’re also quite fond of. If it’s an actual problem, then the implications of the problem apply to the KCA. In other words, if the Problem of Induction cites a lack of justification for beliefs about the past that are out of the range of experience and observation, the Christian and theist aren’t justified in saying that whatever begins to exist has a cause. Since the premise lacks justification, there’s no way to establish its soundness. Therefore, given P2’s connection to P1, we cannot establish the soundness of P2. It follows that we cannot establish the soundness of the argument as a whole.

In the past, I’ve been pointedly critical of the KCA. I focused, for instance, on the concept of causation.8 I also located a common fallacy within the argument.9 One would be hard pressed to establish the soundness of the argument even if P1 didn’t feature inductive reasoning, which the Christian and theist admit has problematic implications. With that said, this isn’t so much a rebuttal of the argument, but rather, another spotlight on the double think of theists, Christians in particular.

It seems as though Christians don’t care to correct the inconsistency within their arguments. They can’t invoke the Problem of Induction whenever it suits them only to discard it whenever it doesn’t. If one is intellectually honest, consistency is required.  If they admit that there’s a Problem of Induction and that it is still without sufficient reply, as apologists have argued, then the implications of the problem are also imported into P1 of the KCA. I find that this conclusion is inescapable.

Works Cited

1 Will, Frederick L.. Is There a Problem of Induction? The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 39, No. 19, pp. 505-513. 1942. Print. 

2 Craig, William L. “In Defense of the Kalam Cosmological Argument”Reasonable Faith.

3 Burns, Samuel R.. The Problem of Deduction: Hume’s Problem Expanded. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. 2009. Print.

4 Fritz Jr., Charles A.. What is Induction? The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 57, No. 4, pp. 126-138. 1960. Print. 

5 Barrett, Martin, Sober, Elliott. Is Entropy Relevant to the Asymmetry Between Prediction and Retrodiction? (1992); Steinitz, Yuval. Prediction versus Retrodiction in MIll (1994); Begun, David R. Human Evolution: Retrodictions and Predictions (2005); Christopher J. Ellison, John R. Mahoney, James P. Crutchfield. Prediction, Retrodiction, and The Amount of Information Stored in the Present (2009).

6 Oliver, Donald W.. A Re-examination of the Problem of Induction. The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 49, No. 25, pp. 769-780. 1952. Print. 

7 See “Does scientific knowledge presuppose God? A reply to Carroll, Coyne, Dawkins and Loftus” by Vincent Torley

8 See “Dispotions, Causality, and the Kalam Cosmological Argument”

9 See “A Simple Rebuttal: Kalam Cosmological Argument”

On The Leibnizian Cosmological Argument

By R.N. Carmona

A Christian on the Humans of New York Instagram page brought up the Leibnizian Cosmological Argument (LCA) and named a few of its Christian defenders. Like I’m fond of pointing out, in naming just Christian defenders of the argument, it is likely he hasn’t considered actual objections. He’s read a degraded form of objections via the lens of these Christian authors. This is why I call apologetics, pseudo-philosophy.

In actual philosophical discourse, the participants in a given discussion are as charitable to one another as possible and they try very hard to ensure that nothing is lost in translation. They constantly correct themselves if they misinterpret what their opponent has said or they attempt to show that their interpretation better captures what their opponent is trying to say. Apologists don’t do this. Apologists straw man an objection, sometimes in ways that seem sophisticated, in order to make the argument or counter-argument easier to address. This is precisely why I advised him to deal with J.L. Mackie, for example–to read him directly and not through the lens of one of his favored authors. Then he would find that even Christians reject the Leibnizian Cosmological Argument (LCA).

A quick example of what I mean: in responding to my Argument From Cosmology, my opponent says that the opposite of my conclusion is as follows: the fact that an x can’t be shown to exist in relation to y doesn’t mean that x doesn’t exist*; in other words, that god can’t be shown to exist in relation to the Earth doesn’t mean god doesn’t exist. Yet on Judaism and Christianity, god created the Earth. Modern science tells us that planets have no creator; they form naturally over an extended period of time. We have real time data of planet formation in other systems. The history of our planet doesn’t resemble anything mentioned in the Bible. By extension, I argue that god doesn’t exist in relation to the universe, since he didn’t create it. Modern cosmology tells us as much.

His assertion is not enough to refute my argument. In fact, all he’s concluding is the opposite of what he misunderstood as my conclusion. My actual conclusion is this: x does not exist in relation to y iff it is necessary that x exist in relation to y. If god did not create the Earth or the universe, he doesn’t exist in relation to either, and by extension, doesn’t exist; however, on Christianity, it is necessary that he does. This is precisely what his favored LCA says. Through the Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR), for every being or state of affairs that exist, there is a sufficient reason for why they exist. It then adds, that for every being or state of affairs that exist, there is a necessary reason for why they exist. Therefore, god is the necessary and sufficient reason for why these states of affairs exist.

My Argument From Cosmology best captures a decisive criticism of the LCA without directly engaging it. J.L. Mackie stated that PSR need not be assumed by reason. Reason only asks for antecedent causes and conditions that explain each being or state of affairs. These are considered facts until they themselves are explained by something prior to them. On reason, nothing is prerequisite beyond this.

Thus, going back to my conclusion, x does not exist in relation to y iff it is necessary that x exist in relation to y. In order for Christianity to hold true, god would have had to create the Earth and the universe. If we have reason to doubt that he created the Earth, and modern science establishes this conclusively, then we have much reason to doubt that he created the universe. If the Earth can be explained by antecedent causes and conditions, then the universe can as well. My argument offers a number of plausible explanations fielded in modern cosmology all whilst arguing that there cannot be the type of causation Christians would require, i.e., the type of causation that allows for an immaterial agent to create material objects. At best, such causation is unknowable and it is probable that there will be no hard evidence for it; hence the Christian must retreat to agnosticism. At worst, such causation is impossible and there cannot be any evidence for it; thus, the Christian must retreat to atheism.

Ultimately, my argument addresses the LCA by implication, i.e., my argument implies a defeater of the LCA. Therefore, I do not have to address it directly. The same can be said of the KCA. Rebuttals to both arguments are implicit in my argument. That fact alone should give apologists pause.

In any case, my point has been made: apologetics is pseudo-philosophy. Apologists prop it up by being uncharitable and purposely (in most cases) misinterpreting a claim or argument made by atheists. Apologists are also modern sophists: it matters not how things might be or probably are; what matters is what they think is the case, what they say is the case, or what they deem possible–as though possibility implies probability. Apologists are also quite fond of straw men, which they use to make their arguments seem superior to those of their opponents. Unlike them, I have defined PSR correctly and I’ve summarized the LCA charitably. However, I’ve also shown that my Argument From Cosmology considers the LCA, albeit indirectly. My argument implies a decisive blow to the LCA. It is therefore necessary to deal with my argument directly; it isn’t enough to choose a favored argument and deem it superior on the basis of a misinterpretation of my conclusion.

*His assessment is correct assuming that x isn’t necessary with relation to y. The fact that I (x) cannot be explained with relation to an invention (y) doesn’t mean I do not exist. Even the actual inventor of invention (y) doesn’t have this sort of connection to the invention in question. Another agent could have been the inventor. On Christianity, however, there are no other gods and hence no other creators. Thus, if god did not create the Earth, there is reason to doubt he created anything else in the universe and therefore, the universe itself. As stated, for Christianity to be true, it need only be shown that god is necessary in this possible world; the LCA, as originally formulated, wants Anselm’s deity and therefore, on the LCA, god is necessary in all possible worlds. My argument casts much doubt on this, especially since god is the necessary being antecedent to all contingent beings. If this connection fails on a minor front, e.g., god didn’t create all baseballs, that’s fine, for even then he would underlie the reason for the reason of the baseballs, namely human beings. If it fails on a major front, as I’ve shown in the case of the Earth and all planets for that matter, a glaring problem arises for Christians, for even if they posit a being that willed the laws of physics, what they have is a deity far removed from the deity in the Bible. That would make for a separate discussion altogether.

A Brief Examination of the Historical Reliability of Acts

By R.N. Carmona

The questions that are most relevant to understanding Acts is when and why it was written. To many Christians, the answer is quite simple. Despite the story-like continuation from the Gospel of Luke, they take it to be a straightforward history of Christianity’s inception. The book begins with Jesus’ ascension into heaven and continues by following the activities of the Apostles thereafter.

Without getting into the book’s more fantastical bits, e.g., Peter healing with his shadow (Acts 5:15); Paul’s healing handkerchiefs and aprons (Acts 19:12), one can cast doubt on the historical reliability of Acts. The anonymous writer of Acts and Paul sometimes write about the same events in Paul’s life and though some discrepancies are minor and even negligible, others cast doubt on its historical reliability. Bart Ehrman explains:

Paul is quite emphatic in the epistle to the Galatians that after he had his vision of Jesus and came to believe in him he did *not* go to Jerusalem to consult with the apostles (1:15-18). This is an important issue for him, because he wants to prove to the Galatians that his gospel message did not come from Jesus’ followers in Jerusalem (the original disciples and the church around them) but from Jesus himself. His point is that he has not corrupted a message that he received from someone else; his gospel came straight from God, with no human intervention. The book of Acts, of course, provides its own narrative of Paul’s conversion. In this account, strikingly enough, Paul does exactly what he claims *not* to have done in Galatians: after leaving Damascus some days after his conversion, he goes directly to Jerusalem and meets with the apostles (Acts 9:10-30).1

Erhman explains that Paul could have lied about not consulting the Apostles. In Galatians 1:20, Paul asserts that he isn’t lying. Erhman, therefore, sees this as a discrepancy stemming from the writer of Acts.

It is important to note that Paul, in the Book of Acts, is depicted differently from how Paul represents himself in the Epistles. These differences will be made clear below. To understand why there are differences between Paul in Acts and Paul in his own Epistles, we need to understand why it was written. Prior to understanding why it was written, we need to answer the question of when it was written.

I. When Was Acts Written?

Though Acts is usually dated between 80 and 90 CE, the consensus isn’t based on evidence. As Richard Pervo explains: “Scholarly consensus has dated Luke and Acts at c. 85, with a dwindling number who place the work in the 60s and a larger minority who prefer the last decade of the first century. The consensus date is a convenient compromise that seems to demand little proof.”2

Pervo goes on to explain that it is likelier that Acts was written around 115 CE for a couple of reasons. One reason is that the author shows familiarity with Paul’s Epistles and with Josephus’ Antiquities, the latter of which was written around 94 CE. The main reason, as Pervo explains, is that the author seemed preoccupied with the concerns of early second century apologists who took on the task of defending their faith against polytheists and heretical Christian factions.

II. Why Was Acts Written?

Given this, one can then answer why Acts was written. One reason it was written was to respond to critics of the so called proto-orthodox view. It was written as a response to polytheists, but more importantly, it was written as a response to heretical factions. The most prominent of these factions were the Marcionites. Robert Price explains:

Knox argues persuasively, along many lines, that Luke-Acts was a second-century Catholic response to Marcion’s Sputnik, the Apostolicon. Canonical Luke was a catholicizing expansion of the same Ur-Lukas Marcion had slightly abbreviated, while Acts was a sanitized substitute for Marcion’s Pauline Corpus. Thus it presents a Paul who, though glorified, is co-opted, made the merest Narcissus-reflection of the Twelve–and who writes no epistles, but only delivers an epistle from the Jerusalem apostles! Knox sees the restoration of the Pauline letters (domesticated by the “dangerous supplement” of the Pastorals) and the addition of three other gospels and several non-Pauline epistles, In short the whole formation of the New Testament canon, as a response to the challenge of Marcion and the Marcionite church.3

As Ehrman explained earlier, there’s a major discrepancy between the Pauline Epistles and Acts concerning how Paul acquired his message. It must be stated that though Ehrman sides with Epistles on the matter, i.e., Paul did not get his message from the Apostles, this does not mean that he believes Paul’s account, namely that he received his message directly from Jesus.

1 Peter, 1 Clement, and the Gospel of John have much in common with the Pauline Epistles. As Pervo explains, 1 Peter agrees with some of Paul’s theology; 1 Clement quotes Paul, but diverges from his theology; the Gospel of John shares much of his theology though it developed independently. This is to say that Paul’s theology isn’t unique and that it did not have to come directly from an apparition of Jesus.

III. Two Pauls?

The author of Acts, a person claiming to have been Paul’s companion, clearly isn’t attempting to discredit Paul’s claim. Yet the question still remains: why is Paul in Acts different from Paul in the Epistles? Accounts of his life are different and his theology differs in key respects. This was done because the author of Acts–both Pervo and Ehrman agree–wanted to promote unity among believers by showing that Paul, Peter, and James were in agreement. As Ehrman explains:

For Acts the whole point is that Paul, Peter, James, and in fact all the apostles were completely simpatico, totally on the same page in terms of doctrine and practice, united in every way. And so he tells the story differently from Paul. And in fact in ways that flat out contradict Paul.4

There are two contradictions that stand out. One is that Paul wants to make clear that he was on a Gentile mission. Acts, on the other hand, has Paul giving most of his sermons to Jews. Another contradiction is Paul’s theology with regards to polytheism. According to his Romans 1:18-32, polytheists were not ignorant of the one true god and thus, their idolatry was an act of disobedience worthy of punishment. On Acts 17, it’s precisely the opposite: pagans are simply ignorant of the one true god and are not to be held accountable.

Conservative scholars have argued that the latter of these contradictions can be resolved by separating the audiences Paul was addressing. His softer approach in Acts was simply a means to convert polytheists. However, there’s another, more plausible, option. Ehrman explains:

Luke, rather than Paul, is the author of the speech on the Areopagus, just as he is the author of all the other speeches in his account, as we saw in Chapter 9. This goes a long way toward explaining why so many of the speeches in Acts sound so similar to one another, regardless of who the speaker is — why, that is, Paul sounds like Peter and Peter sounds like Paul (compare the speeches of Acts 2 and 13, for example). Rather than embodying *Paul’s* view of the pagan religions, then, the Areopagus speech may embody *Luke’s* view, representing the kind of evangelistic address that he imagines would have been appropriate to the occasion.5

If one is unfamiliar with Paul’s Epistles, specifically Galatians, one would think that Paul and Peter were always in agreement. One would think that they agreed on circumcision and more generally, that they were in agreement concerning either the abolition of the Jewish law or the fulfillment of the law through Jesus. In other words, one would assume that they thought the law was no longer applicable.

However, this contrasts sharply with Galatians 2. In short, Peter was in the habit of eating with Gentiles. When Jews came to Antioch, he stopped doing so because Jews were to behave in a certain way, and this meant not eating with Gentiles. Paul strongly disagreed with Peter’s obedience to the law and argued that Peter missed the point of salvation through Christ. Here we have Peter and Paul on opposite ends of the spectrum rather than in full agreement with one another.

There’s also the fact that in Acts, Paul is not recognized or depicted as an apostle. This is at variance with what he says about himself in the Epistles. As Pervo explains: “Although the Paul of Acts is not an apostle in name, Luke and Paul agree that the missionary to the gentiles follows and identifies with his master…Acts presents Paul as a Jerusalem missionary, subordinate to the community there, a Christian preacher who has not severed his connection with the Pharisaic party.”6

Paul was no doubt an important figure in the early Christian community. If going by his own words, we see a theology that identifies a sharp delineation between the old and the new, between Judaism and Christianity. Rather than maintain a connection with Pharisees, Paul severed all ties as he didn’t promote observance of the law. His own words, which were written earlier than Acts, should take precedence. As Pervo observes:

Given their different situations and disparate outlooks, it should come as no surprise that the Paul of Acts is at considerable variance with the Paul who appears in the epistles. Luke evidently felt obliged to update Paul for the current situation. There is nothing novel about that. The same charge may be laid against Augustine of Hippo, Martin Luther, and John Wesley, to name but three from a lengthy catalogue of those motivated by Paul to erect fresh theological systems and launch new eras and movements. The real mystery, for those in quest of one, is why anyone has ever sought to prove that the Paul of Acts and the Paul of the letters thought and acted in similar ways. The obvious clue, a smoking gun if ever one was, is that the driving concern of this effort is not theology, but history. To the degree that Acts portrays not only Paul, but also Peter and James, in colors derived from the palette of Lucan theology, its historical value is considerably compromised.7

IV. Other Historical Problems

Aside from its depiction of Paul, there are other problems present in Acts that should make clear that it isn’t history. Historians have methods. Regardless of this, people who read the Gospels and Acts as history commit two fallacies that run counter to these methods. The first, coined by Richard Carrier, but noticed by others, is possibiliter ergo probabiliter (possible therefore probable).8 As Pervo observes, “[n]ot all that is possible is probable, and some probabilities are greater than others.”Related to this fallacy is the assumption that once one sets aside all the fantastical bits, whatever remains is true. This, however, ignores why a given passage was written.

When it comes to the Book of Acts, why a passage was written and by extension, why the book was written is crucial to understanding the book. Seeing it as straightforward history misses the point, which is theological and not historical. The point is no better made than by Acts 9. Acts 9 introduces us to a Christian community without telling us how or when it got there. From there, it tells us that the high priest tasks Paul with seizing these believers and bringing them to Jerusalem. As Pervo explains:

It is most unlikely that the chief priest possessed the power to interfere in the affairs of another province and have its residents extradited to stand trail for capital charges (cf. 26:10) in his court. This is a fantasy with serious historical implications. It has become the basis of the portrait of Paul the Persecutor.10

He goes on to explain that though Paul admits to persecuting Christians, e.g., Galatians 1:13, it is much more likely that his persecution was verbal and not physical. Luke prefers physical persecution because it supports a theological point. In Matthew 24:9, Jesus prophesies of Christians being brought to death. He doesn’t prophesy of Christians being opposed in debate. He doesn’t speak of polemics written against their beliefs or satire designed to debase their claims. This might go a long way in explaining why Luke preferred stories of martyrs rather than stories of Christians who couldn’t hold their own in a debate or who couldn’t address slanderous polemics and satire written against their beliefs.

Another passage with theological intents is Acts 13. The mission to Cyprus simply doesn’t read like history. It revolves around a Jewish sorcerer who goes blind and then converts to Christianity. The passage is only meant to showcase Paul’s power in Christ, so to speak. Acts is about legitimizing Paul’s ministry and also about reframing his history as partly told in the Epistles. The motivation for doing so is, once again, theological and not historical.

There are many other historical difficulties that can be discussed, e.g. Timothy’s circumcision, the improbable route from Cyprus to Derbe, Paul and Silas’ Roman citizenship, the chronology used by Luke. The point here has been to briefly discuss the historical reliability of Acts, so none of these points will be belabored here. It will prove useful to return to Acts 18 for one final example of the theological motivation in Acts.

In Acts 18 we are introduced to Apollos, who was a Christian with an outdated baptismal theology. He, in other words, preached the baptism of John and had to be corrected by Aquila and Priscilla concerning the baptism of the spirit. As stated earlier, Acts was written as a response to critics of the proto-Orthodox views. Some of the earliest so called heretical factions were gnostics. When speaking of gnostics, one should think of a diverse set of groups rather than one group. There was one thing these groups may have had in common and that becomes important in Acts 18. The gnostics were popular among women and this is because they weren’t on board with the patriarchal thinking of proto-Orthodox Christians. If Acts preserves any history, it preserves the fact that men held positions of authority in the early church. Acts 18 momentarily subverts that by having not only Aquila, but also Priscilla, correct Apollos. Priscilla was a female figure who was more than likely a literary device and a character stemming from theological motivation. She was, in other words, the proto-Orthodox answer to the gnostics or better said, one of the answers.

In the previous chapter (Acts 17), the writer of Acts makes no distinction between the male and female converts. He does, however, name two of the female converts: Damaris and Dionysius. In Acts 16, he names another female convert, Lydia. In Acts 21, the daughters of Philip are mentioned and emphasis is put on their gift of prophecy. These women are further responses to gnostics.

Given this, part of the reason Acts was written was to show that women had authority in the church and that they could also have the gifts of the spirit. It is likely that these stories were meant to dispense with the notion that the proto-Orthodox community was unpopular with women and that it had a penchant for putting men in positions of authority. Along those lines, Acts could have been meant to show a reversal of patriarchal thought, especially when one considers 1 Corinthians 14:34. Again, Paul’s Epistles were written earlier and thus, they take precedence. The notion of keeping women silent in church contradicts the stories briefly surveyed above. Aside from being yet another way the Paul in Acts differs from the Paul of the Epistles, the women in Acts are perhaps the strongest point to be made for the conclusion that Acts was written for theological reasons. If so, the Book of Acts is far from straightforward history and its historical reliability is further compromised.

Ultimately, what has been surveyed here is by no means exhaustive. This hasn’t been written to convey the idea of authority, but authorities have been cited and should be consulted on the matter. What’s clear is that Christians are wrong to claim that Acts is a history of the early church. They’re also wrong to claim that its historically reliable, for that entails much more than the previous claim. What they’re saying there is that we can extract historical facts from reading Acts. More specifically, we can extract such facts about Paul, the other Apostles, and the geography of Asia Minor in the early centuries. Yet historians wouldn’t go that far and that’s because their methods are at variance with the fallacies underlying the approach Christians and more specifically, apologists take. Acts, like the Gospels, isn’t history nor is it historically reliable. It’s a theological narrative that serves a theological purpose and it’s in the best interest of its readers to read it as such.

Works Cited

1 Erhman, Bart. “The Historical Accuracy of Acts (For members)”. Ehrman Blog. 4 Sep 2013. Web.

2 Pervo, Richard I. The Mystery of Acts: Unraveling Its Story. Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2008. 9. Print.

3 Robert M. Price, “The Evolution of the Pauline Canon,” HvTSt 53 (1997): 36-67

4 Erhman, Bart. “Paul in Acts: Part 2”. Ehrman Blog. 22 Jul 2012. Web.

5 Erhman, Bart. “The Accuracy of Acts: Part 2 (For members)”. Ehrman Blog. 5 Sep 2013. Web.

6 Ibid. [2], pp.31-32

7. Ibid. [2], p.37

8 Carrier, Richard. Proving History: Bayes’s Theorem and the Quest for the Historical Jesus. Amherst, NY: Prometheus, 2012. 26-27. Print.

9 Ibid. [2], p.116

10 Ibid. [2], p.123