How to (really) think about metaphysics

Today I was visiting some of the blogs I frequent and I stopped by the blog Atheism and the City, authored by a frequent commenter at my blog who goes by the name “The Thinker”.  He has just posted a review of Chapter 3 of Edward Feser’s book The Last Superstition. There is much to quibble with in Thinker’s post, but I’ll save an attempted refutation of his arguments for another day. My main focus here is regarding his comments on metaphysics and scientism.  I’ve gone on ad nauseum on this blog about the importance of metaphysics, and the falsity and self-refutation of scientism (see here),  but Thinker presents a different spin on this issue—a view he calls “weak scientism”—and therefore I felt the need to point out its falsity, thereby tossing it in the trash-bin with the other failed metaphysical frameworks.

Thinker begins to articulate his thoughts on weak scientism:

 I hold to what is sometimes called "weak scientism." Unlike strong scientism, which says that "the characteristic inductive methods of the natural sciences are the only source of genuine factual knowledge and, in particular, that they alone can yield true knowledge about man and society," weak scientism says that the natural sciences are given a privileged status over metaphysics and logic and all other methods of derived knowledge, but it stops short of saying that science and logic are the "only" ways of yielding true knowledge.

It’s hard to say exactly what Thinker means by the natural sciences entertaining a “privileged status” over metaphysics and logic. Perhaps he means that the natural sciences are more genuine and pure methods for attaining knowledge of reality. It is certainly true that the natural sciences have illumined the majority of beliefs and knowledge that we have about how the natural world behaves. But does this give one warrant to claim that science therefore entertains a privileged status for gaining knowledge about reality, over and above metaphysics? I don’t see how. For, as I’ve argued before, science tells us how the world behaves, but it does not, and cannot, tell us why—only metaphysics can hope to do this. Science might be able to tell us about the four forces of nature, for example, but it cannot tell us why those forces obtain at all as opposed to others. So I fail to see how science should be given a privileged status regarding methods of inquiry above methods like metaphysics.

The Thinker continues:

Furthermore, I apply this privileged status of science mostly when entertaining questions regarding ontology, such as the fundamental nature of reality—for which science is our most reliable epistemology, contrary to what Feser says.

So now Thinker says that science seems to be our most reliable guide for answering questions regarding the fundamental nature of reality. Again, this presents a couple problems. First, science by itself does not have the tools to comment on the fundamental nature of reality. This might seem like an arrogant statement against science, but it’s the truth. Scientific law only describes what already exists and how it behaves. But simply describing what already exists is purely abstract, in that it doesn’t actually enlighten us to the intrinsic nature of what it’s describing. So science simply doesn’t cut deep enough to penetrate the fundamental nature of reality.

Second, the natural sciences necessarily describe only the natural world. Therefore, if there were other aspects of reality, science could not enlighten us one way or another regarding their behavior. In fact, even if there exists no supernatural aspects of reality, science could likewise not comment on its non-behavior. The point is that science is completely silent on the question of what comprises the set of reality and being. To construct my point in another fashion, the description of a set of elements is not sufficient to conclude that only the set exists. Something else would be needed to ground this proposition, and it couldn’t be a mere description of a set’s behavior.

Let’s move on:

No logician could ever derive the physics of quantum mechanics from the laws of logic, or from metaphysics. Only empirical evidence could enlighten us to such phenomena, and the universe is ultimately quantum mechanical in nature.

Thinker continues to make the similar mistakes here. First, I agree that science, and only science, enlightens us to the physics of quantum mechanics and general relativity etc. But nobody ever said that metaphysics was the method of inquiry that should have done this. You see, science uncovers the physical contingencies of the universe that can be repeated and predicted using abstract mathematical equations—equations that could have been different. But, metaphysics enlightens us to the necessities of the universe, and anything that could or would exist. It tells us the ontology of causality, identity, first principles, time and free will etc. So, to once again engage in chest-thumping on behalf of science because of its discoveries of the physical contingencies of the world is simply misplaced here, since metaphysics wasn’t attempting to do this in the first place. It’s like a basketball player praising his dunking ability, while playing soccer. Metaphysics tells us the fundamental nature of reality, and science tells us how this reality happens to behave. The latter is not equivalent to the former.

Second, Thinker shoots himself in the foot here with his last statement about the universe being quantum mechanical in nature. How does he know the universe is entirely quantum mechanical in nature? Well quantum mechanics cannot tell him this, since, to reiterate, QM is only a description of sub-atomically existing matter. How does he know this description constitutes the fundamental nature of reality? Even if he has an answer to this question, it will not be given to him by QM. He will have to have some other fulcrum to lay this proposition upon. And this goes for any set of natural sciences you want to erect as the end-all be-all description of reality. A description of a set simply will not be sufficient for concluding that only what’s in the set is what exists, or that the set does not have an aspect of its nature not captured by the original description. The Thinker’s attempt, then, to ground weak scientism seems to have failed.

The Apocalyptic Jesus (Part II): The imminent kingdom of God

Let us continue with our series which attempts to highlight the imminent eschatology of Jesus (part I here), an eschatology we would label as apocalyptic. In the previous post I highlighted how important it is to interpret the ministry of Jesus against the backdrop of the worldview of second temple Judaism, and how this worldview shaped and catalyzed the apocalyptic framework. This will be important to keep at the forefront as we, in this post, delve into another focal point of Jesus ministry: the Kingdom of God.

To those familiar with the New Testament it should come as no surprise to hear that Jesus’ ministry was organized around and predicated on the Kingdom of God. Jesus spoke of this Kingdom probably more often than he spoke of anything else. In fact, in the book of Matthew alone the phrase “kingdom of God” (or kingdom of Heaven) is used thirty-seven times, while it is used thirty-two times in Luke’s Gospel! In the Lord’s Prayer Jesus famously asked for “Thy Kingdom come.” Scholar Craig Keener notes that “virtually every stratum of Gospel tradition testifies that Jesus regularly announced the kingdom, there should be no doubt that this was a characteristic emphasis of Jesus teaching.” In the same vein,  secular historian Michael Grant claims the following in his book Jesus:

[E]very thought and saying of Jesus was directed and subordinated to one single thing […] the realization of the Kingdom of God  upon the earth[…] This one phrase sums up his whole ministry and his whole life’s work. (p. 10-11)

So it’s clear then, Jesus’ ministry was about one general focal point: the kingdom of God. But what exactly was meant by this phrase? Was it metaphorical or literal? Christians these days interpret the phrase “kingdom of God” as meaning a Christian lifestyle of love, or some interpret it as world evangelization. But in order to find out what Jesus meant by the phrase we need to understand how it was used in second temple Judaism.

In The Historical Jesus of the Gospels Craig Keener claims that in Jesus’ time the phrase “kingdom” signified the concept of “rule”, “reign”, or “authority” (p. 196).  Again, Michael Grant, in agreement with Keener, claims that “the Hebrew term [kingdom] refers not so much to a realm as to the dynamic kingly rule and sovereign action of God.” (p. 15) So, the kingdom of God seems to represent God’s sovereign rule and reign. To quote Keener again, “When Jewish people prayed for God’s kingdom to ‘come,’ they weren’t simply invoking God’s mystical presence among them for the present time; they were praying for God’s future reign to come.” (p. 198)

Moreover, we can survey Jewish texts in the second temple Judaic period and see how they used the phrase “kingdom of God.” The Kaddish prayer states the following: “May he establish his kingdom in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the whole house of Israel, speedily and at a near time.” In the Testament of Moses 10:1 it says that “[God’s] kingdom shall appear throughout his creation, and Satan shall be no more[.]” And from the Dead Sea Scrolls 4Q246 it states the following: “His kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom and all his ways in truth. He will judge the earth in truth and all will make peace. The sword will cease from the earth and all provinces will worship him[.]” These uses of kingdom surely seem to imply the reign, rule and authority of God.

Thus, the phrase “kingdom of God” seems most plausibly to be conceived as the restoration of God’s rule and authority as seen through the Davidic Kingdom, brought about by divine intervention ( see part I).  Again, this is what was expected by most Jews and it makes perfect sense to interpret Jesus’ use of the phrase “kingdom” in this vein—any other interpretation only strains credulity and is anachronistic.  For, as the Jews believed, God’s authority obviously was not being exercised in second temple Judaism since the Jews were still being oppressed. But, His rule was soon to come, and his Kingdom would be established once and for all. At least this is what Jesus and many Jews believed.

This brings us to Jesus actual statements about the kingdom, and exactly how close he believed God’s rule was to being realized:

The kingdom of God has come near you. Luke 10:9

Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come in power. Mark 9:1

The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.  Mark 1:15

You must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. Luke 12:40

Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Mark 13:30

And will God not grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. Luke 18:7-8

Obviously this is the tip of the iceberg. Anyone who’s ever cracked open the New Testament will see phrases of this kind peppered throughout. The point is that Jesus believed God’s intervention, which aimed at establishing his kingdom once and for all was right around the corner. So close in fact that his disciples wouldn’t even die before it happened. So close that Jesus’ own ministry was the first fruits of the ushering of this kingdom. This is apocalypticism, plain and simple.

But this line of thought can be taken even further, and can illuminate further elements of Jesus’ ministry. Think of some of Jesus’ extreme commands in the vein of asceticism: Taking no thought or concern for subsequent days.   To make oneself a eunuch for the kingdom’s sake. A lack of concern for material things, including personal possessions and even shelter. Jesus’ willingness to die etc. (This asceticism is also illuminated in Paul when he told the churches not to marry.) It should be obvious from reading the Gospels that Jesus kept a general distance from the way normal society took its course. He simply didn’t care about what most Jews and Romans cared about. And why should he have, since he believed the world was about to end due to God’s intervention. Why care about possessions if they won’t be important any longer? Why care about what’s going to happen tomorrow, since tomorrow might not come at all? Why care about your family or marrying a woman if such things won’t matter when God intervenes? This point is driven home in Karl Frank’s book With Greater Liberty when he states that “the conviction that the end of the world was near always fostered asceticism.” (p. 30) It should be obvious that this ascetic outlook fits like a glove with an apocalyptic worldview, and therefore gives us more reason to regard Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet.

Thus, we see that Jesus’ ministry rested on the fulcrum of the kingdom of God. Yet we’ve seen that in second temple Judaism the kingdom of God represented God’s eventual intervention which would establish once and for all his sovereign authority. And we’ve seen that Jesus made statements that explicitly state that this intervention was right around the corner and would happen within the lifetime of his disciples. Lastly, we saw that Jesus’ indifference to the common matters of the world makes perfect sense under the condition that Jesus believed the world would be ending soon. Everywhere we turn, the apocalyptic framework makes perfect sense when predicated of Jesus’ ministry. 

Why science cannot (ever) explain the existence of the universe

Can the universe account for its own existence? Can we find, within physics and cosmology, the reason for why physical reality exists at all? Cosmologists and physicists are hopeful that finding an answer to these questions is at least possible and maybe even plausible. For the cosmologist’s job is to search out the origin of the universe—or find out if it had an origin at all—to find out why it exists in the first place, and why and how it came to exist in its current state. Now cosmology has come a long way in the last century and it continues to advance in leaps and bounds. But despite the advancements of physics, I maintain that physicists will never in principle be able to explain the existence of physical reality.

I realize that in promulgation of this statement I am shouldering a great burden of proof, and that such a statement can even come across as arrogant. However, please note that it is borne out of careful logical study of the philosophy of science, and not from a petulant view of science or scientists. In fact, I have found that it is “skeptics” who arrogantly fail to recognize the explanatory limits of science, and by doing so would only take my aforementioned statement as arrogant because their vision is dogmatically colored by the lens of positivism. However, since this is not the time to get into the hypocritical creeds of the freethought community, let us return to the thesis at hand: science cannot explain why the universe exists. (Note that by “universe” I include any possible meta-universe or multiverse.)

Now, what gives me the right to assert such a blanket statement like this?  Well, the nature of scientific inquiry itself does. You see, as I’ve pointed out before, science operates on inductive conditional statements like “if p, then q”. This is why scientists can run an experiment a finite amount of times and then generalize a conditional statement as a law. (Note again that such an exercise would be moot unless we took things to have shared essences.) And this takes us to the nature of scientific laws themselves. Scientific laws are mere descriptions of the way things tend to behave given certain ideal conditions. These laws are not prescriptive, in that they don’t inform substances on how to behave. Rather, substances behave the way they do and our formulated laws are informed by such behavior.

The pivotal point here is that scientific laws are ontologically dependent on existence, not the other way around. That is to say, scientific laws don’t obtain unless you first have something which actually exists and behaves in some way. That’s why the conditional statements of scientific law start with “if p,” meaning “if some state of actual affairs obtains in reality”.  Now, what exactly does this have to do with science explaining the existence of the universe? Well, if existence logically precedes scientific law, then the latter cannot itself ever explain the former. That is to say, scientific law first needs something already in existence to describe the behavior of—it doesn’t describe non-existence—therefore science is reliant upon existence, and thus existence will always be a higher member in an explanatory chain.  But in order for science to explain the universe it would itself need to be the higher member in an explanatory chain, and since this is logically impossible then it follows necessarily that science cannot in principle explain the existence of the universe.

There’s another point to be made here, however. It should also be noted that science cannot even account for its own laws. That is, science itself cannot determine why the laws are the way they are as opposed to being another way. Here’s why. Either (i) the reason scientific laws are the way they are is to be illumined by another scientific law, or (ii) the reason scientific laws are the way they are is to be illumined by an explanation not susceptible to scientific description. (i) is not a viable option because explaining scientific law by another scientific law just pushes the question back a step and doesn’t answer anything. Moreover, the question was to explain the set of scientific laws, and this cannot be done by another scientific law not in the set since the set already contains all scientific laws. Thus, option (i) isn’t even possible. (This is why arriving at a scientific Theory of Everything is not possible as well.) If one chooses (ii) then we arrive at an explanation not susceptible to science, which only proves my point, namely, that scientific law cannot explain itself.

Implications for naturalism

Now all these points actually have important implications for naturalism as well. For most ontological naturalists naturalism seems to imply physicalism—note that I’m not claiming that naturalism necessarily entails physicalism, only that most naturalists are physicalists. The reason for this is that if all that exists is the natural world and the natural world contains all matter, energy, space and time, then all that exists in the natural world is physical—or it at least supervenes on the physical—and therefore all that exists is physical.

But this means that physics itself should be able, in principle, to arrive at a theory of everything and thereby explain the existence of the physical world. But we’ve just seen above that this is what physics and science cannot, in principle, do. And thus physicalism and naturalism are false—again, based on those who would derive physicalism from naturalism. David Bentley Hart articulates the point numerous times in The Experience of God:

Physical reality cannot account for its own existence for the simple reason that nature—the physical—is that which by definition already exists; existence, even taken as a simple brute fact to which no metaphysical theory is attached, lies logically beyond the system of causes that nature comprises; it is, quite literally, “hyperphysical,” or, shifting into Latin, super naturam. This means not only that at some point nature requires or admits of a supernatural explanation (which it does), but also that at no point is anything purely, self-sufficiently natural in the first place. (p. 96)

To drive the point home one last time, physics and science are at a loss to explain exactly why the physical world is the way it is, and why it exists in the first place. Science is explanatorily inert here. And this should not be the case if physicalism were true. Thus, because of the nature of the universe and the explanatory limits of physics, physicalism is false. What implications should this entail for naturalism? I’ll let the reader decide for themselves.

 

The Apocalyptic Jesus (Part I): Apocalypticism and John the Baptist

I realize that this current series of articles is going to turn off some of my Christian readers—hopefully only momentarily. I understand that. The idea that I’m entertaining and arguing for is completely contrary to any form of orthodox Christianity, and it will be seen as heretical and blasphemous. I understand that as well. But before you dismiss what I’m about to argue, please understand that I once felt the same way. The idea that Jesus (wrongly) expected the world to end in his own lifetime is something that I would have scoffed at only about four years ago. But after reading the scholarly arguments put forward for the apocalyptic Jesus thesis, and after a hard road of trying to convince myself otherwise, this viewpoint just seemed to be the most logical explanation of Jesus’ ministry that I had ever come across. I didn’t want this view to be true, I really didn’t. But at the end of the day I had to follow the evidence where it led; and it is this evidence that I will attempt to put forward over the next few articles. I admonish you, the reader, not to let your preconceptions rule your judgment of the evidence—though I know that this is almost impossible. Please try to be as objective as possible and read with an open mind.

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Apocalypticism

It should go without saying that a historical figure’s life, words, and deeds should be studied and judged within the larger context of their immediate culture. Jesus is no different. Jesus lived in the time of second temple Judaism (515 BC-70AD) and during the latter part of this time period a certain worldview was rampant and ubiquitous among the Jews—namely, that of apocalypticism.

Apocalypticism is an eschatology (i.e. set of beliefs about the end of the world) wherein the end of history is brought about by divine intervention and is thought to be happening very soon. It is this belief that became the primary worldview of second temple Jews for a few reasons. You see, starting in the eighth century B.C., the promised land of the Israelites was constantly under attack from foreign powers. The most important of these attacks took place in 586 B.C. and subsequently led to the exile of the Israelites from the southern kingdom and their subsequent oppression by the Babylonians. This exile was interpreted by the prophets as punishment from God for Israel’s lack of faithfulness and sin. So the prophets promised that if Israel got their act together and sincerely repented of their unfaithfulness, then God would restore them their land and would reestablish them among the nations. But unfortunately the land was never restored back to their control and their land was continually dominated by more and more increasingly powerful nations, despite the fact that Israel had indeed repented of their unfaithfulness—this happened for a couple centuries. So if Israel, God’s chosen people, had done what God wanted, then why wasn’t he fighting for them any longer? Why was he now the one no longer being faithful?

This is exactly what Israel was asking itself, and out of these questions apocalypticism was generated. For it was then thought that Israel was no longer being punished by God for being unfaithful, rather Israel was being punished by God’s enemies (both spiritual and physical) for being faithful! Thus, the Israelites were suffering for their faith, instead of suffering for lacking it, as had previously taken place. Moreover, Jews were beginning to stand up to their oppressors, and consequently were being martyred left and right for their faith; thus cognitive dissonance caused the Jews to cook up an afterlife and a day of final judgment, in which the faithful would be vindicated, and the enemies of God who were oppressing his chosen people would finally get what they had coming to them—since God obviously wasn’t doing this currently. This day of God’s intervention, restoration, and subsequent judgment was seen to be more and more imminent, because it was thought that God surely would not let his children suffer needlessly. Hence, it was seen by a majority of Jews in second temple Judaism that God’s cosmic intervention was right around the corner, and any day now the messiah would come and drop the curtain on this inversion of world powers.

We see these pronouncements of apocalypticism in the Assumption of Moses, 1 Enoch, the Book of Daniel, Isaiah 24-27, Zechariah 9-14, 4^th Ezra, the Apocalypse of Abraham, 2^nd Baruch, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and in the Essene movement. The point is that second temple Judaism was soaked in an apocalyptic worldview, and it is in this context that the ministry of Jesus must be interpreted—to claim the opposite is anachronistic. To quote critical NT scholar Dale Allison from the book The Apocalyptic Jesus: [T]o propose that Jesus thought the end to be near is just to say that he believed what many others in his time and place believed. (p. 23)

The question then is, Did Jesus really believe the end was near?

Those that came before and after

One way to best understand Jesus’ ministry is to survey the ministry which was the genesis for his own, as well as surveying the ministry that was generated from his. Let us begin with the former.

It is no secret that Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist. For Jesus to submit himself to be baptized by John, he obviously had some theological and doctrinal continuity with him and his ministry.  As Scholar Craig Keener notes in The Historical Jesus of the Gospels, the “baptism indicates, at the least, that Jesus knew and accepted John’s message[…] Jesus’ message stood in continuity with John’s[.]” (p. 176) Not only this, but Jesus explicitly praised and endorsed the Baptist himself. He stated that John was “more than a prophet” (Matthew 11:9) and that “among those born of women there has not risen one greater than he.” (Matthew 11:11) Therefore, it seems clear that Jesus thought very highly of John, and, since John preceded him, Jesus believed his ministry to be a continuation of John’s.

But what exactly did John the Baptist preach? Well John was quite clear that Israel needed to turn to God and repent, but why? Well, John asked “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” and stated that “the ax is laid to the root of the trees.” (Luke 3: 7 and 9) That is to say, John expected God to intervene soon—the ax is laid to the root of the trees—and therefore repentance was necessary if one wanted to be on God’s side when he intervened. Again, Keener states that “John was a wilderness prophet proclaiming impending judgment.” (p. 167)

Moreover, the fact that John was a prophet living in the wilderness should not be overlooked. You see, many Jews expected Israel’s restoration to occur in the wilderness—partly because of verses like Hosea 2:14-23—and the prophets seem to have insinuated that a new exodus would take place there. The Qumran community was an apocalyptic movement and they lived exclusively in the wilderness for the same reasons—though it is not thought that John was part of the Qumrans. Thus, a ministry in the wilderness, as John had, seems to have clear apocalyptic implications.

So, it seems that Jesus had continuity with John’s ministry, and his ministry seems to have had an apocalyptic element to it. And thus it makes even more sense to view Jesus as an apocalypticist due to his theological predecessor John the Baptist. But what about Jesus’ immediate followers and successors? Did they show any signs of imminent eschatological expectations? You bet they did. Let us survey just a few verses to demonstrate this:

Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers. (Romans 13:11)

In a very little while, the one who is coming will come and will not delay. (Hebrews 10:37)

You must also be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. (James 5:8)

The one who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’ (Revelation 22:20)

It should be quite apparent from these verses that the earliest followers of the Jesus movement expected their salvation and vindication—which included the return of Jesus—to manifest very soon. At any moment Jesus would be riding on the clouds to usher in that very thing.

So where did this belief come from? Because this belief was not some peripheral doctrine of Jesus’ immediate followers.  It seems to be a ubiquitous eschatology that permeates the deepest desires of the Jesus movement.  If Jesus did not believe that the end was near, then why did his posthumous ministry hold to such a belief? How do we explain the ubiquity of apocalypticism in Jesus’ followers? Is it really just plausible to say that Jesus’ followers just all happened to form this mistaken belief independently of one another? Or is it not more plausible that the ubiquity of their belief had its genesis in the teachings and beliefs of him whom they called their Lord?

Now when you pair this with the eschatology of John the Baptist then our thesis becomes even more compelling. For if the Jesus movement branched out from an apocalyticist movement, and if the successors of the Jesus movement maintained apocalypticist beliefs, then it really only makes sense that Jesus himself was also an apocalyticist. The denial of this claim is simply implausible. For then one would have to address why Jesus endorsed John’s ministry, yet had a completely different eschatology—even though his eschatology seems to be apocalyptic, a point we’ll argue for in the next few articles—and why Jesus’ followers jettisoned (their master) Jesus’ eschatology in favor of an apocalyptic one. This latter thesis is too ad hoc and it violates the principle of parsimony. It seems that simplicity prevails here, and it seems most plausible that Jesus, like those immediately before and after him, was an apocalypticist. To quote Dale Allison: “[T]o reconstruct a Jesus who did not have  strong eschatological or apocalyptic orientation entails discontinuity […] with the movement out of which he came as well as with the movement that came out of him. Isn’t presumption against this?” (p. 21)

Richard Carrier on the God hypothesis

Richard Carrier’s book Sense and Goodness without God is one of the best defenses of metaphysical naturalism that I have read. He is very well-read, especially when it comes to philosophy and science, and even though I don’t agree with many of his conclusions, one can infer that his position, as he presents it, is warranted.

That being said, there are a few places in Carrier’s book where he surveys the justification for belief in God, and (shockingly!) finds said justification wanting. Obviously since I’m a theist I vehemently disagree with Carrier, and (also shockingly) I found his reasoning to be a bit sloppy and confused. As such, this post is my attempt to demonstrate where exactly Carrier goes wrong, and why what he says actually points towards God, instead of away from him.

First, Carrier considers the idea that God could be an explanation for the universe. He claims that this explanation isn’t a “good one,” and articulates a few points attempting to demonstrate such:

[T]he idea that there was a God around before there was a universe—in other words the idea that something existed when there was no place for it to exist, that something acted when there was no time in which it could act—does not make much sense[.] (p. 72)

A few problems here. First, remember that God is claimed to be provable via logical deduction, and thus if this is indeed true (see e.g. the argument from contingency) then the existence of God is logically necessary., and therefore quibbling about how hard it is to fathom such an existence would be irrelevant. Let me demonstrate this with an example—from math! A math professor once showed me a proof that attempted to demonstrate that the sum of all positive integers equaled one-half. Hopefully it’s obvious that this conclusion seems absolutely absurd, since common sense clearly dictates that the sum of positive integers would converge to infinity.  Yet the fact that this proof infers something that is hard to fathom does not itself refute the proof. The proof still stands, and the only way I can refute such an inference is to find a mistake in the proof itself. Similarly, even if we couldn’t explain logically how God exists outside of space, time, and physical existence, this wouldn’t call the conclusion of such proofs into question, and thus it wouldn’t call God’s existence into question. Of course, remember that God’s existence would first need to be demonstrated in order for my answer here to be valid.

Moreover, classical theists have always posited what is known as the Doctrine of Analogy, which states that attributes predicated of God can only be attributed analogously, instead of literally. So when we say that God acts or thinks, for example, we don’t mean these words in the same way—nor in a completely different way—that we predicate them of ourselves or of natural things. Thus, Carrier’s claim that predications of God make no sense is only a problem if we are thinking strictly univocally. Now, this isn’t an ad hoc attempt to avoid the implications that Carrier has postulated. That is, the Doctrine of Analogy wasn’t formulated specifically to answer objections like those of Carrier. Rather, this doctrine is seen as a direct entailment of the doctrine of divine simplicity. Because if God cannot be composed of parts—as the doctrine of divine simplicity states--then there can be no parts in God that are distinguishable from each other. Thus since our predications of God are in fact distinguishable, then this must only be because our predications are analogous and not literal. So, when seen in light of these two points, Carrier’s problem here loses efficacy.

Carrier continues his explanation for why the “God hypothesis” does not constitute a good explanation:

And even if we can come up with an intelligible theory of creation, it still isn’t the best logical inference to make. Can we infer from what we see as a completely natural universe that a sentient Creator is behind it? Not really. Given the lack of any clear evidence for a god, and the fact that everything we have seen happen, which was not caused by humans, has been caused by immutable natural elements and forces, we should sooner infer the opposite: that immutable natural elements and forces are behind it all[…]Since we can explain everything by appealing to only those things and their properties, then (all else being equal) such an explanation is the most plausible one around—leaving no need and no sound reason to go beyond them and invent all manner of unproven entities, like gods and spirits and miraculous powers. Hence, even if the ‘god hypothesis’ were plausible, it would not by any means be the most plausible. (p. 72)

Again, we run into some complications. Carrier is viewing the “God hypothesis” through the lens of abductive reasoning here. That is, he’s comparing theism with other explanations (e.g., naturalism) and attempting to determine which provides the best explanation for the evidence we observe. “So what’s the problem?” you might ask. For isn’t reasoning to the best explanation a good thing? Indeed it is, depending on what’s attempting to be inferred. If you’re attempting to determine what a fossil is doing in the Cretaceous period, then abduction is perfect. But if you attempting to infer that the square root of negative two is an irrational number, then deduction, and not abduction, is your best tool. You see, if theists used abduction to try to reason to God—think of William Paley—then I would agree with Carrier’s claims. For Occam’s razor would entail that the God hypothesis multiplies entities extraneously and makes too many unnecessary assumptions. However, classical theism makes no use of abductive reasoning—and shouldn’t--but rather makes use of deductive reasoning. Deductive reasoning doesn’t use inference to the best explanation. Rather, deduction attempts to prove that something is necessarily the case. You see, classical theists didn’t argue that God is the most plausible explanation for the universe, rather they argued that God is a necessary condition for the existence of anything at all. And abductive reasoning cannot ground such a claim, but only deductive reasoning.

So Carrier’s claim that God would not be a good hypothesis is only efficacious if we follow him in using abductive reasoning to determine the ontological foundation of reality. But this is neither necessary nor logical. For if we can utilize logical deduction to infer what the ontological foundation of reality must be, then punting to abduction is superfluous here. The conclusions of deduction, if true, are necessarily true, and thus Carrier’s talk of best explanations is simply a category mistake regarding how the existence of God is usually arrived at. All this is to say that theists are playing chess while Carrier is playing checkers. If he wants to attack theism, then he needs to attack theists on the actual grounds that they utilize to make their arguments, otherwise he’s attacking a strawman.

Carrier then moves from talk of God as an explanation, to explaining God himself:

If everything must have an explanation, then you do not really get anywhere by explaining the universe by proposing a god. For then that god needs an explanation. Why does a god exist at all? Why that particular god and not some other? And where did this god come from? […] So either there is an eternal string of endless explanations, in which case there is no “ultimate” explanation because the explanations never end (and so the universe remains ultimately unexplained), or else there is something that has no explanation, something that just “is,” what we would call a “brute fact.” There are no other possibilities. (p. 73)

On the contrary, there is another possibility--something can be self-explanatory. Remember that classical theists believe, deductively, that God is a necessary being. The very nature of a necessary being is that its essence just is existence. That is to say, a necessary existent cannot possibly fail to exist. Therefore, when we ask “Why does the necessary being exist?” we’re really asking “Why does that which must exist, exist?” And such a question is self-evident and therefore self-explanatory—it answers itself. So, there is a false dichotomy here that Carrier is presenting between infinite explanatory regress and brute facts—which are impossible. An explanatory chain can end in something which is self-evident and explains itself—in fact this is done in mathematics! Now, Carrier (sort of) anticipates this answer:

 Thus, the question for us really is: Where do we stop [the explanatory chain]? What is the one, ultimate “brute fact” that needs no explanation? Certainly, most people say this is God, that God is self-explanatory, having no origin, that God exists necessarily as the one brute fact. But that requires resting on a huge number of assumptions. Why not just stop with what we actually know—the natural world? Certainly this is just as viable. After all, if god needs no explanation, then why does nature need one? (p. 73)

Many problems here. First, Carrier is conflating a brute fact with that which is self-explanatory. A brute fact is something which admits of no explanation, at all, while something self-explanatory explains itself, and thus does in fact have an explanation--this explanation is simply contained within the existent’s own nature. So when theists say that God is self-explanatory, they are not claiming that God is therefore a brute fact.

So, Carrier is confused by claiming that extending our existential understanding to include God violates Occam’s razor due to the fact that we could just as easily stop at another brute fact that requires less assumptions, namely the universe. Since God would not be a brute fact, then Carrier’s appeal to parsimony here is misplaced.

Second, there is a perfectly logical reason why we can stop the explanatory chain at God but not at the universe, as Carrier wants. For remember that something is contingent if we can conceive of it failing to exist—that is, if it’s nature does not contain the reason for its existence. Because if Y is part of the nature of X, then you cannot have X fail to be Y. The contrapositive is that if X can fail to be Y, then Y is not part of the nature of X. Thus, if we can conceive of something failing to exist, then existence cannot be part of the nature of that thing. And it should be obvious that the universe—including a multiverse—satisfies the definition of contingency. That is to say, we can easily conceive of the universe failing to exist in its current state, or at all, and thus the universe is indeed contingent. But this entails that the universe does require an explanation, since to be contingent is to be contingent upon something else. We see then that the universe cannot be a brute fact—especially since they’re impossible—and therefore we cannot possibly stop at the universe in an explanatory chain.

Carrier still tries to avoid this conclusion and claims that “The multiverse explains everything that exists,” but we’ve seen that this is false. For the multiverse does not explain itself, nor does it explain why anything at all exists in the first place. For this we need a necessary existent, and the universe is not it, since it satisfies the definition of contingency. Carrier again anticipates this objection:

Of course one could ask why the multiverse exists at all, and why it has the exact properties it does. But as we’ve already shown something must exist without any explanation at all, so it may as well be the multiverse. (p. 82)

On the contrary, we’ve seen that an explanatory chain need not—and cannot possibly—end in an unexplained brute fact. It can, and must, end in that which explains itself and which exists necessarily. And unfortunately for Carrier this cannot be the multiverse, for it is contingent and therefore necessarily entails an explanation outside of itself.

So Carrier did not accomplish his goal in this part of his book. He did not show how God is an unnecessary and extraneous hypothesis. His thesis rested on surveying the wrong type of reasoning method when put forward by those attempting to prove God’s existence. Then his thesis rested on conflations regarding the nature of explanatory chains and how these relate to the ontological foundation of reality. So while I admire Carrier’s attempt to vindicate naturalism in a systematic nature, I believe he ultimately fails.

John Loftus doesn't understand logic

A few weeks ago I was having a discussion with John Loftus over at his blog Debunking Christianity. Our discussion was regarding the explanatory limits of science, and whether or not an empiricist epistemology can adequately ground philosophical naturalism. During this discussion I was bombarded with comments—some fruitful, and others just plain ridiculous—from other regulars at the blog, and during one of these side-discussions I brought up the fact that the laws of logic are necessary truths, and thus cannot be false. Well, John chimed in, claimed the contrary—namely, that at least one law of logic was false--and provided a link to a past post of his that “demonstrates” this. And it is this post I want to focus on presently.

The post in question is really just a piggyback on claims made in Howard Bloom’s book The God Problem—I haven’t read the book, and after reading the small snippet of idiocy that Loftus highlights in it, I don’t plan to. John begins by quoting from said book:

A = A is false. It is sometimes a good approximation. But in the end, it's not 100 percent true Why?...Opposites can be true simultaneously. In fact, they usually are.

It should be obvious that the quote here is dealing with the law of identity, which really just states that something is identical with itself, and thus A is equal to A (itself). But according to Howard Bloom this law is only an approximation, and it’s not immutably true. Apparently A is not always A, which really means that something is not always identical to itself. Why would Bloom claim this? Because apparently opposites can be true simultaneously. But, in what form does Bloom mean that opposites can be true simultaneously? Well John doesn’t expound what Bloom means here, but he doesn’t need to. For if Bloom means that existential opposites can be true then he is sorely mistaken.

For it simply cannot possibly be the case that something can be both A and non-A simultaneously. Something cannot exist and not exist at the same time; a proposition cannot be both true and false at the same time and in the same respect; my wallet cannot both be in my pocket and not be simultaneously etc. Not only this, but if it were possible that something could be both A and non-A then we run into epistemological problems. For one can only deny the immutability of the laws of logic if his words have an intended meaning, and not the opposite of that meaning. But this cannot be guaranteed if the laws of logic are not immutable, and thus no proposition could ever have an intended meaning, including the proposition that denies the necessity of the laws of logic. Therefore, the laws of logic (including the law of identity) are immutable, since to claim the opposite results in a reduction ad absurdum.

But is this really what Bloom meant by claiming that opposites can be true simultaneously, and thus A is not always A? I can’t say, but luckily John continues his post by attempting to explicate points that ground Bloom’s denial of the law of identity:

There are no two identical frogs, or twins, or clones, or protons, or atoms. There are no two identical letters. No two identical letter a's.

So, it is here where John demonstrates his embarrassingly bad comprehension of philosophy—even though he has a Masters in philosophy. The law of identity (A is A) does not mean that elements in a set are identical to each other. That is, the law of identity does not state that, for instance, one dog is identical to another dog simply because they’re both dogs. It doesn’t state that the six letter a’s I am using in this sentence are all identical. Rather, it states that any existent is identical with itself. And surely this is necessarily true. So again, it seems that John’s point was predicated on a complete misunderstanding of the fundamental law of logic. He didn't even understand the very proposition he was arguing against. 

Now, why have I made such a big fuss like this? Does pointing out that John has misunderstood one single law really warrant an entire blog post? Well, yes, for the following reasons. First, John prides himself on being a pioneer of reason and logic. But as it turns out, by denying and not understanding a foundational pillar of logic John is highlighting that he is, actually, illogical. Second, John is very cocky, and likes to pronounce the views of those who disagree with him as delusional. Yet John himself has earned degrees in the very field that he misunderstood so badly! (Although, to John’s credit, maybe he fell asleep in logic class.) So, how can I trust John’s judgement regarding anything when he harbors such a poor understanding in the very subject that he has graduated in? The answer is that I cannot, and neither should anyone else.