Compared to most, I’m writing a rather late review of John Loftus’ The Christian Delusion; to be fair to myself, I’ve only recently acquired the book, thanks to Prometheus and Ed Babinski (author of chapter 5, The Cosmology of the Bible). I believe I’ll review each section of the book, as there are already many chapter by chapter ‘reviews’ (such as the well known The Infidel Delusion) and I’d rather not write a single post, many thousand word review.
Yes, I think that will be my task over the next two weeks, which means that tomorrow or Monday should see a review of the first section… Which I was not particular impressed with.
On a slightly unrelated note — back to school soon. As I’ve moved I’m continuing my courses through my school’s distance education program. I’ve called them 5 times already about my change of address, yet they persist in sending my course materials to my old residence. Hopefully it’s fixed this time…
The following is a fun (well, at least I had fun writing it) dialogue I wrote earlier today on one of the forums I’ve recently stopped regularly frequenting. It concerns the question ‘are you willing to admit you might be wrong?’ The dialogue was written in reply to someone who disagreed with me (did not think such an admission should be made).
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Characters: Socrates, Glaucon
Setting: After speaking with Euthyphro, Socrates is stopped by the Sophist Glaucon, a first year philosophy student who thinks he’s learned it all. Glaucon has heard the accusation that Socrates is corrupting the youth, teaching the young about ‘the God’ and denying the gods of the poets. Glaucon proceeds to examine to Socrates.
Glaucon: Socrates, much has been said of your new god — tell me, how did you come by him? Fancy or intoxication?
Socrates: Examination, of course — “following the argument wherever it leads”, as my student Plato likes to say. It took many years, as you can see I am now quite old.
Glaucon: Indeed, I can. And I suppose I should have known; the wisdom of Socrates always examines. It would appear you still have time before the council charges you, a question?
Socrates: Certainly. I would not be Socrates if I declined.
Glaucon: Very well — is it possible you could be wrong?
Socrates: Quite so — I arrived at my belief through examination. This involves a reliance on the senses, which can be faulty. It was at first questions like the Euthyphro, which had shown me the deficit of the poets gods, then it was the oracle herself. There are many reasons.
Glaucon: The oracle, you say — perhaps a defect in your psychology? The Euthyphro, an error in logic?
Socrates: Yes, perhaps so.
Glaucon: Then why should you teach? Sit still and alone, rather than engage in this foolish which denies the gods!
Socrates: I cannot — I am concerned with the truth, even if that means looking the fool (which I am), and denying the gods (which I do). The poets tell stories which ignite the imaginings of man, but that does not make them true. In any case, shall we examine your charge, that because I acknowledge I may be wrong, I have no right to teach?
Glaucon: As you say, you would not be Socrates if you did not. Proceed.
Socrates: There is a glaring hole in your proclamation, young Glaucon, you have assumed I have no good reasons for believing, and against this have compared my acknowledgment that I ‘may be wrong’. In such a way, you have tried to show me a fool, of believing without cause. Perhaps, you say, my logic is faulty, or I have gone mad if it is not. Maybe this is all a farce, I wear a mask with my head in the clouds. Tell me, Glaucon, do you know of the reasons why I believe?
Glaucon: No, it’s of no concern to me. You have admitted you may be wrong.
Socrates: It is of great concern to you, for you do not realize how ridiculous a question you’re asking.
Glaucon: Very well then. Why do you believe, Socrates?
Socrates: First, I have rejected the gods because they contradict. There is no justice between them. What Cronos declared as just, Zeus declared as unjust. What Hera believes about Achilles, Ares believes about Hektor. The Euthyphro has shown this much. If these exist, they are not gods though they may be powerful and still yet shape the lives of men. If they do not exist, it does not matter. Secondly, I have embraced the God because of the oracle at delphi, who after all this was not who I first believed. There is a prodding, an indication of when I should talk and what I should say, and now, what I should believe. This wise god has, as it were, accomodated me. I could not deny my own experience, not after years of examination have shown it to be true. I read also the wisdom of Saul, of that Southern kingdom. Of course, it would be foolish to believe in no god — look around you! The question is only, which god is the true god? And this I believe I found. There are others with stronger reasons than I — like the Hebrews, who claim to have experienced God in body and in sight. But unless you wish to be an itinerint skeptic, focused on pieces of doubt when whole pictures of reason are given, then I cannot convince you.
Glaucon: All well and good, but why is my question ridiculous?
Socrates: Because of what you’ve compared: something with nothing. You did not ask me why I believed, and yet you proceeded to assume that I must be mistaken because I admitted I could be wrong. Your question is ridiculous if you compare my reasons for belief, and my reasons for admitting I could be mistaken. I admit the latter only out of intellectual honesty. Perhaps the God I believe in is not the God I think he is — much like when I first believed the oracle of delphi. The former reasons for believing are many: reason, logic, examination, wisdom literature, nature, form, testimony of others, etc. If I told you I had seen my God, would your question still hold its force? I would be answering you honestly because I will always examine that which is brought up to me. But this no more makes your question any more serious, or coherent.
Glaucon: I suppose not… But as you’ve admitted you could be wrong, I see nothing that changes this fact.
Socrates: Then you are blind. Let me ask you — could you be wrong?
Glaucon: I really must be going Socrates.
John Loftus asks:
Really, do you? Then why is it that God’s divine protection is indistinguishable from chance? And why do you act as if there is none? (http://debunkingchristianity.blogspot.com/2010/08/christian-do-you-really-believe-in.html)
Yep, I do.
But here’s a good question: what is chance? One of the definitions provided by Merriam-Webster is,“the assumed impersonal purposeless determiner of unaccountable happenings”. Their other definition (which I like much better) is: “something that happens unpredictably without discernible human intention or observable cause”. As an example; if I throw a piece of dice into the air, we might ask, ‘what are the chances of it landing on six’? (1/6th) Aside from performing some basic calculations on how many sides to a die there are, we really couldn’t say (I might throw a die as many times as needed, and still not role a six). The ‘chance’ involves how the dice is thrown, how far it’s thrown, how it rotates, wind resistance, how it falls, on what angle is strikes a surface, how it bounces, the weight of the dice (including the ink), etc. It seems to me that chance, in this instance, is an umbrella term for a number of factors that we’re aware of — there may be other factors we aren’t aware of — but have no way of faithfully and / or accurately calculating. The reason I like the second definition over the first is that chance isn’t a thing-in-itself — there is no such thing as an ‘impersonal purposeless determiner of unaccountable happenings’. Especially if we’re assuming a materialistic framework; there are only physical causes.
The charge then appears to be: because we cannot determine a pattern or reason to divine protection, it is therefore indistinguishable from chance, and therefore we should not believe in it (because there are not good reasons for believing in God, and other such things). Another good question would be: if we assume God exists, and He is vastly beyond our comprehension, how would we be able to determine when divine protection occurs? For instance, is an act of divine protection a distinct and obvious event, or can it be (or is it) hidden in natural events? Furthermore, does a lack of divine protection indicate it does not happen? I don’t think so.
Unless there were some way to distinguish between divine protection, and ‘chance’, then this seems to me the wrong question to ask. Not that it’s phrased all that fairly. Perhaps we should consider an example of divine protection in the Bible (an example taken from my father-in-laws sermon, this past Sunday):
Daniel 3:8–18
8For this reason at that time certain Chaldeans came forward and brought charges against the Jews.
9They responded and said to Nebuchadnezzar the king: “O king, live forever!
10“You, O king, have made a decree that every man who hears the sound of the horn, flute, lyre, trigon, psaltery, and bagpipe and all kinds of music, is to fall down and worship the golden image.
11“But whoever does not fall down and worship shall be cast into the midst of a furnace of blazing fire.
12“There are certain Jews whom you have appointed over the administration of the province of Babylon, namely Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego. These men, O king, have disregarded you; they do not serve your gods or worship the golden image which you have set up.”
13Then Nebuchadnezzar in rage and anger gave orders to bring Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego; then these men were brought before the king.
14Nebuchadnezzar responded and said to them, “Is it true, Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego, that you do not serve my gods or worship the golden image that I have set up?
15“Now if you are ready, at the moment you hear the sound of the horn, flute, lyre, trigon, psaltery and bagpipe and all kinds of music, to fall down and worship the image that I have made, very well But if you do not worship, you will immediately be cast into the midst of a furnace of blazing fire; and what god is there who can deliver you out of my hands?”
16Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego replied to the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to give you an answer concerning this matter.
17“If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire; and He will deliver us out of your hand, O king.
18“But even if He does not, (W)let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”
We may reasonably assume that acts of divine protection align with God’s divine will, that makes it a mysterious thing. Some good questions.
My father-in-law asked me a couple days ago how my faith has withstood my reading so many anti-Christian and ‘skeptical’ books in general. I plan to write a further post (or perhaps series?) to more broadly answer the question, but I think the most ‘basic’ answer to the question is that I read old books. Greek dialogues — especially the Socratic kind — have caused me to be weary of anyone who (1) speaks in universals by employing broad and ambiguous terms and / or who (2) declares to have put forth the ‘ultimate argument’, whether cumulative or otherwise, against broad and ambiguous terms such as ‘faith,’ ‘Christianity’ (especially when Evangelicalism specifically, or fundamentalism specifically, are the target), ‘theism’, etc. who fail to define these terms and then proceed to superficially compare and contrast Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, etc. in the hopes of causing some sort of ‘death by a thousand qualifications’ without providing any real argument in support of their position.
I guess what I’m saying is that the ‘New Atheism’, at least, is a whole lot of sensationalism, with substance very apparently lacking. At least from my reading of it.
Edit* Thom Stark has written a post clarifying his position on John Loftus’ post, as well as his own motives, which you can find at his site http://thomstark.net/?p=1580. Stark clarifies himself as follows:
With that said, THAT IS NOT TRUE OF ALL EVANGELICALS. The term “evangelical” encompasses a wide variety of Christians, and many evangelicals are not guilty of the accusations Loftus has brought against them. I think he knows this too, but he likes the polemics, and that’s fine with me. I’m not writing to condemn what he’s said, but just to clarify what I say.
I have no interest in converting people away from their brand of evangelicalism. I oppose fundamentalism, and I make criticisms of the doctrine of biblical inerrancy, but I do not oppose faith. I wrote my book to try to help Christians who are struggling with the Bible and with fundamentalism to figure out a way to be Christian without compromising their struggle or abandoning the faith altogether.
I know plenty of evangelicals who read very widely, and plenty who are very sympathetic to many of the arguments made by critics of evangelicalism. My book is not an attack on Christianity, but on a specific brand of fundamentalist evangelicalism that I do not believe can be sustained after an honest look at the data. That said, I am not calling those who disagree with me “dishonest.” I am merely saying that the only honest conclusion I could come to was to reject that brand of fundamentalist evangelicalism.
I certainly hope no one reading this post or Loftus’ has come away thinking Stark agrees with what Loftus has said (I don’t believe this is apparent in Loftus’ post, nor did I say such in mine). My only aim here was to criticize Loftus and his polemics, and provide an short reason (with example) of why I don’t give equal weight to all writers. It was not to group Stark together with Loftus. It seems to me a bit of a shame that Loftus has promoted Stark’s book but has also included the thought that follows, and that I criticize. Hopefully it does not unfairly implicate Stark as agreeing wholly with Loftus.
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John Loftus said:
“The only reason evangelicals still exist is because most of them simply do not read. Those who do read don’t read works like his. The few who do read works like his don’t do so to learn anything”
‘Works like his’ refers to the yet-to-be-released book by Thom Stark, The Human Faces of God: What Scripture Reveals When It Gets God Wrong. Ignoring the specifics of the book, this comment by Loftus is one of the reasons why I simply can’t take people — such as John Loftus — as seriously as they would perhaps like, or want. I wonder what it would look like if John Loftus were writing a survey:
1. Are you an evangelical who reads?
If no, stop — you’re a normal evangelical. If yes, continue to step two.
2. Are you an evangelical who reads skeptical books.
If no, stop — you’re a normal evangelical. If yes, continue to step three.
3. Are you an evangelical who reads skeptical books to learn from them?
If no, stop — you’re a normal evangelical. If yes, you don’t exist or are lying / deluded.
There may exist after-all evangelicals who (1) read, (2) read skeptical books and (3) read skeptical books to learn from them (i.e. me). But perhaps Loftus means something like the following when he says ‘the few who do read works like his don’t do so to learn anything’: if an honest evangelical read a book, such as Thom Stark’s, to learn, he would as a result become convinced of the illegitimacy of his belief. If, however, said “honest” evangelical does not become convinced as a result of reading Stark’s book, then our evangelical is neither (1) honest or (2) interested in learning. The expectation seems to be that the end-result of ‘learning’ (in this respect) is the rejection of faith. If one does not reject their faith, they have not learned — therefore, they aren’t interested in learning. I don’t see any reason to accept this line of thought. This hidden premise should be rejected: not all those who read books written by skeptics, and do so honestly, become themselves skeptics. Insisting that there is some reason — all of which involve intellectual dishonesty, as far as I can tell — why such people aren’t convinced into rejecting ‘the faith’ is simply an unwillingness to deal with the data. It’s a denial of the ‘fact of the matter’.
The question, then, is where does that leave someone like me, the sort of person Loftus has aimed his sights at? Would he acknowledge that there are some evangelicals who read (skeptics) to learn, or would he insist on his original thought? Either way, this sort of thinking (i.e. polemics) acts only as insulation, and isn’t conducive to honest discussion.
With the in-laws for the next couple of days, be back Monday.
Examination is again the source of a change of views, in this case, how I imagine God operates. In thinking about the sort of moral dilemma that pits a loved one against many strangers (e.g. such as sacrificing a son, for a trainload of strangers), I’ve always imagined that God would be of the opinion of sacrificing the least amount of people for the greater good of the most amount of people, i.e. God ‘sacrificed’ Jesus, the one for the many. But that isn’t right — God sacrificed Himself, or at least the third person of the Trinity who became incarnate sacrificed Himself (but that is the same thing, is it not? Such confusion with this divine mystery of the Trinity). I suppose there is also all that talk of the shepherd going back for the lost sheep, etc. Though separate from this, it still seems best to me that the least amount of loss for the ‘greatest good’ is still the preferable choice, no matter its difficulty.
 Pages: 151
Publisher: InterVarsity Press
Year: 2006
Author: Alister McGrath
This was a nice short book (in fact, an enjoyable break from Alasdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue) on a topic I haven’t heard many people address, doubt. McGrath writes as if someone struggling with doubt — who else but these and the curious would be reading? — is reading, and as a result the tone of the book is very uplifting.
The book progresses logically and in an ordered fashion; beginning with a proper understanding of what doubt is and isn’t (e.g. taking into account the role doubt plays in the bible), illustrating how doubt is inherent to all belief systems, including atheism, and then addressing the different areas where one may experience doubt: the gospel (ch. 6), oneself (ch.7), Jesus Christ (ch.8), and God (ch.9). McGrath concludes by addressing how to put doubt into perspective, thereby allowing us to better handle it.
Admittedly, this isn’t the deepest book written on doubt, but it doesn’t need to be. McGrath seems to aim only at assuring the reader that doubt is a normal part of faith, rather than answering any number of the plethora of illegitimate and legitimate objections raised against Christian theism. In the course of Doubting he suggests (on page 121) that doubt may even be a sign of a neglected faith; something I hadn’t thought of before, and a very interesting thought to boot.
This is a short review for a nice short book, and if you’re struggling with doubt you might give this book a read to gain a better understanding of the role of doubt in the life of faith (but be aware of what I said above, McGrath does not seek to answer specific objections to Christian theism).
Socrates’ younger friend, Euthyphro, has undertaken prosecution of his father for murdering a slave (or so Euthyphro says); that is, his father bound and tied a field laborer who, in a fit of drunken rage, killed a domestic servant. In this condition the field laborer was thrown into a ditch until word could be fetched from an Athenian diviner as to how to handle the laborer. While waiting for word, the slave died. It is with this background that the well-known Euthyphro has been formulated:
Socrates: Then, my friend, I remark with surprise that you have not answered the question which I have asked. For I certainly did not ask you to tell me what action is both pious and impious: but now it would seem that what is loved by the gods is also hated by them. And therefore, Euthyphro, in thus chastising your father you may very likely be doing what is agreeable to Zeus but disagreeable to Cronos or Uranus, and what is acceptable to Hephaestus but unacceptable to Hera, and there may be other gods who have similar differences of opinion.
Socrates: We shall know better, my good friend, in a little while. The point which I should first wish to understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved by the gods.
I’ve never been entirely convinced that the ‘Euthyphro dilemma’ is a relevant critique of the sort of theistic belief one finds in Judaism, Christianity or Islam. The Greek pantheon of gods is another story, and it is here that the Euthyphro shines, as Socrates aptly illustrates in the first quote. For there is a significant difference between the Greek pantheon, and monotheistic belief — many (Greek gods) as compared with the few, or the one (Judaism, Christianity, Islam). It is a common reply — and I believe the correct one — to the Euthyphro to say that goodness is grounded in the character of God, so that there is a third alternative to the (now) false dichotomy Plato presents through Socrates. This answer, however, would not have been available to the Athenian mind.With respect to conflicting myths about the gods within a culture, the Euthyphro dilemma raises an extremely serious objection. Some gods could no longer be considered perfect (how would you choose?), and therefore no longer be considered gods. Such a dilemma would require a rethinking of the gods — but such a thing would be unthinkable.
I suppose I should now get to thinking about how to know what is good…
Ethics is at once my favourite and least liked area of inquiry, especially ethics courses. One such course was an ‘introductory’ Bioethics course I took last year; a course which familiarized and focused on Utilitarianism, Kant’s Categorical Imperative, and Virtue Ethics in relation to the ‘problems’ of Bioethics. The problem is that ethics as it’s currently practiced is impossible, and it frustrates me. The result is that I’ve taken to reading books on ethics (and virtue) and the outlook looks fairly bleak.
It was a common requirement of my Bioethics course to examine different issues from the perspectives of at least two moral theories. I usually chose Utilitarianism and Kant’s Categorical Imperative (I think now I would run to Virtue Ethics first). The problem that makes ethics impossible is that there doesn’t seem the possibility of consensus — by this I mean progress, or one ethical formulation being superior to another — of one being ‘right’ and the other ‘wrong’. Ethics courses as I’ve experienced them only allow for the possibility of talking about meaningful fictions, of concepts that are abstractly useful but lack any real correlation with reality. There is no independent-of-human-thinking right or wrong. Take Utilitarianism, for example.
Of the Utilitarian view of happiness and suffering guiding our actions, Alasdair MacIntyre says:
If someone suggests to us, in the spirit of Bentham and Mill, that we should guide our own choices by the prospects of our own future pleasure or happiness, the appropriate retort is to enquire: ‘But which pleasure, which happiness ought to guide me?’ For there are too many different kinds of enjoyable activity, too many different modes in which happiness is achieved. And pleasure or happiness are not states of mind for the production of which these activities and modes are merely alternative means. The pleasure-of-drinking-Guinness is not the pleasure-of-swimming-at-Crane’s-Beach, and the swimming and the drinking are not two different means for providing the same end-state. The happiness which belongs peculiarly to the way of life of the cloister is not the same happiness as that which belongs peculiarly to the military life. For different pleasures and different happinesses are to a large degree incommensurable: there are no scales of quality or quantity on which to weight them. Consequently, appeal to the criteria of pleasure will not tell me where to drink or swim and appeal to those of happiness cannot decide for me between the life of a monk and that of a solider. (Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 64)
Yet while this was acknowledged, the expectation was to still be able to produce some sort of qualified set of moral actions. The problem becomes compounded when you realize that such decisions are future oriented (i.e. future happiness, future pain). The theory fundamentally fails, yet I’m expected to use it. That wasn’t the worst of it, for in all this I was told (paraphrased), “While the theory as a whole has gaps, there are still nuggets of truth — such as being concerned about happiness, and suffering and the consequences of our actions — that should be gleaned”. But why should I be concerned about happiness, suffering or the consequences of my actions? Doesn’t this itself presuppose some higher moral order which Utilitarianism attempts to correspond to? Or when we talk about the ‘greater good’ of society, we only push the problem back one step while now talking about some abstract idea — ‘society’ — instead of people on an individual basis in specific circumstances. Unless I have given these terms (“happiness,” “suffering,” etc.) some sort of authority in my thinking, they are meaningless to me. Isn’t that the whole point of the exercise, my being a moral agent able to weigh decisions accordingly?
Ethics (morality) is then reduced to a series of “is” or “should” statements, rather than “ought” statements. Playing make-believe is fun for a little while, but I’m not that imaginative.
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