PHILOSOPHY: THE BIG QUESTIONS

PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION:
The Big Questions

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Philosophy of Religion: the Big Questions
Philosophy: The Big Questions
Series Editor: James P. Sterba, University of Notre Dame, Indiana

Designed to elicit a philosophical response in the mind of the student, this distinctive series of
anthologies provides essential classical and contemporary readings that serve to make the
central questions of philosophy come alive for today’s students. It presents complete coverage
of the Anglo-American tradition of philosophy as well as the kinds of questions and
challenges that it confronts today, both from other cultural traditions and from theoretical
movements such as feminism and postmodernism.

Aesthetics: The Big Questions

Edited by Carolyn Korsmeyer

Epistemology: The Big Questions

Edited by Linda Martin Alcoff

Ethics: The Big Questions

Edited by James P. Sterba

Metaphysics: The Big Questions

Edited by Peter van Inwagen and Dean W. Zimmerman

Philosophy of Language: The Big Questions

Edited by Andrea Nye

Philosophy of Religion: The Big Questions

Edited by Eleonore Stump and Michael J. Murray

Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality: The Big Questions

Edited by Naomi Zack, Laurie Shrage, and Crispin Sartwell

Philosophy: The Big Questions

Edited by Ruth J. Sample, Charles W. Mills, and James P. Sterba
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION:
The Big Questions
EDITED BY ELEQNORE STUMP AND MICHAEL J. MURRAY

( Blackwell
g Publishing
© 1999 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd

BLACKWELL PUBLISHING
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First published 1999

7 2006

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Philosophy of religion: the big questions / edited by Eleonore Stump

and Michael J. Murray.
p. cm. — (Philosophy, the big questions ; 6)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-631-20603-5 (alk. paper) — ISBN 0-631-20604-3 (pbk. : alk. paper.)
1, Religion—Philosophy. I. Stump, Eleonore, 1947~ . II. Murray, Michael J.
III. Series.
BL51.P5453 1999
210—dc21 98-8586
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 CONTENTS

General Introduction xi
Acknowledgments Xill

PART ONE WHAT WOULD ANYTHING HAVE TO BE LIKE IN ORDER

‘ TOBE GOD? 1]
Introduction 5
Omnipotence
1 From Summa Contra Gentiles yi
St THOMAS AQUINAS
2 The Paradox of the Stone 9
C. WADE SAVAGE

Omniscience
3 On Ockham’s Way Out Ls
ALVIN PLANTINGA

Perfection
4 The Problem of Divine Perfection and Freedom 28
WILLIAM ROWE
5 How an Unsurpassable Being Can Create a Surpassable World BD
DANIEL AND FRANCES HOWARD-SNYDER

Eternity
6 Eternity 42
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
7 From God, Time, and Knowledge 53
WILLIAM HASKER
CONTENTS

PART TWO CAN WE SHOW BY REASON THAT THERE IS A GOD? 59

Introduction 61

Ontological Argument
8 From Proslogion 65
ST ANSELM OF CANTERBURY
9 From Reply to Anselm 66
GAUNILON
10 Necessary Being: the Ontological Argument 69
PETER VAN INWAGEN

Cosmological Argument
11 The Cosmological Argument 84
WILLIAM ROWE

Teleological Argument
12 From Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion 94
DaviD HUME
13 The Argument from Design 100
R. G. SWINBURNE
14 God’s Utility Function 109
RICHARD DAWKINS
15 From New Perspectives on Old-time Religion 114
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER

The Evolutionary Anti-Naturalism Argument

16 Is Naturalism Irrational? 125
ALVIN PLANTINGA

The Argument from Religious Experience

17 From The Autobiography of St Teresa of Avila 139
ST TERESA OF AVILA
18 Perceiving God 142
WILLIAM ALSTON

PART THREE DOESN'T ALL THE EVIL IN THE WORLD SHOW

THAT THERE IS NO GOD? 151
Introduction 153

The Problem
19 The Problem of Evil and Some Varieties of Atheism ey
WILLIAM L. ROWE
20 Pain and Pleasure: an Evidential Problem for Theists 164
PAUL DRAPER

Vi
Defense
21 On Being Evidentially Challenged 176
ALVIN PLANTINGA

Theodicies
22 From Theodicy in Islamic Thought 190
AL-GHAZALI
23 From the Book of Doctrines and Beliefs 192
SAADYA GAON
24 The Magnitude, Duration, and Distribution of Evil: a Theodicy iw
PETER VAN INWAGEN
25 Natural Evil and the Possibility of Knowledge 210
RICHARD SWINBURNE
26 An Irenaean Theodicy 222
JOHN H. Hick
27 The Problem of Evil 22/7
ELEONORE STUMP

Alternative Perspectives
28 Coercion and the Hiddenness of God 241
MicHakL J. MURRAY
29 Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God 250
MariLtyN McCorp ADAMS
30 The Theology of Liberation in Africa Zor
BisHorp DESMOND TUTU

PART FOUR WHAT IS THE RELATION OF REASON TO

RELIGIOUS BELIEF? 263
Introduction 265
Evidentialism
31 The Ethics of Belief 269
WILLIAM CLIFFORD
32 It is Wrong, Everywhere, Always, and for Anyone, to Believe Anything
upon Insufficient Evidence 273
PETER VAN INWAGEN

Religious Belief as Basic

33 Warranted Belief in God 285
ALVIN PLANTINGA

Pascal’s Wager
34 From Pensées 298
BLAISE PASCAL
35 The Recombinant DNA Debate: a Difficulty for Pascalian-Style Wagering 300
STEPHEN P. STICH

vii
CONTENTS

36 A Central Theistic Argument 302

GerorGE N. SCHLESINGER

PART FIVE CAN WE MAKE SENSE OF RELIGIOUS DOCTRINES

AND PRACTICES? 313

Introduction 315
Miracles
37 Of Miracles 320
Davin HuME
38 From A Dialogue Concerning Herestes 330
THomas More
39 Miracles and (Christian) Theism 334
J. A. COVER

Prayer
40 Petitionary Prayer 353
ELEONORE STUMP

Soul
41 The Future of the Soul 367
RICHARD SWINBURNE
42 From Neurophilosophy: Toward a Unified Science of the Mind-—Brain es)
PATRICIA SMITH CHURCHLAND
43 Materialism and Survival 379
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN

Revelation
44 Are We Entitled? 387
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTOREFE

PART SIX CAN MORALITY HAVE A RELIGIOUS FOUNDATION? 399

Introduction 401
45 Morality: Religious and Secular 403
Patrick NOWELL-SMITH
46 Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again 412
RoBERT ADAMS
47 Abraham, Isaac, and Euthyphro: God and the Basis of Morality 417
NorMAN KRETZMANN

PART SEVEN HOW SHOULD RELIGIOUS, GENDER, AND ETHNIC

DIVERSITY INFLUENCE OUR THINKING ABOUT RELIGION? 429
Introduction 431
48 On Non-Jewish Religions 435
JUDAH HALEVI

Vill
49 Religious Diversity and the Epistemic Justification of Religious Belief 44]
JEROME GELLMAN
50 What’s the Difference? Knowledge and Gender in (Post)Modern
Philosophy of Religion 454
GRACE M. JANTZEN
51 Women’s Experience Revisited: the Challenge of the Darker Sister 467
JACQUELYN GRANT
52 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass 472
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
53 The Value of African Religious Beliefs and Practices for Christian Theology 475
Mercy AMBA ODUYOYE

Index 481
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 GENERAL
Reflection on religion and religious belief has
been a significant part of the enterprise of phi-
losophy. In the Western tradition, from its
beginning in Greece until well into modern
times, most philosophers have either been
theists or have felt obliged to say a great deal
about theism. Philosophical reflection on re-
ligion has consequently been central in the
history of philosophy, and it continues to be
an important part of contemporary philoso-
phy as well. Although philosophy of religion
was at an ebb in the first half of the twentieth
century, the second half of the century has
witnessed a great revival of interest in this area.
As a resuit, there has been an explosion of work
on philosophy of religion in recent decades.
Of course, the questions that are of funda-
mental importance in any area of philosophy
change, sometimes significantly, over time.
Certain questions have been of perennial in-
terest and importance: Does God exist? What
is God like? How can God permit evil? and so
on. Certain other questions come to the fore-
front in response to philosophical and cultural
trends with which philosophers and society at
large must grapple. In our own age, concerns
over religious diversity and over the issues of
gender and race provide a few examples.
In this volume we have undertaken to ex-
plore seven central questions which reflect
both the perennial issues of philosophy ofre-
ligion and more contemporary concerns as
well.
We begin with the question: What would
INTRODUCTION
anything have to be like in order to be God?
We begin here, rather than with arguments
for and against the existence of God, because
it is important to know what it is we are look-
ing for, before we consider the debates over
whether or not that being exists. Thus, in this
section we look at a number of those attributes
that have been held to be centrally important
in the theistic traditions. The essays within
each section treat two sorts of questions. First,
is it possible for anything to have the particu-
lar attribute in question? Second, is it possi-
ble for anything to have the particular attribute
in conjunction with the others. The first ques-
tion focuses on the coherence of the attribute
itself, the second on the compatibility of that
attribute with the others.
Once we have explored the issues regard-
ing the nature of God, we turn to the ques-
tion of the existence of God. We begin, in
Part Two, by examining some of the argu-
ments that have been offered in favor of the
existence of God. Here we will look at some
of the most recent work on both classical ar-
guments (the ontological, cosmological, and
teleological arguments), and more recent ones
(the “fine-tuning” argument, the evolution-
ary argument against naturalism, and the
argument from religious experience).
In Part Three, we turn to the main argu-
ment which has been offered against the ex-
istence of God, namely, the argument from
evil. After setting out the problem that evil
seems to present for theistic belief, we pro-
xi
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
vide a number of readings which attempt to
solve the problem. The first set of responses
defends traditional theistic responses to the
argument from evil. The three readings at the
end discuss important facets of the problem
raised by evil which are important for the dis-
cussion of the problem of evil generally, but
which have only received scant attention so
far.
In the next section, Part Four, we explore
the reasonableness of belief in God. Does ra-
tional belief in God require valid and sound —
philosophical demonstrations, or at least very
powerful evidence in order to be rational?
Some, as we will see, have argued that the
answer is “yes.” But other essays in this sec-
tion argue that religious belief, and belief gen-
erally, should not be held to this strict standard
and thus that belief in God can be rational
even in the absence of a compelling argument
for God’s existence.
Parts Five and Six turn from the issues con-
cerning mere belief in God’s existence to a dis-
cussion of beliefs and practices within particular
theistic traditions. Part Five contains essays
which consider miracles, prayer, immortality,
and revelation. Some of the readings raise wor-
ries that philosophers have expressed about
these topics; others seek to provide responses
to these worries. Part Six considers what con-
nection, if any, there is between religion and
morality. This section begins with a reading
arguing that there is no such connection. Af-
ter a critique of this claim, we provide two re-
cent essays which mount very different defenses
of the claim that any objective morality must
be (and can be) grounded in the divine.
The final question, Part Seven, contains
readings that examine issues of diversity which
have been widely discussed in recent years in
our culture as a whole. To what extent does
religious diversity undermine our confidence
in the possibility (or the reasonableness of
believing) that only one of the theistic posi-
tions is true? And to what extent have gender
and racially influenced biases negatively influ-
enced philosophical reflection about religion
and religious belief in the West? To ignore
xii
questions of this sort is to risk falling into the
sort of religious self-deception that receives
the scathing moral denunciation Frederick
Douglass heaps on it in his essay.
Where feasible, we tried to select entries from
both classical and contemporary sources, so that
both the history of philosophy of religion and
recent work in the area are represented. Al-
though we have been conscious of the need to
include traditional readings, such as Hume’s
argument against beliefin miracles, which have
become classics and are standard fare in tradi-
tional philosophy of religion courses, we have
also looked for opportunities to include authors
or points of view sometimes left out of antholo-
gies. So, for example, we have included read-
ings by authors such as Saadya Gaon, Teresa
of Avila, Frederick Douglass, and Desmond
Tutu. In our view, authors such as these, whose
work is not regularly read in philosophy of re-
ligion courses, can enrich and enliven the con-
temporary discussion.
For the reader’s benefit we have included
introductions to each of the Parts below.
These introductions, authored by Michael
Murray, furnish the reader with an overview
of the issues that will be addressed in each
Part and also provide brief and helpful sum-
maries of the arguments in each reading. In
addition, we have also provided an extensive
bibliography of “Further Readings” at the end
of each introduction for those who would like
to pursue certain topics further.
We would like to express our gratitude to
the many reviewers who gave us valuable ad-
vice that has helped to shape this work. These
include: Peter van Inwagen, Philip Quinn,
Alvin Plantinga, William Alston, Richard
Swinburne, Daniel Howard-Snyder, Christoph
Jager, Norman Kretzmann, Leonard Harris,
and Grace Jantzen. We would also like to thank
the series editor, Jim Sterba, Steve Smith, the
sponsoring editor, his assistant, Mary Riso, and
Valery Rose for their help and guidance in the
production of this volume.
E. S.
M. J. M.
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The publishers and editors wish to thank the
following for permission to reprint copyright
material in this book:
1. Doubléday: for chapter 25 from St Tho-
mas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, Book
II, translated by James F. Anderson (Notre
Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
1975); © 1956 by Doubleday; reprinted by
permission of Doubleday, a division of Ban-
tam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
2. The Philosophical Review: for C. Wade
Savage, “The Paradox of the Stone,” in The
Philosophical Review, 76:1 (January, 1967),
pp. 74-9; © 1967 Cornell University Press;
reprinted by permission of the publisher.
3. Faith and Philosophy: for selections from
Alvin Plantinga, “On Ockham’s Way Out,”
in Faith and Philosophy, 3:3 (July, 1986), pp.
236-69; reprinted by permission of the pub-
lisher.
4. Cornell University Press: for William
Rowe, “The Problem of Divine Perfection and
Freedom,” in Eleonore Stump (ed.), Reasoned
Faith (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press,
1993); © 1993 by Cornell University Press,
reprinted by permission of the publisher.
5. Faith and Philosophy: for Daniel and
Frances Howard-Snyder, “How an
Unsurpassable Being Can Create a Surpass-
able World,” in Faith and Philosophy, 11:2
(April, 1994), pp. 260-8; reprinted by per-
mission of the publisher.
6. Eleonore Stump, Norman Kretzmann,
and The Journal of Philosophy, Inc.: for se-
lections from Eleonore Stump and Norman
Kretzmann, “Eternity,” in The Journal of Pht-
losophy, 78:8 (August, 1981), pp. 429-47,
453-60; © 1981 The Journal of Philosophy,
Inc., reprinted by permission of the authors
and the publisher.
7. Cornell University Press: for extracts from
William Hasker, God, Time, and Knowledge,
Cornell Studies in the Philosophy ofReligion
(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1989);
reprinted by permission of the publisher.
8and9. Open Court Publishing Company:
for selections from Anselm of Canterbury, St
Anselm: Basic Writings, translated by S. W.
Deane (La Salle, Ill.: Open Court, 1962); re-
printed by permission of Open Court Pub-
lishing Company, a division of Carus
Publishing Company, Peru, Ill.
10. Westview Press and Oxford University
Press: for selections from “Necessary Being:
the Ontological Argument,” in Peter van
Inwagen, Metaphysics (Boulder, Col.:
Westview Press, 1993); reprinted by permis-
xiil
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
sion of Westview Press and Oxford Univer-
sity Press.
11. Wadsworth Publishing Co.: for “The
Cosmological Argument,” chapter 2 in
William Rowe, Philosophy of Religion: An In-
troduction (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth,
1978); reprinted by permission of the pub-
lisher.
13. Royal Institute of Philosophy, R. G.
Swinburne, and Cambridge University Press:
for R. G. Swinburne, “The Argument from
Design,” in Philosophy, 43:4 (1968), pp. 199-
212; © Royal Institute of Philosophy 1968;
reprinted by permission of the author and
Cambridge University Press.
14. Richard Dawkins, Basic Books, and
Weidenfeld and Nicolson Ltd: for extracts
from “God’s Utility Function,” in Richard
Dawkins, River Out of Eden (New York: Ba-
sic Books, 1995); © 1995 by Richard
Dawkins; reprinted by permission of the au-
thor, Basic Books (a subsidiary of Perseus
Books Group, LLC), and Weidenfeld and
Nicolson Ltd (an imprint of The Orion Pub-
lishing Group).
15. George N. Schlesinger and Clarendon
Press: for selections from George N.
Schlesinger, New Perspectives on Old-time Re-
ligion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988); ©
George N. Schlesinger 1988; reprinted by
permission of the author and the publisher.
16. Alvin Plantinga and Oxford University
Press: for “Is Naturalism Irrational?” in Alvin
Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1993);
© 1993 by Alvin Plantinga, reprinted by per-
mission of the author and Oxford University
Press, Inc.
17. Sheed and Ward: for selections from St
Teresa of Avila, The Life of Teresa ofJesus: The
Autobiography of St Teresa ofAvila, translated
and edited by E. Allison Peers (New York:
XIV
Image Books, 1960); reprinted by permission
of Sheed and Ward.
18. William Alston and the Journal of Phi-
losophy: for William Alston, “Perceiving
God,” in The Journal of Philosophy, 83 (No-
vember, 1986), pp. 655-66; © The Journal
of Philosophy, Inc., reprinted by permission
of the author and publisher.
19. American Philosophical Quarterly: for
William Rowe, “The Problem of Evil and
~ Some Varieties of Atheism,’ > in American
Philosophical Quarterly, 16:4 (October, 1979);
reprinted by permission of the publisher.
20. Blackwell Publishers, Inc.: for Paul
Draper, “Pain and Pleasure: an Evidential
Problem for Theists,” Nous, 23 (1989), pp.
12-29; reprinted by permission of Blackwell
Publishers, Inc.
21. Indiana University Press: for selections
from Alvin Plantinga, “On Being Evidentially
Challenged,” in Daniel Howard Snyder (ed.),
The Evidential Argument from Evil
(Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press,
1996); reprinted by permission of the pub-
lisher.
22. Princeton University Press: for an extract
by Al-Ghazali in Eric Ormsby (ed.), Theodicy
in Islamic Thought: the Dispute over Al-
Ghazali’s “Best of all Possible Worlds”
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1984); © 1984 by Princeton University Press;
reprinted by permission of the publisher.
23. The Jewish Publication Society: for an
extract from Saadya Gaon, Book of Doctrines
and Beliefs, edited by Alexander Altmann, in
Three Jewish Philosophers (New York: Merid-
ian Books, 1960); reprinted by permission of
the Jewish Publication Society.
24. Peter van Inwagen: for Peter van
Inwagen, “The Magnitude, Duration, and
Distribution of Evil: a Theodicy,” in Philo-

sophical Topics, 16:2 (1988), pp. 161-87; re-
printed by permission of the author.
25. Oxford University Press: for “Natural
Evil and the Possibility of Knowledge,” chap-
ter 9 in Richard Swinburne, Providence and
the Problem of Evil (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 1998); reprinted by permission of
Oxford University Press.
26. Stephen T. Davis and Westminster John
Knox Press: for selections from John. H. Hick,
“An Irenaean Theodicy,” in Stephen T. Davis
(ed.), Encountering Evil, Live Options in
Theodicy (Atlanta, Ga.: John Knox Press,
1981); © 1981 by Stephen T. Davis; reprinted
by permission of the author and Westminster
John Knox Press.
27. American Philosophical Quarterly: for
selections from Eleonore Stump, “The Prob-
lem of Evil,” in Faith and Philosophy, 2:4 (Oc-
tober, 1985); reprinted by permission of the
publisher.
28. American Philosophical Quarterly: for
extracts from Michael J. Murray, “Coercion
and the Hiddenness of God,” in American
Philosophical Quarterly, 30:1 (January, 1993),
pp. 27-35; reprinted by permission of the
publisher.
29. The Editor of the Aristotelian Society:
for Marilyn McCord Adams, “Horrendous
Evils and the Goodness of God,” in Proceed-
ings of the Aristotelian Society, 63 (1989), pp.
297-310; © The Aristotelian Society 1989;
reprinted by permission of the Editor of the
Aristotelian Society.
30. Bishop Desmond Tutu: for Bishop
Desmond Tutu, “The Theology of Liberation
in Africa,” in Kofi Appiah-Kubi and Sergio
Torres (eds), African Theology en Route: Pa-
pers from the Pan-African Conference of Third
World Theologians, December 17-23, 1977,
Accra, Ghana (New York: Orbis Books,
1979); reprinted by permission of the author.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
32. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers: for
selections from Peter van Inwagen, “It is
Wrong, Everywhere, Always, and for Anyone,
to, Believe Anything upon Insufficient Evi-
dence,” in Jeff Jordan and Daniel Howard-
Snyder (eds), Faith, Freedom, and Rationality:
Philosophy of Religion Today (London:
Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1996); re-
printed by permission of the publisher.
33. Alvin Plantinga: for “Warranted Belief
in God,” from Alvin Plantinga, Warranted
Christian Belief (1998); reprinted by permis-
sion of the author.
34. Oxford University Press: for an extract
from Blaise Pascal, Pensées and Other Writ-
ings, translated by Honor Levi (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 1995); reprinted by
permission of the publisher.
35. Princeton University Press: for Stephen
P. Stich, “The Recombinant DNA Debate: a
Difficulty for Pascalian-Style Wagering,” in
Philosophy and Public Affairs, 7 (1978); ©
1978 by Princeton University Press; reprinted
by permission of the publisher.
36. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers: for
George N. Schlesinger, “A Central Theistic
Argument,” in Jeff Jordan (ed.), Gambling on
God: Essays on Pascal’s Wager (Lantham, Md.:
Rowman & Littlefield, 1994); © 1994 by
Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.; re-
printed by permission of the publisher.
39. J. A. Cover: for J. A. Cover, “Miracles
and (Christian) Theism” (unpublished essay);
reprinted by permission of the author.
40. American Philosophical Quarterly: for
Eleonore Stump, “Petitionary Prayer,” in
American Philosophical Quarterly, 16:2 (April,
1979); reprinted by permission of the pub-
lisher.
41. Richard Swinburne and Oxford Univer-
sity Press: for “The Future of the Soul,” chap-
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Introduction
In the Western theistic traditions, God is re-
garded as unique, unlike any other thing that
exists. These traditions are guided by the
shared belief that God is the supreme being
who possesses all perfections. Divine perfec-
tion has traditionally been supposed to include
certain attributes. So, a perfect God has been
thought to be possessed of complete knowl-
edge (omniscience), maximal power (omnipo-
tence), perfect goodness, unchangeableness
(immutability), and existence independent of
both matter (immateriality or incorporeality)
and time (eternity). In addition, the Western
monotheisms have held that God freely cre-
ated the universe and that he continues to
exercise complete providential control over it.
As philosophers and theologians (believers
and skeptics) have reflected on these central
divine attributes, they have noted a variety of
difficulties. In some cases, the difficulties
amount to apparent incompatibilities between
one divine attribute and another. Thus some
have argued, for example, that God cannot
be both morally perfect and omnipotent. For
if, the argument continues, God is morally
perfect there are a number of things he can-
not choose to do (evils, for example), but if
he is omnipotent, he should be able to do
anything (or at least anything logically possi-
ble).
In other cases, the difficulty raised for di-
vine attributes is that they seem to be incom-
patible with certain evident facts about the
universe. Thus many have argued that we can-
not regard God as omniscient since omnis-
cience, which includes complete and certain
knowledge about the future, is incompatible
with the evident fact that human beings are
free.
Finally, some have argued that certain at-
tributes are simply self-inconsistent and, as a
result, that nothing, God included, could have
such a property. They have argued, for exam-
ple, that the notion of omnipotence is inco-
herent since it leads to paradoxes such as those
implicit in the question “Can God make a
stone so large that he cannot lift it?” Whether
one answers “yes” or “no” to such a ques-
tion, it appears that there is something that a
being who can “do everything” cannot do.
And this is absurd.
In thinking about the first question we will
look at four divine attributes and some of the
difficulties that have been raised concerning
them. We begin with the attribute of omnipo-
tence. Surely any being that has all perfections
must be omnipotent. But what does being
omnipotent require? Does it require (as, for
example, Descartes seems to have held) that
God can do anything at all, including things
which require the violation of logical truths?
Such an ability would entail that God can make
a square without corners, make it true that 2
+ 2 #4, and bring it about that he both exists
and does not exist at the same time! Most
philosophers have held that omnipotence does
not require this radical conception of divine
power. Instead they have, as St Thomas does
in the reading here, argued that God’s power
extends only to those things that are logically
possible. Thus God cannot make a round
square, but it is no failure of omnipotence that
he cannot do so.
However, even restricting omnipotence in
this way does not, some have thought, solve
all of the problems which arise concerning
omnipotence. The paradox of the stone, men-
tioned above and explained by C. Wade Sav-
age below, is one argument which attempts
to show that even this more restricted notion
of omnipotence is incoherent. The question
“Can God make a stone so big that he cannot
lift it?” seems to admit of only two answers:
yes and no. Yet it appears that answer-
ing the question either way entails a limita-
tion of divine power. What this paradox is
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
supposed to demonstrate is not so much that
there are things that God cannot do, but
that the notion of omnipotence itself is self
inconsistent.
Savage argues that in the end the paradox
of the stone does not show what it claims to
show. For, he claims, we can answer “no” to
the central question of the paradox without
being forced to admit any limitations on the
divine power. If God’s rock-lifting power is
unlimited and God’s rock-making power is
likewise unlimited, there is no possible rock
that outstrips his power of making or lifting.
Thus when one asserts that there is 2o rock
that is so big that God cannot lift 1t, this does
not entail any limitation in the relevant pow-
ers of God, or any incoherence in the notion
of omnipotence. Instead, it simply reflects the
fact that no task outstrips the divine powers.
The second attribute treated under this
question is omniscience. As noted above, crit-
ics have sometimes argued that God cannot
be omniscient since human beings are free and
these two claims are incompatible. Being free
with respect to a particular action requires that
I am able both to do the action and to refrain
from the action. But if God knows, even prior
to my birth, that I will perform a certain ac-
tion, then it appears that I cannot possibly
refrain from that action (since were I to do so
I would have made God’s belief about that
action of mine false, something that cannot
happen in light of divine omniscience). And
since I cannot refrain from the action, I can-
not thus be free with respect to that action.
In the reading included here, Alvin Plantinga
argues that this criticism of divine omniscience
is based on a mistake. The power to refrain
from performing an action that God knows I
will perform does not require the power to
bring it about that God believes something false.
Instead, the power to refrain requires the
power to bring it about that God would be-
lieve something other than what God actually
believed. And since my having that power is
not inconsistent with God’s omniscience, I
have it in my power to refrain from an action
God foreknows I will undertake. In sections
3 and 4 ofhis essay, Plantinga goes on to ex-
plore some of the philosophical concepts
needed to flesh out his solution in complete
detail. The reader should note that sections |
and 2 provide the basic outlines of the solu-
tion and thus can be read alone.
We then turn to the attribute of divine per-
fection. In the reading presented here, William
Rowe argues that there are significant and
formerly unrecognized restrictions that maxi-
mal perfection places on divine freedom. In
short, Rowe wants to imagine the infinite
number of worlds that God could create ar-
rayed in increasing order of goodness or per-
fection. Such an array will either form any
infinite progression, such that any world we
pick will have another world that is greater
than it, ad infinitum, or else be such that there
is one (ora set) of equally and maximally great
(i.e., best) worlds. If the former, Rowe claims
that a truly perfect being cannot exist. Why?
Consider some being which creates a world
which we will designate “W.” Whatever we
think of this being, we know that it cannot be
maximally perfect, since we can always imag-
ine a being greater than it, simply by imagin-
ing a being who creates any of the worlds
which are detter than W. Because of this, it
makes no more sense to try to think of a
maximally perfect being than it does to try to
think of, say, “the highest number.”
But what if there is a uniquely best world
or a set of equally and maximally good worlds?
If there is just one such world then, Rowe
claims, a truly perfect being would necessarily
create this single best world, thus rendering
this being entirely unfree in creating. And even
if there are multiple maximally good worlds,
a perfect being is still obliged to create one of
them, though such a being might have free-
dom with respect to which world is chosen.
As a result, if perfection is compatible with
freedom at all, it is compatible with freedom
of a narrowly limited sort.
In response, Daniel and Frances Howard-
Snyder argue that Rowe is mistaken in one of
his central assumptions, namely that if there
were an infinite progression of increasingly
 INTRODUCTION TO PART ONE

better worlds, any being, A, who creates a Further Reading

world superior to the world created by an-
A number of books have appeared in recent
other being, B, is such that A is more perfect
years which provide philosophical treat-
than B. Through a series of examples, the
ments of the divine attributes. Two of the
Howard-Snyders argue that though there may
more accessible texts for non-philosophers
be many worlds which a perfectly good being
are:
could not create, there is nothing inconsist-
Davis, Stephen T., Logic and the Nature of
ent in the notion that a perfect being creates
God (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
a world which is surpassed in greatness by
1983).
other creatable worlds.
Morris, Thomas V., Our Idea of God: an In-
In the final pair of readings, the divine at-
troduction to Philosophical Theology (Down-
tribute at issue is eternity. All theists agree that
ers Grove, IIl.: Inter-Varsity Press, 1991).
God is “eternal.” But different theists have
understood this attribute in different ways.
More detailed treatments can be found in the
Some have argued that eternity means “end-
following:
less duration in time.” Thus, as long as God
Gale, Richard, On the Nature and Existence
has always been, is, and always will be, God is
of God (New York: Cambridge University
eternal. Others have held that God’s eternity
Press. 19911').
requires not that he exist at all times, but that
Hartshorne, Charles, Omnipotence and Other
God exist entirely outside of time. Recent dis-
Theological Mistakes (Albany: SUNY Press,
cussions have adopted the convention ofcall-
1984).
ing the former conception “timelessness” and
Swinburne, Richard, The Coherence of Theism
the latter conception “eternity.” In their es-
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979).
say, Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretzmann
Wierenga, Edward, The Nature of God: an
present a defense of the more vexing notion
Inquiry into Divine Attributes (Ithaca,
of eternity. The main problem for this con-
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1989).
ception is explaining how it can be that such
a being is eternal while also being fully aware
The following books and articles present treat-
of and engaged with the created, temporal or-
ments of particular divine attributes:
der. Stump and Kretzmann, adapting some
insights on simultaneity from the General
Ommipotence
Theory of Relativity, develop a notion of si-
Flint, Thomas, and Alfred Freddoso, “Maxi-
multaneity (“ET-simultaneity”) which pro-
mal Power,” in The Existence and Nature
vides a conception of how God can have
of God, ed. Alfred Freddoso (Notre Dame,
knowledge of and power over each instant in
Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
the temporal order by existing “ET-simulta-
1993), pp. 81-113.
neously” with each such instant.
Geach, Peter, Providence and Evil (Cam-
In the final reading, William Hasker exam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press,
ines some of the main arguments which have
1977), ch. 1, pp. 3-28.
been raised against the account offered by
Hoffman, J., and G. Rosenkrantz, “Omnipo-
Stump and Kretzmann and argues that, in the
tence Redux,” Philosophy and
end, none of them succeeds in undermining
Phenomenological Research, 49 (1988),
their account. While this does not show that
pp. 283-301.
God is in fact eternal, Hasker argues that
Pike, Nelson, “Omnipotence and God’s Abil-
there is nothing incoherent or unintelligible
ity to Sin,” The American Philosophical
in the account that Stump and Kretzmann
Quarterly (1969), pp. 208-16.
defend.
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
Urban, Linwood, and Douglas Walton (eds),
The Power of God (Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1978).
Omniscience
Craig, William Lane, The Only Wise God: the
Compatibility ofDivine Foreknowledge and
Human Freedom (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Baker, 1987).
Flint, Thomas, “Two Views of Divine Provi-
dence,” in Divine and Human Action, ed.
Thomas V. Morris (Notre Dame, Ind.:
University of Notre Dame Press, 1988).
Freddoso, Alfred J., Introduction to Luis de
Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, tr. Al-
fred Freddoso (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1988).
Hasker, William, God, Time, and Knowledge
(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press,
1989).
Kvanvig, Jonathan L., The Possibility of an All-
Knowing God (New York: St Martin’s
Press, 1986).
Zagzebski, Linda, The Dilemma of Freedom
and Foreknowledge (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1991).
Divine Goodness
Adams, Robert, “Must God Create the Best,”
Philosophical Review, 81 (1972), pp. 317-
Bos
Quinn, Philip, “God, Moral Perfection, and
Possible Worlds,” in God: the Contempo-
rary Discussion, ed. Frederick Sontag and
M. Darrol Bryant (New York: Rose of
Sharon Press, 1982), pp. 199-215.
Wainwright, William, “Jonathan Edwards,
William Rowe, and the Necessity of Crea-
tion,” in Faith, Freedom, and Rationality:
Philosophy of Religion Today, ed. Jeff Jor-
dan and Daniel Howard-Snyder (Lanham,
Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996),
pp. 1d 9-36.
Eternity
Wolterstorff, Nicholas, “God Everlasting,” in
God and the Good, ed. C. Orlebeke and L.
Smedes (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
1975):
Helm, Paul, Eternal God (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1988).
Leftow, Brian, Time and Eternity (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991).
Padgett, Alan, God, Eternity and the Nature
of Time (New York: St Martin’s Press,
LOOD 3
Omnipotence
1 From Summa Contra Gentiles*
St Thomas Aquinas
How the Omnipotent God is
Said to be Incapable of Certain
Things
[1] Now, from what has been said already,
we can see that, although God is omnipotent,
He is nevertheless said to be incapable of some
things.
[2] For we proved above that active power
exists in God; that there is no passive potency
in Him had already been demonstrated in
Book I of this work.’ (We, however, are said
to-be-able as regards both active and passive
potentiality.) Hence, God is unable to do
those things whose possibility entails passive
potency. What such things are is, then, the sub-
ject of this inquiry.
[3] Let us observe, first of all, that active
potency relates to acting; passive potency, to
existing. Hence, there is potency with respect
to being only in those things which have mat-
ter subject to contrariety. But, since there is
no passive potency in God, His power does
not extend to any thing pertaining to His own
being. Therefore, God cannot be a body or
anything of this kind.
[4] Furthermore, motion is the act of this
* From St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles,
tr. James F. Anderson (Notre Dame, Ind.: University
of Notre Dame Press, 1975), Book II, ch. 25. Re-
printed with permission.
passive potency of which we are speaking. But,
since there is no passive potency in God, He
cannot be changed. It can be concluded fur-
ther that He cannot be changed with respect
to the various kinds of change: increase and
diminution, or alteration, coming to be and
passing away — all are foreign to Him.
[5] Thirdly, since a deprivation is a certain
loss of being, it follows that God can lack
nothing.
[6] Moreover, every failing follows upon
some privation. But the subject of privation is
the potency of matter. In no way, therefore,
can God fail.
[7| Then, too, since weariness results from
a defect of power, and forgetfulness from de-
fect of knowledge, God cannot possibly be
subject to either.
[8] Nor can He be overcome or suffer vio-
lence, for these are found only in something
having a movable nature.
[9] Likewise, God can neither repent, nor
be angry or sorrowful, because all these things
bespeak passion and defect.
[10] An additional argument is this. The
object and effect of an active power is a being
made, and no power is operative if the nature
of its object is lacking; sight is inoperative in
the absence of the actually visible. It must
ST THOMAS AQUINAS
therefore be said that God is unable to do
whatever is contrary to the nature of being as
being, or of made being as made. We must
now inquire what these things are.
[11] First ofall, that which destroys the na-
ture of being is contrary to it. Now, the na-
ture of being is destroyed by its opposite, just
as the nature of man is destroyed by things
opposite in nature to him or to his parts. But
the opposite of being is non-being, with re-
spect to which God is therefore inoperative,
so that He cannot make one and the same
thing to be and not to be; He cannot make
contradictories to exist simultaneously.
[12] Contradiction, moreover, is implied in
contraries and privative opposites: to be white
and black is to be white and not white; to be
seeing and blind is to be seeing and not see-
ing. For the same reason, God is unable to
make opposites exist in the same subject at
the same time and in the same respect.
[13] Furthermore, to take away an essential
principle of any thing is to take away the thing
itself. Hence, if God cannot make a thing to
be and not to be at the same time, neither can
He make a thing to lack any of its essential
principles while the thing itself remains in
being; God cannot make a man to be without
a soul.
[14] Again, since the principles of certain
sciences — of logic, geometry, and arithmetic,
for instance — are derived exclusively from the
formal principles of things, upon which their
essence depends, it follows that God cannot
make the contraries of those principles; He
cannot make the genus not to be predicable
of the species, nor lines drawn from a circle’s
center to its circumference not to be equal,
nor the three angles of a rectilinear triangle
not to be equal to two right angles.
[15] Itis obvious, moreover, that God can-
not make the past not to have been, for this,
too, would entail a contradiction; it is equally
as necessary for a thing to be while it is as to
have been while it was.
[16] Also, there are things incompatible with
the nature of thing made, as such. And these
God cannot make, because whatever He does
make must be something made.
[17] And from this it is clear that God can-
not make God. For it is of the essence of a
thing made that its own being depends on
another cause, and this is contrary to the na-
ture of the being we call God, as is evident
from things previously said.’
[18] For the same reason God cannot make
a thing equal to Himself} for a thing whose
being does not depend on another is superior
in being, and in the other perfections, to that
which depends on something else, such de-
pendence pertaining to the nature of that
which is made.
[19] Likewise, God cannot make a thing to
be preserved in being without Himself. For the
preservation of each and every thing depends
on its cause, so that, if the cause is taken away,
the effect is necessarily removed also. Hence,
if there can be a thing which is not kept in
being by God, it would not be His effect.
[20] Moreover, since God is a voluntary
agent, that which He cannot will He cannot
do. Now, we can see what He cannot will if
we consider how there can be necessity in the
divine will; for that which necessarily is can-
not not-be, and what cannot be necessarily is
not.
[21] Itclearly follows that God cannot make
Himself not to be, or not to be good or happy;
because He necessarily wills Himselfto be, to
be good and happy, as we have shown in Book
I of this work.*
[22] We proved also, in that same Book, that
God cannot will any evil.* It is therefore evi-
dent that God cannot sin.

[23] And it has already been demonstrated*®
that the will of God cannot be mutable; so,
what He wills He cannot cause to be not ful-
filled.
[24] But observe that God is said to be un-
able to do this in a different sense than in the
preceding instances, for in those cases God’s
inability either to will or to make is absolute,
whereas in this case God can either make or
will if His will or His power be considered in
themselves, though not if they be considered
on the supposition of His having willed the
opposite. For the divine will, as regards crea-
tures, has only suppositional necessity, as was
shown in Book I.° Thus, all such statements
as that God cannot do the contrary of what He
has designed to do are to be understood com-
positely for so understood they presuppose the
divine will as regards the opposite. But, if such
expressions be understood in a divided sense,
they are false, because they then refer to God’s
power and will absolutely.
2 The Paradox of the Stone*
C. Wade Savage
A. (1) Either God can create a stone which
He cannot lift, or He cannot create
a stone which He cannot lift.
(2) IfGod can create a stone which He
cannot lift, then He is not omnipo-
tent (since He cannot lift the stone
in question).
(3) If God cannot create a stone which
He cannot lift, then He is not om-
nipotent (since He cannot create the
stone in question).
*From The Philosophical Review, 76 (1967),
pp. 74-9. Reprinted with permission.
THE PARADOX OF THE STONE
[25] Now... just as God acts by will, so
also does He act by intellect and knowledge. It
follows that He cannot do what He has fore-
seen that He will not do, or abstain from do-
ing what He has foreseen that He will do, for
the same reason that He cannot do what He
wills not to do, or omit to do what He wills.
That God is unable to do these things is both
conceded and denied: conceded on a certain
condition or supposition; denied with respect
to His power or will considered absolutely.
Notes
SCG, I, ch. 16.
SCG, I, ch. 13, 134
SCG, I, ch. 80.
SCG, I, ch. 95.
SCG, I, ch. 82, 3, 7.
WH
DokSCG, I, chs 81-3
(4) Therefore, God is not omnipotent.
Mr Mavrodes has offered a solution to the
familiar paradox above;’ but it is erroneous.
Mavrodes states that he assumes the existence
of God,’ and then reasons (in pseudo-dilemma
fashion) as follows. God is either omnipotent
or He is not. If we assume that He is not
omnipotent, the task of creating a stone which
He cannot lift is not self-contradictory. And
we can conclude that God is not omnipotent
on the grounds that both His ability and His
inability to perform this task imply that He is
not omnipotent. But to prove His non-om-
C. WADE SAVAGE
nipotence in this way is trivial. “To be signifi-
cant [the paradoxical argument] must derive
this same conclusion from the assumption that
God is omnipotent; that is, it must show that
the assumption of the omnipotence of God
leads to a reductio.” However, on the assump-
tion that God is omnipotent, the task of cre-
ating a stone which God cannot lift is
self-contradictory. Since inability to perform
a self-contradictory task does not imply a limi-
tation on the agent, one of the premises of
the paradoxical argument — premise A(3) — is
false. The argument is, in consequence, either
insignificant or unsound.
There are many objections to this solution.
First, the paradoxical argument need not be
represented as a reductio; in A it is a dilemma.
Mavrodes’ reasoning implies that the para-
doxical argument must either assume that
God is omnipotent or assume that He is not
omnipotent. This is simply false: neither as-
sumption need be made, and neither is made
in A. Second, “a stone which God cannot lift”
is self-contradictory — on the assumption that
God is omnipotent — only if “God is omnipo-
tent” is necessarily true. “Russell can lift any
stone” is a contingent statement. Conse-
quently, if we assume that Russell can lift any
stone we are thereby committed only to say-
ing that creating a stone which Russell can-
not lift is a task which im fact cannot be
performed by Russell or anyone else. Third,
if “God is omnipotent” is necessarily true —
as Mavrodes must claim for his solution to
work — then his assumption that God exists
begs the question of the paradoxical argu-
ment. For what the argument really tries to
establish is that the existence of an omnipo-
tent being is logically impossible. Fourth, the
claim that inability to perform a self-contra-
dictory task is no limitation on the agent is
not entirely uncontroversial. Descartes sug-
gested that an omnipotent God must be able
to perform such self-contradictory tasks as
making a mountain without a valley and ar-
ranging that the sum of one and two is not
three.* No doubt Mavrodes and Descartes
have different theories about the nature of
10
contradictions; but that is part of the contro-
versy.
Mavrodes has been led astray by version A
of the paradox, which apparently seeks to
prove that God is not omnipotent. Concentra-
tion on this version, together with the incli-
nation to say that God is by definition
omnipotent, leads straight to the conclusion
that the paradox is specious. For if God is by
definition omnipotent, then, obviously, cre-
ating a stone which God (an omnipotent be-
ing who can lift any stone) cannot lift is a task
whose description is self-contradictory. What
the paradox of the stone really seeks to prove
is that the notion of an omnipotent being is
logically inconsistent that is, that the existence
of an omnipotent being, God or any other, ts
logically impossible. It tries to do this by fo-
cusing on the perfectly consistent task of cre-
ating a stone which the creator cannot lift.
The essence of the argument is that an om-
nipotent being must be able to perform this
task and yet cannot perform the task.
Stated in its clearest form, the paradoxical
argument of the stone is as follows. Where x
is any being:
B. (1) Either x can create a stone which x
cannot lift, or x cannot create a stone
which ~ cannot lift.
(2) If x can create a stone which x can-
not lift, then, necessarily, there is at
least one task which x cannot per-
form (namely, lift the stone in ques-
tion).
(3) If x cannot create a stone which x
cannot lift, then, necessarily, there is
at least one task which x cannot per-
form (namely, create the stone in
question).
(4) Hence, there is at least one task which
x cannot perform.
(5) If«is an omnipotent being, then x
can perform any task.
(6) Therefore, xis not omnipotent.
Since xis any being, this argument proves that

the existence of an omnipotent being, God
or any other, is logically impossible.
It is immediately clear that Mavrodes’ so-
lution will not apply to this version of the para-
dox. B is obviously a significant, nontrivial
argument. But since it does not contain the
word “God,” no critic can maintain that B
assumes that God is omnipotent. For the same
reason, the point that “a stone which God
cannot lift” is self-contradictory is simply ir-
relevant. Notice also that B is neutral on the
question of whether inability to perform a self-
contradictory task is a limitation on the agent’s
power. We can, however, replace every occur-
rence of “task” with “task whose description
is not self-contradictory” without damaging
the argument in any way.
The paradox does have a correct solution,
though a different one from that offered by
Mavrodes. The two solutions are similar in that
both consist in arguing that an agent’s inabil-
ity to create a stone which he cannot lift does
not entail a limitation on his power. But here
the similarity ends. For, as we shall see pres-
ently, the basis of the correct solution is not
that creating a stone which the creator can-
not lift is a self-contradictory task (which it is
not). Consequently, the correct solution side-
steps the question of whether an agent’s in-
ability to perform a self-contradictory task is a
limitation on his power.
The fallacy in the paradox of the stone lies
in the falsity of the second horn — B (3) — of
its dilemma: “x can create a stone which x
cannot lift” does indeed entail that there is a
task which x cannot perform and, conse-
quently, does entail that «is not omnipotent.
However, “x cannot create a stone which x
cannot lift” does not entail that there is a task
which x cannot perform and, consequently,
does not entail that xis not omnipotent. That
the entailment seems to hold is explained by
the misleading character of the statement “wx
cannot create a stone which x cannot lift.” The
phrase “cannot create a stone” seems to im-
ply that there is a task which « cannot per-
form and, consequently, seems to imply that
x is limited in power. But this illusion van-
THE PARADOX OF THE STONE
ishes on analysis: “« cannot create a stone
which x cannot lift” can only mean “If x can
create a stone, then x can lift it.” It is obvious
thatthe latter statement does not entail that «
is limited in power.
A schematic representation of B(1)—B(3)
will bring our point into sharper focus. Let S
= stone, C = can create, and L = can lift; let x
be any being; and let the universe of discourse
be conceivable entities. Then we obtain:
C. (1) (Ay) (Sy Cey. —Ley) v — (Ay) (Sy + Cry
- —Lxy).
(2) (Ay)(Sy - Cay - —Lxy) > (Ay) (Sy + -
Lxy).
(3) (Ay)(Sy + Cxy - —Lxy) > (Ay)(Sy - —
Cxy).
That the second alternative in C(1) is equiva-
lent to “(y)[(Sy + Cxy) D> Lxy]” schematically
explains our interpretation of “x cannot cre-
ate a stone which x cannot lift” as meaning
“Tf «can create a stone, then x can lift it.” It is
now quite clear where the fallacy in the para-
doxical argument lies. Although C(2) is logi-
cally true, C(3) is not. “(ay)(Sy- Cxy .—Lxy)”
logically implies “(Ay) (Sy - —Lxy).” But “-
(Ay)( Sy. Cxy-—Lxy)” does not logically imply
“(dy) (Sy - -—Cxy)”; nor does it logically imply
“(dy)( Sy -—Lxy).” In general, “x cannot cre-
ate a stone which w cannot lift” does not logi-
cally imply. “There is a task which x cannot
perform.”
For some reason the above analysis does not
completely remove the inclination to think
that an agent’s inability to create a stone which
he himself cannot lift does entail his inability
to perform some task, does entail a limitation
on his power. The reason becomes clear when
we consider the task of creating a stone which
someone other than the creator cannot lift.
Suppose that y cannot lift any stone heavier
than seventy pounds. Now if « cannot create
a stone which y cannot lift, then x cannot cre-
ate a stone heavier than seventy pounds, and
is indeed limited in power. But suppose that y
is omnipotent and can lift stones of any pound-
age. Then x’s inability to create a stone which
1]
C. WADE SAVAGE
y cannot lift does not necessarily constitute a
limitation on x’s power. For x may be able to
create stones of any poundage, although y can
lift any stone which x creates. If ycan lift stones
of any poundage, and x cannot create a stone
heavier than seventy pounds, then x cannot
create a stone which ycannot lift, and x is lim-
ited in power. But if x can create stones of any
poundage, and ycan lift stones of any pound-
age, then x cannot create a stone which y can-
not lift, and yet x is not thereby limited in
power. Now it is easy to see that precisely par-
allel considerations obtain where x is both
stone-creator and stone-lifter.
The logical facts above may be summarized
as follows. Whether x = y or x# y, x’s inability
to create a stone which y cannot lift consti-
tutes a limitation on x’s power only if (i) x is
unable to create stones of any poundage, or
(ii) yis unable to lift stones of any poundage.
And, since either (i) or (ii) may be false, “x
cannot create a stone which y cannot lift” does
not entail “xis limited in power.” This logical
point is obscured, however, by the normal
context of our discussions of abilities and in-
abilities. Since such discussions are normally
restricted to beings who are limited in their
stone-creating, stone-lifting, and other abili-
ties, the inability of a being to create a stone
which he himself or some other being cannot
lift normally constitutes a limitation on his
power. And this produces the illusion that a
being’s inability to create a stone which he
himself or some other being cannot lift meces-
sarily constitutes a limitation on his power,
the illusion that “x cannot create a stone which
y cannot lift” (where either x = y or x # 9)
entails “x is limited in power.”
Since our discussions normally concern be-
ings oflimited power, the erroneous belief that
12
“x cannot create a stone which x cannot lift”
entails “x is limited in power” will normally
cause no difficulty. But we must beware when
the discussion turns to God — a being who is
presumably unlimited in power. God’s inabil-
ity to create a stone which He cannot lift is a
limitation on His power only if (i) He is un-
able to create stones of any poundage, or (ii)
He is unable to lift stones of any poundage —
that is, only if He is limited in His power of
stone-creating or His power of stone-lifting.
But until it has been proved otherwise — and
it is difficult to see how this could be done —
we are free to suppose that God suffers nei-
ther of these limitations. On this supposition
God’s inability to create a stone which He
cannot lift is nothing more nor less than a
necessary consequence of two facets of His
omnipotence.* For if God is omnipotent, then
He can create stones of any poundage and lift
stones of any poundage. And “God can cre-
ate stones of any poundage, and God can lift
stones of any poundage” entails “God cannot
create a stone which He cannot lift.”
Notes
1 George I. Mavrodes, “Some Puzzles Concern-
ing Omnipotence,” Philosophical Review, 72
(1963), pp. 221-3. The heart ofhis solution is
contained in pars 6, 7, and 11.
2See ibid ni2. p22).
3 Harry G. Frankfurt, “The Logic of Omnipo-
tence,” Philosophical Review, 73 (1964), 262—
3. The relevant passage from Descartes is quoted
by Frankfurt in a long footnote.
4 Mavrodes apparently sees this point in the last
three paragraphs of his article. But his insight is
vitiated by his earlier mistaken attempt to solve
the paradox.
Omniscience
3. On Ockham’s Way Out*
Alvin Plantinga
Two essential teachings of Western theistic
religions — Christianity, Judaism, and Islam —
are that God is omniscient and that human
beings are morally responsible for at least some
of their actions. The first apparently implies
that God has knowledge of the future and thus
has foreknowledge of human actions; the sec-
ond, that some human actions are free. But
divine foreknowledge and human freedom, as
every twelve-year-old Sunday school student
knows, can seem to be incompatible; and at
least since the fifth century AD philosophers
and theologians have pondered the question
whether these two doctrines really do conflict.
There are, I think substantially two lines
of argument for the imcompatibility thesis —
the claim that these doctrines are indeed in
conflict; one of these arguments is pretty
clearly fallacious, but the other is much more
impressive. In section 1 I state these two
arguments...
1 Foreknowledge and the
Necessity of the Past
In De Libero Arbitrio Augustine puts the first
line of argument in the mouth of Evodius:
That being so, I have a deep desire to know
how it can be that God knows all things be-
forehand and that, nevertheless, we do not sin
* From Faith and Philosophy, 3: 3 (July 1986), pp. 235—
69. Reprinted by permission of the editors.
by necessity. Whoever says that anything can
happen otherwise than as God has foreknown
it, is attempting to destroy the divine fore-
knowledge with the most insensate impiety. .. .
But this I say. Since God foreknew that man
would sin, that which God foreknew must
necessarily come to pass. How then is the will
free when there is apparently this unavoidable
necessity?!
(Replies Augustine: ‘You have knocked vig-
orously.”) Evodius’s statement of the argu-
ment illustrates one parameter of the problem:
the conception of freedom in question is such
that a person S is free with respect to an ac-
tion A only if (1) it is within Ss power to
perform A and within his power to refrain
from performing A, and (2) no collection of
necessary truths and causal laws — causal laws
outside S's control — together with anteced-
ent conditions outside S’s control entails that
S performs A, and none entails that he refrains
from doing so. (I believe that the first of these
conditions entails the second, but shall not
argue that point here.) Of course, if these con-
ditions are rejected, then the alleged problem
dissolves.
The essential portion of Evodius’s argument
may perhaps be put as follows:
(1) If God knows in advance that S$ will do
A, then it must be the case that S will do
A;
(2) Ifit must be the case that S will do A,
then it is not within the power of S to
refrain from doing A.
ALVIN PLANTINGA
(3) Ifit is not within the power of S to re-
frain from doing A, then S is not free
with respect to A.
Hence
(4) If God knows in advance that S will do
A, then Sis not free with respect to A.
Augustine apparently found this argument
perplexing. In some passages he seems to see
its proper resolution; but elsewhere he reluc-
tantly accepts it and half-heartedly endorses a
compatibilist account of freedom according
to which it is possible both that all of a per-
son’s actions be determined and that some of
them be free.
Thomas Aquinas, however, saw the argu-
ment for the snare and delusion that it is:
If each thing is known by God as seen by Him
in the present, what is known by God will then
have to be. Thus, it is necessary that Socrates be
seated from the fact that he is seen seated. But
this is not absolutely necessary or, as some say,
with the necessity of the consequent, it is neces-
sary conditionally, or with the necessity of the
consequence. For this is a necessary conditional
proposition: if he is seen sitting, he ts sitting?
Aquinas’s point may perhaps be put more
perspicuously as follows. (1) is ambiguous as
between
(1)(a) Necessarily, if God knows in advance
that S will do A, then S will do A.
and
(1)(b) If God knows in advance that S will
do A, then it is necessary that S will
do A.
Now consider
(1)(c) If God knows in advance that S will
do A, then S$ will do A.
(1)(a), says Aquinas, is a true proposition ex-
14
pressing ‘the necessity of the consequence’;
what it says, sensibly enough, is just that the
consequent of (1)(c) follows with necessity
from its antecedent. (1)(b), on the other hand,
isan expression of the necessity of the conse-
quent, what it says, implausibly, is that the
necessity of the consequent of (1)(c) follows
from its antecedent. Aquinas means to point
out that (1)(a) is clearly true but of no use to
the argument. (1)(b), on the other hand, is
what the argument requires; but it seems flatly
false — or, more modestly, there seems not the
slightest reason to endorse it.
If the above argument is unconvincing,
there is another, much more powerful, that is
also considered by Aquinas.? The argument
in question has been discussed by a host of
philosophers both before and after Aquinas;
it received a particularly perspicuous formula-
tion at the hands of Jonathan Edwards:
1. I observed before, in explaining the
nature of necessity, that in things which are past,
their past existence is now necessary: having
already made sure of existence, tis now impos-
sible, that it should be otherwise than true, that
that thing has existed.
2. Ifthere be any such thing as a divine fore-
knowledge of the volitions of free agents, that
foreknowledge, by the supposition, is a thing
which already has, and long ago had existence;
and so, now its existence is necessary; it is now
utterly impossible to be otherwise, than that this
foreknowledge should be, or should have been.
3. *Tis also very manifest, that those things
which are indissolubly connected with other
things that are necessary, are themselves neces-
sary. As that proposition whose truth is neces-
sarily connected with another proposition, which
is necessarily true, is itself necessarily true. To
say otherwise, would be a contradiction; it would
be in effect to say, that the connection was in-
dissoluble, and yet was not so, but might be bro-
ken. If that, whose existence is indissolubly
connected with something whose existence is
now necessary, is itself not necessary, then it may
possibly not exist, notwithstanding that indis-
soluble connection of its existence. - Whether
the absurdity ben’t glaring, let the reader judge.
4. °Tis no less evident, that if there be a full,

certain and infallible foreknowledge of the fu-
ture existence of the volitions of moral agents,
then there is a certain infallible and indissoluble
connection between those events and that fore-
knowledge; and that therefore, by the preced-
ing observations, those events are necessary
events; being infallibly and indissolubly con-
nected with that whose existence already is, and
so is now necessary, and can’t but have been.*
Edwards concludes that since ‘God has a cer-
tain and infallible prescience of the acts and
wills of moral agents’, it follows that ‘these
events are necessary’ with the same sort of
necessity enjoyed by what is now past.
The argument essentially appeals to two
intuitions. First, although the past is not nec-
essary in the broadly logical sense (it is possi-
ble, in that sense, that Abraham should never
have existed),it 7s necessary in some sense: it is
fixed, unalterable, outside anyone’s control.
And second, whatever is ‘necessarily con-
nected’ with what is necessary in some sense,
is itself necessary in that sense; if a proposi-
tion A, necessary in the way in which the past
is necessary, entails a proposition B, then B is
necessary in that same way. If Edwards’s ar-
gument is a good one, what it shows is that if
at some time in the past God knew that I will
do A, then it is necessary that I will do A -
necessary in just the way in which the past is
necessary. But then it is not within my power
to refrain from doing A, so that I will not do
A freely. So, says Edwards, suppose God knew,
eighty years ago, that I would mow my lawn
this afternoon. This foreknowledge is, as he
says, a ‘thing that is past’. Such things, how-
ever, are now necessary; “’tis now impossible,
that it should be otherwise than true, that that
thing has existed.’ So it is now necessary that
God had that knowledge eighty years ago; but
it is also /ogically necessary that, if God knew
that I would mow my lawn today, then I will
mow my lawn today. It is therefore now nec-
essary that I will mow; it is thus not within
my power to refrain from mowing; hence,
though I will indeed mow, I will not mow
freely.
Edwards’s argument is for what we might
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
call ‘theological determinism’; the premise is
that God has foreknowledge of the ‘acts and
wills of moral agents’ and the conclusion is
that these acts are necessary in just the way
the past is. Clearly enough the argument can
be transformed into an argument for logical
determinism, which would run as follows. It
was true, eighty years ago, that I would mow
my lawn this afternoon. Since what is past is
now necessary, it is now necessary that it was
true eighty years ago that I would mow my
lawn today. But it is logically necessary that,
if it was true eighty years ago that I would
mow my lawn today, then I will mow my lawn
today. It is therefore necessary that I will mow
my lawn — necessary in just the sense in which
the past is necessary. But then it is not within
my power not to mow; hence I will not mow
freely.
Here a Boethian bystander might object as
follows. Edwards’s argument involves divine
foreknowledge — God’s having known at some
time in the past, for example, that Paul will
mow his lawn in 1995. Many theists, how-
ever, hold that God is eternal,5 and that his
eternity involves at least the following two
properties. First, his being eternal means, as
Boethius suggested, that everything is present
for him; for him there is no past or future.
But then God does not know any such propo-
sitions as ‘Paul wi// mow in 1995’; what he
knows, since everything is present for him, is
just that Paul mows in 1995. And secondly,
God’s being eternal means that God is
atemporal, ‘outside of time’ — outside of time
in such a way that it is an error to say of him
that he knew some proposition or other at a
time. We thus cannot properly say that God
now knows that Paul mows in 1995, or that
at some time in the past God knew this; the
truth, instead, is that he knows this proposi-
tion eternally. But then Edwards’s argument
presupposes the falsehood ofa widely accepted
thesis about the nature of God and time.
I am inclined to believe that this thesis —
the thesis that God is both atemporal and such
that everything is present for him — is inco-
herent. If it zs coherent, however, Edwards’s
15
ALVIN PLANTINGA
argument can be restated in such a way as not
to presuppose its falsehood. For suppose in
fact Paul will mow his lawn in 1995. Then
the proposition ‘God (eternally) knows that
Paul mows in 1995’ is now true. That propo-
sition, furthermore, was true eighty years ago;
the proposition ‘God knows (eternally) that
Paul mows in 1995’ not only zs true now, but
was true then. Since what is past is necessary,
it is now necessary that this proposition was
true eighty years ago. But it is logically neces-
sary that, if this proposition was true eighty
years ago, then Paul mows in 1995. Hence
his mowing then is necessary in just the way
the past is. But, then it neither now is nor in
the future will be within Paul’s power to re-
frain from mowing.
Of course this argument depends upon the
claim that a proposition can be true at a time
— eighty years ago, for example. Some phi-
losophers argue that it does not so much as
make sense to suggest that a proposition A is
or was or will be true at a time; a proposition
is true or false stmpliciter and no more true at
a time than, for example, true in a mail-box
or a refrigerator.° (Even if there is no beer in
the refrigerator, the proposition ‘there is no
beer’ is not true in the refrigerator.) We need
not share their scruples in order to accommo-
date them; the argument can be suitably modi-
fied. Concede for the moment that it makes
no sense to say of a proposition that it was true
at a time; it none the less makes good sense,
obviously, to say of a sentence that it expressed
a certain proposition at a time. But it also
makes good sense to say of a sentence that it
expressed a truth at a time. Now eighty years
ago the sentence
(5) Good knows (eternally) that Paul mows
in 1995
expressed the proposition that God knows
eternally that Paul mows in 1995 (and for sim-
plicity let us suppose that proposition was the
only proposition it expressed then). But ifin
fact Paul will mow in 1995, then (5) also ex-
pressed a truth eighty years ago. So eighty
16
years ago (5) expressed the proposition that
Paul will mow in 1995 and expressed a truth;
since what is past is now necessary, it is now
necessary that eighty years ago (5) expressed
that proposition and expressed a truth. But it
is necessary in the broadly logical sense that if
(5) then expressed that proposition (and only
that proposition) and expressed a truth, then
Paul will mow in 1995. It is therefore neces-
sary that Paul will mow then; hence his mow-
ing then is necessary in just the way the past
is.
Accordingly, the claim that God is outside
of time is essentially irrelevant to Edwardsian
arguments. In what follows I shall therefore
assume, for the sake of expository simplicity,
that God does indeed have foreknowledge,
and that it is quite proper to speak of him both
as holding a belief at a time and as having held
beliefs in the past. What I shall say, however,
can be restated so as to accommodate those
who reject this assumption.
2 Ockham’s Way Out
As Edwards sees things, then ‘in things which
are past, their existence is now necessary. ...
’Tis too late for any possibility of alteration in
that respect: ’tis now impossible that it should
be otherwise than true, that that thing has ex-
isted.’ Nor is Edwards idiosyncratic in this
intuition; we are all inclined to believe that
the past, as opposed to the future, is fixed,
stable, unalterable, closed. It is outside our
control and outside the control even of an
omnipotent being ... This asymmetry con-
sists in part in the fact that the past is outside
our controls in a way in which the future is
not. Although I now have the power to raise
my arm, I do not have the power to bring it
about that I raised my arm five minutes ago.
Although it is now within my power to think
about Vienna, it is not now within my power
to bring it about that five minutes ago I was
thinking about Vienna. The past is fixed in a
way in which the future is open. It is within
my power to help determine how the future

shall be; it is too late to do the same with re-
spect to the past.
Edwards, indeed, speaks in this connection
of the unalterability of the past; and it is surely
natural to do so. Strictly speaking, however,
it is not alterability that is here relevant; for
the future is no more alterable than the past.
What after all, would it be to alter the past?
To bring it about, obviously, that a tempo-
rally indexed proposition which is true and
about the past before I act, is false thereafter.
On 1 January 1982, I was not visiting New
Guinea. For me to change the past with re-
spect to that fact would be for me to perform
an action A such that prior to my performing
the action, it is true that on 1 January 1982 I
was not in New Guinea, but after I perform
the action, false that I was not in New Guinea
then. But of course I can’t do anything like
that, and neither can God, despite his om-
nipotence.
But neither can we alter the future. We can
imagine someone saying, ‘Paul will in fact walk
out the door at 9.2] a.m.; hence ‘Paul will
walk out at 9.2] a.m.’ is true; but Paul has
the power to refrain from walking out then;
so Paul has the power to alter the future.’ But
the conclusion displays confusion; Paul’s not
walking out then, were it to occur, would ef-
fect no alteration at all in the future. To alter
the future, Paul must do something like this:
he must perform some action A at a time ¢
before 9.21 such that prior to fit is true that
Paul will walk out at 9.21, but after ¢ (after he
performs A) false that he will. Neither Paul
nor anyone — not even God — can do some-
thing like that. So the future is no more alter-
able than the past.
The interesting asymmetry between past
and future, therefore, does not consist in the
fact that the past is unalterable in a way in
which the future is not; none the less, this
asymmetry remains. Now, before 9.21, it is
within Paul’s power to make it false that he
walks out at 9.21; after he walks out at 9.21
he will no longer have that power. In the same
way, in 1995 Bc God could have brought it
about that Abraham did not exist in 1995 Bc;
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
now that is no longer within his power. As
Edwards says, it’s too late for that.
Recognizing this asymmetry, Ockham, like
several other medieval philosophers, held that
the past is indeed in some sense necessary: it
is mecessary per accidens.
I claim that every necessary proposition is per se
in either the first mode or the second mode.
This is obvious, since I am talking about all
propositions that are necessary stmpliciter. 1add
this because of propositions that are necessary
per accidens, as is the case with many past tense
propositions. They are necessary per accidens,
because it was contingent that they be neces-
sary, and because they were not always neces-
sary.’
Here Ockham directs our attention to propo-
sitions about the past: past-tense propositions
together with temporally indexed proposi-
tions, such as:
(8) Columbus sails the ocean blue is true in
14928
whose index is prior to the present time. Such
propositions, he says, are accidentally neces-
sary if true; they are accidentally necessary
because they become necessary. Past-tense
propositions become necessary when they
become true; temporally indexed propositions
such as (8), on the other hand, do not be-
come true — (8) was always true — but they
become necessary, being necessary after but
not before the date oftheir index. And once a
proposition acquires this status, says Ockham,
not even God has the power to make it false.
In Predestination, God’s Foreknowledge and
Future Contingents, Ockham goes on to make
an interesting distinction:
Some propositions are about the present as re-
gards both their wording and their subject mat-
ter (secundum vocem et secundum rem). Where
such propositions are concerned, it is univer-
sally true that every true proposition about the
present has (corresponding to it) a necessary one
about the past: e.g. ‘Socrates is seated’, ‘Socra-
tes is walking’, ‘Socrates is just’, and the like.
iy
ALVIN PLANTINGA
Other propositions are about the present as
regards their wording only and are equivalently
about the future, since their truth depends on
the truth of propositions about the future.
Where such (propositions) are concerned, the
rule that every true proposition about the
present has corresponding to it a necessary
proposition about the past is not true.’
Ockham means to draw the following con-
trast. Some propositions about the present ‘are
about the present as regards both their word-
ing and their subject matter’; for example,
(9) Socrates is seated.
Such propositions, we may say, are strictly
about the present; and if such a proposition is
now true, then a corresponding proposition
about the past —
(10) Socrates was seated —
will be accidentally necessary from now on.
Other propositions about the present, how-
ever, ‘are about the present as regards their
wording only and are equivalently about the
future’; for example,
(11) Paul correctly believes that the sun will
rise on 1 January 2000.
Such a proposition is ‘equivalently about the
future’, and it is not the case that if it is true,
then the corresponding proposition about the
past —
(12) Paul correctly believed that the sun will
rise on 1 January 2000
in this case — will be accidentally necessary from
now on. (Of course we hope that (12) will be
accidentally necessary after 1 January 2000.)
What Ockham says about the present, he
would also say about the past. Just as some
propositions about the present are ‘about the
present as regards their wording only and are
equivalently about the future’, so some propo-
sitions about the past are about the past as
18
regards their wording only and are equivalently
about the future; (12) for example, or
(13) Eighty years ago, the proposition ‘Paul
will mow his lawn’ in 1999 was true
or (to appease those who object to the idea
that a proposition can be true at a time):
(14) Eighty years ago, the sentence ‘Paul will
mow his lawn in 1999’ expressed the
proposition ‘Paul will mow his lawn in
1999’ and expressed a truth.
These propositions are about the past, but they
are also equivalently about the future. Pur-
thermore, they are not necessary per accidens
— not yet, at any rate. We might say that a
true proposition like (12)—(14) is a soft fact
about the past, whereas one like:
(15) Paul mowed in 1981
— one strictly about the past — is a hard fact
about the past.!°
Now of course the notion of aboutness, as
Nelson Goodman has reminded us?! is at best
a frail reed; a fortiori, then, the same goes for
the notion of being strictly about. But we do
have something of a grasp of this notion, hesi-
tant and infirm though perhaps it is. It may be
difficult or even impossible to give a useful cri-
terion for the distinction between hard and soft
facts about the past, but we do have some grasp
of it, and can apply it in many cases. The idea
ofa hard fact about the past contains two im-
portant elements: genuineness and strictness. In
the first place, a hard fact about the past is a
genuine fact about the past. This cannot be
said, perhaps, for (13). It is at least arguable
that if (13) is a fact about the past at all, it is an
ersatz fact about the past; it tells us nothing
about the past except in a Pickwickian,
Cantabrigian sort of way. What it really tells us
is something about the future: that Paul will
mow in 1999, (12) and (14), on the other
hand, do genuinely tell us something about the
past: (12) tells us that Paul believed something

and (14) that a certain sentence expressed a
certain proposition. But (12) and (14) aren’t
strictly about the past; they also tell us some-
thing about what will happen in 1999. It may
be difficult to give criteria, or (informative)
necessary and sufficient conditions for either
genuineness or strictness; nevertheless, we do
have at least a partial grasp of these notions.
Accordingly, let us provisionally join
Ockham in holding that there is a viable dis-
tinction between hard and soft facts about the
past. The importance of this distinction, for
Ockham, is that it provides him with a way of
disarming the arguments for logical and theo-
logical determinism from the necessity of the
past. Each of those arguments, when made
explicit, has as'a premise.
(16) If pis about the past, then p is neces-
sary
or something similar. Ockham’s response is
to deny (16): hard facts about the past are
indeed accidentally necessary, but the same
cannot be said for soft facts. Such proposi-
tions as (13) and (14) are not hard facts about
the past; each entails that Paul will mow his
lawn in 1999, and is therefore, as Ockham
says, ‘equivalently about the future’. Not all
facts about the past, then, are hard facts about
the past; and only the hard facts are plausibly
thought to be accidentally necessary. (16),
therefore, the general claim that all facts about
the past are accidentally necessary, is seen to
be false — or, at any rate, there seems to be no
reason at all to believe it. And thus dissolves
any argument for theological determinism
which, like Edwards’s, accepts (16) in its full
generality.
I believe Ockham is correct here; further-
more, there is no easy way to refurbish
Edwards’s argument. Given Ockham’s distinc-
tion between hard and soft facts, what
Edwards’s argument needs is the premise that
such propositions as
(17) God knew eighty years ago that Paul
will mow in 1999
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
are hard facts about the past. Clearly, how-
ever, (17) is not a hard fact about the past; for
(like (13) and (14)), it entails
(18) Paul will mow his lawn in 1999;
and no proposition that entails (18) is a hard
fact about the past.
Let me be entirely clear here; I say that none
of (13), (14), and (17) is a hard fact about
the past, because each entails (18). In so say-
ing, however, I am not endorsing a criterion
for hard fact-hood; in particular I am not
adopting an ‘entailment’ criterion, according
to which a fact about the past is a hard fact
about the past if and only if it entails no propo-
sition about the future. No doubt every propo-
sition about the past, hard fact or not, entails
some proposition about the future; ‘Socrates
was wise’, for example, entails ‘It will be true
from now on that Socrates was wise’, and ‘Paul
played tennis yesterday’ entails ‘Paul will not
play tennis for the first time tomorrow’. What
I am saying is this: no proposition that entails
(18) is a hard fact about the past, because no
such proposition is strictly about the past. We
may not be able to give a criterion for being
strictly about the past; but we do have at least
a rough and intuitive grasp of this notion.
Given our intuitive grasp of this notion, I think
we can see two things. First, no conjunctive
proposition that contains (18) as a conjunct
is (now, in 1986) strictly about the past. Thus
‘Paul will mow his lawn in 1999 and Socrates
was wise’, while indeed a proposition about
the past, is not strictly about the past. And
second, hard fact-hood is closed under logi-
cal equivalence: any proposition equivalent (in
the broadly logical sense) to a proposition
strictly about the past is itself strictly about
the past.!? But any proposition that entails (18)
is equivalent, in the broadly logical sense, to a
conjunctive proposition one conjunct of which
is (18); hence each such proposition is equiva-
lent to a proposition that is not a hard fact
about the past, and is therefore itself not a
hard fact about the past. Thus the Edwardsian
argument fails.
19
ALVIN PLANTINGA
3 On Ockham’s Way Out
As we have seen, Ockham responds to the ar-
guments for theological determinism by dis-
tinguishing hard facts about the past — facts
that are genuinely and strictly about the past
— from soft facts about the past; only the
former, he says, are necessary per accidens. This
response is intuitively plausible. It is extremely
difficult, however, to say precisely what it is
for a proposition to be strictly about the past,
and equally difficult to say what it is for a
proposition to be accidentally necessary. Ac-
cording to Ockham, a proposition is not
strictly about the past if its ‘truth depends on
the truth of propositions about the future’.
This suggests that if a proposition about the
past entails one about the future, then it isn’t
strictly about the past; we might therefore
think that a proposition is strictly about the
past if and only if it does not entail a proposi-
tion about the future. We might then concur
with Ockham in holding that a proposition
about the past is accidentally necessary if it is
true and strictly about the past. But as John
Fischer points out, difficulties immediately rear
their ugly heads.!* I shall mention only two.
In the first place, suppose we take ‘about the
future’ in a way that mirrors the way we took
‘about the past’; a proposition is then about
the future if and only if it is either a future-
tense proposition or a temporally indexed
proposition whose index is a date later than
the present. Then obviously any proposition
about the past will entail one about the fu-
ture;
(24) Abraham existed a long time ago
and
(25) Abraham exists in 1995 Bc
entail, respectively,
(26) It will be the case from now on that
Abraham existed a long time ago
and
20
(27) It will always be true that Abraham
exists in 1995 Be.
But then the distinction between propositions
strictly about the past and propositions about
the past simpliciter becomes nugatory.
Perhaps you will reply that propositions like
(26) and (27) are at best ersatz propositions
about the future, despite their future tense or
future index; on a less wooden characteriza-
tion of ‘about the future’, they wouldn’t turn
out to be about the future. Perhaps so; I won’t
here dispute the point. But other and less trac-
table difficulties remain. First, (24) and (25)
both entail that Abraham will not begin to
exist (i.e. exist for the first time) in 1999;14
and that isn’t, or isn’t obviously, an ersatz fact
about the future. Second, on that more ad-
equate characterization, whatever exactly it
might be, it will no doubt be true that
(28) It was true eighty years ago either that
God knew that Friesland will rule the
world in 2000 ap or that Paul believed
that Friesland will rule the world in
2000 ap!>
entails no non-ersatz future propositions and
is thus strictly about the past. Now suppose,
per tmposstbile, that Friesland will indeed rule
the world in 2000 ap. Then (28) (given di-
vine omniscience) will be true by virtue of the
truth of the first disjunct; the second disjunct,
however, is false (by virtue of Paul’s youth).
And then on the above account (28) is acci-
dentally necessary; but is it really? Isn’t it still
within someone’s power — God’s, let’s say —
to act in such a way that (28) would have been
false (Fischer, p. 74)?!°
Necessity per accidensand being strictly about
the past thus present difficulties when taken in
tandem in the way Ockham takes them. The
former, furthermore, is baffling and perplex-
ing in its own right; and this is really the fun-
damental problem here. If, as its proponents
claim, accidental necessity isn’t any sort of logi-
cal or metaphysical or causal necessity, what
sort of necessity is it? How shall we understand

it? Ockham, Edwards, and their colleagues
don’t tell us. Furthermore, even ifthey (or we)
had a plausible account of being strictly about
the past, we couldn’t sensibly define accidental
necessity in terms of being strictly about the
past; for the whole point of the argument for
theological determinism is just that proposi-
tions about the future that are entailed by ac-
cidentally necessary propositions about the past
will themselves be accidentally necessary. So
how shall we understand accidental necessity?
Perhaps we can make some progress as fol-
lows. In explaining accidental necessity, one
adverts to facts about the power of agents —
such facts, for example, as that not even God
can now bring it about that Abraham did not
exist; it’s too’late for that. Furthermore, in
the arguments for logical and theological de-
terminism, accidental necessity functions as a
sort of middie term. It is alleged that a propo-
sition of some sort or other is about or strictly
about the past; but then, so the claim goes,
that proposition is accidentally necessary — in
which case, according to the argument, it is
not now within the power of any agent, not
even God, to bring it about that it is false.
Why not eliminate the middleman and define
accidental necessity in terms of the powers of
agents? If aproposition p is accidentally nec-
essary, then it is not possible — possible in the
broadly logical sense — that there be an agent
who has it within his power to bring it about
that p is false; why not then define accidental
necessity as follows?
(29) p is accidentally necessary at ¢ if and
only if p is true at ¢ and it is not possi-
ble both that p is true at ¢and that there
is a being that at for later has the power
to bring it about that p is false?!”
But how shall we understand this ‘has the
power to bring it about that p is false’? Pike
speaks in this connection of ‘its being within
Jones power to do something that would have
brought it about that ~, and Fisher of ‘being
able so to act that p would have been false’.
This suggests
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
(30) Shas the power to bring it about that
pis false if and only if there is an action
it is within S’s power to perform such
y that if he were to perform it, p would
have been false.
(30) is perhaps inadequate as a general account
of what it is to have the power to bring it about
that a proposition is false. For one thing, it
seems to imply that I have the power with
respect to necessarily false propositions (as well
as other false propositions whose falsehood is
counter-factually independent of my actions)
to bring it about that they are false; and this is
at best dubious. But here we aren’t interested,
first of all, in giving an independent account
of having the power to bring it about that pis
false; even if (30) isn’t a satisfactory general
account of that notion, it may serve accept-
ably in (29). Incorporating (30), therefore,
(29) becomes
(31) p is accidentally necessary at ¢ if and
only if p is true at ¢and it is not possi-
ble both that pis true at ¢and that there
exists an agent S and an action A such
that (1) Shas the power at for later to
perform A, and (2) if S were to per-
form A at for later, then p would have
been false.!8
Now, so far as I know, Ockham gave no
explicit account or explanation of accidental
necessity; nevertheless, it is not implausible to
see him as embracing something like (31). On
this definition, furthermore, (given common-
sense assumptions) many soft facts about the
past will not be accidentally necessary: for ex-
ample
(32) Eighty years ago it was true that Paul
would not mow his lawn in 1999.
Even if true, (32) is not accidentally neces-
sary: it is clearly possible that Paul have the
power, in 1999, to mow his lawn; but if he
were to do so, then (32) would have been
false. The same goes for
21
ALVIN PLANTINGA
(33) God believed eighty years ago that Paul
would mow his lawn in 1999
if God is essentially omniscient; for then it is a
necessary truth that if Paul were to refrain from
mowing his lawn during 1999, God would
not have believed, eighty years ago, that he
would mow then. (32) and (33), therefore,
are not accidentally necessary.
Since (32) and (33) are not hard facts about
the past, Ockham would have welcomed this
consequence. But our account of accidental
necessity has other consequences — conse-
quences Ockham might have found less to his
liking. Let’s suppose that a colony of carpen-
ter ants moved into Paul’s yard last Saturday.
Since this colony hasn’t yet had a chance to
get properly established, its new home is still
a bit fragile. In particular, if the ants were to
remain and Paul were to mow his lawn this
afternoon, the colony would be destroyed.
Although nothing remarkable about these ants
is visible to the naked eye, God for reasons of
his own, intends that the colony be preserved.
Now as a matter of fact, Paul will not mow
his lawn this afternoon. God, who is essen-
tially omniscient, knew in advance, of course,
that Paul will not mow his lawn this afternoon;
but if he had foreknown instead that Paul
would mow this afternoon, then he would have
prevented the ants from moving in. The facts
of the matter, therefore, are these: if Paul were
to mow his lawn this afternoon, then God
would have foreknown that Paul would mow
his lawn this afternoon; and if God had fore-
known that Paul would mow this afternoon,
then God would have prevented the ants from
moving in. So if Paul were to mow his lawn
this afternoon, then the ants would not have
moved in last Saturday. But it is within Paul’s
power to mow this afternoon. There is there-
fore an action he can perform such that if he
were to perform it, then the proposition
(34) That colony of carpenter ants moved
into Paul’s yard last Saturday
would have been false. But what I have called
ae
‘the facts of the matter’ certainly seem to be
possible; it is therefore possible that there be
an agent who has the power to perform an
action which is such that, if he were to per-
form it, then (34) would have been false — in
which case it is not accidentally necessary. But
(34), obviously enough, is strictly about the
past; in so far as we have any grasp at all of
this notion, (34) is about as good a candidate
for being an exemplification of it as any we
can easily think of. So, contrary to what
Ockham supposed, not all true propositions
strictly about the past — not all hard facts — are
accidentally necessary — not, at any rate, in the
sense of(31).
It is possible (though no doubt unlikely)
that there is something you can do such that
if you were to do it, then Abraham would
never have existed. For perhaps you will be
confronted with a decision of great importance
— so important that one of the alternatives is
such that if you were to choose zt, then the
course of human history would have been
quite different from what in fact it is. Further-
more, it is possible that if God had foreseen
that you would choose that alternative, he
would have acted very differently. Perhaps he
would have created different persons; perhaps,
indeed, he would not have created Abraham.
So it is possible that there is an action such
that it is within your power to perform it and
such that if you were to perform it, then God
would not have created Abraham. But if in-
deed that 7s possible, then not even the propo-
sition Abraham once existed is accidentally
necessary in the sense of (31). By the same
sort of reasoning we can see that it is possible
(though no doubt monumentally unlikely)
that there is something you can do such that
if you were to do it, then Caesar would not
have crossed the Rubicon and the
Peloponnesian War would never have oc-
curred.
It follows, then, that even such hard facts
about the past as that Abraham once existed,
and that there was once a war between the
Spartans and Athenians, are not accidentally
necessary in the sense of (31). Indeed, it is

not easy to think of amy contingent facts about
the past that are accidentally necessary in that
sense. Of course, there are limits to the sorts
of propositions such that it is possibly within
my power so to act that they would have been
false. It is not possible, for example, for there
to be an action I can perform such that, if I
were to do so, then I would never have ex-
isted.!? But even if it is necessarily not within
my power so to act that I would not have ex-
isted, the same does not go for you; perhaps
there is an action you can take which is such
that, if you were to take it, then I would not
have existed. (I should therefore like to ask
you to tread softly.) Neither of us (nor any-
one else) could have the power so to act that
there should never have been any (contin-
gently existing) agents; clearly it is not possi-
ble that there be an action A some
(contingently existing) person could perform
such that ifhe were to do so, then there would
never have been any contingent agents. So the
proposition ‘There have been (contingent)
agents’ is accidentally necessary; but it is hard
indeed to find any stronger propositions that
are both logically contingent and accidentally
necessary.
4 Power Over the Past
The notion of accidental necessity explained
as in (31) is, I think, a relevant notion for the
discussion of the arguments for theological
determinism from the necessity of the past;
for the question at issue is often, indeed ordi-
narily, put as the question which propositions
about the past are such that their truth entails
that it is not within anyone’s power so to act
that they would have been false. Accidental
necessity as thus explained, however, does lit-
tle to illumine our deep intuitive beliefs about
the asymmetry of past and future — the fact
that the future is within our control in a way
in which the past is not; for far too few propo-
sitions turn out to be accidentally necessary.”°
What is the root of these beliefs, and what is
the relevant asymmetry between past and fu-
ON OCKHAM’'S WAY OUT
ture? Is it just that the scope of our power
with respect to the past is vastly more limited
than that of our power with respect to the
future? That is, is it just that there are far fewer
propositions about the past than about the
future which are such that I can so act that
they would have been false? I doubt that this
is an important part of the story, simply be-
cause we really know very little about how far
our power with respect to either past or fu-
ture extends. With few exceptions, I do not
know which true propositions about the past
are such that I can so act that they would have
been false; and the same goes for true propo-
sitions about the future.
So suppose we look in a different direction.
Possibly there is something I can do such that,
if Iwere to do it, then Abraham would not
have existed; but it is not possible — is it? —
that I now cause Abraham not to have existed.
While it may be within Paul’s power so to act
that the colony of ants would not have moved
in last Saturday, surely it is not within his
power now - or for that matter within God’s
power now -— to cause it to be true that the
colony did not move in. Perhaps we should
revise our definition of accidental necessity to
say that a proposition is (now) accidentally
necessary if it is true, and also such that its
truth entails that it is not (now) within any-
one’s power (not even God’s) to cause it to
be false. And perhaps we could then see the
relevant asymmetry between past and future
as the fact that true propositions strictly about
the past — unlike their counterparts about the
future — are accidentally necessary in this new
sense.
The right answer, I suspect, lies in this di-
rection; but the suggestion involves a number
of profound perplexities — about agent causa-
tion, the analysis of causation, whether back-
wards causation is possible, the relation
between causation and counter factuals — that
I cannot explore here. Let us instead briefly
explore a related suggestion. In our first sense
of accidental necessity, a proposition p is acci-
dentally necessary if and only if p is true and
such that it is not possible that p be true and
23
ALVIN PLANTINGA
there be an agent and an action such that (1)
the agent is now or will in the future be able
to perform the action and (2) if he were to do
so, the p would have been false. Then such
propositions as ‘Abraham existed in 1995 Bc’
turn out not to be accidentally necessary be-
cause of the possibility of divine foreknowl-
edge and, so to speak, divine fore-co-
operation. Perhaps, if Iwere to do A, then
God would have foreseen that I would do A
and would not have created Abraham. My
doing A, however, is not by ztse/f sufficient
for Abraham’s not existing; it requires God’s
previous co-operation. So suppose we
strengthen the counter-factual involved in the
above definition; suppose we say:
(39) p is accidentally necessary at ¢ if and
only if pis true at ¢and it is not possi-
ble both that pis true at and that there
exists an action A and an agent S such
that (1) Shas the power at f or later to
perform A, and (2) necessarily if Swere
to perform A at for later, then p would
have been false.
While it may be within Paul’s power to do
something — namely, mow his lawn — such
that, if he were to do so, then that colony of
ants would not have moved in, his perform-
ing that action does not entail the falsehood
of the proposition that the ants did move in;
and it looks as if there is nothing he or any-
one can do that does entail its falsehood.
Permit me a couple of comments on this
definition. First, although it involves the idea
of a proposition’s being true at a time, it is
easily revised (as are (42) and (44) below) so
as to accommodate our atemporalist friends.
Second, I am thinking of the notion of an
agent, as it enters into the definition, broadly,
in such a way as to include agents of all sorts;
in particular it is to include God. Third, propo-
sitions that are necessary in the broadly logi-
cal sense turn out accidentally necessary.
Fourth, accidental necessity thus characterized
is closed under entailment but not under con-
junction. Fifth, many contingent propositions
24
about the past turn out to be accidentally nec-
essary, but so do some contingent proposi-
tions about the future. And finally, Ockham’s
claim that necessity per accidens is connected
with what is strictly about the past seems to
be vindicated on (39); barring a couple of
complications, it looks as if a logically contin-
gent proposition about the past is accidentally
necessary in the sense of (39) if and only if it
is true and strictly about the past. So, for ex-
ample,
(40) Eighty years ago, the sentence ‘Paul will
mow his lawn in 1995’ expressed the
proposition ‘Paul will mow his lawn in
1995’ and expressed a truth
is true (let’s suppose), but not strictly about
the past. Here there is indeed something
someone can do that entails its falsehood: Paul
can mow his lawn in 1985. But it is not possi-
ble that there be an action Paul (or anyone)
can or will be able to perform such that his
performing it entails that
(41) Paul didn’t mow his lawn in 1984
is false. We may thus say, with Ockham, that
propositions strictly about the past are acci-
dentally necessary; and the relevant asymme-
try between past and future is just that
contingent propositions strictly about the past
are accidentally necessary, while their col-
leagues about the future typically are not.
Unfortunately, there is a residual perplexity.
For what shall we count, here, as actions? Sup-
pose it is in fact within Paul’s power so to act
that the ants would not have moved in; isn’t
there such an action as bringing it about that
the ants would not have moved in or so acting
that the ants would not have moved in? If there
is (and why not?) then it is both an action he
can perform and one such that his performing
it entails that the ants did not move in; but
then ‘The ants moved in’ is not accidentally
necessary after all. Here what we need, clearly
enough, is the idea of a basic action, what an
agent can in some sense do directly. Moving

my arm, perhaps, would be such an action;
starting a world war, or so acting that the ants
would not have moved in, would not. Let’s
say that an action is one I can directly perform
if it is one I can perform without having to
perform some other action in order to perform
it. Starting a war would not be an action I can
directly perform; I cannot start a war without
doing something like pushing a button, pull-
ing a trigger, or making a declaration. Accord-
ing to Roderick Chisholm, the only actions I
can directly perform are undertakings.” I can’t,
for example, raise my arm without trying or
endeavouring or undertaking to do so; more
exactly (as Chisholm points out’), I can’t raise
it without undertaking to do something -
scratch my ear, for example. I am inclined to
think he is right: more generally, I can’t per-
form an action which is not itselfan undertak-
ing, without undertaking some action or other.
(What I say below, however, does not depend
on this claim.) But he is also right in thinking
that undertakings are not undertaken. If so,
however, it will follow that the only actions I
can directly perform are undertakings.
Now some actions I can perform are such
that my undertaking to perform them and my
body’s being in normal conditions are to-
gether causally sufficient for my performing
them; raising my hand and moving my feet
would be an example. ‘Normal conditions’
here, includes, among other things, the ab-
sence ofpathological conditions, as well as the
absence of such external hindrances as being
locked in a steamer trunk or having my hands
tied behind my back. Of course more should
be said here, but this will have to suffice for
now. Let us say, then, that an action A is a
basic action for a person Sif and only if there
is an action A* that meets two conditions: first,
Scan directly perform A*, and secondly, S’s
being in normal conditions and his directly
performing A* is causally sufficient for his
performing A. Then we may revise (39) by
appropriately inserting ‘A is basic for 9’:
(42) p is accidentally necessary at ¢ if and
only if p is true at ¢ and it is not possi-
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
ble both that pis true at ¢and that there
exists an agent S and an action A such
that (1) A is basic for S, (2) S has the
power at for later to perform A, and
(3) necessarily if S were to perform A
at ¢ or later, then p would have been
false.
There is one more complication.?*
(43) God foreknew that Smith and Jones will
not freely co-operate in mowing the
lawn
should not turn out to be accidentally neces-
sary; but on (42) it does. The problem is that
(42) does not properly accommodate co-op-
erative ventures freely undertaken; it must be
generalized to take account of multiple
agency. This is easily enough accomplished:
(44) p is accidentally necessary at ¢ if and
only if p is true at ¢ and it is not possi-
ble both that pis true at ¢and that there
exist agents S, ..., S, and actions A,,
..., A, such that (1) A; is basic for S,,
(2) Shas the power at for later to per-
form A,, and (3) necessarily, if every S,
were to perform A, at ¢ or later, then p
would have been false.
And now we may say perhaps, that the way in
which the future but not the past is within
our control is that contingent propositions
strictly about the past are accidentally neces-
sary, while those about the future typically are
not.
By way of summary and conclusion, then:
the two main arguments for the incompat-
ibility of divine foreknowledge with human
freedom are both failures. The Ockhamite
claim that not all propositions about the past
are hard facts about the past seems correct;
among those that are not hard facts would be
propositions specifying God’s ((past) fore-
knowledge of future human actions, as well
as propositions specifying God’s (past) fore-
knowledge of future human actions, as well
25
ALVIN PLANTINGA
as propositions specifying God’s) past beliefs
about future human actions, if God is essen-
tially omniscient. Only hard facts about the
past, however, are plausibly thought to be
accidentally necessary; hence neither God’s
foreknowledge nor God’s forebelief poses a
threat to human freedom. Accidental neces-
sity is a difficult notion, but can be explained
in terms of the power of agents. The initially
plausible account of accidental necessity (31)
is defective as an account of the intuitively
obvious asymmetry between past and future;
for far too few propositions turn out to be
accidentally necessary on that account. (44),
however, is more satisfying.
Notes
1 StAugustine, On Free Will, in Augustine: Ear-
lier Writings tr. J. H.S. Burleigh, vol. 6 (Phila-
delphia, 1953), bk. 3, ii, 4.
2 St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles,
Dike chy O7— pe 0)
3 See Summa Contra Gentiles, bk. i, ch. 67, and
Summa Theologiae, pt. i, q. 14, art. 13.
4 Jonathon Edwards, Freedom of the Will (Bos-
ton, 1745), s. 12.
5 See E. Stump and N. Kretzmann, ‘Eternity’,
Journal of Philosophy, 78 (8) (August 1981),
pp. 429-58; reprinted in this volume (see
Reading 6, pp. 42-53 below).
6 See, for example, Peter van Inwagen, An Es-
say on Free on Free Will (Oxford, 1983), pp.
35 ff.; and Nelson Pike, God and Timelessness
(New York, 1970), pp. 67 ff. (More exactly,
Pike’s objection is not to temporally indexed
propositions as such, but to alleged proposi-
tions of the sort ‘it is true at T, that S does A
aie 1")
7 William of Ockham, Ordinatio, vol. i, pro-
logue, q. 6.
8 I take it that (8) is equivalent to
(8*) ‘Columbus sails the ocean blue’ is, was
or will be true in 1492 I am here ignor-
ing allegedly tenseless propositions, if
indeed there are any such things.
9 William Ockham, Predestination, God’s Fore-
knowledge, and Future Contingents, tr. with
Introduction, Notes, and Appendices by
Marilyn Adams and Norman Kretzmann
26
(Ithaca, 1969), pp. 46-7.
10 See Nelson Pike, ‘Of God and Freedom: a Re-
joinder’, Philosophical Review, 75 (1966), p.
370; and Marilyn Adams, ‘Is the Existence of
God a “Hard” Fact?’, Philosophical Review, 76
(1966), pp. 493-4.
ll Nelson Goodman, ‘About’, Mind 70 (1962),
pp. 1-24.
12 I think it is clear that hard fact-hood zs closed
under broadly logical equivalence; this argu-
ment, however, does not require the full gen-
erality of that premise. All it requires is that
no proposition strictly about the past is equiva-
lent in the broadly logical sense to a conjunc-
tion one conjunct of which, like (18), is a
contingent proposition paradigmatically about
the future.
13 John Fischer, ‘Freedom and Foreknowledge’,
Philosophical Review, 92 (1983), pp. 73-5.
14 lioylesjh wD
15 I leave it to the reader to restate (28) insucha
way as to accommodate those who hold that
propositions are not true at times.
16 Fischer, ‘Freedom and Foreknowledge’, p. 74.
17 The appropriate atemporalist counterpart of
(29) is (29*) pis accidentally necessary if and
only if pis true and it is not possible both that
p is true and that there is or will be a being
that has or will have the power to bring it about
that pis false of which (29) is a generalization.
(31), (39), (42), and (44) below have similar
counterparts.
18 Note that on (31) propositions that are nec-
essary in the broadly logical sense turn out to
be accidentally necessary. If this is considered
a defect, it can be remedied by adding an ap-
propriate condition to the definiens. Similar
comments apply to (39), (42), and (44) be-
low.
19 Every action is necessarily such that, if Iwere
to perform it, I would have existed; so if there
were such an action, it would be such that, if I
were to perform it, then I would have both
existed and not existed.
20 We might be inclined to broaden (31) as fol-
lows:
(31*) Pis accidentally necessary at tifand only
if p is true at ¢and there is no action A
and person S such that if § were to
perform A, then p would have been
false.

(31*) is indeed broader than (31). First, it is
clearly necessary that any proposition satisfy-
ing the definiens of (31) also satisfies the
definiens of (31*). Second, it seems possible
that there be a true proposition p such that,
while indeed it is possible that there be a per-
son Sand an action A such that Scan perform
A and such that if Swere to perform A, then p
would have been true, as a matter of fact there
is no such person and action. It is therefore
possible that there be a proposition that is ac-
cidentally necessary in the sense of (31*) but
not in the sense of (31). The problem with
(31*), however, is a close relative of the prob-
lem with (31); under (31*) there will be far
too few (contingent) propositions such that
we have any reason to think them accidentally
necessary.
ON OCKHAM’S WAY OUT
21 Roderick Chisholm, Person and Object
(LaSalle, 1976), p. 85. Chisholm’s powerful
discussion of agency (pp. 53-88 and 159-74)
should be required reading for anyone inter-
“ ested in that topic. (Chisholm does not use
the term ‘directly perform’, and I am not here
using the term ‘basic action’ in just the way he
does.)
22 Ibid., p. 57.
23 Called to my attention by Edward Wierenga,
to whom I am especially grateful for penetrat-
ing comments on an ancestor of this paper. I
am grateful for similar favours to many oth-
ers, including Lawrence Powers, Alfred
Freddoso, Mark Heller, Peter van Inwagen,
William Alston, David Vriend, the members
of the Calvin College Tuesday Colloquium,
and especially Nelson Pike.
a
Perfection
4 The Problem of Divine Perfection and Freedom*
William Rowe
Though God is a most perfectly free agent, he can-
not but do always what is best and wisest in the
whole.
Samuel Clarke
Many thinkers in the theistic tradition have
held that in addition to omnipotence and om-
niscience God’s attributes must include per-
fect goodness and freedom. For the theistic
God deserves unconditional gratitude, praise,
and worship. But if a being were to fall short
of perfect goodness, it would not be worthy
of unreserved praise and worship. So, too, for
divine freedom. If God were not free in some
of his significant actions, if he always lacked
the freedom not to do what he in fact does,
we could hardly thank him or praise him for
anything that he does. He would not be de-
serving of our gratitude and praise for the sim-
ple reason that he would act of necessity and
not freely. So, along with omnipotence and
omniscience, perfect goodness and significant
freedom are fundamental attributes of the the-
istic God.
Some attributes are essential to an object.
That object could not exist were it not to pos-
sess those attributes. Other attributes are such
that the object could still exist were it to lack
them. Ifthe theistic God does exist, to which
class do his attributes of omnipotence, om-
niscience, perfect goodness, and freedom be-
* From Reasoned Faith, ed. Eleonore Stump (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993), pp. 223-33.
Reprinted with permission.
28
long? Are they essential to that being? Does
that being possess those attributes in every
possible world in which he exists? Or are they
not essential? Most thinkers in the theistic tra-
dition have held the view that these attributes
are constitutive of God’s nature; they are es-
sential attributes of the being that has them.
With this view in mind, my aim in this essay is
to consider the question of whether God’s
perfect goodness, specifically his moral per-
fection, is consistent with his being free in
many significant actions. Throughout, we will
suppose that if God exists he is essentially
omnipotent, omniscient, perfectly good, and
free in many of his actions. What I want to
determine is whether there is a serious diffi-
culty in the endeavor to reconcile God’s es-
sential goodness and moral perfection with any
significant degree of divine freedom.!
I begin the investigation with the question
of whether God is ever free to do an evil (mor-
ally wrong) act. The answer, I believe, is no.
Of course, being morally perfect, omnipotent,
and omniscient, God will never in fact do an
evil act. No being who knowingly and will-
ingly performs an evil act is morally perfect.
Since being free to do an evil act is consistent
with never in fact doing an evil act, it may
seem initially plausible to think that God could
be free to perform such an act. But if God is
free to perform an evil act, then he has it in
his power to perform that act. And, if God
has it in his power to perform an evil act, then
he has it in his power to deprive himself of
one ofhis essential attributes (moral perfec-

tion). But no being has the power to deprive
itself of one of its essential attributes.” There-
fore, God does not have it in his power to
perform an evil act.
The reasoning in this argument proceeds
as follows.
(1) God has it in his power to bring it about
that he performs an evil act. (Assump-
tion to be refuted)
(2) From God’s performing an evil act it
follows that God is not morally perfect.
(3) If Xhas it in its power to bring about p,
4 follows from p, and q does not obtain,
then X has it in its power to bring about
q.
(4) God hasit in his power to bring it about
that he is not morally perfect. (From 1
torsi)et
(5) Being morally perfect is an essential at-
tribute of God.
Therefore,
(6) God has it in his power to bring it about
that he lacks one of his essential at-
tributes.
Because (6) is clearly false, we must deny the
initial assumption that God has power to bring
it about that he performs an evil act. But if
God does not have it in his power to perform
an evil act, then performing an evil act is not
something God is free to do.
It may seem that my argument to show that
God is not free to do an evil act has already
produced a serious difficulty in the theistic
concept of God. For if God cannot do evil,
what becomes of his omnipotence? After all,
even we humans, with our quite limited
power, are able to perform evil deeds. If God
does not have the power to do what even we
can do, how can we reasonably hold that he is
essentially omnipotent?
So long as we hold that omnipotence does
not imply power to do what is not possible to
be done, we need not conclude that God’s
lacking power to bring it about that he do
DIVINE PERFECTION AND FREEDOM
something morally wrong renders him less
than omnipotent.’ For, as we’ve seen, it is
strictly impossible for a being who logically
cannot be other than morally perfect to do
something evil.
If God is not free to do a morally wrong
action, might he be free to do a morally right
act? “Morally right act” may mean either what
is morally obligatory or what is morally per-
missible. If we are willing to countenance re-
fraining from performing a certain action as
an “action,” then it is clear that God is not
free with respect to performing any action that
is morally obligatory for him to perform. For
refraining from that action would be morally
wrong, and, as we’ve seen, God is not free to
do anything that is morally wrong for him to
do. For God to be free in performing any ac-
tion, it must be both in his power to perform
it and in his power to refrain from performing
it. But since refraining from doing what is
morally obligatory is morally wrong, and be-
ing morally perfect is essential to God, he does
not have the power to refrain from doing what
is morally obligatory. In short, God does what
is morally obligatory of necessity, not freely.
The way [ve just put the point about God
doing what is morally obligatory for him to
do is not quite right. For it suggests that even
though God does not freely do what he is
morally obligated to do, he nevertheless does
(of necessity) what he has a moral obligation
to do. But the truth is that no action is such
that God can have a moral obligation to per-
form it. For one cannot have a moral obliga-
tion to do what one cannot do freely. If a
person freely does some act, then it was in the
person’s power not to do it.* Since it would
be morally wrong for God not to do what he
is morally obligated to do, it follows from my
previous argument that God cannot do freely
what he is morally obligated to do. But, since
one cannot be morally obligated to do what
one is not free to do, there are no actions God
has a moral obligation to perform. At best we
can say that God does of necessity those acts
he would be morally obligated to do were he
free to do them.
29
WILLIAM ROWE
We’ve seen that because he is essentially a
morally perfect being, God is neither free to
do a morally wrong action nor free in doing a
morally obligatory action. We’ve also seen that
no action can be such that God has a moral
obligation to do it (or not to do it). It looks,
then, as though my initial efforts have yielded
the result that God’s absolute moral perfec-
tion places significant restraints on the scope
of divine freedom. However, the fact that God
is neither free to do what is wrong nor free in
doing what is morally obligatory (what would
be morally obligatory were God free with re-
spect to doing or not doing it) may still leave
considerable scope for God’s freedom to be
exercised.® For, so long as some of his impor-
tant actions are morally permissible but not
morally obligatory, we thus far have no rea-
son to deny that God is free with respect to
all such actions, that he has it in his power to
do them and in his power not to do them.
For example, it has long been held that God’s
action in creating the world was a free action,
that God was free to create a world and free
not to create a world.° Creating the world is
certainly a very significant act, involving, as it
does, a vast number of divine acts in actualiz-
ing the contingent states of affairs that con-
stitute our world. If God enjoys freedom with
respect to the world he creates, then, although
his freedom is constrained in ways that ours is
not, there would not appear to be any insur-
mountable problem to reconciling perfection
and freedom.’ To pursue the investigation of
a possible conflict between God’s moral per-
fection and his freedom, therefore, it will be
helpful to turn our attention to God’s action
in creating the world. Specifically, we need to
consider whether God’s moral perfection
leaves God free with respect to his creation of
the world.
It is important to distinguish two questions
concerning God’s freedom in creating a world.
There is the question of whether God is free
to select among creatable worlds the one he
will create. There is also the question of
whether God is free not to create a world at
all. That these are quite different questions
30
can be seen as follows. Suppose that among
worlds creatable by an omnipotent being there
is one that is morally better than all other
worlds. On this supposition, one can imagine
arguments for any of four positions. Some-
one might argue that although God is free
not to create a world at all, if he chooses to
create, he must create the best world he can.
Hence, although he is free not to create the
morally best world, he is not free to create
any world other than it. Alternatively, some-
one might argue that God’s perfect goodness
absolutely necessitates that he create a good
world. God is not free not to create a world.
But God’s perfection does not necessitate that
he create the best world he can. He is free to
create among the class of creatable good
worlds. Third, someone might argue that God
enjoys both sorts of freedom. He is free not
to create at all. He is also free to create some
good world other than the best that he can
create. Finally, one might argue that God’s
being essentially perfect necessitates his cre-
ating that world which is superior to all oth-
ers. God is not free to create some world other
than the best, and he is not free not to create
any world at all. In what follows, I focus pri-
marily on my first question (whether God is
free to select among creatable worlds).
In an important article, Robert Adams has
argued that it need not be wrong for God to
create a world that is ot as good as some other
world he could create.? Adams supposes that
the world God creates contains creatures each
of whom is as happy as it is in any possible
world in which it exists. Moreover, no crea-
ture in this world is so miserable that it would
be better had it not existed. Let’s suppose
there is some other possible world, with dif-
ferent creatures, that exceeds this world in its
degree of happiness, a world that God could
have created. So, God has created a world with
a lesser degree of happiness than he could
have. Has God wronged anyone in creating
this world? Adams argues that God cannot
have wronged the creatures in the other pos-
sible world, for merely possible beings don’t
have rights. Nor can be have wronged the crea-

tures in the world he has created, for their
lives could not be made more happy. Adams
notes that God would have done something
wrong in creating this world were the follow-
ing principle true: “It is wrong to bring into
existence, knowingly, a being less excellent
than one could have brought into existence.”!°
But this principle, Adams argues, is subject to
counterexamples. Parents do no wrong when
they refrain from taking drugs that would re-
sult in an abnormal gene structure in their
children, even though taking the drugs would
result in children who are superhuman both
in intelligence and in prospects for happiness.
Suppose we agree with Adams on these
points. Suppose, that is, that we agree that
God is not morally obligated to create the best
world that he can, that it would be morally
permissible for God to create the best world
he can, but also morally permissible for God
to create any of anumber of other good worlds
of the sort Adams describes. If so, can’t we
conclude that there is no unresolvable con-
flict between God’s being essentially morally
perfect and his enjoying a significant degree
of genuine freedom? For it now appears that
God’s moral perfection does not require him
to create the best world. In short, he is free to
create (or not create) any of a number of good
worlds.
As forceful and persuasive as Adams’s argu-
ments are, I don’t think they yield the con-
clusion that God’s perfect goodness imposes
no requirement on God to create the best
world that he can create. What Adams’s argu-
ments show, at best, is that God’s moral per-
fection imposes no moral obligation on God
to create the best world he can. His arguments
establish, at best, that God need not be doing
anything morally wrong in creating some
world other than the best world. But this isn’t
quite the same thing as showing that God’s
perfect goodness does not render it necessary
that he create the best world he can. For, even
conceding the points Adams tries to make,
there still may be an inconsistency in a mor-
ally perfect being creating some world other
than the best world he can create. My point
DIVINE PERFECTION AND FREEDOM
here is this. One being may be morally better
than another even though it is not better by
virtue of the performance of some obligation
thatthe other failed to perform. It may be
morally better by virtue of performing some
supererogatory act that the other being could
have but did not perform. Analogously, a be-
ing who creates a better world than another
being may be morally better, even though the
being who creates the morally inferior world
does not thereby do anything wrong. Follow-
ing Philip Quinn, I’m inclined to think that if
an omnipotent being creates some world other
than the best world it can create, then it is
possible there should exist a being morally
better than it is.!! For it would be possible for
there to be an omnipotent being who creates
the best world that the first being could cre-
ate but did not. I conclude then that if an
essentially omnipotent, perfectly good being
creates any world at all, it must create the best
world it can. For although a being may do no
wrong in creating less than the best it can cre-
ate, a being whose nature is to be perfectly
Jood is not such that it is possible for there to
be a being morally better than it. If, however,
a being were to create a world when there is a
morally better world it could create, then it
would be possible for there to be a being
morally better than it.
What we have seen is that a being who is
morally perfect and creates a world must cre-
ate the very best world it can create. But what
if there is no best world among those it can
create? This would be so in either of two cases.
First, it might be that for any world it creates
there is a morally better world it can create.
Second, it might be that there is no unique
best world. Perhaps, instead, there are many
morally unsurpassable worlds among the
worlds God can create. Let’s consider these
two cases in turn.
On the assumption that for any world God
creates there is a morally better world he can
create, it is clear that it is impossible for God
to do the best that he can. Whatever he does,
it will be the case that he could have done
better. This being so, it would seem only rea-
31
WILLIAM ROWE
sonable that God’s perfect goodness is fully
satisfied should he create a very good world.
And we may safely assume that there are a large
number of such worlds that he can create. So
long as he creates one ofthese worlds, he will
have satisfied the demands ofhis morally per-
fect nature. For the idea that he should create
the best world he can is an idea that logically
cannot be implemented. Hence, on the as-
sumption of there being no morally
unsurpassable world among the worlds God
can create, it would seem that God’s absolute
moral perfection is fully compatible with his
freely creating any one of a number of good
worlds that lie in his power to create. To com-
plain that God cannot then be perfect because
he could have created a better world is to raise
a complaint that no creative action God took
would have enabled him to avoid. As William
Wainwright notes:
The critic complains that God could have cre-
ated a better order. But even if God had cre-
ated a better order, He would be exposed to
the possibility of a similar complaint. Indeed,
no created order better than our own is such
that God would not be exposed to the possibil-
ity of a complaint of this sort. The complaint is
thus inappropriate. Even though there are an
infinite number of created orders better than
our own, God can’t be faulted simply because
He created an order inferior to other orders that
He might have created in their place.!”
There is something forceful and right about
this reasoning. If, no matter what world an
omnipotent being creates, there is a morally
better world that being can create, then, pro-
vided that the omnipotent being creates a sig-
nificantly good world, it cannot be morally at
fault for not having created a morally better
world. But our question is whether a being in
such a situation can be an absolutely perfect
being. And for reasons I have already uncov-
ered, I think the answer is no. A being is nec-
essarily an absolutely perfect moral being only
if it is not possible for there to be a being
morally better than it. Ifa being creates a world
when there is some morally better world that
32
it could have created, then it is possible that
there be a being morally better than it. Since
our assumption implies that for any world an
omnipotent being creates there is a morally
better world it can create, it follows that any
such being who creates even a very good world
cannot be an absolutely perfect moral being.
Although the omnipotent being in question
could be a very good moral agent and enjoy a
significant degree of freedom in creating
among a number of very good worlds, it could
not be an absolutely perfect moral being. The
existence of the theistic God who creates a
world is inconsistent with the supposition that
among the worlds he can create there is no
morally unsurpassable world.
Let’s now consider the second way in which
it could be true that no creatable world is bet-
ter than all others. Suppose that among the
worlds God can create there are a number of
worlds that are morally unsurpassable. For
reasons we’ve already considered, if God cre-
ates a world, he cannot create some world that
is morally inferior to some other that he can
create. Therefore, if there are a number of
morally unsurpassable worlds among the
worlds he can create, then if he creates at all
he must create one of these worlds. But un-
like the case when there is exactly one morally
unsurpassable world among the worlds he can
create, here we do seem to have found a wedge
to open up space for some degree of divine
freedom to exist in harmony with God’s ab-
solute moral perfection. For God would seem
to be free to create any one of the morally
unsurpassable worlds. In any case, God’s ab-
solute moral perfection imposes no require-
ment on his creation among the set of morally
unsurpassable worlds.
Among the worlds creatable by an omnipo-
tent being, either (1) there is exactly one
morally unsurpassable world or (2) there is
not. If there is not, then either (2a) there is
no morally unsurpassable world or (2b) there
are anumber of morally unsurpassable worlds.
If (1) is the case, then God is not free to se-
lect among creatable worlds. If (2a) is the case,
God’s being essentially morally perfect is in-

consistent with his act of creating a world. If
(2b) is the case, God’s moral perfection leaves
him free to select among morally
unsurpassable worlds the one he will create.
Earlier, I distinguished two questions con-
cerning God’s freedom in creating a world.
We have been discussing the question of God’s
freedom to select among creatable worlds the
one he will create. It is now time to consider
the other question of whether God is free not
to create a world at all. Here we may limit our
inquiry to the possibility that there is exactly
one morally unsurpassable world among the
worlds creatable by an omnipotent being. As
we've seen, in this case God is not free to se-
lect any other world to create. If God creates,
he must create the one world that is morally
best. Our present question is whether in this
situation God is free not to create at all.
Some possible world must be actual. What
possible world would be actual if God exists
but does not create at all? Presumably, it would
be a world in which no positive, contingent
state of affairs obtains. By “a positive, contin-
gent state of affairs” I mean any state of af-
fairs such that from the fact that it obtains it
follows that some contingent being (other
than God, if he should be contingent) exists.
Apart from God and whatever necessarily ex-
isting entities there are, in a world God in-
habits but does not create no other being
would exist. To answer our question of
whether God is free not to create a world at
all, we must compare the best world God can
create with a world whose inhabitants are sim-
ply God and whatever necessarily existing en-
tities there are. Assuming such a world would
not be morally incommensurate with the
morally unsurpassable world among worlds
God can create, it is plausible to think that
God is not free with respect to whether he
will not create at all. For either the world he
inhabits but does not create is better than the
best world he can create or it is not. If it is
better, then he is not free not to create a world
at all; he necessarily refrains from creating. If
it is worse, then he is not free not to create a
world at all; he necessarily creates a world.
DIVINE PERFECTION AND FREEDOM
Might the world he inhabits but does not cre-
ate be on a moral par with the best world
among those an omnipotent being can cre-
ate? If so, then, as in the case where there are
a number of morally unsurpassable worlds
omnipotence can create, we again have a
wedge for creating space for some degree of
divine freedom. But, in this scarcely possible
situation, God’s freedom would be restricted
to creating the morally unsurpassable world
or not creating at all.
I now can draw together the results of my
study of the problem of divine perfection and
freedom. The conclusions may be presented
as follows.
(1) God is not free to perform any evil act,
nor is he free in doing what is morally
obligatory.
(2) Ifthere is a world creatable by God that
is morally better than any world he in-
habits but does not create, God is not
free not to create a world at all. If he
exists, he is a creator of necessity.
(3) Iffor any world creatable by an omnipo-
tent being there is another creatable
world that is morally better, the theistic
God cannot exist and be a creator of
anything.
(4) If there is a single, morally best creat-
able world, God enjoys neither sort of
freedom: he is not free not to create and
he is not free to select among creatable
worlds.'*
(5) If there are a number of morally
unsurpassable, creatable worlds, then, al-
though God necessarily creates one or
the other of them, he is free (so far as
his moral perfection is concerned) to
select among the morally unsurpassable
worlds the one he will create.'®
Traditional theists who hold that God is
essentially perfect and yet possesses libertar-
ian freedom of will and action have neglected,
I believe, some of the implications that ap-
pear to follow from God’s perfect goodness.
33
WILLIAM ROWE
For all we know about possible worlds, it may
well be that God’s perfect goodness is incon-
sistent with any degree of divine freedom in
whether he creates or what world he creates.
In any case, it would seem that his perfection
places rather severe limitations on the scope
of his freedom in creating a world.
The problem we have been considering is
rooted in two basic points: God’s perfect
goodness is such as to preclude the possebility
of a morally better being; God’s freedom is
such that he acts and wills freely only if it is in ~
his power not to so act and will. Ifeither point
is significantly qualified or given up, the con-
clusions I’ve drawn may no longer obtain. If,
for example, we give up the libertarian idea of
freedom, then, following Jonathan Edwards,
we might hold that God’s actions are free even
though necessitated by his perfect goodness.'°
On the other hand, we might endeavor to
qualify God’s perfect goodness so that it per-
mits the possibility for God to have been bet-
ter than he is.'” Neither of these alternatives
has been addressed in this essay.
Notes
1 I take God’s moral perfection to be logically
implied by his perfect goodness.
2 Itis understood here that a being has the power
to deprive itself of aproperty only if it is pos-
sible for that being to lose that property and
continue to exist.
3 For a discussion of this point see Joshua
Hoffman, “Can God Do Evil?” Southern Jour-
nal of Philosophy, 17 (1979), pp. 213-20.
4 To avoid Frankfurt-type counterexamples, we
should say that when an agent freely performs
some action she caused her action and had the
power not to cause that action. The power not
to cause one’s action is ot the same as the
power to prevent one’s action. I ignore this
complication in the text.
5 If we take significant freedom, as Alvin
Plantinga does, to be the freedom to do or
refrain from doing what is morally obligatory,
it can be shown that God cannot be signifi-
cantly free. See Wes Morriston, “Is God ‘Sig-
nificantly Free’?” Faith and Philosophy, 2
(1983), pp. 257-63.
34
6 Foranexcellent discussion and critical evalua-
tion of the classical Judeo-Christian views on
God’s freedom with respect to creation see
Norman Kretzmann, ‘A General Problem of
Creation,” and “A Particular Problem of Crea-
tion,” in Being and Goodness, ed. Scott
MacDonald (Ithaca, N.Y., and London:
Cornell University Press, 1990).
7 There is a problem of understanding what
God’s moral perfection comes to, given that
he can have no moral obligations. But this
problem may not be unresolvable. See Tho-
mas Morris, Anselmian Explorations (Notre
Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
1987), pp. 31-41.
8 Since there may be possible worlds that an
omnipotent being cannot create, we need to
restrict our discussion to the class of worlds
creatable by God.
9 Robert Adams, “Must God Create the Best?”
Philosophical Review, 81 (1972) pp. 317-32.
10” *Ibids py 329.
11 Philip L. Quinn, “God, Moral Perfection, and
Possible Worlds,” in God: The Contemporary
Discussion, ed. Frederick Sontag and M. Darrol
Bryant (New York: Rose of Sharon Press,
1982), pp. 197-213. Quinn remarks: “An
omnipotent moral agent can actualize any
actualizable world. If he actualizes one than
which there is a morally better, he does not
do the best he can, morally speaking, and so it
is possible that there is an agent morally bet-
ter than he is, namely an omnipotent moral
agent who actualizes one of those morally bet-
ter worlds” (p. 213).
12 William Wainwright, Philosophy of Religion
(Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth Publishing,
1988), p. 90.
13 This point is a plausible extension of our ear-
lier principle: If X creates a morally inferior
world to one X can create, then it is possible
that there be a being morally better than X.
Extending this principle, it is plausible to hold
that ifX can but does not create a world that
is morally better than the one X inhabits, then
it is possible that there be a being morally bet-
ter than X.
14 The plausible assumption here is that if there
is a single, morally best creatable world, then
that world is morally better than any world
God inhabits but does not create.
lS eeSeeanepliss
 HOW AN UNSURPASSABLE
16 Jonathan Edwards, Freedom of the Will, ed.
Paul Ramsey (New Haven: Yale University
Rress L957.)
17 See, for example, the suggestion by William
5 How an Unsurpassable Being Can Create a
Surpassable World*
Daniel and Frances Howard-Snyder
4
Imagine that there exists a good, essentially
omniscient and omnipotent being named
Jove, and that there exists nothing else. No
possible being is more powerful or knowledge-
able. Out of his goodness, Jove decides to cre-
ate. Since he is all-powerful, there is nothing
but the bounds of possibility to prevent him
from getting what he wants. Unfortunately,
as he holds before his mind the host of worlds,
Jove sees that for each there is a better one.
Although he can create any of them, he can’t
create the best of them because there is no
best. Faced with this predicament, Jove first
sorts the worlds according to certain criteria.
For example, he puts on his left worlds in
which some inhabitants live lives that aren’t
worth living and on his right worlds in which
every inhabitant’s life is worth living; he puts
on his left worlds in which some horrors fails
to serve an outweighing good and on his right
worlds in which no horror fails to serve an
outweighing good. (We encourage the reader
to use her own criteria.) Then he orders the
right hand worlds according to their good-
ness and assigns to each a positive natural
number, the worst of the lot receiving “1,”
the second worst “2,” and so on. Next, he
creates a very intricate device that, at the push
* From Faith and Philosophy, 11: 2 (1994), pp. 260-
8. Reported with permission.
BEING CAN CREATE A SURPASSABLE WORLD
Wainwright (drawn from Charles Hartshorne)
that God’s perfection might require only that
he be unsurpassable by some other being
(Philosophy of Religion, p.9).
J
of a button, will randomly select a number
and produce the corresponding world. Jove
pushes the button; the device hums and whirs
and, finally, its digital display reads “777”:
world no. 777 comes into being.
We see no incoherence in this story. Now,
consider the proposition that Jove is not only
good but essentially unsurpassably good. Sup-
pose we add this to our story. Does some glar-
ing incoherence reveal itself? We can’t see one.
If our story (so amended) is a logical possibil-
ity, then there is no contradiction in suppos-
ing that an essentially morally unsurpassable,
essentially omnipotent and omniscient being
could create a world inferior to some other
world he, or some other possible being, could
have created.
It is important to see that our (amended)
story does not merely suggest that Jove is not
at fault in creating a world less than the best
he could have created. It suggests much more
than that an essentially omnipotent and om-
niscient being does nothing wrong in creat-
ing a surpassable world. It suggests that his
creating a world inferior to one he or some
other possible being could have created does
nothing to impugn his status as essentially
morally unsurpassable 1m any respect whatso-
ever. And so we claim that if any philosophi-
cal story can illustrate a logical possibility, our
story illustrates how it is possible for an essen-
36
DANIEL AND FRANCES HOWARD-SNYDER
tially morally unsurpassable, essentially om-
nipotent and omniscient being to create a sur-
passable world.!
We expect some people to disagree with us.
We expect they will say things like this:
An omnipotent being can actualize any
actualizable world. If he actualizes one than
which there is a morally better, he does not do
the best he can, morally speaking, and so it is
possible that there is an agent morally better
than he is, namely, an omnipotent moral agent
who actualizes one of those morally better:
worlds,”
or perhaps this:
A being is necessarily an absolutely perfect moral
being only if it is not possible for there to be a
being morally better than it. Ifa being creates a
world when there is some morally better world
that it could have created, then it is possible that
there be a being morally better than it. For it
would be possible for there to be a omnipotent
being who creates a better world that the first
being could create but did not.?
Apparently, these people assume that, if it is
possible for there to be an omnipotent being
who when faced with Jove’s predicament cre-
ates a better world, then — so long as nothing
else about him made him morally worse than
Jove* —, he would be morally better than Jove.
If they don’t assume this, then even if it is
possible for there to be such an omnipotent
being, that would hardly suffice to show that
Jove was morally surpassable. Therefore, the
possibility of an omnipotent being creating a
better world than Jove created shows that Jove
is morally surpassable only if his creating a
better world shows he is, ceteris paribus, mor-
ally better than Jove. So, to judge whether
the possibility in question shows that Jove is
morally surpassable, we must reflect on the
ways in which an omnipotent being could
behave differently from Jove and ask regard-
ing each, “All else being equal, would his be-
having like that demonstrate he was morally
better than Jove?”
36
We shall sketch three ways in which an
omnipotent being could behave differently
from Jove and argue that in each case the be-
ing in question is clearly no morally better.
I
The first suggestion is the simplest: if an om-
nipotent being were faced with Jove’s choice
and did not create at all, then, ceteris paribus,
he would be morally better than Jove.
Before we evaluate this alternative, two pre-
liminaries are in order. First, we have been
speaking as if Jove created a possible world.
This is not strictly true. Possible worlds are
necessarily existing abstract entities that have
their being independently of anyone’s crea-
tive activity. So Jove doesn’t create a possible
world; he creates individuals and in so doing
brings it about that one ofthe infinitely many
existing possible worlds is the actual world.
Secondly, Jove doesn’t have the option of
making it the case that there is no actual
world. There must be some actual world, and
it is up to Jove which it is. If Jove lies back
and plays dead, if he refrains from using his
creative powers, a world will nevertheless be
actual and it will be his responsibility. That
world will have no concrete being other than
Jove in it. Call any world in which there is
nothing other than its creator in it a virtually
empty world.
With these points in mind, consider the
proposition that if an omnipotent being were
faced with Jove’s predicament and refrained
from creating, he would be morally better. Is
this true? Let an Adams world be a world in
which every creature is at least as happy on
the whole as it could be and in which no crea-
ture has a life so miserable on the whole that
it would have been better had it never existed.*
Nothing in our story about Jove rules out the
possibility that all the worlds at Jove’s right
hand are Adams worlds. So consider this ques-
tion: would an omnipotent being faced with
a choice between actualizing a virtually empty
world and an Adams world demonstrate that
 HOW AN UNSURPASSABLE
he was morally better than Jove if he created
nothing?
We believe not. For, first of all, while there
is nothing to recommend a virtually empty
world over an Adams world, there is much to
recommend an Adams world over a virtually
empty world. Secondly, and perhaps a bit more
contentiously, it is not possible for a morally
unsurpassable creator to actualize the virtu-
ally empty world. Whatever else may charac-
terize moral unsurpassability, love does, and
it is not possible to exhibit the best sort of
love if there is no one else around. Thus, since
a morally unsurpassable being would surely
prefer to exhibit his love rather than not, he
would be constrained by his nature to create
an Adams world over a virtually empty one.
And so we conclude that if an omnipotent
being faced with Jove’s predicament did not
create, it’s false that he would be morally bet-
ter than Jove.
II
We imagined that Jove used the randomizer
and world no. 777 was the result. Now imag-
ine a world in which an omnipotent being,
call her Juno, constructs and uses an exact
replica of Jove’s randomizer but, because it
churns out number 999, a better world than
Jove’s is actualized. Ceteris paribus, does
Juno’s using the device to produce world no.
999 show that she is morally better than Jove?
Of course not. Factors outside of one’s con-
trol can make a difference to how much good
one brings about without making a difference
to how good one is. Jove has no control over
what number his randomizer will deliver.
Thus, given his resolve to let the device do its
thing, it is not up to him which ofthe worlds
to his right is actualized. And precisely the
same can be said about Juno. Thus, even if a
better world results from Juno’s using the
device, that’s no reason to infer that she is
morally better than Jove.
Perhaps it will be objected that as a society
we punish the drunk driver who hits and kills
BEING CAN CREATE A SURPASSABLE WORLD
a child more severely than we punish the drunk
driver who gets home safely, even if we think
that it was a matter of sheer luck that the sec-
ond got home safely and the first did not. If
this response is rational, one might infer that
the first driver did greater wrong and, hence,
is a worse person than the second driver. One
might be tempted to generalize that if factors
outside one’s control make a difference to how
much good one brings about, then they make
a difference to how good one is. In that case,
the objection goes, we should infer that Jove
is a worse person than Juno after all.
Philosophers disagree over whether the first
driver did something wrong that the second
driver did not do. We shan’t get bogged down
in that debate. But even granting that the first
driver did do something wrong that the sec-
ond driver did not, clearly it is a mistake to
infer that, for this reason alone, the first is a
worse person than the second. To think other-
wise is like supposing that if Jeffrey Dahmer
had been caught and brought to trial in 1985
and thus had slain fewer boys, he would have
been a better person; it is like supposing that if
Mother Teresa had been assassinated in 1990
and thus had cared for fewer destitute people,
she would have been a worse person. A more
plausible view is that while it is appropriate to
punish the first driver more severely for the
extra-wrong (we are supposing) he did, we
oughtn’t infer that he is a worse person.
II
Suppose we agree that, ceteris paribus, Jove
and Juno are morally equivalent. “Neverthe-
less,” you might insist, “Jove is morally sur-
passable. For imagine Thor, a possible
omnipotent being who faces Jove’s choice. In-
stead of constructing and using a randomizer
to select which ofthe infinitely many progres-
sively better worlds to actualize, Thor actual-
izes world no. 888 without using a
randomizer. Surely, Thor in world no. 888 is
morally better than Jove in world no. 777 and
hence Jove is morally surpassable.”
Sy)
DANIEL AND FRANCES HOWARD-SNYDER
But is it true that, if an omnipotent being
in Jove’s predicament created a better world
without using an indeterministic device, then,
ceteris paribus, he would be morally better than
Jove? In what would that betterness consist?
Obviously it would not consist in the fact that
Thor actualized a better world than Jove. For
given that Jove and Juno are morally equiva-
lent, if Thor is better than Jove, then he’s bet-
ter than Juno; but the world Thor actualizes
is inferior to the world Juno actualizes. So if
Thor is better than Jove, it must be in virtue _
of some other difference between them. Per-
haps the crucial difference is a difference in
attitude. For example, one might urge that
there is a significant moral difference between
a creator who, faced with Jove’s choice, set-
tles for letting some random occurrence de-
termine which world he creates and a creator
who, faced with the same choice, deliberately
picks a specific world for some reason. This
line of thought seems quite plausible when
we consider human analogies. Imagine a par-
ent trying to decide what school to send her
son to. We’d surely think better of her if she
picked a particular school on the basis of its
comparative merits rather then leaving the
matter to chance, which seems uncaring at
worst and insufficiently attentive at best. In a
similar fashion, we might imagine Thor con-
sidering whether to create world no. 777, and
then noticing out of the corner of his mind’s
eye world no. 888 and, seeing that it is bet-
ter, reasoning as follows: “World no. 888 is
better than world no. 777 and, surely, it’s pref-
erable to actualize a better world if I can.”
And so Thor doesn’t settle for world no. 777
and actualizes world no. 888 instead.
But this difference between Thor and Jove
does not show that Thor is morally better than
Jove. To see why, suppose that prior to con-
structing the randomizer, Jove reasoned like
this: “World no. 888 is better than world no.
777 and, surely, it’s preferable to actualize a
better world if Ican. And world no. 999 is
better than world no. 888. Surely it’s prefer-
able to actualize a better world if I can. And
world no, 1099 is... hold on here! If Ikeep
38
this up, I’ll actualize a virtually empty world.
Perhaps I should create an indeterministic
device that...” The rest of the story has al-
ready been told. The important point to see
here is that given a choice between infinitely
many progressively better worlds to actualize,
Jove wisely rejects Thor’s principle that if
there’s a better world than w, don’t create »,
not because he is casual or uncaring or objec-
tionably settling for less, but because that prin-
ciple in that context would lead him (and
Thor, were he rational) to do nothing, which
is far worse than using the randomizer.
Perhaps there is some other relevant differ-
ence between Thor and Jove that would make
Thor morally better than Jove. For example,
one might note that we have assumed that
the only reason Thor might have for picking
world no. 888 over another is that the former
is better than the latter. But there are plenty
of other considerations that might constitute
Thor’s reason for picking no. 888. Thus, on
this retelling of the story, Thor decides on his
own for a reason to create some particular
world whereas Jove allows something else to
make the decision for him. In that case Jove,
unlike Thor, abdicates his status as rational
agent in the creative process and is therefore
worse than Thor.® By way of reply, note that
by creating the indeterministic device Jove
does decide on his own for a reason to pro-
duce some world or other; he does not abdi-
cate his status as a rational agent. Perhaps the
objector will say that Thor is more rational
than Jove in virtue of narrowing down the
options to one. But this is an illusion. Thor is
not better qua rational agent than Jove since
on this retelling of the story Thor selects world
no. 888 not because of its goodness but be-
cause he simply prefers it, say, because it has
simpler laws or lots of waterfalls and jagged
peaks and he likes those things. But having
and acting on such preferences is not enough
to make Thor more rational than Jove.
 HOW AN UNSURPASSABLE
IV
We have considered three ways an omnipo-
tent being might behave differently than Jove:
(1) Do nothing.
(2) Use Jove’s randomizing procedure to
produce a better world.
(3) Use a non-randomizing procedure to
produce a better world.
In each case we’ve seen that Jove is not mor-
ally worse.
There are other ways in which an omnipo-
tent being could behave in Jove’s predicament.
But those we can think of are either just plain
silly or subject to objections we’ve raised re-
garding (1), (2) and (3). An instance of the
second sort is this: suppose an omnipotent
being creates a better world using a
randomizing procedure different than the one
Jove used. For example, imagine Jac, an om-
nipotent being who believes that if he guar-
antees that some worse right hand worlds are
not actualized, he would be morally better
than one who could but didn’t guarantee this.
Thus, instead of using Jove’s procedure, Jac
might first “halve” the right hand worlds then
use the randomizer to produce one of those
worlds in the right haif. The problem with
this procedure is that if Jac has enough rea-
son to halve at all, he has enough reason to
halve again, and again, and again, and a virtu-
ally empty world threatens. To avoid this re-
sult, one might recommend to Jac that he first
use the randomizer to select a number of
halvings, then, after reassigning integers to the
remaining worlds, use it once more to pick
which of the remainder to actualize. But this
doesn’t help. If Jac has enough reason to use
the device twice — first to halve the worlds on
his right and second to select a particular world
to actualize — then he has enough reason to
use the device three times — first to halve the
worlds on his right, second to multiply that
number by another randomly selected number
and third to select a particular world to actu-
alize. And if he has enough reason to use the
BEING CAN CREATE A SURPASSABLE WORLD
device three times, he has enough reason to
use it four times . . . and we’re off to the races.
Far from guaranteeing that worse right hand
worlds aren’t actualized, the recommended
reasoning leads to a virtually empty world.
We'd like to consider one more objection.”
Presumably there are many different
randomizers which Jove might have used to
pick a world to create. Let R1 stand for the
device Jove actually used, and let R2 to Ru
stand for the others. Now, one might argue
that if Jove is omniscient, then he would know,
for any of Rl to Ru, which world it would
select if he were to create that device. So, prior
to making R1, he knew that, if he made R1, it
would select world no. 777. Now, suppose
he also knew that one of the other
randomizers, say, R2, would select a world
better than no. 777, and that no randomizer
would in fact select a world better than the
one selected by R2. Wouldn’t we then have
sufficient grounds to infer Jove was morally
surpassable?
That all depends. Suppose there are no
truths about which world a randomizer would
select were it created. Then Jove wouldn’t
know for any device which world it would
select. So we would not on these grounds
rightly infer Jove’s moral surpassability. But
suppose Jove does have the knowledge in
question. Still, we ought not to think less of
Jove. After all, for all we know the randomizer
Jove uses selects a better world than any other
randomizer would select. Of course, for all
we know, there is no best randomizer because
it could be that for any device he might cre-
ate, there is another he could have created
which would have selected a better world than
the first one would select. Should we think
less of Jove for not creating the best
randomizer in that case?
No. But countenancing infinitely many
randomizers raises a related worry. If Jove
thinks that the best way to produce a world is
to construct a randomizer, then surely he’d
think that the best way to select a randomizer
would be to construct a randomizer to pick
one. An infinite regress looms. Of course, Jove
39
DANIEL AND FRANCES HOWARD-SNYDER
would have the same sort of reason for end-
ing this infinite regress as he would for creat-
ing the device in the first place. Perhaps he
would arbitrarily pick some device, for no rea-
son at all, save that some device has to be cho-
sen in order to avoid a virtually empty world.
We imagine our reader will ask: if Jove can
do that, why can’t he just pick some world
arbitrarily without creating a randomizer in
the first place? That’s a good question. And
here we remove our mask. The randomizer
has served its purpose: had Jove just up and
created world no. 777 in the scenario origi-
nally described, so doing would not have re-
flected badly on him in any way at all.
Vv
Perhaps there are ways we haven’t thought of
in which an omnipotent being could behave
differently from Jove. There’s always that dan-
ger to beware of in drawing inferences over a
territory whose boundaries are not clearly dis-
cernible. But our hunch is that they too will
be like the cases we have considered. If our
hunch is correct, then Jove nicely illustrates
how an unsurpassable being can create a sur-
passable world.
This consequence should be of some inter-
est to those who, imbued with the spirit of
Anselm, are tempted to believe propositions
like these:
(Q) Necessarily, for any w, w’and_x, if w is
an actualizable world and w’ is an
actualizable world and w is a morally bet-
ter world than w’, then if x is an omnipo-
tent moral agent and w actualizes w’, then
xis such that there is some possible world
in which there is a y such that y is a better
moral agent in that world than x is in w’.
(R) Ifa being creates a world when there
is a morally better world that it could have
created, then it is possible that there ex-
ists a morally better being than it.’
And it should be of special interest to those
40
who are further tempted to think that “on the
supposition that for every creatable world
there is another world that is better than it
... principle [R] leads to the conclusion that
there is no essentially omnipotent, omniscient,
perfectly good being.”? Although what we
have said may not be sufficient to reject Q
and R outright, we certainly hope, by Jove,
that it is enough to help those so tempted to
resist believing them."
Notes
1 Of course, we have represented Jove as being
spatially located, as being both omniscient and
coming to learn things, and as having a choice
about whether to create worlds that an essen-
tially morally unsurpassable being could not cre-
ate, i.e. those on the left hand side. Moreover,
we have assumed that the ranking Jove gives
the right hand worlds does not permit ties and
that there wouldn’t be so many worlds that they
couldn’t be mapped one-to-one to the positive
natural numbers. And we have left untold the
inner workings of the randomizing device. We
invite the fastidious reader to retell our story in
such a way as to avoid these mundane infelici-
ties.
2 See Philip Quinn, “God Moral Perfection, and
Possible Worlds,” in God: The Contemporary
Discussion, ed. Frederick Sontag and M. Darrol
Bryant (New York: Rose of Sharon Press, 1982),
pezls.
3 This is, virtually, what William Rowe writes in
“The Problem of Divine Perfection and Free-
dom,” in Reasoned Faith (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell
University Press, forthcoming), ed. Eleonore
Stump, p. 8 and pp. 10-11.
4 Hereafter, we shall either leave this qualification
tacit or use “ceteris paribus” as a reminder.
5 See Robert M. Adams, “Must God Create the
Best?” in The Virtue of Faith and Other Essays
in Philosophical Theology (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1987), p. 53.
6 We are grateful to Thomas Flint for this objec-
tion.
7 The discussion of the next three paragraphs is
almost entirely due to comments we received
from Flint.
8 See the previously cited essays by Quinn and
Rowe.
 HOW AN UNSURPASSABLE
9 We think here of William Rowe, in an amended
later version of the previously cited essay.
10 We are grateful to five people: William Rowe,
for his interest and invaluable input; Philip
Quinn, for conversation, correspondence and
encouragement; Jan A. Cover, for Sunday
afternoon (and, no, we refuse to add that
BEING CAN CREATE A SURPASSABLE WORLD
craziness about creating all the worlds); Peter
van Inwagen: for the conceptual space provided
by “The Place of Chance in a World Sustained
by God”; and Thomas Flint, for comments
Avhich in substance and spirit are an example
par excellence of how refereeing should be
done.
41
Eternity
6 Eternity*
Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretzmann
The concept of eternity makes a significant
difference in the consideration of a variety of
issues in the philosophy of religion, includ-
ing, for instance, the apparent incompatibil-
ity of divine omniscience with human
freedom, of divine immutability with the effi-
cacy of petitionary prayer, and of divine om-
niscience with divine immutability; but,
because it has been misunderstood or curso-
rily dismissed as incoherent, it has not received
the attention it deserves from contemporary
philosophers of religion. In this paper we ex-
pound the concept as it is presented by
Boethius (whose definition of eternity was the
locus classicus for medieval discussions of the
concept), analyze implications of the concept,
examine reasons for considering it incoher-
ent, and sample the results of bringing it to
bear on issues in the philosophy of religion.
Eternality — the condition of having eter-
nity as one’s mode of existence — is misunder-
stood most often in either of two ways.
Sometimes it is confused with limitless dura-
tion in time — sempiternality — and sometimes
it is construed simply as atemporality, eter-
nity being understood in that case as roughly
analogous to an isolated, static instant. The
second misunderstanding of eternality is not
so far off the mark as the first, but a consid-
eration of the views of the philosophers who
contributed most to the development of the
concept shows that atemporality alone does
* From The Journal of Philosophy, 78: 8 (1981), pp.
429-47, 453-60. Reprinted with permission.
42
not exhaust eternality as they conceived of it,
and that the picture of eternity as a frozen
instant is a radical distortion of the classic con-
cept.
1 Boethius’s Definition
Boethius discusses eternity in two places: The
Consolation of Philosophy, Book V, Prose 6,
and De trinitate, chapter 4.' The immediately
relevant passages are these:
CP That God is eternal, then, is the common
judgment of all who live by reason. Let us
therefore consider what eternity is, for this
makes plain to us both the divine nature
and knowledge. Eternity, then, is the com-
plete possession all at once of illimitable
life. This becomes clearer by comparison
with temporal things. For whatever lives
in time proceeds as something present
from the past into the future, and there is
nothing placed in time that can embrace
the whole extent ofits life equally. Indeed,
on the contrary, it does not yet grasp to-
morrow but yesterday it has already lost;
and even in the life of today you live no
more fully than in a mobile, transitory
moment... . Therefore, whatever includes
and possesses the whole fullness ofillimit-
able life at once and is such that nothing
future is absent from it and nothing past
has flowed away, this is rightly judged to
be eternal, and of this it is necessary both
that being in full possession of itself it be
always present to itself and that it have the

infinity of mobile time present [to it].
(422.5-424.31)
DT What is said of God, [namely, that] he is
always, indeed signifies a unity, as if he had
been in all the past, is in all the present —
however that might be — [and] will be in
all the future. That can be said, according
to the philosophers, of the heaven and of
the imperishable bodies; but it cannot be
said of God in the same way. For he is
always in that for him always has to do
with present time. And there is this great
difference between the present of our af-
fairs, which is now, and that of the divine:
our now makes time and sempiternity, as
if it were running along; but the divine
now, remaining, and not moving, and
standing still, makes eternity. If you add
“semper” to “eternity,” you get
sempiternity, the perpetual running result-
ing from the flowing, tireless now. (20.64—
22.77)
The definition Boethius presents and explains
in CP and elucidates in the earlier DT is not
original with him, nor does he argue for it in
those passages. Similarly, we mean to do no
more in this section of our paper than to
present and explain a concept that has been
important in Christian and pre-Christian the-
ology and metaphysics. We will not argue here,
for instance, that there is an eternal entity or
even that God must be eternal if he exists. It
is a matter of fact that many ancient and me-
dieval philosophers and theologians were com-
mitted to the doctrine of God’s eternality in
the form in which Boethius presents it, and
our purpose in this section of the paper is sim-
ply to elucidate the doctrine they held.
Boethius’s definition is this: Eternity is the
complete possession all at once of tllimitable life.
We want to call attention to four ingredi-
ents in this definition. It is clear, first of all,
that anything that is eternal has life. In this
sense of “eternal,” then, it will not do to say
that a number, a truth, or the world is eter-
nal, although one might want to say of the
first two that they are atemporal and of the
third that it is sempiternal — that it has
ETERNITY
beginningless, endless temporal existence.
The second and equally explicit element in
the definition is illimitability: the life of an
eternal being cannot be limited; it is impossi-
ble that there be a beginning or an end to it.
The natural understanding of such a claim is
that the existence in question is infinite dura-
tion, unlimited in either “direction.” But there
is another interpretation that must be consid-
ered in this context despite its apparent un-
naturalness. Conceivably the existence of an
eternal entity is said to be illimitable in the
way in which a point or an instant may be said
to be illimitable: what cannot be extended
cannot be limited in its extent. There are pas-
sages that can be read as suggesting that this
second interpretation is what Boethius in-
tends. In CP eternal existence is expressly con-
trasted with temporal existence described as
extending from the past through the present
into the future, and what is eternal is described
contrastingly as possessing its entire life at
once. Boethius’s insistence in DT that the eter-
nal now is unlike the temporal now in being
fixed and unchanging strengthens that hint
with the suggestion that the eternal present is
to be understood in terms of the present in-
stant “standing still.” Nevertheless, there are
good reasons, in these passages themselves and
in the history of the concept of eternity be-
fore and after Boethius, for rejecting this less
natural interpretation. In the first place, some
of the terminology Boethius uses would be
inappropriate to eternity if eternity were to
be conceived as illimitable in virtue of being
unextended. He speaks in CP more than once
of the fullness of eternal life. In DT and in The
Consolation of Philosophy immediately follow-
ing our passage CP he speaks of the eternal
present or an eternal entity as remaining and
enduring. And he claims in DT that it is cor-
rect to say of God that he is always, explain-
ing the use of “always” in reference to God in
such a way that he can scarcely have had in
mind a life illimitable in virtue of being essen-
tially durationless. The more natural reading
of “illimitable,” then, also provides the more
natural reading of these texts. In the second
43
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
place, the weight of tradition both before and
after Boethius strongly favors interpreting il-
limitable life as involving infinite duration,
beginningless as well as endless. Boethius
throughout the Consolation and especially in
passage CP is plainly working in the Platonic
tradition, and both Plato and Plotinus under-
stand eternal existence in that sense.” Medi-
eval philosophers after Boethius, who depend
on him for their conception of eternity, also
clearly understand “illimitable” in this way.?
So, for both these sets of reasons, we under-
stand this part of Boethius’s definition to mean
that the life of an eternal entity is character-
ized by beginningless, endless, infinite dura-
tion.
The concept of duration that emerges in
the interpretation of “illimitable life” is the
third ingredient we mean to call attention to.
Illimitable life entails duration of a special sort,
as we have just seen, but it would be reason-
able to think that any mode of existence that
could be called a life must involve duration,
and so there may seem to be no point in ex-
plicitly listing duration as an ingredient in
Boethius’s concept of eternality. We call at-
tention to it here, however, because of its
importance as part of the background against
which the fourth ingredient must be viewed.
The fourth ingredient is presented in the
only phrase of the definition still to be con-
sidered: “The complete possession all at once.”
As Boethius’s explanation of the definition in
CP makes clear, he conceives of an eternal
entity as atemporal, and he thinks of its
atemporality as conveyed by just that phrase
in the definition. What he says shows that
something like the following line of thought
leads to his use of those words. A living tem-
poral entity may be said to possess a life, but,
since the events constituting the life of any
temporal entity occur sequentially, some later
than others, it cannot be said to possess all its
life at once. And since everything in the life of
a temporal entity that is not present is either
past and so no longer in its possession, or fu-
ture and so not yet in its possession, it cannot
be said to have the complete possession of its
44
life. So whatever has the complete possession
of all its life at once cannot be temporal. The
life that is the mode of an eternal entity’s
existence is thus characterized not only by
duration but also by atemporality.
With the possible exception of Parmenides,
none of the ancients or medievals who ac-
cepted eternity as a real, atemporal mode of
existence meant thereby to deny the reality of
time or to suggest that all temporal experi-
ences are illusory. In introducing the concept
of eternity, such philosophers, and Boethius
in particular, were proposing two separate
modes of real existence. Eternity is a mode of
existence that is, on Boethius’s view, neither
reducible to time nor incompatible with the
reality of time.
In the next two sections of this paper, we
will investigate the apparent incoherence of
this concept of eternity. We will begin with a
consideration of the meaning of atemporality
in this connection, including an examination
of the relationship between eternity and time;
and we will go on to consider the apparent
incoherence generated by combining
atemporality with duration and with life.
2 The Atemporality of an
Eternal Entity: Presentness and
Simultaneity
Because an eternal entity is atemporal, there
is no past or future, no earlier or later, within
its life; that is, the events constituting its life
cannot be ordered sequentially from the stand-
point of eternity. But, in addition, no tempo-
ral entity or event can be earlier or later than
or past or future with respect to the whole life
of an eternal entity, because otherwise such
an eternal life or entity would itself be part of
a temporal series. Here it should be evident
that, although the stipulation that an eternal
entity completely possesses its life all at once
entails that it is not part of any sequence, it
does not rule out the attribution of presentness
or simultaneity to the life and relationships of
such an entity, nor should it. In so far as an

entity zs, or has life, completely or otherwise,
it is appropriate to say that it has present ex-
istence in some sense of “present”; and un-
less its life consists in only one event or it is
impossible to relate an event in its life to any
temporal entity or event, we need to be able
to consider an eternal entity or event as one
of the ve/ata in a simultaneity relationship. We
will consider briefly the applicability of
presentness to something eternal and then
consider in some detail the applicability of si-
multaneity.
If anything exists eternally, it exists. But the
existing of an eternal entity is a duration with-
out succession, and, because eternity excludes
succession, no eternal entity has existed or will
exist; it owly exists. It is in this sense that an
eternal entity is said to have present existence.
But since that present is not flanked by past
and future, it is obviously not the temporal
present. And, furthermore, the eternal,
pastless, futureless present is not instantane-
ous but extended, because eternity entails
duration. The temporal present is a
durationless instant, a present that cannot be
extended conceptually without falling apart
entirely into past and future intervals. The eter-
nal present, on the other hand, is by defini-
tion an infinitely extended, pastless, futureless
duration.
Simultaneity is of course generally and
unreflectively taken to mean existence or oc-
currence at one and the same time. But to
attribute to an eternal entity or event simulta-
neity with anything we need a coherent char-
acterization of simultaneity that does not make
it altogether temporal. It is easy to provide a
coherent characterization of a simultaneity
relationship that is not temporal in case both
the relata are eternal entities or events. Sup-
pose we designate the ordinary understand-
ing of temporal simultaneity T-stmultanetty:
(T) ‘T-simultaneity = existence or occurrence
at one and the same time.
Then we can easily enough construct a sec-
ond species of simultaneity, a relationship
ETERNITY
obtaining between two eternal entities or
events:
(E). E-simultaneity = existence or occurrence
at one and the same eternal present.
What really interests us among species of si-
multaneity, however, and what we need for
our present purposes, is not E-simultaneity so
much as a simultaneity relationship between
two relata of which one is eternal and the
other temporal. We have to be able to charac-
terize such a relationship coherently if we are
to be able to claim that there is any connec-
tion between an eternal and a temporal entity
or event. An eternal entity or event cannot be
earlier or later than, or past or future with re-
spect to, any temporal entity or event. If there
is to be any relationship between what is eter-
nal and what is temporal, then, it must be some
species of simultaneity.
Now in forming the species T-simultaneity
and E-simultaneity, we have in effect been
taking the genus of those species to be some-
thing like this:
(G) Simultaneity = existence or occurrence
at once (i.e. together).
And we have formed those two species by giv-
ing specific content to the broad expression
“at once.” In each case, we have spelled out
“at once” as meaning at one and the same
something — time, in the case of T-simultane-
ity; eternal present, in the case of E-simulta-
neity. In other words, the relata for
T-simultaneity occur together at the same
time, and the re/ata for E-simultaneity occur
together at the same eternal present. What we
want now is a species of simultaneity — call it
ET-simultaneity (for eternal-temporal simul-
taneity) — that can obtain between what is eter-
nal and what is temporal. It is only natural to
try to construct a definition for ET-simulta-
neity as we did for the two preceding species
of simultaneity, by making the broad “at once”
in (G) more precise. Doing so requires starting
with the phrase “at one and the same——”
45
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
and filling in the blank appropriately. To fill
in that blank appropriately, however, would
be to specify a single mode of existence in
which the two re/ata exist or occur together,
as the velata for 'T-simultaneity co-exist (or
co-occur) in time and the re/ata for E-simul-
taneity co-exist (or co-occur) in eternity. But,
on the view we are explaining and defending,
it is theoretically impossible to specify a single
mode ofexistence for two relata of which one
is eternal and the other temporal. To do so
would be to reduce what is temporal to what
is eternal (thus making time illusory) or what
is eternal to what is temporal (thus making
eternity illusory) or both what is temporal and
what is eternal to some third mode of exist-
ence; and all three of these alternatives are
ruled out. The medieval adherents of the con-
cept of eternity held that both time and eter-
nity are real and that there is no mode of
existence besides those two.
Against this background, then, it is not con-
ceptually possible to construct a definition for
ET-simultaneity analogous to the definitions
for the other two species of simultaneity, by
spelling out “at once” as “at one and the same
——” and filling in the blank appropriately.
What is temporal and what is eternal can co-
exist, on the view we are adopting and de-
fending, but not within the same mode of
existence; and there is no single mode of ex-
istence that can be referred to in filling in the
blank in such a definition of ET-simultaneity.
The significance of this difficulty and its
implications for a working definition of ET-
simultaneity can be better appreciated by re-
turning to the definition of T-simultaneity for
a closer look. Philosophers of physics, explain-
ing the special theory of relativity, have taught
us to be cautious even about the notion of
temporal simultaneity; in fact, the claim that
temporal simultaneity is relative rather than
absolute is fundamental to the special theory
of relativity.
For all ordinary practical purposes and also
for our theoretical purposes in this paper, time
can be thought of as absolute, along
Newtonian lines. But, simply in order to set
46
the stage for our characterization of ET-s1-
multaneity, it will be helpful to look at a stand-
ard philosophical presentation of temporal
simultaneity along Einsteinian lines. Imagine
a train traveling very fast, at 6/10ths the speed
of light. One observer (the “ground ob-
server”) is stationed on the embankment be-
side the track; another observer (the “train
observer”) is stationed on the train. Suppose
that two lightning bolts strike the train, one
at each end, and suppose that the ground
observer sees those two lightning bolts simul-
taneously. The train observer also sees the two
lightning bolts, but, since he is traveling to-
ward the light ray emanating from the bolt
that strikes the front of the train and away from
the bolt that strikes the rear of the train, he
will see the lightning bolt strike the front of
the train before he sees the other strike the
rear of the train. “This, then, is the funda-
mental result: events occurring at different
places which are simultaneous in one frame
of reference will not be simultaneous in an-
other frame of reference which is moving with
respect to the first. This is known as the rela-
tivity of simultanetty”
We want to leave to one side the philosophi-
cal issues raised by this example and simply
accept it for our present purposes as a stand-
ard example illustrating Einstein’s notion of
the relativity of temporal simultaneity. Accord-
ing to this example, the very same two light-
ning flashes are simultaneous (with respect to
the reference frame of the ground observer)
and not simultaneous (with respect to the ref-
erence frame of the train observer). If we in-
terpret “simultaneous” here in accordance
with our definition of T-simultaneity, we will
have to say that the same two lightning flashes
occur at the same time and do not occur at
the same time; that is, it will be both true and
false that these two lightning flashes occur at
the same time. The incoherence of this result
is generated by filling in the blank for the defi-
nition of T-simultaneity with a reference to
one and the same time, where time is under-
stood as one single uniform mode of exist-
ence. The special theory of relativity takes time

itselfto be relative and so calls for a more com-
plicated definition of temporal simultaneity
than the common, unreflective definition
given in (T), such as this relativized version of
temporal simultaneity:
(RT) RT-simultaneity = existence or occur-
rence at the same time within the ref-
erence frame of a given observer.
This relativizing of time to the reference frame
of a given observer resolves the apparent in-
coherence in saying that the same two light-
ning flashes occur and do not occur at one
and the same time. They occur at the same
time in the reference frame of one observer
and do not occur at the same time in the ref-
erence frame of a different observer.
Once this is understood, we can see that,
if we persist in asking whether or not the two
lightning bolts are really simultaneous, we
are asking an incoherent question, one that
cannot be answered. The question is asked
about what is assumed to be a feature of re-
ality, although in fact there is no such fea-
ture of reality; such a question is on a par
with “Is Uris Library really to the left of
Morrill Hall?” There is no absolute state of
being temporally simultaneous with, any
more than there is an absolute state of being
to the left of. We determine the obtaining of
the one relationship as we determine the
obtaining of the other, by reference to an
observer and the observer’s point of view. The
two lightning flashes, then, are RT-simulta-
neous in virtue of occurring at the same time
within the reference frame of the ground
observer and not RT-simultaneous in virtue
of occurring at different times within the ref-
erence frame of the train observer. And, Ein-
stein’s theory argues, there is no privileged
observer (or reference frame) such that with
respect to it we can determine whether the
two events are really simultaneous; simulta-
neity is irreducibly relative to observers and
their reference frames, and so is time itself.
Consequently, it would be a mistake to think
that there is one single uniform mode ofex-
ETERNITY
istence that can be referred to in specifying
“at once” in (G) in order to derive a defini-
tion of temporal simultaneity.
These difficulties in spelling out even a very
crude acceptable definition for temporal si-
multaneity in the light of relativity theory fore-
shadow and are analogous to the difficulties
in spelling out an acceptable definition of ET-
simultaneity. More significantly, they demon-
strate that the difficulties defenders of the
concept of eternity encounter in formulating
such a definition are by no means unique to
their undertaking and cannot be assumed to
be difficulties in the concepts of ET-simulta-
neity or of eternity themselves. Finally, and
most importantly, the way in which we cope
with such difficulties in working out a defini-
tion for RT-simultaneity suggests the sort of
definition needed for ET-simultaneity. Be-
cause one of the re/ata for ET-simultaneity is
eternal, the definition for this relationship, like
that for E-simultaneity, must refer to one and
the same present rather than to one and the
same time. And because in ET-simultaneity
we are dealing with two equally real modes of
existence, neither of which is reducible to any
other mode of existence, the definition must
be constructed in terms of to reference frames
and two observers. So we can characterize ET-
simultaneity in this way. Let “x” and “y” range
over entities and events. Then:
(ET) For every wand for every y, x and yare
ET-simultaneous iff
(i) either w is eternal and y is tem-
poral, or vice versa; and
(ii) for some observer, A, in the
unique eternal reference frame,
x and y are both present — i.e.
either x is eternally present and
y is observed as temporally
present, or vice versa; and
(iii) for some observer, B, in one of
the infinitely many temporal ref-
erence frames, x and y are both
present — i.e. either xis observed
as eternally present and yis tem-
porally present, or vice versa.
47
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
Given the concept of eternity, condition (11)
provides that a temporal entity or event ob-
served as temporally present by some eternal
observer A is ET-simultaneous with every eter-
nal entity or event; and condition (iii) pro-
vides that an eternal entity or event observed
as eternally present (or simply as eternal) by
some temporal observer B is ET-simultane-
ous with every temporal entity or event.
On our definition, if «and y are ET-simul-
taneous, then xis neither earlier nor later than,
neither past nor future with respect to, y—a
feature essential to any relationship that can
be considered a species of simultaneity. Fur-
ther, if x and y are ET-simultaneous, « and y
are not temporally simultaneous; since either
x or y must be eternal, it cannot be the case
that x and y both exist at one and the same
time within a given observer’s reference frame.
ET-simultaneity is symmetric, of course, but,
since no temporal or eternal entity or event is
ET-simultaneous with itself, the relationship
is not reflexive; and the fact that there are dif-
ferent domains for its velata means that it is
not transitive. The propositions
(1) xis ET-simultaneous with y.
and
(2) yis ET-simultaneous with z.
do not entail
(3) xis ET-simultaneous with z.
And even if we conjoin with (1) and (2)
(4) «and zare temporal.
(1), (2), and (4) together do not entail
(5) xand zare temporally simultaneous.
(RT) and the Einsteinian conception of time
as relative have served the only purpose we
have for them in this paper, now that they
have provided an introductory analogue for
48
our characterization of ET-simultaneity, and
we can now revert to a Newtonian concep-
tion of time, which will simplify the discus-
sion without involving any relevant loss of
precision. In the first place, at least one of the
theological issues we are going to be discuss-
ing — the problem of omniscience and immu-
tability - depends on the concept of an
absolute present, a concept that is often
thought to be dependent on a Newtonian
conception of absolute time. But the concept
of an absolute present which is essential to
our discussion is not discredited by relativity
theory. Every conscious temporal observer has
an undeniable, indispensable sense of the ab-
solute present, 20, and that thoroughly per-
vasive feature of temporal consciousness is all
we need. We do not need and we will not try
to provide a philosophical justification for the
concept of an absolute present; we will sim-
ply assume it for our present purposes. And if
it must be said that the absolute present is
absolute only within a given observer’s refer-
ence frame, that will not affect our use of the
concept here. In the second place, in ordi-
nary human circumstances, all human observ-
ers may be said — should be said — to share one
and the same reference frame, and distinguish-
ing individual reference frames for our discus-
sion oftime in the rest of this paper would be
as inappropriate as taking an Einsteinian view
of time in a discussion of historical chronol-
ogy.
3 Implications of
ET-simultaneity
If xand z are temporal entities, they co-exist
if and only if there is some time during which
both wand z exist. But if anything exists eter-
nally, its existence, although infinitely ex-
tended, is fully realized, all present at once.
Thus the entire life of any eternal entity is co-
existent with any temporal entity at any time
at which that temporal entity exists. From a
temporal standpoint, the present is ET-simul-
taneous with the whole infinite extent of an

eternal entity’s life. From the standpoint of
eternity, every time is present, co-occurrent
with the whole ofinfinite atemporal duration.
We can show the implications of this ac-
count of ET-simultaneity by considering the
relationship between an eternal entity and a
future contingent event. Suppose that Rich-
ard Nixon will die at noon on August 9, 1990,
precisely sixteen years after he resigned the
Presidency. Nixon’s death some years from
now will be present to those who will be at his
deathbed, but it zs present to an eternal en-
tity. It cannot be that an eternal entity has a
vision of Nixon’s death before it occurs; in
that case an eternal event would be earlier than
a temporal event. Instead, the actual occasion
of Nixon’s dyimg is present to an eternal en-
tity. It is not that the future pre-exists some-
how, so that it can be inspected by an entity
that is outside time, but rather that an eternal
entity that is wholly ET-simultaneous with
August 9, 1974, and with today, is wholly ET-
simultaneous with August 9, 1990, as well. It
is mow true to say “The whole of eternity is
ET-simultaneous with the present”; and of
course it was true to say just the same at noon
of August 9, 1974, and it will be true to say it
at noon of August 9, 1990. But since it is one
and the same eternal present that is ET-simul-
taneous with each of those times, there is a
sense in which it is now true to say that Nixon
at the hour of his death is present to an eter-
nal entity; and in that same sense it is now
true to say that Nixon’s resigning of the Presi-
dency is present to an eternal entity. If we are
considering an eternal entity that is omnis-
cient, it is true to say that that entity is at once
aware of Nixon resigning the Presidency and
of Nixon on his deathbed (although of course
an omniscient entity understands that those
events occur sequentially and knows the se-
quence and the dating of them); and it is true
to say also that for such an entity both those
events are present at once.
Such an account of ET-simultaneity sug-
gests at least a radical epistemological or even
metaphysical relativism, and perhaps plain in-
coherence. We know that Nixon is now alive.
ETERNITY
An omniscient eternal entity knows that Nixon
is now dead. Still worse, an omniscient eter-
nal entity also knows that Nixon is now alive,
and.so Nixon is apparently both alive and dead
at once in the eternal present.
These absurdities appear to be entailed
partly because the full implications of the con-
cept of eternity have not been taken into ac-
count. We have said enough to induce caution
regarding “present” and “simultaneous,” but
it is not difficult to overlook the concomitant
ambiguity in such expressions as “now” and
“at once.” To say that we know that Nixon is
now alive although an eternal entity knows
that Nixon is now dead does not mean that
an eternal entity knows the opposite of what
we know. What we know is that:
(6) Nixon is alive in the temporal present.
What an eternal entity knows is that
(7) Nixon is dead in the eternal present.
and (6) is not incompatible with (7). Still, this
simple observation does nothing to dispel the
appearance of incompatibility between (7) and
(8) Nixon is alive in the eternal present.
and, on the basis of what has been said so far,
both (7) and (8) are true. But Nixon is tem-
poral, not eternal, and so are his life and death.
The conjunction of (7) and (8), then, cannot
be taken to mean that the temporal entity
Nixon exists in eternity, where he is simulta-
neously alive and dead, but rather something
more nearly like this. One and the same eter-
nal present is ET-simultaneous with Nixon’s
being alive and is also ET-simultaneous with
Nixon’s dying; so Nixon’s life is ET-simulta-
neous with and hence present to an eternal
entity, and Nixon’s death is ET-simultaneous
with and hence present to an eternal entity,
although Nixon’s life and Nixon’s death are
themselves neither eternal nor simultaneous.
These considerations also explain the ap-
pearance of metaphysical relativism inherent
49
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
in the claim that Nixon’s death is really future
for us and really present for an eternal entity.
It is not that there are two objective realities,
in one of which Nixon’s death is really future
and in the other of which Nixon’s death and
life are really present; that would be incoher-
ent. What the concept of eternity implies in-
stead is that there is one objective reality that
contains two modes of real existence in which
two different sorts of duration are measured
by two irreducibly different sorts of measure:
time and eternity. Given the relations between
time and eternity spelled out in section 2 of
this paper, Nixon’s death is really future or
not depending on which sort of entity, tem-
poral or eternal, it is being related to. An eter-
nal entity’s mode of existence is such that its
whole life is ET-simultaneous with each and
every temporal entity or event, and so Nixon’s
death, like every other event involving Nixon,
is really ET-simultaneous with the life of an
eternal entity. But when Nixon’s death is be-
ing related to us, on |today’s date |, then, given
our location in the temporal continuum
Nixon’s death is not simultaneous (temporally
or in any other way) with respect to us, but
really future.
4 Atemporal Duration and
Atemporal Life
With this understanding of the atemporality
of an eternal entity’s existence, we want to
consider now the apparent incoherence gen-
erated by combining atemporality with dura-
tion and with life in the definition of eternity.
The notion of atemporal duration is the
heart of the concept of eternity and, in our
view, the original motivation for its develop-
ment. The most efficient way in which to dis-
pel the apparent incoherence of the notion of
atemporal duration is to consider, even if only
very briefly, the development of the concept
of eternity. The concept can be found in
Parmenides, we think, but it finds its first de-
tailed formulation in Plato, who makes use of
it in working out the distinction between the
50
realms of being and becoming; and it receives
its fullest exposition in pagan antiquity in the
work of Plotinus. The thought that originally
stimulated this Greek development of the con-
cept of eternity was apparently something like
this. Our experience of temporal duration gives
us an impression of permanence and persist-
ence which an analysis of time convinces us is
an illusion or at least a distortion. Reflection
shows us that contrary to our familiar but su-
perficial impression, temporal duration is only
apparent duration, just what one would ex-
pect to find in the realm of becoming. The
existence of a typical existent temporal entity,
such as a human being, is spread over years of
the past, through the present, and into years
of the future; but the past is not, the future is
not, and the present must be understood as
no time at all, a durationless instant, a mere
point at which the past is continuous with the
future. Such radically evanescent existence
cannot be the foundation ofexistence. Being,
the persistent, permanent, utterly immutable
actuality that seems required as the bedrock
underlying the evanescence of becoming, must
be characterized by genuine duration, of
which temporal duration is only the flicker-
ing image. Genuine duration is fully realized
duration — not only extended existence (even
that is theoretically impossible in time) but
also existence mone of which is already gone
and none of which is yet to come — and such
fully realized duration must be atemporal du-
ration. Whatever has atemporal duration as its
mode of existence is “such that nothing fu-
ture is absent from it and nothing past has
flowed away,” whereas of everything that has
temporal duration it may be said that from it
everything future is absent and everything past
has flowed away. What has temporal duration
“does not yet grasp tomorrow but yesterday
it has already lost”; even today it exists only;
“in a mobile, transitory moment,” the present
instant. To say of something that it is future
is to say that it is not (yet), and to say of some-
thing that it is past is to say that it is not (any
longer). Atemporal duration is duration none
of which is not — none of which is absent (and

hence future) or flowed away (and hence past).
Eternity, not time, is the mode of existence
that admits of fully realized duration.
The ancient Greek philosophers who de-
veloped the concept of eternity were using the
word ation, which corresponds in its original
sense to our word “duration,” in a way that
departed from ordinary usage in order to in-
troduce a notion which, however counter-in-
tuitive it may be, can reasonably be said to
preserve and even to enhance the original sense
of the word. It would not be out of keeping
with the tradition that runs through
Parmenides, Plato, and Plotinus into Augus-
tine, Boethius, and Aquinas to claim that it is
only the discovery of eternity that enables us
to make genuinely literal use of words for
duration, words such as “permanence” and
“persistence,” which in their ordinary, tem-
poral application turn out to have been unin-
tended metaphors. “Atemporal duration,” like
the ancient technical use of azon itself, vio-
lates established usage; but an attempt to con-
vey a new philosophical or scientific concept
by adapting familiar expressions is not to be
rejected on the basis of its violation of ordi-
nary usage. The apparent incoherence in the
concept is primarily a consequence of continu-
ing to think of duration only as “persistence
through time.”
Since a life is a kind of duration, some of
the apparent incoherence in the notion of an
atemporal life may be dispelled in rendering
the notion of atemporal duration less readily
dismissible. But life is in addition ordinarily
associated with processes of various sorts, and
processes are essentially temporal, and so the
notion of an atemporal entity that has life seems
incoherent. Now what Aquinas, for example,
is thinking of when he attributes life to eternal
God is the doctrine that God is a mind. (Ob-
viously what is atemporal cannot consist of
physical matter; we assume for the sake of the
argument that there is nothing incoherent in
the notion of a wholly immaterial, independ-
ently existent mind.) Since God is atemporal,
the mind that is God must be different in im-
portant ways from a temporal, human mind.
ETERNITY
Considered as an atemporal mind, God can-
not deliberate, anticipate, remember, or plan
ahead, for instance; all these mental activities
essentially involve time, either in taking time
to be performed (like deliberation) or in re-
quiring a temporal viewpoint as a prerequisite
to performance (like remembering). But it is
clear that there are other mental activities that
do not require a temporal interval or viewpoint.
Knowing seems to be the paradigm case; learn-
ing, reasoning, inferring take time, as know-
ing does not. In reply to the question “What
have you been doing for the past two hours?”
it makes sense to say “Studying logic” or
“Proving theorems,” but not “Knowing
logic.” Similarly, it makes sense to say “I’m
learning logic,” but not “I’m knowing logic.”
And knowing is not the only mental activity
requiring neither a temporal interval nor a tem-
poral viewpoint. Willing, for example, unlike
wishing or desiring, seems to be another. Per-
ceiving is impossible in any literal sense for a
mind that is disembodied, but nothing in the
nature of incorporeality or atemporality seems
to rule out the possibility of awareness. And
though feeling angry is impossible for an
atemporal entity — if feelings of anger are es-
sentially associated, as they seem to be, with
bodily states - we do not see that anything
prevents such an entity from being angry, a
state the components of which might be, for
instance, being aware of an injustice, disap-
proving of it, and willing its punishment. It
seems, then, that the notion of an atemporal
mind is not incoherent, but that, on the con-
trary, it is possible that such a mind might have
a variety of faculties or activities. Our infor-
mal, incomplete consideration of that possi-
bility is not even the beginning ofan argument
for such a conclusion, but it is enough for our
purposes here to suggest the line along which
such an argument might develop. The notion
of an atemporal mind is not prima facie ab-
surd, and so neither is the notion of an
atemporal life absurd; for any entity that has
or is a mind must be considered to be ipso facto
alive, whatever characteristics of other living
beings it may lack. ...
51
ELEONORE STUMP AND NORMAN KRETZMANN
6 Omniscience and Immutability
The doctrine that God is eternal is obviously
of critical importance in the consideration of
any issue involving the relationship of God to
temporal entities or events. We will conclude
our exploration of the concept of eternity by
sampling its effect on three such issues con-
cerning either God’s knowledge or God’s
power in connection with the future, the past,
and the present, respectively.
First, the short answer to the question
whether God can foreknow contingent events
is no. It is impossible that any event occur
later than an eternal entity’s present state of
awareness, since every temporal event is ET-
simultaneous with that state, and so an eter-
nal entity cannot fore know anything. Instead,
such an entity considered as omniscient knows
— is aware of — all temporal events, including
those which are future with respect to our
current temporal viewpoint; but, because the
times at which those future events will be
present events are ET-simultaneous with the
whole of eternity an omniscient eternal entity
is aware of them as they are present.*
Second, the short answer to the question
whether God can change the past is no. But it
is misleading to say, with Agathon, that not
even God can change the past; God in par-
ticular cannot change the past. The impossi-
bility of God’s changing the past is a
consequence not of the fact that what is past
is over and done with but rather of the fact
that the past is solely a feature of the experi-
ence of temporal entities. It is just because no
event can be past with respect to an eternal
entity that an eternal entity cannot alter a past
event.° An omnipotent, omniscient, eternal
entity can affect temporal events, but it can
affect events only as they are actually occur-
ring. As for a past event, the time at which it
was actually occurring is the time at which it
is present to such an entity; and so the battle
of Waterloo is present to God, and God can
affect the battle. Suppose that he does so. God
can bring it about that Napoleon wins, though
we know that he does not do so, because
52
whatever God does at Waterloo is over and
done with as we see it. So God cannot alter
the past, but he can alter the course of the
battle of Waterloo.’
Notes
1 E.K. Rand, ed., in H. F. Stewart, E. K. Rand,
and S. J. Tester, Boethius: The Theological
Tractates and The Consolation of Philosophy
(London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard, 1973).
2 See Plato, Timaeus 37D-38C; Plotinus,
Enneads Il 7.
3 See, e.g., Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologine
I, q. 10. Augustine, who is an earlier and in
general an even more important source for
medieval philosophy and theology than
Boethius and who is even more clearly in the
Platonist tradition, understands and uses this
classic concept of eternity (see, e.g., Confes-
stons, book XI, ch. 11; The City of God, book
XI, ch. 21); but his influence on the medieval
discussion of eternity seems not to have been
so direct or important as Boethius’s.
4 What we present here is essentially Boethius’s
line against the suggestion that divine omnis-
cience and human freedom are incompatible,
a line in which he was followed by many
medievals, especially Aquinas. On Aquinas’s
use of the Boethian solution, see Anthony
Kenny, “Divine Foreknowledge and Human
Freedom,” in Kenny (ed.), Aquinas: Collec-
tion of Critical Essays (Garden City, N.Y.:
Doubleday-Anchor, 1969), pp. 255-70; 264.
5 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics
V1 2.
6 Although the concept of the past, dependent
on the concept of the absolute temporal
present, has no application for an eternal en-
tity, for an omniscient eternal entity there is
the awareness of your past, your present, your
future as of January 1, 1970, and of your past,
your present, your future as ofJanuary 1, 1980,
and so on for every temporal entity as of any
date in its duration.
7 These observations regarding God’s relation-
ship to the past might suggest further issues
regarding petitionary prayer. It is obviously
absurd to pray in 1980 that Napoleon win at
Waterloo when one knows what God does not
bring about at Waterloo, but it might not seem

absurd — at least not in the same way — to pray
in 1980 that Napoleon lose at Waterloo. Af-
ter all, your prayer and the battle are alike
present to God; why should your prayer not
be efficacious in bringing about Napoleon’s
defeat? But, as a petition addressed to the will
of God, a prayer is also an expression of the
will of the one who prays it, and any temporal
entity who prays in 1980, “Let Napoleon lose
at Waterloo,” is to that extent pretending to
have atemporal knowledge and an atemporal
will. The only appropriate version of that prayer
is “Let Napoleon have lost at Waterloo,” and
for one who knows the outcome of the battle
more than a hundred and fifty years ago, that
prayer is pointless and in that sense absurd.
But a prayer prayed in ignorance of the out-
come of a past event is not pointless in that
way. (We are thus disagreeing with Peter
Geach, when he claims that “A prayer for
something. to have happened is simply an ab-
surdity, regardless of the utterer’s knowledge
or ignorance of how things went” |God and
the Soul (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul,
7 From God, Time, and Knowledge*
William Hasker
... We turn now to a further problem for the
doctrine of timelessness, one that I have come
to regard as the most serious difficulty the
doctrine has to face: it may be termed the prod-
lem of the presence of time in eternity. This
problem is suggested in various ways by Prior,
by the early Kretzmann, and by Creel, but I
will introduce it by way of Stump and
Kretzmann and the notion of simultaneity.
* From William Hasker, God, Time, and Knowledge
(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1989),
pp. 162-70. Reprinted with premission.
FROM GOD, TIME, AND KNOWLEDGE
1969), p. 90]; but we find much else to ad-
mire in his chapter “Praying for Things to
Happen.” On the hypothesis that there is an
eternal, omniscient, omnipotent God, the
“praying of such a prayer would indeed qualify
as “the only instance of behavior, on the part
of ordinary people whose mental processes we
can understand, designed to affect the past and
coming quite naturally to us” [Michael
Dummett, “Bringing about the Past,” The
Philosophical Review, 73; 3 (July 1964), pp.
338-59; p. 341]. We are grateful to members
of the Sage School of Philosophy at Cornell
for pointing out the relevance of Dummett’s
discussion. Dummett does not draw on the
concept ofdivine eternality, but, ifit is accept-
able in its own right, its introduction would
lead to a modification and strengthening of
some of the claims he makes — e.g. “I am not
asking God that, even if my son has drowned,
He should now make him not to have
drowned; I am asking that, at the time of the
disaster, He should then have made my son
not to drown at that time”(342).
One of the characteristic affirmations of the
doctrine of timelessness is that the whole of
eternity is simultaneous with every moment
of time. This claim, however, gives rise to one
of the simpler objections to the doctrine, as
stated for instance by Anthony Kenny: “On
St Thomas’ view, my typing of this paper is
simultaneous with the whole of eternity.
Again, on this view, the great fire of Rome is
simultaneous with the whole of eternity.
Therefore, while I type these very words, Nero
fiddles heartlessly on.”?
It is to be hoped that by now the reader
53
WILLIAM HASKER
will not be overly impressed with this objec-
tion. Among other things that have been said,
the assertion that God does mot exist at any
moment of our time should sufficiently indi-
cate that God cannot be “simultaneous” with
temporal things in the flatly literal sense re-
quired for Kenny’s objection to go through.
My own inclination would be to say that the
statement about simultaneity is simply a meta-
phorical way of putting the point that all of
time is “present” in the “now” of eternity.
Stump and Kretzmann, however, think they
can do better than this in interpreting | however, it leaves unanswered two questions
eternalist talk about simultaneity. Indeed, their
notion of ET-simultaneity may fairly be called
the theoretical centerpiece of their article. As
a background for this notion they take the fact,
familiar from the physics of relativity, that “si-
multaneity” must be defined relative to agiven
reference-frame.’ But in speaking of the rela-
tion of simultaneity which holds between eter-
nal things and temporal things, “we are
dealing with two equally real modes of exist-
ence, neither of which is reducible to any other
mode of existence, [so] the definition must
be constructed in terms of to reference frames
and two observers.”* In view of this, they set
up their definition as follows:
Let “x” and “y” range over entities and events.
Then
(ET) For every « and every y, x and y are
ET-simultaneous iff
(i) either x is eternal and y is tem-
poral, or vice versa; and
(ii) For some observer, A, in the
unique eternal reference frame,
x and y are both present — i.e.
either » is eternally present and
y is observed as temporally
present, or vice versa; and
(iii) for some observer B, in one of
the infinitely many temporal ref-
erence frames, x and yare both
present —1.e. either xis observed
as eternally present and yis tem-
porally present, or vice versa.*
Stump and Kretzmann point out that accord-
ing to this definition the relation of ET-si-
54
multaneity is neither reflexive nor transitive,
so difficulties of the sort urged by Kenny can-
not arise. And the notion has other advan-
tages as well, for which the reader is referred
to their article. Furthermore, “From atemporal
standpoint, the present is ET-simultaneous
with the whole infinite extent of an eternal
entity’s life. From the standpoint of eternity,
every time is present, co-occurrent with the
whole ofinfinite atemporal duration.”®
The notion of ET-simultaneity is an admi-
rable theoretical achievement. As it is stated,
that fairly leap out at one from the printed
formula. Or perhaps it is the same question
twice over: what are we to make of the clause
“x and yare both present” when one of the re-
lata is temporal and the other is eternal? For
an entity to be temporal, after all, just zs for
that entity’s existence to be spread out in a
temporal sequence — but in eternity, nothing
exists in temporal sequence, so how can a tem-
poral “y” be present in eternity? Again, to be
eternal meansto exist in a “total present” with-
out temporal sequence, whereas time is pre-
cisely the medium of temporal succession, so
how can an eternal “x” be present in time? If
there are not good answers to these questions,
the notion of ET-simultaneity will collapse.
I believe that Stump and Kretzmann are not
unaware of this difficulty, and that their for-
mula contains at least a pointer — one can
hardly say more — in the direction of a possi-
ble solution. For after each occurrence of the
problematic phrase the phrase is glossed as
follows:
(ii) ... wis eternally present and yis observed
as temporally present...
(ili) ... wis observed as eternally present and
yis temporally present...
It cannot be accidental that we have in each
case the contrast between “is present” and “is
observed as present,” with the “observed as”
locution attached to the entity that is “alien”
to the reference-frame in question. So for the
eternal observer the eternal entity is present

whereas the temporal entity is observed as
present; for the temporal observer, on the
other hand, it is the eternal entity that is 0b-
served as present and the temporal entity that
simply zs present. And in view of the difficulty
noted above, we cannot avoid the suggestion
that “observed as” does mot mean “is observed
as, and is in fact,” but rather “is observed as,
but is #o¢ in literal fact.”° As an illustration of
this sort of “observed but not actual” pres-
ence, one might think of the sorts of inter-
views that are often conducted on television,
where the person interviewed is “observed as”
present in the television studio whereas she
actually is speaking and being viewed at a re-
mote location.
If we follow this line, we are still left with a
double difficulty: How can an eternal entity
be observed as present in time? How can a
temporal entity be observed as present in eter-
nity? For a variety of reasons, it seems to me
that the second of these questions is the more
pressing one. (That is why I refer to this as
the problem of the presence of time in eter-
nity, rather than vice versa.) Concerning our
perception of the eternal God, the eternalist
can say something like this: “We have known
all along that God in his essence, in his true
nature, is not present in time, so that comes
as no surprise. But God makes himself known
to us through the temporal effects of his eter-
nal Act. There is no reason to doubt that he is
able to do this in a way that is sufficient to
meet our spiritual needs and bring us into
union with himself. God’s revelation may, in-
deed, fail to give us a fully adequate specula-
tive grasp of God’s nature, but that is
something we do not need and have no right
to expect.” Given the other assumptions of
the eternalist theory, such an answer seems to
me to be reasonably adequate, at least as a
first approximation.
But a similar answer concerning God’s
knowledge of temporal reality would be quite
unacceptable. There should be no strong ob-
jection to saying that our knowledge of God,
though it falls short of the full truth about
God, is nevertheless adequate for practical
FROM GOD, TIME, AND KNOWLEDGE
purposes. But to say the same thing about
God’s knowledge of us is simply out of the
question. And so the question is this: How is
it possible that God, existing in eternity as a
timeless being, has a full and accurate knowl-
edge of temporal realities?
It is at just this point that Richard Creel
finds what he takes to be a conclusive refuta-
tion of timelessness:
Isn’t it the case .. . that God must be affirmed
as a privileged observer . . . that if he is aware of
something as actual, then it is actual? ... Be-
cause that which is not actual cannot be known
as actual, it follows that, if the future is known
as actual by God, then because God cannot be
mistaken our belief that the future lies before
us must be false, and the occurrence of change
must be an illusion. Time becomes the platonic
peephole through which we observe things that
God knows to have been always in existence... .
In brief, either a thing is changing or it is not. If
God does not know it as changing but we know
it as changing, then one of us is mistaken, and it
surely is not God.”
... The central point in all this is the one
made in an earlier quotation from Creel: “That
God knows things as they are is
unnegotiable.”® This certainly seems to be
true. But I now want to say that it is also am-
biguous in a certain way, and for our present
purpose the ambiguity is crucial. The quoted
sentence, I suggest, can be given two possible
meanings, as follows:
(A) The way God knows things to be is the
way things really are.
(B) The way in which God knows things (i.e.
his manner of knowing them) is the
same as the way in which they exist.
(A) really is unquestionably, unnegotiably
true: it simply does not bear thinking that God
“knows” Jason to be a fine fellow, whereas he
really is treacherous and deceitful. I suggest,
on the other hand, that (B) must be rejected
whether or not we affirm divine timelessness.
One may ask, as Creel does, “If God cannot
55
WILLIAM HASKER
experience sequentiality, how can he know
what it is like to undergo change?”’ But one
may equally ask, “If God doesn’t have skin,
how does he know what it is like to be hit in
the face with a snowball?” The only possible
answer, I think, is that we must simply reject
the notion that God’s experience is somehow
inadequate unless he experiences things in the
same way we do.
With this as preparation, we can now see
what the doctrine of timeless divine knowl-
edge amounts to. From the fact that God
knows temporal entities timelessly, does it fol-
low that these entities really are timeless rather
than temporal? No, it does not. God time-
lessly knows that the temporal entities ave tem-
poral; the mode of his knowing them is not
the same as the mode of their existence, nor
need it be. Should we say, then, that tempo-
ral entities have a dual existence Joth in eter-
nity and in time? Even if this could be made
intelligible, it is an enormously extravagant
metaphysical speculation, and also quite un-
necessary. Once again, the mode in which God
knows temporal entities need not be the same
as the mode in which they exist. How, then,
can temporal entities be present in eternity so
as to be known there by God? The answer is,
that temporal entities are not literally present
in eternity; since they are temporal, and not
eternal, their literal presence in eternity is im-
possible. Temporal entities exist in eternity as
represented in the mind of God. And so, ac-
cording to Thomas Aquinas, “He sees him-
self through His essence; and He sees other
things not in themselves, but in Himself, inas-
much as His essence contains the similitude of
things other than Himself.”
... Now, the view of God’s knowledge as
immediate awareness is undoubtedly highly
attractive. But if we insist on construing God’s
knowledge in this way, Creel’s argument, cited
above, is going to succeed. One can be im-
mediately aware only of what is present for one
to be aware of; what else, after all, can “im-
mediate” mean? If God is timeless, he can be
immediately aware of (supposedly) temporal
facts only if these facts really are timeless after
56
all. If, on the other hand, the world really is
temporal, only a temporal God can be imme-
diately aware of it —and then only of its present,
not of its past or future.
How then can a timeless God know tem-
poral realities? The answer is, he knows them
by knowing, in timeless representation, the
content of each moment of temporal exist-
ence, as well as the order of the moments — an
order that he knows to represent temporal
sequence, though it cannot be such for him.
There is no doubt, however, that many con-
temporary philosophers will tend to find this
inadequate as an account of God’s knowledge
of temporal things. Some part of this diffi-
culty, however, may be removed if we are care-
ful to avoid wrong connotations for the word
“representation.” The word seems to carry
with it automatically associations with “ab-
stract,” “schematic,” » oC “approximate,” and the
like, and we have a strong sense that a repre-
sentation inherently must have less content —
must, so to speak, convey less information —
than is contained in actual experience of the
represented entity. And this is generally true
for us, but ofcourse it cannot be true for God.
His representations, his “similitudes” as Tho-
mas would say, contain precisely a// of the
information content of the actual concrete
entity — which means, of course, a great deal
more content than could be contained in any
human experience ofthe entity. If God knows
by similitudes or representations, this in no
way entails that he lacks information.
Yet there is in most of us a resistance to this
theory that will hardly yield to considerations
such as these. Kenny puts it nicely: “The
Psalmist asked, ‘Is the inventor of the ear un-
able to hear? The creator of the eye unable to
see?’ These rhetorical questions have been
answered by Christian theologians with a firm,
‘Yes, he is unable.’ ”!! Without doubt, mod-
ern sentiment here is with the Psalmist and
against the theologians. Yet it must be remem-
bered that for the medievals it was an excel-
lence and a perfection on God’s part to be
incapable of sense perception, and also to be
timeless and thus incapable of sequential ex-

perience. Kenny argues that the medievals have
been helped, as regards sense experience, by
the later philosophy of Wittgenstein, who
showed that there is in perception no irreduc-
ible cognitive “core” that cannot be commu-
nicated conceptually.'* If in spite of this we
are unable or unwilling to overcome our bias
in favor of immediate experience, we shall re-
main at odds with some of the most funda-
mental intuitions that support the doctrine of
divine timelessness.
This, then, is the theory concerning God’s
knowledge which goes with the doctrine of
divine timelessness. I think it is reasonably clear
that timelessness does require such a view of
God’s knowledge, and also that the view it-
self is coherent and intelligible . . .
Notes
1 The God of the Philosophers (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1979), pp. 38-9. According
to Kenny, the same objection was stated by
Suarez.
FROM GOD, TIME, AND KNOWLEDGE
iS) “Eternity,” pp. 436-7 [see Reading 6 above,
p. 46].
Ibid., p. 439 [p. 47 above].
Ibid.
‘Tbid., p. 441 [pp. 48-9 above].
WwW
f
Don I wish to emphasize that Stump and
Kretzmann do not say that this is what they
mean; I make the interpretation without their
authority. But if this is not what is implied, I
think they offer no solution at all for the diffi-
culty under discussion.
Divine Impassibility (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1986), p. 96.
Divine Impassibthty, p. 88.
Personal communication.
Summa Theologiae, la, 14, 6 (emphasis added);
cf. also, in the same Article, Reply Obj. 2:
“Now those things which are other than God
are understood by God, inasmuch as the es-
sence of God contains their images as above ex-
plained” (emphasis added).
ll The God of the Philosophers, p. 29.
12 ibidieip sole
57
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 PART TWO

CAN WE SHOW BY REASON

ipla\dhesdh ln bedpelien home: 1680) (Dlg

Introduction

Ontological Argument
8 From Proslogion
St ANSELM OF CANTERBURY
From Reply to Anselm
GAUNILON
10 Necessary Being: the Ontological Argument
PETER VAN INWAGEN

Cosmological Argument
11 The Cosmological Argument
WILLIAM ROWE

Teleological Argument
12 From Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
DaviID HUME
13. The Argument from Design
R. G. SWINBURNE
14 God’s Utility Function
RicHARD DAWKINS
15 From New Perspectives on Old-time Religion
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
The Evolutionary Anti-Naturalism Argument
16 Is Naturalism Irrational?
ALVIN PLANTINGA

The Argument from Religious Experience

17 From The Autobiography of St Teresa of Avila
St TERESA OF AVILA
18 Perceiving God
WILLIAM ALSTON
Introduction
Assuming that the traditional conception of
God is acceptable, one is led to wonder
whether or not reason can prove, demonstrate,
or at least supply evidence in favor of the claim
that God exists. From the earliest periods of
Western philosophy up through the present
day, many philosophers have offered argu-
ments which claim to provide just such proof,
demonstration, or evidence.
Philosophical arguments such as those of-
fered in support of the claim that God exists
come in a variety of forms. Some attempt to
demonstratively prove that God exists from a
small number of reasonable or (some might
say) indubitable premises. Others attempt to
show instead that certain facts we know about
the world are best explained by the existence
and activity ofa being like God. Finally, some
arguments attempt to make a case for God’s
existence by showing that there is something
unacceptable in believing that there is no God,
i.e. in being an atheist. In thinking about the
question ofthis section, we will look at argu-
ments which fit into each of these categories.
The ontological argument is arguably the
most famous attempt to demonstratively prove
that God exists. The argument, first presented
by St Anselm, the eleventh-century archbishop
of Canterbury, is an attempt to show that re-
flection on the concept of God alone is suffi-
cient to prove that God exists in fact. Anselm’s
argument is set out in the form of a reductio
ad absurdum, that is, it begins with an assump-
tion which is then shown to be false by show-
ing that something contradictory would follow
if it were true. In this case, the assumption is
that God, the greatest possible being, does
not exist. Since, the argument supposes, it is
surely better to have existence than to lack it,
we cannot coherently conceive ofthe greatest
possible being as non-existent. For if we tried,
we would not be conceiving of the greatest
possible being, but of a being that would be
greatest if only it had existence. Thus, the
concept of the being which is truly greatest is
the concept of a being which has all of the
divine perfections and which also exists. Since
it is thus incoherent to think of the greatest
possible being as non-existent, we must hold
that this being in fact exists.
This argument has been criticized in a
number of respects. One objection of recur-
rent interest was raised by Gaunilo, a monk
who was one of Anselm’s contemporaries.
Gaunilo’s criticism of Anselm is an attempt to
show that arguments of the form that Anselm
provides can be used to prove the existence of
the greatest possible version of anything.
Gaunilo focuses his criticism using the con-
cept of the greatest possible island, called here
the “Island of the Blest.” He argues that if we
consider such a “greatest island,” then it will
turn out that we must conclude that, as in the
case of the greatest being, the greatest island
must actually exist. And, of course, if he is
right, the argument can be used to demon-
strate the existence of the greatest possible
what-have-you. Any argument form, however,
which yields such conclusions is surely defec-
tive; thus, so is Anselm’s.
In his lengthy analysis of Anselm’s argument
and philosophical descendants of it, Peter van
Inwagen discusses more sophisticated recent
versions of the argument. The key premise in
these contemporary versions is the claim that
it is possible that God (the greatest possible
being, having the property of necessary exist-
ence) exists. If this is right, then it turns out
that such a being exists in fact. However, there
has, as van Inwagen points out, been wide-
spread controversy in the recent literature on
whether or not we should accept that it zs
possible that a greatest possible being (with
necessary existence) exists. In particular, con-
troversy has focused on whether or not it
is possible that there be necessarily existing
61
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
individual things of any sort. Unless and until
we can resolve this point, van Inwagen argues,
we cannot know whether this argument is a
successful demonstration or not.
Cosmological arguments represent another
attempt to construct a demonstrative proof
for the existence of God. There have been a
number ofversions of the cosmological argu-
ment presented and defended by philosophers
through the ages. These arguments all attempt
to show that there is some feature of the world
that requires an explanation and that nothing
other than God can count as a sufficient ex-
planation. In the version of the argument dis-
cussed in the selection by Rowe, the fact to
be explained is that there are “dependent be-
ings.” Since no series of dependent beings can
be self-explanatory, the argument continues,
there must be some self-existent being which
is the ultimate explainer of all the dependent
beings.
Rowe argues that the controversial claim in
such arguments is the general claim that non-
self-existent things (or collections thereof)
must have explanations. If we deny such a
“principle of sufficient reason,” then it appears
that we can simply think of the universe as a
“brute fact” which has no “ultimate explana-
tion.” Unless the defender of the argument
can show us that brute facts are impossible,
we cannot be sure that this version of the
cosmological argument succeeds. It is worth
noting that the principle of sufficient reason
used to rule out “brute facts” in this argu-
ment has come under serious critical scrutiny
recently. Readers who are interested in recent
work which has been critical of such a princi-
ple, or who are interested in attempts to con-
struct versions of the cosmological argument
which do not depend on the principle of suf-
ficient reason are advised to consult the “Fur-
ther Reading” section at the end of this
Introduction.
Teleological arguments attempt to provide
evidence for the existence of acosmic designer
based on evidence of cosmic design of one
sort or another. Such arguments are generally
of two varieties. The first consists of “argu-
62
ments from analogy.” Arguments of this sort
hold that the universe is much like a machine
which exhibits a certain sort of beneficial or-
der. Since (nearly) all of the things which ex-
hibit beneficial order (and for which we know
the cause) are caused by an intelligent de-
signer, we should believe, by analogy, that the
universe has a designer. David Hume famously
argues that such analogical arguments fail since
the evidence that we have for cosmological
“order” is far too limited (given the vast ex-
panse of the universe), and since we can think
of other equally good analogies for the uni-
verse that do not invoke a designer.
Richard Swinburne argues that Hume’s
criticisms succeed against some versions of the
teleological argument, but not against those
which focus on what he calls the “temporal
orderedness” of the universe, the ordered suc-
cession which we find in a universe governed
by natural laws. Swinburne argues that tem-
poral order is always best explained by appeal
to the activity of a rational designing agent.
Thus the temporal order in the universe should
be credited to a cosmic, rational designer, i.e.
to God.
The second sort of teleological argument
argues for the existence of God not by way of
analogy but through “inference to the best
explanation.” We begin by examining a com-
prehensive body of data and then asking for
potential explanations for the data. After
weighing the relative merits of the competing
explanations we conclude that one explan-
ation is superior to the others. Richard
Dawkins, in the selection here, argues that the
best explanation for any “order” that we find
in nature is simply to be found within nature
itself. Once we see how powerful the natural-
istic /Darwinian explanation is, we will see that
all of the necessary explanations for the order
of nature can be found within the laws of na-
ture themselves.
George Schlesinger challenges Dawkins’s
claim, however, by arguing that while Dar-
winian naturalism might explain the complex-
ity and diversity of the biological order, it
cannot explain the fact that we have a universe

which is capable of sustaining life in the first
place. The possibility of life in the universe is
dependent upon a wide variety of physical
constants being fixed within a very narrow
range. Should we suppose that the best ex-
planation for all of these constants having
the narrow life-permitting values that they do
is simply a matter of chance, or is it more rea-
sonable to think of this fact as best explained
by design? Schlesinger here argues for the
latter.
Our next selection from Alvin Plantinga can
be viewed as a response to Dawkins. Here
Plantinga argues that there is something fun-
damentally incoherent about the belief that
human knowers have come to exist as the re-
sult of Darwinian processes in a naturalistic
universe. The incoherence arises from the fact
that if we are the product of such a mecha-
nism, the most we could expect is that our
minds (that is, our “belief-producing mecha-
nisms”) would produce beliefs that are adap-
tive (i.e. would help us to escape danger, to
eat when hungry, etc.). But there is no reason
to think that adaptive beliefs will also be true
beliefs. Thus, we should think that while our
belief-producing mechanisms are adaptive,
they are unlikely to be truth-preserving. The
trouble is, of course, that it is incoherent for
anyone to believe that their own belief-pro-
ducing mechanisms are unlikely to be reliable
in this way. Thus, one should either deny the
Darwinian story or hold that a cosmic designer
has guided the evolutionary process to insure
that we have both adaptive and reliable be-
lief-producing mechanisms.
The last part of this section focuses on ar-
guments from religious experience. When we
consider most of the things which we believe
exist, such as birds, buildings, and baseballs,
we believe they exist because we have seen or
touched them, that is, we have had experi-
ences of them. If these experiences of ordi-
nary objects provide rational grounds for
believing in their existence, one might think
that the believer in God might have similar
grounds for this belief, that is, religious experi-
ence of some sort. It appears that St Teresa of
INTRODUCTION TO PART TWO
Avila, in the selection presented here, believed
in God on just such grounds. It is her experi-
ence of God which seems to provide the
grounds for her belief in God’s existence. In
his essay, William Alston argues that such a
practice is just as rational as the practice of
forming beliefs in ordinary objects on the ba-
sis of our sensory experience. Critics have ar-
gued that this comparison of sensory
experience and religious experience fails be-
cause of anumber of disanalogies between the
two. Alston looks at these supposed
disanalogies and argues that where
disanalogies exist, they do not succeed in un-
dermining the rationality of holding beliefs on
the basis of religious experience.
Further Reading
There are a number ofbooks that treat a vari-
ety of the theistic arguments. Among the most
important are:
Gale, Richard, On the Existence and Nature
of God (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 199 1).
Mackie, J. L., The Miracle of Theism (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1982).
Rowe, William, The Philosophy of Religion: an
Introduction (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth,
1978).
Swinburne, Richard, The Existence of God
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993).
Van Inwagen, Peter, Metaphysics (Boulder,
Col.: Westview Press, 1979).
Wainwright, William, Philosophy of Religion
(Belmont, Calif., Wadsworth, 1988).
For treatments of specific arguments discussed
in the Readings ofthis section, you might wish
to consult the following:
Ontological Argument
Plantinga, Alvin, The Ontological Argument
(New York: Doubleday, 1965).
63
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
Cosmological Argument
Rowe, William, The Cosmological Argument
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press/1975),
Craig, William Lane, The Cosmological Argu-
ment from Plato to Leibniz (New York:
Barnes and Noble, 1980).
——, The Kalam Comsological Argument
(London: Macmillan, 1979).
—, and Quentin Smith, Theism, Atheism,
and Big Bang Cosmology (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1993).
Koons, Robert, “A New Look at the
Cosmological Argument,” American Philo-
sophical Quarterly, 34 (1997), pp. 193-
210.
Teleological Argument
Barrow, John D., and Frank Tipler, The
Anthropic Cosmological Principle (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1986).
Collins, Robin, “The Fine-Tuning Argu-
ment,” in Reason for the Hope Within, ed.
Michael Murray (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 1998).
Corey, M. A., God and the New Cosmology
(Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield,
1993):
Davies, Brian, The Cosmic Blueprint (London:
Penguin, 1995).
64
Leslie, John, Universes (London: Routledge,
1989).
Swinburne, Richard, “The Argument from
Design — A Defense,” Religious Studies, 8
(1972), pp. 193-205.
Religious Experience
Alston, William, Perceiving God (Ithaca, N.Y.:
Cornell University Press, 1991).
Davis, Caroline Franks, The Evidential Force
ofReligious Experience (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1989).
Geivett, R. Douglass, and Brendan Sweetman,
Contemporary Perspectives on Religious
Epistemology (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1990):
Pike, Nelson, Mystic Union: an Essay in the
Phenomenology of Mysticism (Ithaca, N.Y.:
Cornell University Press, 1992).
Proudfoot, Wayne, Religious Experience
(Berkeley: University of California Press,
1985):
Wainwright, William, Mysticism: a Study of Its
Nature, Cognitive Value, and Moral Im-
plications (Madison: University of Wiscon-
sin Press, 1981).
Yandell, Keith, The Epistemology of Religious
Experience (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1993).
Ontological Argument
8 From Proslogion*
St Anselm of Canterbury
Chapter IT
Truly there is a God, although the fool hath satd
in his heart. There is no God.
And so, Lord, do thou, who dost give under-
standing to faith, give me, so far as thou
knowest it to be profitable, to understand that
thou art as we believe; and that thou art that
which we believe. And, indeed, we believe that
thou art a being than which nothing greater
can be conceived. Or is there no such nature,
since the fool hath said in his heart, there is
no God? (Pslam 14: I). But, at any rate, this
very fool, when he hears ofthis being of which
I speak — a being than which nothing greater
can be conceived — understands what he hears,
and what he understands is in his understand-
ing; although he does not understand it to
exist.
For, it is one thing for an object to be in
the understanding, and another to understand
that the object exists. When a painter first
conceives of what he will afterwards perform,
he has it in his understanding, but he does
not yet understand it to be, because he has
not yet performed it. But after he has made
the painting, he both has it in his understand-
ing, and he understands that it exists, because
he has made it.
Hence, even the fool is convinced that
* From St Anselm: Basic Writings, tr. S. W. Deane (La
Salle, Ill.: Open Court, 1962), Proslogion, chs 2 and
3, pp. 7-9. Reprinted with permission.
something exists in the understanding, at least,
than which nothing greater can be conceived.
For, when he hears of this, he understands it.
And whatever is understood exists in the un-
derstanding. And assuredly that, than which
nothing greater can be conceived, cannot ex-
ist in the understanding alone. For, suppose
it exists in the understanding alone: then it
can be conceived to exist in reality; which is
greater.
Therefore, if that, than which nothing
greater can be conceived, exists in the under-
standing alone, the very being, than which
nothing greater can be conceived, is one, than
which a greater can be conceived. But obvi-
ously this is impossible. Hence, there is no
doubt that there exists a being, than which
nothing greater can be conceived, and it ex-
ists both in the understanding and in reality.
Chapter III
God cannot be conceived not to exist. — God 1s that,
than which nothing greater can be conceived. —
That which can be conceived not to exist is not
God.
And it assuredly exists so truly, that it cannot
be conceived not to exist. For, it is possible to
conceive of a being which cannot be conceived
not to exist; and this is greater than one which
can be conceived not to exist. Hence, ifthat,
than which nothing greater can be conceived,
can be conceived not to exist, it is not that,
65
GAUNILON
than which nothing greater can be conceived.
But this is an irreconcilable contradiction.
There is, then, so truly a being than which
nothing greater can be conceived to exist, that
it cannot even be conceived not to exist; and
this being thou art, O Lord, our God.
So truly, therefore, dost thou exist, O Lord,
my God, that thou canst not be conceived not
to exist; and rightly. for, ifa mind could con-
ceive of a being better than thee, the creature
would rise above the Creator; and this is most
absurd. And, indeed, whatever else there is,
9 From Reply to Anselm*
Gaunilon
In Behalf of the Fool: an Answer
to the Argument of Anselm in
the Proslogium, by Gaunilon, a
Monk of Marmoutier
(1) Ifone doubts or denies the existence of
a being of such a nature that nothing greater
than it can be conceived, he receives this an-
swer:
The existence of this being is proved, in the
first place, by the fact that he himself, in his
doubt or denial regarding this being, already
has it in his understanding; for in hearing it
spoken of he understands what is spoken of.
It is proved, therefore, by the fact that what
he understands must exist not only in his un-
derstanding, but in reality also.
And the proof of this is as follows: it is a
greater thing to exist both in the under-
standing and in reality than to be in the un-
derstanding alone. And if this being is in the
* From St Anselm: Basic Writings, tr. S. W. Deane (La
Salle, Ill: Open Court, 1962), pp. 145-52. Reprinted
with permission.
66
except thee alone, can be conceived not to
exist. To thee alone, therefore, it belongs to
exist more truly than all other beings, and
hence in a higher degree than all others. For,
whatever else exists does not exist so truly,
and hence in a less degree it belongs to it to
exist. Why, then, has the fool said in his heart,
there is no God (Psalm 14: I), since it is so
evident, to a rational mind, that thou dost exist
in the highest degree of all? Why, except that
he is dull and a fool?
understanding alone, whatever has even in the
past existed in reality will be greater than this
being. And so that which was greater than all
beings will be less than some being, and will
not be greater than all: which is a manifest
contradiction.
And hence, that which is greater than all,
already proved to be in the understanding,
must exist not only in the understanding, but
also in reality: for otherwise it will not be
greater than all other beings.
(2) The fool might make this reply:
This being is said to be in my understand-
ing already, only because I understand what
is said. Now could it not with equal justice be
said that I have in my understanding all man-
ner of unreal objects, having absolutely no
existence in themselves, because I understand
these things if one speaks of them, whatever
they may be?
Unless indeed it is shown that this being is
of such a character that it cannot be held in
concept like all unreal objects, or objects
whose existence is uncertain: and hence I am
not able to conceive of it when I hear of it, or

to hold it in concept; but I must understand
it and have it in my understanding; because,
it seems, I cannot conceive of it in any other
way than by understanding it, that is, by com-
prehending in my knowledge its existence in
reality.
But ifthis is the case, in the first place there
will be no distinction between what has prec-
edence in time — namely, the having of an
object in the understanding — and what is sub-
sequent in time — namely, the understanding
that an object exists; as in the example of the
picture, which exists first in the mind of the
painter, and afterwards in his work.
Moreover, the following assertion can
hardly be accepted: that this being, when it is
spoken of and heard of, cannot be conceived
not to exist in the way in which even God can
be conceived not to exist. For ifthis is impos-
sible, what was the object of this argument
against one who doubts or denies the exist-
ence of such a being?
Finally, that this being so exists that it can-
not be perceived by an understanding con-
vinced of its own indubitable existence, unless
this being is afterwards conceived of — this
should be proved to me by an indisputable
argument, but not by that which you have
advanced: namely, that what I understand,
when I hear it, already is in my understand-
ing. For thus in my understanding, as I still
think, could be all sorts of things whose exist-
ence is uncertain, or which do not exist at all,
if some one whose words I should understand
mentioned them. And so much the more if I
should be deceived, as often happens, and
believe in them: though I do not yet believe
in the being whose existence you would prove.
(3) Hence, your example of the painter
who already has in his understanding what
he is to paint cannot agree with this argu-
ment. for the picture, before it is made, is
contained in the artificer’s art itself} and any
such thing, existing in the art of an artificer,
is nothing but a part of his understanding it-
self. A joiner, St Augustine says, when he is
about to make a box in fact, first has it in his
art. The box which is made in fact is not life;
FROM REPLY TO ANSELM
but the box which exists in his art is life. For
the artificer’s soul lives, in which all these
things are, before they are produced. Why,
then, are these things life in the living soul of
the artificer, unless because they are nothing
else than the knowledge or understanding of
the soul itself?
With the exception, however, of those facts
which are known to pertain to the mental na-
ture, whatever, on being heard and thought
out by the understanding, is perceived to be
real, undoubtedly that real object is one thing,
and the understanding itself, by which the
object is grasped, is another. Hence, even if it
were true that there is a being than which a
greater is inconceivable: yet to this being,
when heard of and understood, the not yet
created picture in the mind of the painter is
not analogous.
(4) Let us notice also the point touched
on above, with regard to this being which is
greater than all which can be conceived, and
which, it is said, can be none other than God
himself. I, so far as actual knowledge of the
object, either from its specific or general char-
acter, is concerned, am as little able to con-
ceive of this being when I hear of it, or to
have it in my understanding, as I am to con-
ceive of or understand God himself: whom,
indeed, for this very reason I can conceive not
to exist. For I do not know that reality itself
which God is, nor can I form a conjecture of
that reality from some other like reality. For
you yourself assert that that reality is such that
there can be nothing else like it.
For, suppose that I should hear something
said of a man absolutely unknown to me, of
whose very existence I was unaware. Through
that special or general knowledge by which I
know what man is, or what men are, I could
conceive of him also, according to the reality
itself, which man is. And yet it would be pos-
sible, if the person who told me of him de-
ceived me, that the man himself, of whom I
conceived, did not exist; since that reality ac-
cording to which I conceived of him, though
a no less indisputable fact, was not that man,
but any man.
67
GAUNILON
Hence, I am not able, in the way in which I
should have this unreal being in concept or in
understanding, to have that being of which
you speak in concept or in understanding,
when I hear the word God or the words, a
being greater than all other beings. For I can
conceive of the man according to a fact that is
real and familiar to me: but of God, or a be-
ing greater than all others, I could not con-
ceive at all, except merely according to the
word. And an object can hardly or never be
conceived according to the word alone.
For when it is so conceived, it is not so much
the word itself (which is, indeed, a real thing
— that is, the sound of the letters and sylla-
bles) as the signification of the word, when
heard, that is conceived. But it is not conceived
as by one who knows what is generally signi-
fied by the word; by whom, that is, it is con-
ceived according to a reality and in true
conception alone. It is conceived as by a man
who does not know the object, and conceives
of it only in accordance with the movement
of his mind produced by hearing the word,
the mind attempting to image for itself the
signification of the word that is heard. And it
would be surprising if in the reality of fact it
could ever attain to this.
Thus, it appears, and in no other way, this
being is also in my understanding, when I hear
and understand a person who says that there
is a being greater than all conceivable beings.
So much for the assertion that this supreme
nature already is in my understanding.
(5) But that this being must exist, not only
in the understanding but also in reality, is thus
proved to me:
If it did not so exist, whatever exists in real-
ity would be greater than it. And so the being
which has been already proved to exist in my
understanding, will not be greater than all
other beings.
I still answer: if it should be said that a be-
ing which cannot be even conceived in terms
of any fact, is in the understanding, I do not
deny that this being is, accordingly, in my
understanding. But since through this fact it
can in no wise attain to real existence also, I
68
do not yet concede to it that existence at all,
until some certain proof of it shall be given.
For he who says that this being exists, be-
cause otherwise the being which is greater than
all will not be greater than all, does not at-
tend strictly enough to what he is saying. For
I do not yet say, no, I even deny or doubt
that this being is greater than any real object.
Nor do I concede to it any other existence
than this (if it should be called existence)
which it has when the mind, according to a
word merely heard, tries to form the image of
an object absolutely unknown to it.
How, then, is the veritable existence of that
being proved to me from the assumption, by
hypothesis, that it is greater than all other
beings? For I should still deny this, or doubt
your demonstration of it, to this extent, that
I should not admit that this being is in my
understanding and concept even in the way
in which many objects whose real existence is
uncertain and doubtful, are in my understand-
ing and concept. For it should be proved first
that this being itself really exists somewhere;
and then, from the fact that it is greater than
all, we shall not hesitate to infer that it also
subsists in itself.
(6) For example: it is said that somewhere
in the ocean is an island, which, because of
the difficulty, or rather the impossibility, of
discovering what does not exist, is called the
lost island. And they say that this island has
an inestimable wealth of all manner of riches
and delicacies in greater abundance than is told
of the Islands of the Blest; and that having no
owner or inhabitant, it is more excellent than
all other countries, which are inhabited by
mankind, in the abundance with which it is
stored.
Now if some one should tell me that there is
such an island, I should easily understand his
words, in which there is no difficulty. But sup-
pose that he went on to say, as if by a logical
inference: “You can no longer doubt that this
island which is more excellent than all lands
exists somewhere, since you have no doubt that
it is in your understanding. And since it is more
excellent not to be in the understanding alone,
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
but to exist both in the understanding and in
reality, for this reason it must exist. For if it
does not exist, any land which really exists will
be more excellent than it; and so the island
already understood by you to be more excel-
lent will not be more excellent.”
Ifa man should try to prove to me by such
reasoning that this island truly exists, and that
its existence should no longer be doubted,
either I should believe that he was jesting, or
I know not which I ought to regard as the
greater fool: myself, supposing that I should
allow this proof; or him, if he should suppose
that he had established with any certainty the
existence of this island. For he ought to show
first that the hypothetical excellence of this
island exists as a real and indubitable fact, and
in no wise as any unreal object, or one whose
existence is uncertain, in my understanding.
(7) This, in the mean time, is the answer
the fool could make to the arguments urged
against him. When he is assured in the first
place that this being is so great that its non-
existence is not even conceivable, and that this
in turn is proved on no other ground than
the fact that otherwise it will not be greater
than all things, the fool may make the same
answer, and say:
When did I say that any such being exists
in reality, that is, a being greater than all oth-
ers? — that on this ground it should be proved
10 Necessary Being: the Ontological Argument*
Peter van Inwagen
Late in the eleventh century, an archbishop
of Canterbury named Anselm wrote a book
* From Peter van Inwagen, Metaphysics (Boulder, Col.:
Westview Press, 1993), pp. 75-93, 94, 96-8.
Reprinted with permission.
to me that it also exists in reality to such a
degree that it cannot even be conceived not
to exist? Whereas in the first place it should
be in some way proved that a nature which is
higher, that is, greater and better, than all
other natures, exists; in order that from this
we may then be able to prove all attributes
which necessarily the being that is greater and
better than all possesses.
Moreover, it is said that the non-existence
of this being is inconceivable. It might better
be said, perhaps, that its non-existence, or the
possibility of its non-existence, is unintelligi-
ble. For according to the true meaning of the
word, unreal objects are unintelligible. Yet
their existence is conceivable in the way in
which the fool conceived of the non-existence
of God. I am most certainly aware of my own
existence; but I know, nevertheless, that my
non-existence is possible. As to that supreme
being, moreover, which God is, I understand
without any doubt both his existence, and the
impossibility of his non-existence. Whether,
however, so long as Iam most positively aware
of my existence, I can conceive of my non-
existence, Iam not sure. But if Ican, why can
I not conceive of the non-existence of what-
ever else I know with the same certainty? If,
however, I cannot, God will not be the only
being of which it can be said, it is impossible
to conceive of his non-existence... .
called the Proslogium, which was largely de-
voted to the exposition of a certain argument
for the existence of God. The interesting thing
about this argument was that it claimed to
show that the non-existence of God was im-
possible, owing to the fact that any assertion
69
PETER VAN INWAGEN
of the non-existence of God must be self-con-
tradictory. This is a very strong claim indeed.
To see how strong it is, imagine an atheist
named Athelred who is fond of proclaiming
to all and sundry that there is no God. If
Anselm is right, then every time Athelred is-
sues this proclamation, he contradicts himself;
he contradicts himself in just as strong a sense
as he would have if he had said, “There is no
God... and there is a God” or “My house is
rectangular and has six sides.” Anselm did not,
of course, contend that the contradiction in-
volved in saying that there is no God is quite
as blatant as the contradictions involved in
these two statements. (If the contradiction
were that easy to spot, no argument would be
needed to show that it exists.) But he did con-
tend that this contradiction, though hidden
and requiring an argument for its exposure,
was a contradiction in the same strong sense
as the contradictions involved in these two
statements.
It should be obvious that if Anselm is right
in his claims for his argument, then this argu-
ment provides an answer for the question,
Why should there be anything at all? For if
the thesis that there is no God is self-contra-
dictory, then it cannot be true. And if there
were nothing at all, then that thesis would be
true. If Anselm’s argument shows that there
has to be a God, then it shows that there can-
not be nothing at all. It is true that it does not
show that there has to be a physical universe
like the one we observe around us, and thus it
does not answer the question why there should
be such a universe. But the question, Why
should there be anything at all? is not the same
question as, Why should there be a physical
universe? The conclusion of Saint Anselm’s
argument, moreover, is not irrelevant to the
latter question, since, if there is a God, then
this God no doubt has a great deal to do with
the fact that there is a physical universe.
Anselm’s argument was almost immediately
attacked by one Gaunilo, a Benedictine monk,
and theologians and philosophers have been
attacking it ever since. About two hundred
years after Anselm’s time, in the late thirteenth
70
century, the argument was declared invalid by
Saint Thomas Aquinas, and almost everyone
has followed his lead in declaring it invalid.
Indeed, philosophers and theologians have not
only mostly regarded the argument as invalid
but have also mostly regarded it as obviously,
scandalously, and embarrassingly invalid. This
judgment was nicely summed up by the nine-
teenth-century German philosopher Arthur
Schopenhauer, who called the argument a
“charming joke.”
And what is this notorious argument? Ac-
tually, rather than examine Anselm’s argu-
ment, we shall render our task considerably
easier if we look at an argument devised about
five hundred years later — at roughly the time
the Pilgrims were landing at Plymouth Rock
— by Descartes. Descartes’s argument (which
is much easier to state and to follow than
Anselm’s) and Anselm’s argument are gener-
ally considered to be different “versions” of
the same argument: each is customarily de-
scribed as a version of “the ontological argu-
ment.”
Descartes’s argument goes something like
this:
If we look within ourselves, we find that we
possess the concept of a perfect being. [Descartes
identifies the concept of a perfect being with
the concept of God and therefore regards his
argument as a proof of the existence of God.
But since the existence of God is not our pri-
mary concern at the moment -— our primary con-
cern is the question why there is anything at all
— let us ignore this aspect of Descartes’s argu-
ment. We shall simply avoid the word “God”
and the question whether the concept of a per-
fect being is the same as the concept that we
customarily associate with this word.] That is,
we find the concept of a being that is perfect in
every respect or, as we may say, possesses all
perfections. But existence itself is a perfection,
since a thing is better if it exists than if it does
not exist. But then a perfect being has to exist;
it simply wouldn’t be perfect if it didn’t. Exist-
ence is a part of the concept of a perfect being;
anyone who denied that a perfect being had the
property existence would be like someone who
denied that a triangle had the property three-
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
sidedness. Just as three-sidedness is a part of the
concept of a triangle — the mind cannot con-
ceive of triangularity without also conceiving of
three-sidedness — existence is a part of the con-
cept of a perfect being: the mind cannot con-
ceive of perfection without also conceiving of
existence.
Now if this argument of Descartes’s is cor-
rect, then it provides us with an answer to the
question, Why is there anything at all? If
Descartes is right, then it is impossible for there
to be no perfect being, just as it is impossible
for there to be a triangle that does not have
three sides. And if it is impossible for there to
be no perfect being, then it is impossible for
there to be nothing at all, since the existence
of a perfect being is the existence of some-
thing.
The faults that have been ascribed to the
ontological argument are many and various.
One might, for example, raise the question
why existence should be regarded as a “per-
fection.” What’s so wonderful about exist-
ence? one might wonder. After all, many
people seem to think that they can improve
their lot by suicide — that is, by electing non-
existence. But it is generally conceded, or was
until rather recently, that one of the faults of
the ontological argument is so grievous that
it is the only one that the critic of the argu-
ment need mention. This fault, or alleged
fault, is best known in the formulation of
Immanuel Kant. Kant’s diagnosis of the ar-
gument’s chief fault can be stated as follows:
Whatever else a perfection may be any perfec-
tion must be a property — or feature, attribute,
or characteristic — of things. But existence is not
a property ofthings. “Existence” is not one item
in the list of the properties of (for example) the
Taj Mahal, an item that occurs in addition to
such items as “white,” “famous for its beauty,”
“located in the city of Agra,” and so on. Rather,
when we specify certain properties and say that
something having those properties exzsts, all we
are saying is that something has those proper-
ties. Suppose, for example, that the following
are the properties that everyone agrees the poet
Homer had if he existed: he was a blind, male
Ionian poet ofthe eighth century Bc who wrote
all or most of the epic poems we know as the
Iliad and the Odyssey. Call this collection of
properties H. Now suppose that there are two
classical scholars, one of whom thinks that
Homer existed and one of whom thinks Homer
was legendary (the two great epics that are sup-
posedly his compositions having been pieced
together over a long period from the work of
many anonymous poets). It would be wrong —
in fact, it would be absurd — to describe the disa-
greement of these two scholars by saying that
the former thinks that someone had the collec-
tion of properties H and, in addition, the prop-
erty of existence while the latter agrees that
someone had the collection of properties H but
goes on to assert that this person lacked the
property of existence. No, it’s just that the
former scholar thinks that someone had all of
(or at least most of) the properties in the set H
and that the latter thinks that no one had all of
(or even very many of) them. This case illus-
trates the sense in which existence is not a prop-
erty. But if existence is not a property, it cannot
be an ingredient in a concept. A concept is re-
ally no more than a list ofproperties, the prop-
erties that a thing must have to fall under that
concept. For example, the concept of a dog is
just the list of properties that a thing must have
to count as a dog. (The list of properties enu-
merated a few sentences back spells out the con-
cept associated with the description “the poet
Homer.”) What Descartes has done is to treat
existence as ifit were the kind of thing that could
be an ingredient in a concept. If one does this,
however, one opens the door to all sorts of evi-
dent absurdities. Here is an example of such an
absurdity. Define an “egmount” as an existent
mountain made entirely of gold: to be an
egmount, a thing must (a) be a mountain, (b)
be made entirely of gold, and (c) exist. It is ob-
viously a part of the concept of an egmount that
an egmount exists: it says so on the label, as it
were. But, as everyone knows, there are no
egmounts. The ontological argument is this
same absurdity in a (thinly) disguised form.
Although this refutation of the ontological
argument was “standard” for almost two hun-
dred years, it cannot be regarded as satisfac-
tory. The problem is not so much that Kant
says anything that is definitely wrong. The
71
PETER VAN INWAGEN
difficulty is rather as follows. It is possible to
construct an argument very similar to
Descartes’s argument — an argument that just
obviously ought to be invalid for the same
reason as Descartes’s argument — that does
not treat existence as a property. And it is
possible to point to a rather obvious defect
that is shared by the two arguments. It will be
obvious when we have done this that the
shared defect is what is really or fundamen-
tally wrong with Descartes’s argument and
that the Kantian refutation of the argument is
at best a point about a peripheral fault in the
argument.
Let us consider the idea of mecessary exist-
ence. A thing has necessary existence if it would
have existed no matter what, if it would have
existed under any possible circumstances. An
equivalent definition is this: A thing has nec-
essary existence if its non-existence would have
been impossible. And by “impossible” we
mean absolutely impossible: if « is a necessary
being, then the non-existence of« is as im-
possible as a round square or a liquid wine
bottle. It is obvious that you and I do not
possess necessary existence: we should never
have existed if our respective sets of parents
happened never to have met, and that is cer-
tainly a “possible circumstance.” Moreover,
it is clear that the same point applies to Julius
Caesar and the Taj Mahal. As to the latter, it
would not have existed if the beloved wife of
a certain Mogul emperor had not died young.
And even an object that has, by everyday
standards, a really impressive grip on existence
— Mount Everest, say — lacks necessary exist-
ence: Mount Everest would not have existed
if the Indian subcontinent had not drifted into
contact with Asia. The very sun would not
have existed if certain random density distri-
butions in the pre-stellar nebulae had not led
to the gravitational contraction ofa particular
grouping of hydrogen atoms into a radiating
body. For all we know, even the physical uni-
verse might not have existed — either because
whatever it was that caused the universe to
come into existence ten or fifteen thousand
million years ago failed to produce any uni-
72
verse at all or because this unknown factor
produced some different universe.
These reflections make it clear that neces-
sary existence is a property, in just the sense
that mere existence is not (if Kant is right) a
property. It is true that it may not be a possible
property. Perhaps it is a property like being
both round and square or being a liquid wine
bottle or being a prime number that 1s larger
than all other prime numbers that nothing
could possibly have. (It is certainly hard to
think of an uncontroversial example of some-
thing that has necessary existence.) The im-
portant point for present purposes is that
necessary existence cannot be said not to be a
property at all or at least not because of con-
siderations like those that Kant adduces to
show that existence is not a property. It seems
clear that whatever may be the case with mere
existence, necessary existence can be an in-
gredient in a concept. In fact, many philoso-
phers and theologians have held that necessary
existence is a part of the concept of God —
and other philosophers and theologians have
denied that necessary existence is a part of the
concept of God. Now let us consider an argu-
ment that is like Descartes’s ontological ar-
gument, except that “necessary existence” is
substituted for “existence” throughout. The
argument would look something like this:
e A perfect being has all perfections.
e Necessary existence is a perfection.
Hence, A perfect being has necessary
existence.
e@ Whatever has necessary existence has
existence.
Hence, A perfect being has existence.
e Whatever has existence exists.
Hence, A perfect being exists.
It is interesting to note that in one way, at
least, this argument is more plausible than
Descartes’s actual argument. We saw above
that it is not quite clear why one should as-
sume that existence is a perfection. But there
seems to be no such problem about necessary
existence. A being (like you and me and Cae-
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
sar and the Taj Mahal and the sun and per-
haps even the physical universe) that lacks
necessary existence will typically depend for
its Own existence on the prior operations of
other beings, and probably these operations
will involve a large element of sheer chance.
But a being that has necessary existence is not
dependent on the vagaries of chance, for its
existence is absolutely inevitable. Necessary
existence is, therefore, a most impressive prop-
erty — the same can hardly be said for exist-
ence: the lowliest worm and the most
ephemeral subnuclear resonance exist — and
anything that possesses it is a most impressive
being. It is for this very reason that many phi-
losophers and theologians have wanted to in-
clude necessaryexistence among the attributes
of God. It therefore seems very plausible to
hold that necessary existence should be an item
in any list of “perfections.”
Be that as it may, the new version of
Descartes’s argument is obviously invalid, and
it looks very much as if it were invalid for much
the same reason as the original version. Recall
the example of the egmount. We can easily
construct a similar example that is addressed
to the revised argument. Let us define a
“negmount” as a necessarily existent golden
mountain. If the revised version of the argu-
ment is valid, then (or so it would seem) so is
the following argument. Let us call the three
properties that occur in this definition (nec-
essary existence, being made of gold, and be-
ing a mountain) the “negmontanic
properties.” We may now argue:
e Anegmount has all negmontanic proper-
ties.
e@ Necessary existence is anegmontanic prop-
erty.
Hence, A negmount has necessary
existence.
e Whatever has necessary existence has
existence.
Hence, A negmount has existence.
e@ Whatever has existence exists.
Hence, A negmount exists.
But the conclusion of this argument is obvi-
ously false. There is no negmount. In fact, it
can plausibly be argued that not only is the
conclusion false but it couldn’t possibly be true.
A mountain, whatever it may be made of, is a
physical object, and it is very hard to see how
a physical object could possibly be necessarily
existent. Even if necessary existence is possi-
ble for some sorts of things, a physical object
is composed of parts, and it would not have
existed if those parts had never come together.
But there is no need to argue about this sub-
tle point. The same conclusion can be reached
in a way that allows no evasion. Let a
“nousquare” be a necessarily existent round
square. If the above argument is valid, then
an exactly parallel argument proves the exist-
ence of a necessarily existent round square —
and hence of a round square.
It is clear, therefore, that the above argu-
ment is vot valid. But wherein does its inva-
lidity lie? Not, apparently, where Kant says,
for the argument does not assume that exist-
ence is a property, and Kant has provided no
reason that should lead us to say that neces-
sary existence cannot figure as an ingredient
in a concept. (The concept of a negmount
seems to me to be a perfectly good example
of a concept, albeit it is not a very useful con-
cept.) What is wrong with the negmount ar-
gument is very simple: its first premise — “A
negmount has all negmontanic properties — is
ambiguous. That is, it could have either of
two meanings:
e Anything that isa negmount has all of the
negmontanic properties.
e There is a negmount that has all of the
negmontanic properties.
(The former of these statements is true
whether or not there are negmounts. It sim-
ply says that a thing does not count as a
negmount unless it has all of the negmontanic
properties. The latter statement, of course,
cannot be true unless there is a negmount.)
The ambiguity is rooted in two quite differ-
ent functions performed by the indefinite ar-
73
PETER VAN INWAGEN
ticle. To say “A public official is sworn to up-
hold the law” is to say that anyone who is a
public official is sworn to uphold the law, an
assertion that, in principle, could be true even
if there were no public officials. To say “A
public official was arraigned in Superior Court
today” is to say that there is a public official
who was arraigned in Superior Court today.
(Descartes’s original statement of his argu-
ment was in Latin, which has no word cor-
responding to “a” and “an.” But there is a
corresponding ambiguity in Latin. )
Because the first premise of the negmount
argument is ambiguous, “it” is not really one
argument at all, but two arguments jumbled
together. When we disentangle the jumble,
we find that one of these arguments proceeds
from the premise that anything that is a
negmount has all of the negmontanic proper-
ties to the conclusion that anything that is a
negmount exists; the other proceeds from the
premise that there is a negmount having all of
the negmontanic properties to the conclusion
that there is a negmount that exists. Neither
of these two arguments should convince any-
one that there is a negmount.
As to the first argument, its premise is clearly
true, but its conclusion — anything that is a
negmount exists — is true whether or not any
negmounts exist (just as “Anything that is a
unicorn has a single horn” is true whether or
not there are any unicorns). As to the second
argument, its conclusion obviously implies
that there is a negmount (an existent
negmount, if that adds anything to the asser-
tion that there is a negmount), but this was
asserted by the premise — there is a negmount
that has all of the negmontanic properties —
and it is no news that one can derive the con-
clusion that there is a negmount from the as-
sumption that there is a negmount. Such
plausibility as the original negmount argument
had derived from the fact that because the two
arguments were run together, it looked as if
we had an argument that had the impressive
conclusion of the second argument and the
innocent premise of the first.
All of these points apply, with very minor
74
adjustments, both to Descartes’s ontological
argument and to the revised version of his ar-
gument (the one that appeals to the notion
of necessary existence rather than to simple
existence). Let us consider the revised version.
When the first premise of the argument is
properly disambiguated, we have two argu-
ments:
e Anything that is a perfect being has all
perfections.
e Necessary existence is a perfection.
Hence, Anything that is a perfect being
has necessary existence.
e@ Whatever has necessary existence has ex-
istence.
Hence, Anything that is a perfect being
has existence.
e@ Whatever has existence exists.
Hence, Anything that is a perfect being
exists.
e There is a perfect being that has all per-
fections.
e Necessary existence is a perfection.
Hence, There is a perfect being that has
necessary existence.
e@ Whatever has necessary existence has ex-
istence.
Hence, There is a perfect being that has
existence.
e@ Whatever has existence exists.
Hence, There is a perfect being that
exists.
The first of these two arguments proceeds
from an obvious premise to a trivial conclu-
sion. The second argument has a non-trivial
conclusion, but this conclusion is, essentially,
the first premise. Those who grant the first
premise of the second argument hardly need
the other premises; they can make do with a
much simpler argument:
e@ There is a perfect being that has all per-
fections.
Hence, There is a perfect being.
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
But this argument has — to say the least — little
persuasive force. And it should by now be clear
that neither Descartes’s ontological argument
nor our revision of it is any better. Such per-
suasive force as these arguments have is due
simply to the fact that each of them is a jum-
ble of two arguments; in each case, one of the
two has an obviously true premise and the
other has an interesting conclusion.
It would seem that Descartes’s attempt to
prove that the non-existence of a perfect be-
ing is impossible is a failure and that it there-
fore cannot be of any help in our inquiry into
why there should be anything at all. (Without
going into the details of the matter, I will
record my conviction that the earlier argument
of Saint Anselm is also a failure.) This does
not mean, however, that the ontological ar-
gument is of no relevance to our inquiry, for
it may be that there are other versions of the
ontological argument that are not guilty of
the fallacy of ambiguity that was the downfall
of Descartes’s argument. And recent re-
searches in the philosophy of modality (the
philosophy of necessity and possibility) do
indeed seem to have produced an argument
that it is reasonable to call a version of the
ontological argument and which does not
exploit a hidden ambiguity or commit any
other logical fallacy.
This argument, which is usually called the
modal ontological argument, is best presented
in terms of “possible worlds.” This notion may
be explained as follows. We have said that “the
World” is the totality of everything that there
is. But it is obvious that the World might be
different — indeed that it might always have
been different — from the way it is. There might
be fewer cats or more dogs. There might never
have been any cats or dogs at all (if, say, evo-
lution had taken a slightly different course).
Napoleon might have lost the battle of
Austerlitz or won the battle of Waterloo. As
we saw in our discussion of the notion of a
necessary being, the sun — perhaps even the
physical universe — might never have existed.
A list of the ways things might have been dif-
ferent (which is the same as a list of the ways
the World might have been different) could
go on and on without any discernible limit.
By a possible world, we mean simply a com-
plete specification of away the World might
have been, a specification that is so precise and
definite that it settles every single detail, no
matter how minor. If we assume that every-
thing that there is or could be is subject to
the flow of time — almost certainly not a wise
assumption — we could say that a possible
world is a complete history-and-future that the
World might have (or might have had), one
whose completeness extends to every detail.
In order to make full use of the concept of
a possible world, we need the idea of truth in
a given possible world and we need the idea
of existence in a given possible world. While
various technical accounts of these ideas are
available, we shall be content with an intui-
tive or impressionistic account of them. A few
examples should suffice. If in a given world x
there are no dogs — if that is how ~ specifies
things: that there are no dogs — then in x dogs
do not exist, and it is true in x that there are
no dogs, and the proposition (assertion, state-
ment, thesis) that there are no dogs is true in
x. Ifin a given possible world y Napoleon won
the battle of Waterloo, then it is true in y that
Napoleon won the battle of Waterloo, and the
proposition that Napoleon won the battle of
Waterloo is true in y. And, of course, Napo-
leon must exist in y, for one cannot win a bat-
tle if one does not exist. But there are possible
worlds in which Napoleon was never born (or
even conceived) and in those possible worlds
he does not exist.
Once we have the notion of a proposition’s
being true in a possible world, we can say what
it is for a proposition to be possibly true and
for a proposition to be necessarily true. A
proposition is possibly true if it is true in at
least one possible world, and necessarily true
if it is true in a// possible worlds.
The possible world that specifies the way
the World really sis called the actual world. A
more formal definition is this: a possible world
w is the actual world just in the case that some-
thing is true in w if and only if it is — without
75
PETER VAN INWAGEN
qualification — true. It is important not to con-
fuse the actual world with the World. The
actual world is a mere specification, a descrip-
tion ofa way for things to be. It has only the
kind of abstract reality that belongs to a story
or a scenario or a computer program. The
World, however, is not a description of a way
for things to be: it is, so to speak, the things
themselves. If it is an individual, it has you
and me and every other individual as parts. If
it is not an individual but a mere collection, it
is at least the collection of all of the individu-
als. It is the features of the World that make
one of the possible worlds the one that is ac-
tual, just as it is the geographical features of
the earth that make some maps accurate or
correct and other maps inaccurate or incor-
rect. It is the features of the World that make
one of the ways for things to be the way that
things are.
It is not necessary to make use of the con-
cept of a possible world in presenting the
“modal ontological argument,” but it is ad-
visable, since the English grammatical con-
structions that are used in formulating modal
reasoning are sources of much ambiguity, and
this ambiguity can cause arguments that are
logically invalid to look as if they were valid.
The easiest and most elegant way to avoid
these ambiguities is to carry on discussions that
involve modal reasoning in terms of possible
worlds.
In order to state the modal ontological ar-
gument, we need two notions: the notion of
a necessary being and the notion of some-
thing’s having a property (feature, attribute,
characteristic) essentially.
We have already met the notion of neces-
sary existence in our discussion of Descartes’s
ontological argument. A necessary being is
simply a being that possesses necessary exist-
ence. But we may define this concept very sim-
ply in terms of the concept ofapossible world:
a necessary being is a being that exists in all
possible worlds (and necessary existence is the
property of existing in all possible worlds).
Beings that are not necessary are called con-
tingent. That is, a contingent being is simply
76
a being that exists in some but not all possible
worlds. You and I and every object of our ex-
perience are, no doubt, contingent beings.
You, for example, do not exist in any possible
world in which you were never conceived (and
this would certainly seem to be a possible state
of affairs).
The concept of the essential possession of a
property is this: a thing has a property essen-
tially just in the case that that property is a
part of the thing’s nature, so inextricably en-
twined with the thing’s being that it could
not exist if it did not have that property. We
may explain this notion in possible-worlds lan-
guage as follows: for a thing x to have a given
property essentially is for x to have that prop-
erty in every possible world in which ~ exists.
It should be emphasized that this is a defini-
tion, not a recipe. It tells us what the essential
possession of a property is, but it does not
give us a method for determining whether a
particular property is in fact possessed essen-
tially by a particular thing.
Consider you, for example, and the prop-
erty of humanity, or being human. Obviously
you have this property — you ave human — but
do you have it essentially? Is being human so
“inextricably entwined with your being” that
you could not exist without being human? Are
you a human being in every possible world in
which you so much as exist? This is a meta-
physical question, and a very controversial one.
Philosophers disagree about the answer to this
question because they disagree about what you
are, and, as a consequence, they disagree about
what you could have been. But for our present
purposes it will not be necessary to have any
uncontroversial examples ofthe essential pos-
session of a property (which is fortunate, for
there are few if any examples that are un-
controversial); it is enough that we understand
what is meant by the essential possession of a
property. It will sometimes be useful to have
a term to oppose to “essentially” in discus-
sions of the possession ofaproperty by a thing.
Ifathing has a property but does not have it
essentially, we say that it has that property
accidentally.
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
The ontological argument is, or claims to
be, a proof that a perfect being exists. And
what is a perfect being? A perfect being,
Descartes tells us, is a being that possesses all
perfections. But now let us raise a question
that is not settled by this formula. When we
say that a perfect being possesses all perfec-
tions, do we mean that a perfect being pos-
sesses all perfections essentially or could a
being be a perfect being if, although it indeed
had every perfection, it had some or all of its
perfections only accidentally? In order to see
more clearly what is at stake in this question,
let us look at a particular perfection. We may
not be sure exactly which properties are per-
fections, but it seems reasonable to suppose
that wisdom is among them. If this is not right,
however, it will make no difference to our
argument, which — with one exception, as we
shall see — does not make any assumptions about
which properties are perfections. We choose
wisdom only to have something to use as a
reasonably plausible example of a perfection.
Let us consider two (equally) wise beings,
one of which has its wisdom essentially and
the other of which has its wisdom only acci-
dentally. This means that while one of the two
beings would have been wise no matter what
(as long as it managed to exist at all), the other
might have been unwise. The nature of the
former being is incompatible with unwisdom,
and the nature of the latter is compatible both
with wisdom and with unwisdom. Although
it is a matter of necessity that the former is
wise, given that it exists, it is, speaking meta-
physically, an accident that the latter is wise.
The latter’s wisdom is, so to speak, a gift of
the circumstances in which that being hap-
pens to exist, and that gift would not have
been conferred by other sets of circumstances,
circumstances in which that being might have
found itself. (This is certainly the way most of
us look at the wisdom of human beings. If
Alice is, as we all agree, wise, we do not sup-
pose that it follows from the undisputed fact
of her wisdom that she would have been wise
if she had been raised among people who pro-
vided her with no examples of wisdom or if
she had been raised in grinding poverty that
left her with no leisure for reflection. And we
should probably agree that she would defi-
nitely mot have been wise if she had, as a small
child, suffered brain damage that left her with
severely diminished mental capacities.)
Now — we continue to assume for the sake
of the illustration that wisdom is a perfection
— which of our two beings is a better candi-
date for the office of perfect being? The ex-
ample seems to offer fairly strong support for
the thesis that the essential possession of a
perfection beings a being closer to the status
of “perfect” than does the merely accidental
possession of that same perfection. Let us
therefore say that a perfect being is a being
that possesses all perfections and, moreover,
possesses those perfections essentially and not
merely accidentally — of its own nature, and
not merely as a gift of circumstance.
And what properties are perfections? As we
said, we shall make only one assumption about
this. We shall assume that mecessary existence
is a perfection. And this does not seem to be
an implausible assumption. As we said in our
discussion of Descartes’s ontological argu-
ment, a being that has necessary existence is
not dependent on the vagaries of chance, for
its existence is absolutely inevitable. Is not
“just happening to exist” a disqualification for
the office of “perfect being”? Must we not,
therefore, count necessary existence as a per-
fection?
That necessary existence is a perfection is
one of the premises of the modal ontological
argument. The argument has only one other
premise: that a perfect being is possible — or,
equivalently, that a perfect being is not im-
possible. And such a premise must in some
sense be required by any argument for the
existence of anything, since an impossible be-
ing — a round square, say, or a liquid wine
bottle — by definition cannot exist. Here, then,
is the modal ontological argument:
e A perfect being (that is, a being that pos-
sesses all perfections essentially) is not
impossible.
ra)
PETER VAN INWAGEN
e Necessary existence is a perfection.
Hence, A perfect being exists.
Our first task will be to show that this argu-
ment is logically valid — that is, that its con-
clusion (that a perfect being exists) follows
logically if its two premises are granted. Our
next task will be to see whether the two
premises should be granted. And this will come
down to the task of seeing whether the first
premise (that a perfect being is not impossi-
ble) should be granted, for we have already
said about as much as there is to be said on
the question whether necessary existence is a
perfection.
We proceed to show that this argument is
valid. It will be easiest to display the reason-
ing behind the modal ontological argument
diagrammatically. Let us suppose (just to keep
the diagram manageable; our argument in no
way depends on how many possible worlds
there are) that there are exactly four possible
worlds, which we shall call One, Two, Three,
and Four. We shall represent each possible
world by a circle. And let us represent the as-
sertion that, in a given possible world, there
exists something that has a given property by
placing inside the circle that represents that
possible world a symbol that represents that
property. For example, if “W” represents wis-
dom, then [figure 1] represents the assertion
Four @)
Figure 1
that in Possible World Four there exists some-
thing that is wise. And let us represent the
assertion that a given possible world is actual
by placing the symbol “<” to the right of the
circle that represents that possible world. (We
shall call this symbol the “actuality cursor,”
since it will be useful to think of it as a mov-
able “pointer.”) Thus, [figure 2] represents
Mize De
Figure 2
the assertion that Possible World Two is the
78
actual world, and [figure 3] represents the
One @ <
Figure 3
assertion that Possible World One is actual
and contains something wise. By a world-dia-
gram we mean a diagram that satisfies two
conditions: first, the diagram must contain a
circle representing each possible world and,
secondly, the diagram must contain the actu-
ality cursor (the symbol “<”), placed to the
‘ right of exactly one of the circles. (The sec-
ond condition corresponds to the fact that
exactly one possible world is actual.)
In addition to these two “required” fea-
tures, a world-diagram may also have the fol-
lowing “optional” feature: it may contain any
number of symbols representing properties,
these symbols being placed inside any or ail
of the circles.
Given our assumption that there are just
the four possible worlds, One, Two, Three,
and Four, [figure 4] is a world-diagram:
Two Ce}
Three @} <
Four @
Figure 4
A world-diagram tells us which possible
worlds there are and which of them is the ac-
tual world; it may also tell us whether, in vari-
ous ofthose possible worlds, there are things
having certain specified properties. [Figure 4]
represents the assertion that there are exactly
four possible worlds, One, Two, Three, and
Four, that Three is the actual world, and that
in worlds One and Four there is something
wise.
A world-diagram is said to be “correct in”
a given possible world if (and only if) every
assertion represented in the diagram is true in
that possible world. [Figure 4] is correct in
Possible World Three ifit is true in Three that
there exist exactly the four possible worlds
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
displayed in the figure, that Possible World
Three is the one that is actual, and that in two
of the other worlds, One and Four, there is
something that is wise.
Let us now see how world-diagrams can help
us with the question whether the conclusion
of the modal ontological argument follows
from its two premises. Let us assume for the
sake of argument that both of the premises of
the modal ontological argument are true and
see whether we can deduce its conclusion from
this assumption. The first premise tells us that
a perfect being, a being having all perfections
essentially, is possible, and that is the same thing
as saying that in at least one possible world there
exists a being who has all perfections essen-
tially. Let us arbitrarily assume that such a be-
ing exists in Possible World Two — that Two is
the possible world, or one of the possible
worlds, in which there is a perfect being. Our
arbitrary choice of Possible World Two as a
“starting point” can do no harm since, accord-
ing to the premise whose truth we have as-
sumed, a perfect being must exist either in One
or in Two or in Three or in Four (or else in
more than one of these four possible worlds),
and we shall see that the reasoning that we are
about to examine would lead to the same con-
clusion no matter which possible world we took
as our starting point.
Let us use the symbol “P” to stand for the
property of being a perfect being (that is, the
property of having all perfections essentially),
and let us suppose that a certain inhabitant of
Possible World Two, William, is set the task
of drawing a world-diagram that shows how
the property P is, as we might say, distributed
among the four possible worlds. William, let
us suppose, knows that there is a perfect be-
ing in Two, and he therefore begins drawing
his diagram [figure 5]. Why does William place
Two Q) < we have seen, true only in Two. But suppose
Figure5
the actuality cursor to the right of the circle
representing Possible World Two? Well, we
are imagining William’s constructing his dia-
gram in Possible World Two, and it is true in
Possible World Two that Possible World Two
is the actual world. (In general, it is true in
any given possible world that that possible
world is the actual world — just as it is true in
any story that everything in that story is true.)
Now how is William to fill in the rest of the
world-diagram he is constructing? William, we
may imagine, reasons as follows. “Let’s see
... I know that there is a perfect being. Sup-
pose I call that being — or one of them if there
is more than one — “X.” X has all perfections,
and one perfection is necessary existence.
Therefore, X exists in all possible worlds.
Moreover, I know that X has all perfections
essentially. That is, I know that X has all per-
fections in every possible world in which X
exists. I can infer that there is something in
every possible world — namely X — that has
the property P. Therefore, the world-diagram
[in figure 6] correctly represents the distribu-
tion of the property P among the various pos-
sible worlds.”
Two (P) <
Three (2)
Four (P)
Figure 6
Let us assume for the moment that the rea-
soning that we have attributed to William is
correct. Then — given the truth of our two
premises — it follows that the world-diagram
William has drawn [figure 6] is correct in
Possible World Two. Can we infer from this
anything about which world-diagrams are cor-
rect in the other three possible worlds? We
certainly cannot infer that this world-diagram
is correct in any other possible world, for this
diagram tells us that Possible World Two is
the actual world, and that proposition is, as
that we make just one change in William’s
diagram; suppose that we take the actuality
cursor and “slide it down a notch,” so that
it is placed beside the circle representing
Possible World Three. The revised diagram
79
PETER VAN INWAGEN
Two (P)
Three (2) <
Four (2)
Figure 7
[figure 7] says that Possible World Three is
the actual world. This assertion is true in Pos-
sible World Three. Does it follow from the
assumption that William’s diagram is correct
in Two that the revised diagram is correct in
Three? The following general principle of .
modal reasoning would justify this conclusion:
If a world-diagram is correct in the possible
world x, then the diagram obtained from it by
moving the actuality cursor until it is beside the
circle representing the possible world y is cor-
rect in the possible world y.
This principle seems intuitively very plausible.
All it really says is that the “inner” or intrinsic
features ofa given possible world are features
that world has from the perspective of all the
possible worlds. It could be summed up in
the following slogan: the only thing that
changes from possible world to possible world
in which possible world is actual. But this slo-
gan is ambiguous, for there is a sense in which
lots of other things “change from possible
world to possible world:” who won the battle
of Waterloo, the population of Russia, whether
I exist — in fact, everything that could be dif-
ferent. A more cautious way to put the
thought the slogan is intended to convey is
this: The only thing about a possible world x
that can “change” or “look different” when x
is “viewed from” various possible worlds (in-
cluding x itself) is whether «x is actual.
Thus, the only feature of the whole set of
possible worlds that two possible worlds “disa-
gree” about is which member of that set is
the actual world...
... Let us assume that our plausible princi-
ple is indeed correct. The actual existence of
a perfect being now follows easily. One of the
four possible worlds must be actual, and it does
not make any difference (in the matter of the
80
validity of the modal ontological argument)
which of them it is, since, in each of them, a
world-diagram obtained from [figure 8] by
One
‘Two
Three
Four Q)
Figure 8
an appropriate placement of the actuality cur-
sor is correct. (The world-diagram obtained
by placing the actuality cursor on the top line
of the figure is correct in Possible World One,
and so on.) Therefore, no matter which of
the four worlds the actual world is, a perfect
being exists in the actual world. (It should now
be evident that our argument did not depend
on our simplifying assumption that there were
just four possible worlds. And neither did it
depend on our arbitrary choice of Possible
World Two as our “starting point:” if we had
begun by assuming that a perfect being ex-
isted in One or in Three or in Four, we should
have got the same result.)
Have we therefore proved the existence of
a perfect being? ... But the modal ontolog-
ical argument rests on two premises and a prin-
ciple of modal inference. And at least one of
these three things is far from evident: that a
perfect being is not impossible. Our argument
perhaps shows that the concept of a perfect
being is in an important way unlike the con-
cept of a lion or a unicorn. It is not impos-
sible for there to be unicorns, but there are
none. If there were no lions, it would never-
theless be possible for there to be lions, and
lions, despite their possibility, would not ex-
ist. A perfect being, however, is not like that:
if a perfect being is so much as intrinsically
possible — like a unicorn, and unlike a liquid
wine bottle — then a perfect being really does
exist. But is a perfect being possible?
This is a question that we cannot evade, for
there can be no presumption in favor of pos-
sibility. It may be that in many areas of thought
and inquiry one is entitled to assume that a
certain concept is possible — not self-contra-
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
dictory, not intrinsically impossible — in the
absence of a specific argument for its impossi-
bility, rather as, under Common Law, a per-
son is to be presumed innocent of a charge
ull proved guilty. But this cannot be a pre-
sumption in any area of inquiry in which mo-
dal reasoning like that which we have been
considering is employed. This contention is
easily demonstrated by the fact that such a
presumption ofpossibility would lead to con-
tradictory results.
To see that this zs a fact, consider the con-
cept of a “knowno:” the concept of a being
who knows that there is no perfect being.
There would seem to be no reason, on the
face of it, to suppose that there being a
knowno is an intrinsically impossible state of
affairs, like there being a liquid wine bottle.
But consider. If aknowno is not intrinsically
impossible, then there is a knowno in some
possible world. But then there is a possible
world in which there is no perfect being, since,
if someone knows something, then what that
person knows is true. And, as we have seen, if
a perfect being is possible, then there exists a
perfect being in every possible world. It fol-
lows that if aknowno is possible, then a per-
fect being is impossible — and it also follows
that if a perfect being is possible, then a
knowno is impossible.
We have, therefore, a pair of concepts — the
concept of a perfect being and the concept of
a knowno — that is such that ifeither is possi-
ble then the other is impossible. And we have
at present no reason for saying of either con-
cept that it is impossible. But if we adopted
the general rule “A concept is to be assumed
to be possible in the absence of a specific ar-
gument for its impossibility,” we should have
to assume both ofthese concepts to be possi-
ble, and we know that it is false that they are
both possible. (It is interesting to note that
we cannot consistently adopt the Common
Law principle “A person is to be presumed
innocent of a charge till proved guilty” if we
know that either Alice or Bertram murdered
Clara but have no reason to think that Alice
murdered her and no reason to think that
Bertram murdered her. The best we can do in
such a case if we want to be logically consist-
ent is not to assume that Alice is guilty and
not to assume that Bertram is guilty.)
If we wish to evaluate the modal ontologi-
cal argument, therefore, there is no alterna-
tive to attempting to find some specific
argument for the conclusion that the concept
ofa perfect being is possible or else some spe-
cific argument for the conclusion that a per-
fect being is impossible.
How shall we do this? Well, how, in gen-
eral, do we go about finding out whether a
concept is possible? The most reliable way of
showing that a concept is possible is to show
that is has zwstances. That is, the most reliable
way of showing that the concept of a dog is
possible is to show that there are dogs; the
most reliable way of showing that the con-
cept of a unicorn is possible is to show that
there are unicorns, and so on. But this method
will not help us to find out whether the con-
cept ofa perfect being is possible, since we do
not know whether there are any perfect be-
ASS: a,
If we find it difficult to show that the con-
cept ofa perfect being is possible, this could
be because that concept is in fact impossible.
If this were true, is there any way in which it
might be demonstrated? It is sometimes pos-
sible to show that a concept is impossible by
showing that some sort of impossibility can
be deduced from the proposition that that
concept applies to something. For example,
we can show that the concept of a round
square is impossible by pointing out that if
there were a round square it would have cor-
ners (since it is square) and would also not
have corners (since it is round).
The Anglo-American philosopher J. N.
Findlay once claimed to be able to show that
an impossibility could be derived from the
concept ofa perfect being. His argument was
that a perfect being must be a necessary be-
ing, and that an impossibility follows from the
concept of a necessary being... .
... I know of no argument that purports
to show that there could not be a necessarily
81
PETER VAN INWAGEN
existent individual thing. . .Such an argument
would have to show that the two properties
being necessarily existent and being an indi-
vidual thing were inconsistent with each other,
and I can see no way of constructing even a
plausible candidate for such an argument.
It is interesting to note that if these two
properties are ot inconsistent, then there is
in fact a necessarily existent individual thing.
This can be shown by a simplified version of
the reasoning that we used to show the valid-
ity of the modal ontological argument:
If a necessarily existent individual thing is pos-
sible, then there is a necessarily existent indi-
vidual thing in some possible world. Since that
individual thing is necessarily existent in that
possible world, it is true in that possible world
that it, that very individual thing, exists in all
possible worlds. It follows that it is true in every
possible world that that thing exists in all possi-
ble worlds, since “nothing changes from possi-
ble world to possible world but which possible
world is actual.” Moreover, it seems evident that
the property being an individual thingis essen-
tial to whatever has it; if something is an indi-
vidual thing, then it could not have been a
universal or a mere collection or a stuff or any
other kind of non-individual thing. Therefore,
this being not only exists in every possible world
but is also an individual thing in every possible
world. And there is thus a necessarily existent
individual thing in every possible world, includ-
ing, of course, whichever world is the actual
world. Therefore, there actually is a necessarily
existent individual thing.
This argument, which we may call the mini-
mal modal ontological argument, shows that
the reasoning that underlies the modal onto-
logical argument does not really have anything
to do with the concept of a perfect being.
What this reasoning really shows is that, for
any set ofproperties whatever, if it is possible
for there to be a thing that is necessarily exist-
ent and has all of these properties essentially,
then there actually is something that is neces-
sarily existent and has all of these properties
essentially. (A perfect being is a being that has
all perfections and has them essentially; a per-
82
fect being is thus a being that is necessarily
existent — necessary existence being a perfec-
tion — and has a certain set of properties es-
sentially.) It is interesting to note that the
minimal modal ontological argument will do
as well as the modal ontological argument it-
self for our purposes. (Our question is, Why
is there something rather than nothing? and
any individual thing is a “something.”) It is
free from logical error if and only if the modal
ontological argument itself is free from logi-
cal error, and its controversial premise —a nec-
essarily existent individual thing is possible —
is true if the corresponding premise of the
modal ontological argument is true. I say “if”
and not “only if” because the proposition that
a perfect being is possible entails that a neces-
sarily existent individual thing is possible, but
the reverse entailment does not hold, or at
least does not obviously hold. A perfect being
has to be a necessarily existent individual thing,
but a necessarily existent individual thing does
not have to be a perfect being, or does not
obviously have to be a perfect being. It looks
as if the premise of the minimal modal onto-
logical argument might well be easier to in-
vestigate than the premise of the modal
ontological argument. And the conclusion of
the minimal modal ontological argument suf-
fices for our present purposes, since we are
investigating the question, Why should there
be anything (i.e. any individual thing) at all?
Let us therefore turn our attention to the
minimal modal ontological argument and ask
whether its premise is true; that is, whether a
necessarily existent individual thing is possi-
ble; that is, whether the properties existing
necessarily and being an individual thing are
compatible. It does not seem possible to de-
duce any formal contradiction from the as-
sumption that there is a necessarily existent
individual thing.
Nevertheless, these two properties may well
be incompatible. It is hard to believe that the
two properties being a solid sheet of iron and
being as transparent as glass are compatible,
but there is no way of deriving a formal con-
tradiction from the proposition “There is a
 NECESSARY BEING: THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
solid sheet of iron that is as transparent as
glass.” On the other hand, the two properties
may well be compatible. How can one know?
I am at a loss to answer this question. In gen-
eral, there are only two “foolproof” ways to
discover whether two properties are compat-
ible. One knows that two properties are com-
patible if one knows that there is in fact
something that has both of them. And one
knows that two properties are incompatible if
one can deduce a formal contradiction from
the assumption that something has both of
them. As I have said, I know of no way to
apply the latter method in the case of neces-
sary existence and individuality. And as to the
former method, if I knew how to show that
there was a necessarily existent individual
thing, I should have no need of the minimal
modal ontological argument, since I should
know that its conclusion — that there is a nec-
essarily existent individual thing — was true
independently of the minimal modal ontologi-
cal argument.
If we cannot show that a necessarily exist-
ent individual thing is possible, then we cer-
tainly cannot show that a perfect being is
possible, since a perfect being is a being that
is a necessarily existent individual thing and
has various other properties — such as wisdom
and goodness and unlimited power (or what-
ever the perfections other than necessary ex-
istence may be). And while there might in
theory be a proof that a perfect being was
impossible that did not prove that a necessar-
ily existent individual thing was impossible —
a proof, say, that wisdom was a perfection,
together with a proof that wisdom was incom-
patible with necessary existence — no one has
in fact proposed such a proof and no such
proof suggests itself. All the proofs of the the-
sis that a perfect being is impossible that have
ever been proposed are (supposed) proofs of
the impossibility of necessary existence. It
would seem, therefore, that the long history
of the ontological argument, from Saint
Anselm to the present day, is at best incon-
clusive. Every version of the argument either
contains some logical error or other or else
depends upon a premise whose claim to truth
we are unable to adjudicate.
Is there any approach to the question
whether there is a necessary being other than
via the ontological argument? There is indeed.
It has often been suggested that if there were
no necessary being there could not be any
beings at all. If this “if” statement could be
shown to be true, we could combine it with
the obvious truth that there is something to
show that there is a necessary being.
83
Cosmological Argument
11 The Cosmological Argument*
William Rowe
Since ancient times thoughtful people have
sought to justify their religious beliefs. Per-
haps the most basic belief for which justifica-
tion has been sought is the belief that there is
a God. The effort to justify beliefin the exist-
ence of God has generally started either from
facts available to believers and nonbelievers
alike or from facts, such as the experience of
God, normally available only to believers.
[|Here] we shall consider some major attempts
to justify belief in God by appealing to facts
supposedly available to any rational person,
whether religious or not. By starting from such
facts theologians and philosophers have de-
veloped arguments for the existence of God,
arguments which, they have claimed, prove
beyond reasonable doubt that there is a
God.
Stating the Argument
Arguments for the existence of God are com-
monly divided into a posteriori arguments and
a priori arguments. An a@ posteriori argument
depends on a principle or premise that can be
known only by means of our experience of
the world. An a priori argument, on the other
hand, purports to rest on principles all of which
can be known independently of our experi-
ence of the world, by just reflecting on and
* From William Rowe, Philosophy of Religion: An
Introduction (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth, 1978),
ch. 2, pp. 16-29. Reprinted with permission.
84
understanding them. Of the three major ar-
guments for the existence of God — the
Cosmological, the Teleological, and the On-
tological — only the last of these is entirely a
priori. In the Cosmological Argument one
starts from some simple fact about the world,
such as that it contains things which are caused
to exist by other things. In the Teleological
Argument a somewhat more complicated fact
about the world serves as a starting point, the
fact that the world exhibits order and design.
In the Ontological Argument, however, one
begins simply with a concept of God. ...
Before we state the Cosmological Argument
itself, we shall consider some rather general
points about the argument. Historically, it can
be traced to the writings of the Greek phi-
losophers Plato and Aristotle, but the major
developments in the argument took place in
the thirteenth and in the eighteenth centu-
ries. In the thirteenth century, Aquinas put
forth five distinct arguments for the existence
of God, and of these, the first three are ver-
sions of the Cosmological Argument. In the
first of these he started from the fact that there
are things in the world undergoing change
and reasoned to the conclusion that there must
be some ultimate cause of change that is itself
unchanging. In the second he started from
the fact that there are things in the world that
clearly are caused to exist by other things and
reasoned to the conclusion that there must
be some ultimate cause of existence whose
own existence is itself uncaused. And in the
third argument he started from the fact that

there are things in the world which need not
have existed at all, things which do exist but
which we can easily imagine might not, and
reasoned to the conclusion that there must
be some being that had to be, that exists and
could not have failed to exist. Now it might
be objected that even if Aquinas’s arguments
do prove beyond doubt the existence of an
unchanging changer, an uncaused cause, and
a being that could not have failed to exist, the
arguments fail to prove the existence of the
theistic God. For the theistic God .. . is su-
premely good, omnipotent, omniscient, and
creator of but separate from and independent
of the world. How do we know, for example,
that the unchanging changer isn’t evil or
slightly ignorant? The answer to this objec-
tion is that the Cosmological Argument has
two parts. In the first part the effort is to prove
the existence of a special sort of being, for
example, a being that could not have failed to
exist, or a being that causes change in other
things but is itself unchanging. In the second
part of the argument the effort is to prove that
the special sort of being whose existence has
been established in the first part has, and must
have the features — perfect goodness, omnipo-
tence, omniscience, and so on — which go to-
gether to make up the theistic idea of God.
What this means, then, is that Aquinas’s three
arguments are different versions of only the
first part of the Cosmological Argument. In-
deed, in later sections of his Summa Theologica
Aquinas undertakes to show that the unchang-
ing changer, the uncaused cause of existence,
and the being which had to exist are one and
the same being and that this single being has
all of the attributes of the theistic God.
We noted above that a second major devel-
opment in the Cosmological Argument took
place in the eighteenth century, a development
reflected in the writings of the German phi-
losopher Gottfried Leibniz (1646-1716), and
especially in the writings of the English theo-
logian and philosopher, Samuel Clarke (1675—
1729), In 1704 Clarke gave a series of lectures,
later published under the title A Demonstra-
tion of the Being and Attributes of God. These
THE COSMOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
lectures constitute, perhaps, the most com-
plete, forceful, and cogent presentation of the
Cosmological Argument we possess. The lec-
tures were read by the major skeptical phi-
losopher of the century, David Hume
(1711-1776), and in his brilliant attack on
the attempt to justify religion in the court of
reason, his Dialogues Concerning Natural
Religion, Hume advanced several penetrating
criticisms of Clarke’s arguments, criticisms
which have persuaded many philosophers in
the modern period to reject the Cosmological
Argument. In our study of the argument we
shall concentrate our attention largely on its
eighteenth-century form and try to assess its
strengths and weaknesses in the light of the
criticisms which Hume and others have ad-
vanced against it.
The first part of the eighteenth-century
form of the Cosmological Argument seeks to
establish the existence of a self-existent be-
ing. The second part of the argument attempts
to prove that the self-existent being is the the-
istic God, that is, has the features which we
have noted to be basic elements in the theis-
tic idea of God. We shall consider mainly the
first part of the argument, for it is against the
first part that philosophers from Hume to
Russell have advanced very important objec-
tions.
In stating the first part of theCosmological
Argument we shall make use of two impor-
tant concepts, the concept of a dependent be-
ing and the concept of a self-existent being. By
“a dependent being” we mean a being whose
existence ts accounted for by the causal activity
of other things. Recalling Anselm’s division into
the three cases: “explained by another,” “ex-
plained by nothing,” and “explained by itself,”
it’s clear that a dependent being is a being
whose existence is explained by another. By
“a self-existent being” we mean a being whose
existence 1s accounted for by its own nature.
This idea ... is an essential element in the
theistic concept of God. Again, in terms of
Anselm’s three cases, a self-existent being is
a being whose existence is explained by
itself. Armed with these two concepts, the
85
WILLIAM ROWE
concept of a dependent being and the con-
cept of a self-existent being, we can now
state the first part of the Cosmological Argu-
ment.
(1) Every being (that exists or ever did ex-
ist) is either a dependent being or a self-
existent being.
(2) Not every being can be a dependent
being.
(3) Therefore, there exists a self-existent
being.
... The Cosmological Argument (that is,
its first part) is a deductively valid argument.
If its premises are or were true its conclusion
would have to be true ... What else is re-
quired? Clearly that we know or have rational
grounds for believing that the premises are
true. If we know that the Cosmological Ar-
gument is deductively valid and can establish
that its premises are true, we shall thereby have
proved that its conclusion is true. Are, then,
the premises of the Cosmological Argument
true? To this more difficult question we must
now turn.
PSR and the First Premise
At first glance the first premise might appear
to be an obvious or even trivial truth. But it is
neither obvious nor trivial. And if it appears
to be obvious or trivial, we must be confusing
the idea of a self-existent being with the idea
of a being that is not a dependent being.
Clearly, it is obviously true that any being is
either a dependent being (explained by other
things) or it is not a dependent being (not
explained by other things). But what our
premise says is that any being is either a de-
pendent being (explained by other things) or
it is a self-existent being (explained by itself).
Consider . . . three cases:
(a) explained by another,
(b) explained by nothing,
(c) explained by itself.
86
What our first premise asserts is that each be-
ing that exists (or ever did exist) is either of
sort(a) or of sort(c). It denies that any being
is of sort b. And it is this denial that makes
the first premise both significant and contro-
versial. The obvious truth we must not con-
fuse it with is the truth that any being is either
ofsort (a) or not ofsort (a). While this is true
it is neither very significant nor controversial.
Earlier we saw that Anselm accepted as a
basic principle that whatever exists has an ex-
planation of its existence. Since this basic prin-
ciple denies that any thing of sort (b) exists or
ever did exist, it’s clear that Anselm would
believe the first premise of our Cosmological
Argument. The eighteenth-century propo-
nents of the argument also were convinced of
the truth of the basic principle we attributed
to Anselm. And because they were convinced
of its truth, they readily accepted the first
premise of the Cosmological Argument. But
by the eighteenth century, Anselm’s basic prin-
ciple had been more fully elaborated and had
received a name, “the Principle of Sufficient
Reason.” Since this principle (PSR, as we shall
call it) plays such an important role in justify-
ing the premises of the Cosmological Argu-
ment, it will help us to consider it for a
moment before we continue our enquiry into
the truth or falsity of the premises of the
Cosmological Argument.
The Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR),
as it was expressed by both Leibniz and Samuel
Clarke, is a very general principle and is best
understood as having two parts. In its first part
it is simply a restatement of Anselm’s princi-
ple that there must be an explanation of the
existence of any being whatever. Thus if we
come upon aman ina room, PSRimplies that
there must be an explanation of the fact that
that particular man exists. A moment’s reflec-
tion, however, reveals that there are many facts
about the man other than the mere fact that
he exists. There is the fact that the man in
question is in the room he’s in, rather than
somewhere else, the fact that he is in good
health, and the fact that he is at the moment
thinking of Paris, rather than, say, London.

Now the purpose of the second part of PSR is
to require an explanation ofthese facts as well.
We may state PSR, therefore, as the principle
that there must be an explanation (a) of the
existence of any being, and (b) of any positive
fact whatever. We are now in a position to
study the role this very important principle
plays in the Cosmological Argument.
Since the proponent of the Cosmological
Argument accepts PSR in both its parts, it is
clear that he will appeal to its first part, PSRa,
as justification for the first premise of the
Cosmological Argument. Of course, we can
and should enquire into the deeper question
of whether the proponent of the argument is
rationally justified in accepting PSR itself. But
we shall put this question aside for the mo-
ment. What we need to see first is whether he
is correct in thinking that 7f PSR is true then
both of the premises of the Cosmological Ar-
gument are true. And what we have just seen
is that if only the first part of PSR, that is,
PSRa, is true, the first premise of the
Cosmological Argument will be true. But what
of the second premise of the Argument? For
what reasons does the proponent think that it
must be true?
The Second Premise
According to the second premise, not every
being that exists can be a dependent being,
that is, can have the explanation of its exist-
ence in some other being or beings. Presum-
ably, the proponent of the argument thinks
there is something fundamentally wrong with
the idea that every being that exists is depend-
ent, that each existing being was caused by
some other being which in turn was caused
by some other being, and so on. But just what
does he think is wrong with it? To help us in
understanding his thinking, let’s simplify
things by supposing that there exists only one
thing now, A,, a living thing perhaps, that was
brought into existence by something else A,,
which perished shortly after it brought A, into
existence. Suppose further that A, was
brought into existence in similar fashion some
THE COSMOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
time ago by A,, and A, by A,, and so forth
back into the past. Each of these beings is a
dependent being, it owes its existence to the
preceding thing in the series. Now if nothing
else ever existed but these beings, then what
the second premise says would not be true.
For if every being that exists or ever did exist
is an A and was produced by a preceding A,
then every being that exists or ever did exist
would be dependent and, accordingly, premise
two of the Cosmological Argument would be
false. If the proponent of the Cosmological
Argument is correct there must, then, be
something wrong with the idea that every
being that exists or did exist is an A and that
they form a causal series, A, caused by A,, A,
caused by A,, A, caused by A,... A, caused
by A,,,. How does the proponent of the
Cosmological Argument propose to show us
that there is something wrong with this view?
A popular but mistaken idea of how the
proponent tries to show that something is
wrong with the view that every being might
be dependent is that he uses the following
argument to reject it.
(1) There must be a first being to start any
causal series.
(2) If every being were dependent there
would be no first being to start the causal
series.
(3) Therefore, not every being can be a
dependent being.
Although this argument is deductively valid
and its second premise is true, its first premise
overlooks the distinct possibility that a causal
series might be zmfinite, with no first member
at all. Thus if we go back to our series ofA
beings, where each A is dependent, having
been produced by the preceding A in the
causal series, it’s clear that if the series existed
it would have no first member, for every A in
the series there would be a preceding A which
produced it, ad infinitum. The first premise
of the argument just given assumes that a
causal series must stop with a first member
somewhere in the distant past. But there seems
87
WILLIAM ROWE

to be no good reason for making that assump- Questioning the Justification of the
tion. Second Premise
The eighteenth-century proponents of the
Critics of the Cosmological Argument have
Cosmological Argument recognized that the
raised several important objections against the
causal series of dependent beings could be
claim that if every being is dependent the se-
infinite, without a first member to start the
ries or collection of those beings would have
series. They rejected the idea that every being
no explanation. Our understanding of the
that is or ever was is dependent not because
Cosmological Argument, as well as of its
there would then be no first member to the
strengths and weaknesses, will be deepened
series of dependent beings, but because there
by a careful consideration of these criticisms.
would then be no explanation for the fact that
The first criticism is that the proponent of
there are and have always been dependent
the Cosmological Argument makes the mis-
beings.
g To see their reasoning let’s return to -
take of treating the collection or series of de-
our simplification of the supposition that the
pendent beings as though it were itself a
only things that exist or ever did exist are de-
dependent being, and, therefore, requires an
pendent beings. In our simplification of that
explanation of its existence. But, so the ob-
supposition only one of the dependent beings
jection goes, the collection of dependent be-
exists at a time, each one perishing as it pro-
ings is not itself a dependent being any more
duces the next in the series. Perhaps the first
than a collection of stamps is itself a stamp.
thing to note about this supposition is that
A second criticism is that the proponent
there is no individual A in the causal series of
makes the mistake of inferring that because
dependent beings whose existence is unex-
each member of the collection of dependent
plained — A, is explained by A,, A, by A;, and
beings has a cause the collection itself must
A,, by A,,,,. So the first part of PSR, PSRa,
have a cause. But, as Bertrand Russell noted,
appears to be satisfied. There is no particular
such reasoning is as fallacious as to infer that
being whose existence lacks an explanation.
the human race (that is, the collection of hu-
What, then, is it that lacks an explanation, if
man beings) must have a mother because each
every particular A in the causal series of de-
member of the collection (each human be-
pendent beings has an explanation? It is the
ing) has a mother.
series itself that lacks an explanation. Or, as
A third criticism is that the proponent of
I’ve chosen to express it, the fact that there
the argument fails to realize that for there to
are and have always been dependent beings. For
be an explanation of a collection of things is
suppose we ask why it is that there are and
nothing more than for there to be an expla-
have always been A, in existence. It won’t do
nation of each of the things making up the
to say that As have always been producing
collection. Since in the infinite collection (or
other As — we can’t explain why there have
series) of dependent beings, each being in the
always been As by saying there always have
collection does have an explanation — by vir-
been As. Nor, on the supposition that only
tue of having been caused by some preceding
As have ever existed, can we explain the fact
member of the collection — the explanation
that there have always been As by appealing
of the collection, so the criticism goes, has
to something other than an A — for no such
already been given. As David Hume remarked,
thing would have existed. Thus the supposi-
“Did I show you the particular causes of each
tion that the only things that exist or ever ex-
individual in a collection of twenty particles
isted are dependent things leaves us with a
of matter, I should think it very unreasonable,
fact for which there can be no explanation;
should you afterwards ask me, what was the
namely, the fact that there are and have al-
cause of the whole twenty. This is sufficiently
ways been dependent beings.
explained in explaining the cause of the parts.”
Finally, even if the proponent of the

88

Cosmological Argument can satisfactorily an-
swer these objections, he must face one last
objection to his ingenious attempt to justify
premise two of the Cosmological Argument.
For someone may agree that if nothing exists
but an infinite collection of dependent beings,
the infinite collection will have no explana-
tion of its existence, and still refuse to con-
clude from this that there is something wrong
with the idea that every being is a dependent
being. Why, he might ask, should we think
that everything has to have an explanation?
What’s wrong with admitting that the fact that
there are and have always been dependent
beings is a brute fact, a fact having no expla-
nation whatever? Why does everything have
to have an explanation anyway? We must now
see what can be said in response to these sev-
eral objections.
Responses to Criticism
It is certainly a mistake to think that a collec-
tion of stamps is itself a stamp, and very likely
a mistake to think that the collection of de-
pendent beings is itself'a dependent being. But
the mere fact that the proponent of the argu-
ment thinks that there must be an explana-
tion not only for each member of the
collection of dependent beings but for the
collection itself is not sufficient grounds for
concluding that he must view the collection
as itself a dependent being. The collection of
human beings, for example, is certainly not
itself ahuman being. Admitting this, however,
we might still seek an explanation of why there
is a collection of human beings, of why there
are such things as human beings at all. So the
mere fact that an explanation is demanded for
the collection of dependent beings is no proof
that the person who demands the explanation
must be supposing that the collection itselfis
just another dependent being.
The second criticism attributes to the pro-
ponent of the Cosmological Argument the
following bit of reasoning:
(1) Every member of the collection of de-
THE COSMOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
pendent beings has a cause or explana-
tion.
(2) Therefore, the collection of dependent
beings has a cause or explanation.
As we noted in setting forth this criticism, ar-
guments of this sort are often unreliable. It
would be a mistake to conclude that a collec-
tion of objects is light in weight simply be-
cause each object in the collection is light in
weight, for if there were many objects in the
collection it might be quite heavy. On the
other hand, if we know that each marble
weighs more than one ounce we could infer
validly that the collection of marbles weighs
more than an ounce. Fortunately, however,
we don’t need to decide whether the infer-
ence from (1) to (2) is valid or invalid. We
need not decide this question because the pro-
ponent of the Cosmological Argument need
not use this inference to establish that there
must be an explanation of the collection of
dependent beings. He need not use this in-
ference because he has in PSRa principle from
which it follows immediately that the collec-
tion of dependent beings has a cause or ex-
planation. For according to PSR every positive
fact must have an explanation. If it is a fact
that there exists a collection of dependent
beings then, according to PSR, that fact too
must have an explanation. So it is PSR that
the proponent of the Cosmological Argument
appeals to in concluding that there must be
an explanation ofthe collection of dependent
beings, and not some dubious inference from
the premise that each member of the collec-
tion has an explanation. It seems, then, that
neither of the first two criticisms is strong
enough to do any serious damage to the rea-
soning used to support the second premise of
the Cosmological Argument.
The third objection contends that to ex-
plain the existence of a collection ofthings is
the same thing as to explain the existence of
each of its members. If we consider a collec-
tion of dependent beings where each being in
the collection is explained by the preceding
member which caused it, it’s clear that no
89
WILLIAM ROWE
member of the collection will lack an expla-
nation of its existence. But, so the criticism
goes, if we’ve explained the existence of every
member of a collection we’ve explained the
existence of the collection — there’s nothing
left over to be explained. This forceful criti-
cism, originally advanced by David Hume, has
gained considerable support in the modern
period. But the criticism rests on an assump-
tion that the proponent of the Cosmological
Argument would not accept. The assumption
is that to explain the existence of a collection
of things it is sufficient to explain the exist-
ence of every member in the collection. To
see what is wrong with this assumption is to
understand the basic issue in the reasoning by
which the proponent of the Cosmological
Argument seeks to establish that not every
being can be a dependent being.
In order for there to be an explanation of
the existence of the collection of dependent
beings, it’s clear that the eighteenth-century
proponents would require that the following
two conditions be satisfied:
(Cl) There is an explanation of the exist-
ence of each of the members of the col-
lection of dependent beings.
(C2) There is an explanation of why there
are any dependent beings.
According to the proponents of the Cos-
mological Argument, if every being that ex-
ists or ever did exist is a dependent being -
that is, if the whole ofreality consists of noth-
ing more than a collection of dependent be-
ings — (C1) will be satisfied, but (C2) will not
be satisfied. And since (C2) won’t be satisfied
there will be no explanation of the collection
of dependent beings. The third criticism,
therefore, says in effect that if (C1) is satisfied
(C2) will be satisfied, and, since in a collec-
tion of dependent beings each member will
have an explanation in whatever it was that
produced it, (C1) will be satisfied. So, there-
fore, (C2) will be satisfied and the collection
of dependent beings will have an explanation.
Although the issue is a complicated one, I
90
Figure 9
Aven
Te oad.
Figure 10
think it is possible to see that the third criti-
cism rests on a mistake: the mistake of think-
ing that if (C1) is satisfied (C2) must also be
satisfied. The mistake is a natural one to make
for itis easy to imagine circumstances in which
if (C1) is satisfied (C2) also will be satisfied.
Suppose, for example, that the whole of real-
ity includes not just a collection of dependent
beings but also a self-existent being. Suppose
further that instead of each dependent being
having been produced by some other depend-
ent being every dependent being was pro-
duced by the self-existent being. Finally, let
us consider both the possibility that the col-
lection of dependent beings is finite in time
and has a first member and the possibility that
the collection of dependent beings is infinite
in past time, having no first member. Using
“G” for the self-existent being, the first possi-
bility may be diagramed as [in figure 9]: G,
we shall say, has always existed and always will.
We can think of d@, as some presently existing
dependent being, d@,, d;, and so forth as de-
pendent beings that existed at some time in
the past, and d, as the first dependent being
to exist. The second possibility may be por-
trayed as [in figure 10]. On this diagram there
is no first member of the collection of depend-
ent beings. Each member of the infinite col-
lection, however, is explained by reference to
the self-existent being G which produced it.
Now the interesting point about both these
cases is that the explanation that has been pro-
vided for the members of the collection of
dependent beings carries with it, at least in
part, an answer to the question of why there
are any dependent beings at all. In both cases
we may explain why there are dependent be-

ings by pointing out that there exists a self-
existent being that has been engaged in pro-
ducing them. So once we have learned that
the existence of each member of the collec-
tion of dependent beings has its existence ex-
plained by the fact that G produced it, we have
already learned why there are dependent be-
ings.
Someone might object that we haven’t re-
ally learned why there are dependent beings
until we also learn why G has been producing
them. But, of course, we could also say that
we haven’t really explained the existence of a
particular dependent being, say a3, until we
also learn not just that G produced it but why
G produced it. The point we need to grasp,
however, is that once we admit that every de-
pendent being’s existence is explained by G,
we must admit that the fact that there are de-
pendent beings has also been explained. So it
is not unnatural that someone should think
that to explain the existence of the collection
of dependent beings is nothing more than to
explain the existence of its members. For, as
we’ve seen, to explain the collection’s exist-
ence is to explain each member’s existence and
to explain why there are any dependent be-
ings at all. And in the examples we’ve consid-
ered, in doing the one (explaining why each
dependent being exists) we’ve already done
the other (explained why there are any de-
pendent beings at all). We must now see, how-
ever, that on the supposition that the whole
of reality consists only of a collection of de-
pendent beings, to give an explanation of each
member’s existence is not to provide an ex-
planation of why there are dependent beings.
In the examples we’ve considered we have
gone outside of the collection of dependent
beings in order to explain the members’ ex-
istence. But if the only beings that exist or
ever existed are dependent beings then each
dependent being will be explained by some
other dependent being, ad infinitum. This
does not mean that there will be some par-
ticular dependent being whose existence is
unaccounted for. Each dependent being has
an explanation of its existence; namely, in the
THE COSMOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
dependent being which preceded it and pro-
duced it. So (C1) is satisfied: there is an ex-
planation of the existence of each member of
the collection of dependent beings. Turning
to (C2), however, we can see that it will not
be satisfied. We cannot explain why there are
(or have ever been) dependent beings by ap-
pealing to all the members ofthe infinite col-
lection of dependent beings. For if the
question to be answered is why there are (or
have ever been) any dependent beings at all,
we cannot answer that question by noting that
there always have been dependent beings, each
one accounting for the existence of some other
dependent being. Thus on the supposition
that every being is dependent it seems there
will be no explanation of why there are de-
pendent beings. (C2) will not be satisfied.
Therefore, on the supposition that every be-
ing is dependent there will be no explanation
of the existence of the collection of depend-
ent beings.
The Truth of PSR
We come now to the final criticism of the rea-
soning supporting the second premise of the
Cosmological Argument. According to this
criticism, it is admitted that the supposition
that every being is dependent implies that
there will be a brute fact in the universe, a
fact, that is, for which there can be no expla-
nation whatever. For there will be no expla-
nation of the fact that dependent beings exist
and have always been in existence. It is this
brute fact that the proponents of the argu-
ment were describing when they pointed out
that if every being is dependent the series or
collection of dependent beings would lack an
explanation of zts existence. The final criticism
asks what is wrong with admitting that the
universe contains such a brute, unintelligible
fact. In asking this question the critic chal-
lenges the fundamental principle, PSR, on
which the Cosmological Argument rests. For,
as we’ve seen, the first premise of the argu-
ment denies that there exists a being whose
existence has no explanation. In support of
ol
WILLIAM ROWE
this premise the proponent appeals to the first
part of PSR. The second premise of the argu-
ment claims that not every being can be de-
pendent. In support of this premise the
proponent appeals to the second part of PSR,
the part which states that there must be an
explanation of any positive fact whatever.
The proponent reasons that if every being
were a dependent being then although the first
part of PSR would be satisfied — every being
would have an explanation — the second part
would be violated, there would be no expla-
nation for the positive fact that there are and
have always been dependent beings. For first,
since every being is supposed to be depend-
ent, there would be nothing outside of the
collection of dependent beings to explain the
collection’s existence. Second, the fact that
each member of the collection has an expla-
nation in some other dependent being is in-
sufficient to explain why there are and have
always been dependent beings. And, finally,
there is nothing about the collection of de-
pendent beings that would suggest that it is a
self-existent collection. Consequently, if every
being were dependent, the fact that there are
and have always been dependent beings would
have no explanation. But this violates the sec-
ond part of PSR. So the second premise of
the Cosmological Argument must be true, not
every being can be a dependent being. This
conclusion, however, is no better than the
principle, PSR, on which it rests. And it is the
point of the final criticism to question the truth
of PSR. Why, after all, should we accept the
idea that every being and every positive fact
must have an explanation? Why, in short,
should we believe PSR? These are important
questions, and any final judgment of the
Cosmological Argument depends on how they
are answered.
Most of the theologians and philosophers
who accept PSR have tried to defend it in ei-
ther of two ways. Some have held that PSR is
(or can be) known intuitively to be true. By
this they mean that if we fully understand and
reflect on what is said by PSR we can see that
it must be true. Now, undoubtedly, there are
92
statements which are known intuitively to be
true. “Every triangle has exactly three angles”
or “No physical object can be in two different
places in space at one and the same time” are
examples of statements whose truth we can
apprehend just by understanding and reflect-
ing on them. The difficulty with the claim that
PSR is intuitively true, however, is that a
number of very able philosophers fail to ap-
prehend its truth, and some even claim that
the principle is false. It is doubtful, therefore,
that many of us, if any, know intuitively that
PSR is true.
The second way philosophers and theolo-
gians who accept PSR have sought to defend
it is by claiming that although it is not known
to be true, it is, nevertheless, a presupposi-
tion of reason, a basic assumption that rational
people make, whether or not they reflect suf-
ficiently to become aware of the assumption.
It’s probably true that there are some assump-
tions we all make about our world, assump-
tions which are so basic that most of us are
unaware of them. And, I suppose, it might be
true that PSR is such an assumption. What
bearing would this view of PSR have on the
Cosmological Argument? Perhaps the main
point to note is that even if PSR is a presup-
position we all share, the premises of the
Cosmological Argument could still be false.
For PSR itself could still be false. The fact, if
it is a fact, that all of us presuppose that every
existing being and every positive fact has an
explanation does not imply that no being ex-
ists, and no positive fact obtains, without an
explanation. Nature is not bound to satisfy
our presuppositions. As the American philoso-
pher William James once remarked in another
connection, “In the great boarding house of
nature, the cakes and the butter and the syrup
seldom come out so even and leave the plates
so clear.”
Our study of the first part of the Cos-
mological Argument has led us to the funda-
mental principle on which its premises rest,
the Principle of Sufficient Reason. Since we
do not seem to know that PSR is true we can-
not reasonably claim to know that the premises

of the Cosmological Argument are true. They
might be true. But unless we do know them
to be true they cannot establish for us the con-
clusion that there exists a being that has the
explanation of its existence within its own
nature. If it were shown, however, that even
though we do not kvow that PSR is true we
all, nevertheless, presuppose PSR to be true,
then, whether PSR is true or not, to be con-
sistent we should accept the Cosmological
Argument. For, as we’ve seen, its premises
imply its conclusion and its premises do seem
to follow from PSR. But no one has succeeded
in showing that PSR is an assumption that most
or all of us share. So our final conclusion must
be that although the Cosmological Argument
THE COSMOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
might be a sound argument (valid with true
premises), it does not provide us with good
rational grounds for believing that among
those beings that exist there is one whose ex-
istence is accounted for by its own nature.
Having come to this conclusion we may safely
put aside the second part of the argument.
For even if it succeeded in showing that a self-
existent being would have the other attributes
of the theistic God, the Cosmological Argu-
ment would still not provide us with good
rational grounds for belief in God, having
failed in its first part to provide us with good
rational grounds for believing that there is a
self-existent being.
93
Teleological Argument
12 From Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion*
David Hume
Part II
... Look round the world: contemplate the
whole and every part of it: you will find it to
be nothing but one great machine, subdivided
into an infinite number of lesser machines,
which again admit of subdivisions, to a de-
gree beyond what human senses and faculties
can trace and explain. All these various ma-
chines, and even their most minute parts, are
adjusted to each other with an accuracy which
ravishes into admiration all men who have ever
contemplated them. The curious adapting of
means to ends, throughout all nature, resem-
bles exactly, though it much exceeds, the pro-
ductions of human contrivance; of human
design, thought, wisdom, and intelligence.
Since therefore the effects resemble each other,
we are led to infer, by all the rules of analogy,
that the causes also resemble; and that the
Author of Nature is somewhat similar to the
mind of men; though possessed of much larger
faculties, proportioned to the grandeur of the
work which he has executed. By this argument
a posteriort, and by this argument alone, do
we prove at once the existence ofa Deity, and
his similarity to human mind and intelligence.
I shall be so free, Cleanthes, said Demea, as
to tell you that from the beginning I could
not approve of your conclusion concerning
* From David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural
Religion, selections from Parts II and V, in The Em-
piricists (New York: Doubleday, 1974), pp. 444-50,
462-7.
94
the similarity of the Deity to men; still less
can I approve of the mediums by which you
endeavor to establish it. What! No demon-
stration of the being of a God! No abstract
arguments! No proofs a priori! Are these,
which have hitherto been so much insisted on
by philosophers, all fallacy, all sophism? Can
we reach no farther in this subject than expe-
rience and probability? I will not say that this
is betraying the cause of a deity: but surely,
by this affected candor, you give advantage to
atheists, which they never could obtain by the
mere dint of argument and reasoning.
What I chiefly scruple in this subject, said
Philo, is not so much that all religious argu-
ments are by Cleanthes reduced to experience,
as that they appear not to be even the most
certain and irrefragable of that inferior kind.
That a stone will fall, that fire will burn, that
the earth has solidity, we have observed a
thousand and a thousand times; and when any
new instance of this nature is presented, we
draw without hesitation the accustomed in-
ference. The exact similarity of the cases gives
us a perfect assurance ofa similar event; and a
stronger evidence is never desired nor sought
after. But wherever you depart, in the least,
from the similarity of the cases, you diminish
proportionably the evidence; and may at last
bring it to a very weak analogy, which is con-
fessedly liable to error and uncertainty. After
having experienced the circulation of the
blood in human creatures, we make no doubt
that it takes place in Titius and Maevius: but
from its circulation in frogs and fishes, it is
 FROM DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION
only a presumption, though a strong one,
from analogy, that it takes place in men and
other animals. The analogical reasoning is
much weaker, when we infer the circulation
of the sap in vegetables from our experience
that the blood circulates in animals; and those
who hastily followed that imperfect analogy
are found, by more accurate experiments, to
have been mistaken.
If we see a house, Cleanthes, we conclude,
with the greatest certainty, that it had an ar-
chitect or builder; because this is precisely that
species of effect, which we have experienced
to proceed from that species of cause. But
surely you will not affirm that the universe
bears such a resemblance to a house, that we
can with the-same certainty infer a similar
cause, or that the analogy is here entire and
perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking that
the utmost you can here pretend to is a guess,
a conjecture, a presumption concerning a simi-
lar cause, and how that pretension will be re-
ceived in the world, I leave you to consider.
It would surely be very ill received, replied
Cleanthes; and I should be deservedly blamed
and detested, did I allow that the proofs ofa
Deity amounted to no more than a guess or
conjecture. But is the whole adjustment of
means to ends in a house and in the universe
so slight a resemblance? The economy of fi-
nal causes? The order, proportion, and ar-
rangement of every part? Steps of a stair are
plainly contrived that human legs may use
them in mounting; and this inference is cer-
tain and infallible. Human legs are also con-
trived for walking and mounting; and this
inference, I allow, is not altogether so certain,
because of the dissimilarity which you remark;
but does it, therefore, deserve the name only
of presumption or conjecture?
Good God! cried Demea, interrupting him,
where are we? Zealous defenders of religion
allow that the proofs of a Deity fall short of
perfect evidence! And you, Philo, on whose
assistance I depended in proving the adorable
mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, do you
assent to all these extravagant opinions of
Cleanthes? For what other name can I give
them? Or why spare my censure, when such
principles are advanced, supported by such
an authority, before so young a man as
Pamphilus?
You seem not to apprehend, replied Philo,
that I argue with Cleanthes in his own way;
and by showing him the dangerous conse-
quences of his tenets, hope at last to reduce
him to our opinion. But what sticks most with
you, I observe, is the representation which
Cleanthes has made of the argument a poste-
riort, and finding, that that argument is likely
to escape your hold and vanish into air, you
think it so disguised, that you can scarcely
believe it to be set in its true light. Now, how-
ever much I may dissent, in other respects,
from the dangerous principles of Cleanthes, I
must allow that he has fairly represented that
argument; and I shall endeavor so to state the
matter to you that you will entertain no far-
ther scruples with regard to it.
Were a man to abstract from everything
which he knows or has seen, he would be al-
together incapable, merely from his own ideas,
to determine what kind of scene the universe
must be, or to give the preference to one state
or situation of things above another. For as
nothing which he clearly conceives could be
esteemed impossible or implying a contradic-
tion, every chimera ofhis fancy would be upon
an equal footing; nor could he assign any just
reason why he adheres to one idea or system,
and rejects the others, which are equally pos-
sible.
Again; after he opens his eyes, and contem-
plates the world, as it really is, it would be
impossible for him, at first, to assign the cause
of any one event; much less, of the whole of
things or of the universe. He might set his
fancy a rambling; and she might bring him in
an infinite variety of reports and representa-
tions. These would all be possible; but being
all equally possible, he would never, of him-
self, give a satisfactory account for his prefer-
ring one of them to the rest. Experience alone
can point out to him the true cause of any
phenomenon.
Now, according to this method of reason-
95
DAVID HUME
ing, Demea, it follows (and is, indeed, tacitly
allowed by Cleanthes himself) that order, ar-
rangement, or the adjustment of final causes
is not, ofitself, any proof of design; but only
so far as it has been experienced to proceed
from that principle. For aught, we can know
a priori, matter may contain the source or
spring of order originally, within itself, as well
as mind does; and there is no more difficulty
in conceiving that the several elements, from
an internal unknown cause, may fall into the
most exquisite arrangement, than to conceive
that their ideas, in the great, universal mind,
from a like internal, unknown cause, fall into
that arrangement. The equal possibility of
both these suppositions is allowed. But by
experience we find (according to Cleanthes)
that there is a difference between them. Throw
several pieces of steel together, without shape
or form; they will never arrange themselves
so as to compose a watch: stone, and mortar,
and wood, without an architect, never erect a
house. But the ideas in a human mind, we
see, by an unknown, inexplicable economy,
arrange themselves so as to form the plan of a
watch or house. Experience, therefore, proves
that there is an original principle of order in
mind, not in matter. From similar effects we
infer similar causes. The adjustment of means
to ends is alike in the universe, as in a ma-
chine of human contrivance. The causes,
therefore, must be resembling.
I was from the beginning scandalized, I
must own, with this resemblance, which is
asserted, between the Deity and human crea-
tures; and must conceive it to imply such a
degradation of the Supreme Being as no sound
theist could endure. With your assistance,
therefore, Demea, I shall endeavor to defend
what you justly called the adorable mysteri-
ousness of the Divine Nature, and shall refute
this reasoning of Cleanthes, provided he al-
lows that I have made a fair representation of
it:
When Cleanthes had assented, Philo, after
a short pause, proceeded in the following
manner.
That all inferences, Cleanthes, concerning
96
fact are founded on experience, and that all
experimental reasonings are founded on the
supposition that similar causes prove similar
effects, and similar effects similar causes; I shall
not, at present, much dispute with you. But
observe, I entreat you, with what extreme cau-
tion all just reasoners proceed in the transfer-
ring of experiments to similar cases. Unless
the cases be exactly similar, they repose no
perfect confidence in applying their past ob-
servation to any particular phenomenon. Every
alteration of circumstances occasions a doubt
concerning the event; and it requires new ex-
periments to prove certainly that the new cir-
cumstances are of no moment or importance.
A change in bulk, situation, arrangement, age,
disposition of the air, or surrounding bodies;
any of these particulars may be attended with
the most unexpected consequences: and un-
less the objects be quite familiar to us, it is the
highest temerity to expect with assurance, af-
ter any of these changes, an event similar to
that which before fell under our observation.
The slow and deliberate steps of philosophers,
here, if anywhere, are distinguished from the
precipitate march of the vulgar, who, hurried
on by the smallest similitudes, are incapable
of all discernment or consideration.
But can you think, Cleanthes, that your
usual phlegm and philosophy have been pre-
served in so wide a step as you have taken,
when you compared to the universe, houses,
ships, furniture, machines; and from their
similarity in some circumstances inferred a
similarity in their causes? Thought, design, in-
telligence, such as we discover in men and
other animals, is no more than one of the
springs and principles of the universe, as well
as heat or cold, attraction or repulsion, and a
hundred others which fall under daily obser-
vation. It is an active cause, by which some
particular parts of nature, we find, produce
alterations on other parts. But can a conclu-
sion, with any propriety, be transferred from
parts to the whole? Does not the great dis-
proportion bar all comparison and inference?
From observing the growth of a hair, can we
learn anything concerning the generation of
 FROM DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION
aman? Would the manner of a leaf’s blowing,
even though perfectly known, afford us any
instruction concerning the vegetation of a
tree?
But allowing that we were to take the op-
erations of one part of nature upon another
for the foundation of our judgment concern-
ing the origin of the whole (which never can
be admitted), yet why select so minute, so
weak, so bounded a principle as the reason
and design of animals is found to be upon
this planet? What peculiar privilege has this
little agitation of the brain which we call
thought, that we must thus make it the model
of the whole universe? Our partiality in our
own favor does indeed present it on all occa-
sions; but sound philosophy ought carefully
to guard against so natural an illusion.
So far from admitting, continued Philo, that
the operations of a part can afford us any just
conclusion concerning the origin of the whole,
I will not allow any one part to form a rule for
another part, if the latter be very remote from
the former. Is there any reasonable ground to
conclude that the inhabitants of other planets
possess thought, intelligence, reason, or any-
thing similar to these faculties in men? When
Nature has so extremely diversified her man-
ner of operation in this small globe, can we
imagine that she incessantly copies herself
throughout so immense a universe? And if
thought, as we may well suppose, be confined
merely to this narrow corner, and has even
there so limited a sphere of action; with what
propriety can we assign it for the original cause
of all things? The narrow views of a peasant,
who makes his domestic economy the rule for
the government of kingdoms, is in compari-
son a pardonable sophism.
But were we ever so much assured that a
thought and reason, resembling the human,
were to be found throughout the whole uni-
verse, and were its activity elsewhere vastly
greater and more commanding than it appears
in this globe; yet I cannot see why the opera-
tions of a world, constituted, arranged, ad-
justed, can with any propriety be extended to
a world, which is in its embryo state, and is
advancing towards that constitution and ar-
rangement. By observation, we know some-
what of the economy, action, and nourishment
ofa finished animal; but we must transfer with
great caution that observation to the growth
ofa fetus in the womb, and still more, to the
formation of an animalcule in the loins of its
male parent. Nature, we find, even from our
limited experience, possesses an infinite
number of springs and principles, which in-
cessantly discover themselves on every change
of her position and situation. And what new
and unknown principles would actuate her in
so new and unknown a situation as that of the
formation of a universe, we cannot, without
the utmost temerity, pretend to determine.
A very small part of this great system, dur-
ing a very short time, is very imperfectly dis-
covered to us: and do we thence pronounce
decisively concerning the origin of the whole?
Admirable conclusion! Stone, wood, brick,
iron, brass, have not, at this time, in this minute
globe of earth, an order or arrangement with-
out human art and contrivance: therefore the
universe could not originally attain its order
and arrangement without something similar to
human art. But is a part of nature a rule for
another part very wide of the former? Is it a
rule for the whole? Is a very small part a rule
for the universe? Is nature in one situation a
certain rule for nature in another situation,
vastly different from the former?
PartV
But to show you still more inconveniences,
continued Philo, in your anthropomorphism;
please to take a new survey ofyour principles.
Like effects prove like causes. This is the experi-
mental argument; and this, you say too, is the
sole theological argument. Now it is certain
that the liker the effects are which are seen,
and the liker the causes which are inferred,
the stronger is the argument. Every departure
on either side diminishes the probability, and
oF
DAVID HUME
renders the experiment less conclusive. You
cannot doubt of the principle: neither ought
you to reject its consequences.
All the new discoveries in astronomy, which
prove the immense grandeur and magnificence
of the works of nature, are so many additional
arguments for a Deity, according to the true
system of theism: but according to your hy-
pothesis of experimental theism, they become
so many objections, by removing the effect
still farther from all resemblance to the effects
of human art and contrivance. ... The dis-
coveries by microscopes, as they open a new
universe in miniature, are still objections ac-
cording to you; arguments according to me.
The farther we push our researches of this
kind, we are still led to infer the universal
causes of all to be vastly different from man-
kind, or from any object of human experience
and observation.
And what say you to the discoveries in
anatomy, chemistry, botany? . . . These surely
are no objections, replied Cleanthes: they only
discover new instances of art and contrivance.
It is still the image of mind reflected on us
from innumerable objects. Add, a mind /éke
the human, said Philo. I know of no other,
replied Cleanthes. And the liker the better,
insisted Philo. To be sure, said Cleanthes.
Now, Cleanthes, said Philo, with an air of
alacrity and triumph, mark the consequences.
First, By this method of reasoning, you re-
nounce all claim to infinity in any of the at-
tributes of the Deity. For as the cause ought
only to be proportioned to the effect, and the
effect, so far as it falls under our cognizance,
is not infinite; what pretensions have we, upon
your suppositions, to ascribe that attribute to
the Divine Being? You will still insist that, by
removing him so much from all similarity to
human creatures, we give in to the most arbi-
trary hypothesis, and at the same time weaken
all proofs of his existence.
Secondly, You have no reason, on your
theory, for ascribing perfection to the Deity,
even in his finite capacity; or for supposing
him free from every error, mistake, or inco-
herence in his undertakings. There are many
98
inexplicable difficulties in the works of nature
which, if we allow a perfect author to be
proved a priori, are easily solved, and become
only seeming difficulties, from the narrow ca-
pacity of man, who cannot trace infinite rela-
tions. But according to your method of
reasoning, these difficulties become all real;
and perhaps will be insisted on as new instances
of likeness to human art and contrivance. At
least, you must acknowledge that it is impos-
sible for us to tell, from our limited views,
whether this system contains any great faults,
or deserves any considerable praise, if com-
pared to other possible, and even real systems.
Could a peasant, if the Aeneid were read to
him; pronounce that poem to be absolutely
faultless, or even assign to it its proper rank
among the productions of human wit; he, who
had never seen any other production?
But were this world ever so perfect a pro-
duction, it must still remain uncertain whether
all the excellences of the work can justly be as-
cribed to the workman. If we survey a ship, what
an exalted idea must we form of the ingenuity
of the carpenter, who framed so complicated,
useful, and beautiful a machine? And what sur-
prise must we feel when we find him a stupid
mechanic, who imitated others, and copied an
art which, through a long succession of ages,
after multiplied trials, mistakes, corrections,
deliberations, and controversies, had been
gradually improving? Many worlds might have
been botched and bungled, throughout an eter-
nity, ere this system was struck out: much labor
lost: many fruitless trials made: and a slow, but
continued improvement carried on during in-
finite ages in the art of world-making. In such
subjects, who can determine where the truth;
nay, who can conjecture where the probability
lies; amidst a great number ofhypotheses which
may be proposed, and a still greater number
which may be imagined?
And what shadow of an argument, contin-
ued Philo, can you produce, from your hypoth-
esis, to prove the unity of the Deity? A great
number of men join in building a house or ship,
in rearing a city, in framing a commonwealth:
why may not several deities combine in con-
 FROM DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION
triving and framing a world? This is only so
much greater similarity to human affairs? By
sharing the work among several, we may so
much further limit the attributes of each, and
get rid ofthat extensive power and knowledge
which must be supposed in one deity, and
which, according to you, can only serve to
weaken the proof of his existence. And if such
foolish, such vicious creatures as man can yet
often unite in framing and executing one plan;
how much more those deities or demons whom
we may suppose several degrees more perfect?
To multiply causes, without necessity, is in-
deed contrary to true philosophy: but this prin-
ciple applies not to the present case. Were one
deity antecedently proved by your theory, who
were possessed of every attribute requisite to
the production of the universe; it would be
needless, I own (though not absurd) to sup-
pose any other deity existent. But while it is
still a question, whether all these attributes are
united in one subject, or dispersed among sev-
eral independent beings: by what phenomena
in nature can we pretend to decide the contro-
versy? Where we see a body raised in a scale,
we are sure that there is in the opposite scale,
however concealed from sight, some counter-
poising weight equal to it: but it is still allowed
to doubt whether that weight be an aggregate
of several distinct bodies, or one uniform united
mass. And if the weight requisite very much
exceeds anything which we have ever seen con-
joined in any single body, the former supposi-
tion becomes still more probable and natural.
An intelligent being of such vast power and
capacity as is necessary to produce the universe,
or, to speak in the language of ancient phi-
losophy, so prodigious an animal, exceeds all
analogy, and even comprehension.
But farther, Cleanthes; men are mortal, and
renew their species by generation; and this is
common to all living creatures. The two great
sexes of male and female, says Milton, ani-
mate the world. Why must this circumstance,
so universal, so essential, be excluded from
those numerous and limited deities? Behold
then the theogony of ancient times brought
back upon us.
And why not become a perfect anthropo-
morphite? Why not assert the deity or deities
to be corporeal, and to have eyes, a nose,
mouth, ears, etc.? Epicurus maintained that no
maf: had ever seen reason but in a human fig-
ure; therefore the gods must have a human fig-
ure. And this argument, which is deservedly so
much ridiculed by Cicero becomes, according
to you, solid and philosophical.
In a word, Cleanthes, a man who follows
your hypothesis is able, perhaps, to assert, or
conjecture, that the universe, sometime, arose
from something like design: but beyond that
position he cannot ascertain one single cir-
cumstance, and is left afterwards to fix every
point of his theology, by the utmost license
of fancy and hypothesis. This world, for aught
he knows, is very faulty and imperfect com-
pared to a superior standard; and was only
the first rude essay of some infant deity, who
afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his lame
performance; it is the work only of some de-
pendent, inferior deity; and is the object of
derision to his superiors: it is the production
of old age and dotage in some superannu-
ated deity; and ever since his death has run
on at adventures, from the first impulse and
active force which it received from him. You
justly give signs of horror, Demea, at these
strange suppositions: but these, and a thou-
sand more of the same kind, are Cleanthes’s
suppositions, not mine. From the moment
the attributes of the Deity are supposed fi-
nite, all these have place. And I cannot, for
my part, think that so wild and unsettled a
system of theology is, in any respect, prefer-
able to none at all.
These suppositions I absolutely disown,
cried Cleanthes: they strike me, however, with
no horror; especially, when proposed in that
rambling way in which they drop from you.
On the contrary, they give me pleasure, when
I see that, by the utmost indulgence of your
imagination, you never get rid of the hypoth-
esis ofdesign in the universe; but are obliged,
at every turn, to have recourse to it. To this
concession I adhere steadily; and this I regard
as a sufficient foundation for religion.
99
R. G. SWINBURNE
13. The Argument from Design*
R. G. Swinburne
The object of this paper is to show that there
are no valid formal objections to the argument
from design, so long as the argument is ar-
ticulated with sufficient care. In particular I
wish to analyse Hume’s attack on the argu-
ment in Dialogues Concerning Natural Reli-
gion and to show that none of the formal
objections made therein by Philo have any
validity against a carefully articulated version
of the argument.
The argument from design is an argument
from the order or regularity of things in the
world to a god or, more precisely, a very pow-
erful free non-embodied rational agent, who
is responsible for that order. By a body I un-
derstand a part of the material Universe sub-
ject, at any rate partially, to an agent’s direct
control, to be contrasted with other parts not
thus subject. An agent’s body marks the lim-
its to what he can directly control; he can only
control other parts of the Universe by mov-
ing his body. An agent who could directly
control any part of the Universe would not
be embodied. Thus ghosts, if they existed,
would be non-embodied agents, because there
are no particular pieces of matter subject to
their direct control, but any piece of matter
may be so subject. I use the word ‘design’ in
such a way that it is not analytic that if any-
thing evinces design, an agent designed it, and
so it becomes a synthetic question whether
the design of the world shows the activity ofa
designer.
The argument, taken by itself, as was ad-
mitted in the Dialogues by Cleanthes the pro-
ponent of the argument, does not show that
* From Philosophy, 43 (1968), pp. 199-212. Reprinted
with permission.
100
the designer of the world is omnipotent, om-
niscient, totally good, etc. Nor does it show
that he is the God of Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob. To make these points further argu-
ments would be needed. The isolation of the
argument from design from the web of Chris-
tian apologetic is perhaps a somewhat unnatu-
ral step, but necessary in order to analyse its
structure. My claim is that the argument does
not commit any formal fallacy, and by this I
mean that it keeps to the canons of argument
about matters of fact and does not violate any
of them. It is, however, an argument by anal-
ogy. It argues from an analogy between the
order of the world and the products of hu-
man art to a god responsible for the former,
in some ways similar to man who is responsi-
ble for the latter. And even if there are no
formal fallacies in the argument, one unwill-
ing to admit the conclusion might still claim
that the analogy was too weak and remote for
him to have to admit it, that the argument
gave only negligible support to the conclu-
sion which remained improbable. In defend-
ing the argument I will leave to the objector
this way of escape from its conclusion.
I will begin by setting forward the argu-
ment from design in a more careful and pre-
cise way than Cleanthes did.
There are in the world two kinds of regu-
larity or order, and all empirical instances of
order are such because they evince one or
other or both kinds of order. These are the
regularities of copresence or spatial order, and
regularities of succession, or temporal order.
Regularities of copresence are patterns of spa-
tial order at some one instant of time. An ex-
ample of a regularity of copresence would be
a town with all its roads at right angles to each

other, or a section of books in a library ar-
ranged in alphabetical order of authors. Regu-
larities of succession are simple patterns of
behaviour of objects, such as their behaviour
in accordance with the laws of nature — for
example, Newton’s law of gravitation, which
holds universally to a very high degree of ap-
proximation, that all bodies attract each other
with forces proportional to the product oftheir
masses and inversely proportional to the square
of their distance apart.
Many of the striking examples of order in
the world evince an order which is due both
to a regularity of copresence and to a regular-
ity of succession. A working car consists of
many parts so adjusted to each other that it
follows the instructions of the driver delivered
by his pulling and pushing a few levers and
buttons and turning a wheel to take passen-
gers whither he wishes. Its order arises because
its parts are so arranged at some instant (regu-
larity of copresence) that, the laws of nature
being as they are (regularity of succession) it
brings about the result neatly and efficiently.
The order of living animals and plants like-
wise results from regularities of both types.
Men who marvel at the order of the world
may marvel at either or both of the regulari-
ties of copresence and of succession. The men
of the eighteenth century, that great century
of ‘reasonable religion’, were struck almost
exclusively by the regularities of copresence.
They marvelled at the design and orderly op-
erations of animals and plants; but since they
largely took for granted the regularities of
succession, what struck them about the ani-
mals and plants, as to a lesser extent about
machines made by men, was the subtle and
coherent arrangement of their millions of
parts. Paley’s Natural Theology dwells mainly
on details of comparative anatomy, on eyes
and ears and muscles and bones arranged with
minute precision so as to operate with high
efficiency, and Hume’s Cleanthes produces
the same kind of examples: ‘Consider, anato-
mise the eye, survey its structure and contriv-
ance, and tell me from your own feeling, if
the idea of a contriver does not immediately
THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN
flow in upon you with a force like that of sen-
sation.”
Those who argue from the existence of
regularities of copresence other than those
produced by men, to the existence of a god
who produced them are however in many re-
spects on slippery ground when compared
with those who rely for their premises on regu-
larities of succession. We shall see several of
these weaknesses later in considering Hume’s
objections to the argument, but it is worth
while noting two of them at the outset. First,
although the world contains many striking
regularities of copresence (some few of which
are due to human agency), it also contains
many examples of spatial disorder. The uni-
form distribution of the galactic clusters is a
marvellous example of spatial order, but the
arrangement of trees in an African jungle is a
marvellous example of spatial disorder. Al-
though the proponent of the argument may
then proceed to argue that in an important
sense or from some point of view (e.g. utility
to man) the order vastly exceeds the disorder,
he has to argue for this in no way obvious
proposition.
Secondly the proponent of the argument
runs the risk that the regularities of copresence
may be explained in terms of something else
by anormal scientific explanation in a way that
the regularities of succession could not possi-
bly be. A scientist could show that a regular-
ity of copresence R arose from an apparently
disordered state D by means of the normal
operation of the laws of nature. This would
not entirely ‘explain away’ the regularity of
copresence, because the proponent ofthis ar-
gument from design might then argue that
the apparently disordered state D really had a
latent order, being the kind of state which,
when the laws of nature operate, turns into a
manifestly ordered one. So long as only few
of the physically possible states of apparent
disorder were states of latent order, the exist-
ence of many states of latent order would be
an important contingent fact which could
form a premise for an argument from design.
But there is always the risk that scientists might
101
R. G. SWINBURNE
show that most states of apparent disorder
were states of latent order, that is, that if the
world lasted long enough considerable order
must emerge from whichever of many initial
states it began. If a scientist showed that, he
would have explained by normal scientific ex-
planation the existence of regularities of
copresence in terms of something completely
different. The eighteenth-century proponents
of the argument from design did not suspect
this danger and hence the devasting effect of
Darwin’s Theory of Evolution by Natural Se-
lection on those who accepted their argument.
For Darwin showed that the regularities of
copresence of the animal and plant kingdoms
had evolved by natural processes from an ap-
parently disordered state and would have
evolved equally from many other apparently
disordered states. Whether all regularities of
copresence can be fully explained in this kind
of way no one yet knows, but the danger re-
mains for the proponent of an argument from
design of this kind that they can be.
However, those who argue from the op-
eration of regularities of succession other than
those produced by men to the existence of a
god who produces them do not run into ei-
ther of these difficulties. Regularities of suc-
cession (other than those produced by men)
unlike regularities of copresence, are all-per-
vasive. Simple natural laws rule almost all
successions of events. Nor can regularities of
succession be given a normal scientific expla-
nation in terms of something else. For the
normal scientific explanation of the operation
of a regularity of succession is in terms of the
operation of a yet more general regularity of
succession. Note too that a normal scientific
explanation of the existence of regularities of
copresence in terms of something different, if
it can be provided, is explanation in terms of
regularities of succession.
For these reasons the proponent of the ar-
gument from design does much better to rely
for his premise more on regularities of suc-
cession. St Thomas Aquinas, wiser than the
men of the eighteenth century, did just this.
He puts forward an argument from design as
102
his fifth and last way to prove the existence of
God, and gives his premise as follows:
‘The fifth way is based on the guidedness
of nature. An orderedness of actions to an end
is observed in all bodies obeying natural laws,
even when they lack awareness. For their be-
haviour hardly ever varies, and will practically
always turn out well; which shows that they
truly tend to a goal, and do not merely hit it
by accident.” If we ignore any value judge-
ment in ‘practically always turn out well’, St
Thomas’s argument is an argument from regu-
larities of succession.
The most satisfactory premise for the argu-
ment from design is then the operation of
regularities of succession other than those pro-
duced by men, that is, the operation of natu-
ral laws. Almost all things almost always obey
simple natural laws and so behave in a strik-
ingly regular way. Given the premise, what is
our justification for proceeding to the con-
clusion, that a very powerful free non-embod-
ied rational agent is responsible for their
behaving in that way? The justification which
Aquinas gives is that ‘Nothing .. . that lacks
awareness tends to a goal, except under the
direction of someone with awareness and with
understanding; the arrow, for example requires
an archer. Everything in nature, therefore is
directed to its goal by someone with under-
standing and this we call “God”.’? A similar
argument has been given by many religious
apologists since Aquinas, but clearly as it stands
it is guilty of the grossest petitio principit.
Certainly some things which tend to a goal,
tend to a goal because ofa direction imposed
upon them by someone ‘with awareness and
with understanding’. Did not the archer place
the arrow and pull the string in a certain way
the arrow would not tend to its goal. But
whether a// things which tend to a goal tend
to a goal for this reason is the very question at
issue and that they do cannot be used as a
premise to prove the conclusion. We must
therefore reconstruct the argument in a more
satisfactory way.
The structure of any plausible argument
from design can only be that the existence of

a god responsible for the order in the world is
a hypothesis well confirmed on the basis of
the evidence, viz. that contained in the premise
which we have now stated, and better con-
firmed than any other hypothesis. I shall be-
gin by showing that there can be no other
possible explanation for the operation of natu-
ral laws than the activity of agod and then see
to what extent the hypothesis is well confirmed
on the basis of the evidence.
Almost all phenomena can, as we have seen,
be explained by a normal scientific explana-
tion in terms of the operation of natural laws
on preceding states. There is however one
other way of explaining natural phenomena,
and that is explaining in terms of the rational
choice of a free agent. When a man marries
Jane rather than Anne, becomes a solicitor
rather than a barrister, kills rather than shows
mercy after considering arguments in favour
of each course, he brings about a state of the
world by his free and rational choice. To all
appearances this is an entirely different way
whereby states of the world may come about
than through the operation of laws of nature
on preceding states. Someone may object that
it is necessary that physiological or other sci-
entific laws operate in order for the agent to
bring about effects. My answer is that certainly
it is necessary that such laws operate in order
for effects brought about directly by the agent
to have ulterior consequences. But unless there
are some effects which the agent brings about
directly without the operation of scientific laws
acting on preceding physical states bringing
them about, then these laws and states could
fully explain the effects and there would be
no need to refer in explaining them to the
rational choice of an agent. True, the appar-
ent freedom and rationality of the human will
muy prove an illusion. Man may have no more
option what to do than a machine and be
guided by an argument no more than is a piece
of iron. But this has never yet been shown
and, in the absence of good philosophical and
scientific argument to show it, I assume, what
is apparent, that when a man acts by free and
rational choice, his agency is the operation of
THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN
a different kind of causality from that of sci-
entific laws. The free choice ofa rational agent
is the only way of accounting for natural phe-
nomena other than the way of normal scien-
tifi¢ explanation, which is recognized as such
by all men and has not been reduced to nor-
mal scientific explanation.
Almost all regularities of succession are due
to the normal operation ofscientific laws. But
to say this is simply to say that these regulari-
ties are instances of more general regularities.
The operation of the most fundamental regu-
larities clearly cannot be given a normal sci-
entific explanation. If their operation is to
receive an explanation and not merely to be
left as a brute fact, that explanation must there-
fore be in terms of the rational choice of a
free agent. What then are grounds for adopt-
ing this hypothesis, given that it is the only
possible one?
The grounds are that we can explain some
few regularities of succession as produced by
rational agents and that the other regularities
cannot be explained except in this way. Among
the typical products of a rational agent acting
freely are regularities both of copresence and
of succession. The alphabetical order of books
on a library shelf is due to the activity of the
librarian who chose to arrange them thus. The
order of the cards of a pack by suits and sen-
iority in each suit is due to the activity of the
card player who arranged them thus. Among
examples of regularities of succession pro-
duced by men are the notes of a song sung by
a singer or the movements of a dancer’s body
when he performs a dance in time with the
accompanying instrument. Hence knowing
that some regularities of succession have such
a cause, we postulate that they all have. An
agent produces the celestial harmony like a
man who sings a song. But at this point an
obvious difficulty arises. The regularities of
succession, such as songs which are produced
by men, are produced by agents of com-
paratively small power, whose bodies we can
locate. If an agent is responsible for the
operation of the laws of nature, he must act
directly on the whole Universe, as we act
103
R. G. SWINBURNE
directly on our bodies. Also he must be of
immense power and intelligence compared
with men. Hence he can only be somewhat
similar to men having, like them, intelligence
and freedom of choice, yet unlike them in the
degree of these and in not possessing a body.
For a body, as I have distinguished it earlier,
is a part of Universe subject to an agent’s
direct control, to be contrasted with other
parts not thus subject. The fact that we are
obliged to postulate on the basis of differences
in the effects differences in the causes, men
and the god, weakens the argument. How
much it weakens it depends on how great these
differences are.
Our argument thus proves to be an argu-
ment by analogy and to exemplify a pattern
common in scientific inference. As are caused
by Bs. A*s are similar to As. Therefore — given
that there is no more satisfactory explanation
of the existence of A*s — they are produced
by B*s similar to Bs. B*s are postulated to be
similar in all respects to Bs except in so far as
shown otherwise, viz. except in so far as the
dissimilarities between As and A*s force us to
postulate a difference. A well-known scientific
example of this type of inference is as follows.
Certain pressures (As) on the walls of con-
tainers are produced by billiard balls (Bs) with
certain motions. Similar pressures (A*s) are
produced on the walls of containers which
contain not billiard balls but gases. Therefore,
since we have no better explanation of the
existence of the pressures, gases consist of
particles (B*s) similar to billiard balls except
in certain respects — e.g. size. By similar argu-
ments scientists have argued for the existence
of many unobservables. Such an argument
becomes weaker in so far as the properties
which we are forced to attribute to the B*s
because of the differences between the As and
the A*s become different from those of the
Bs. Nineteenth-century physicists postulated
the existence of an elastic solid, the aether, to
account for the propagation oflight. But the
way in which light was propagated turned out
to have such differences (despite the similari-
ties) from the way in which waves in solids
104
are normally propagated that the physicists had
to say that if there was an aether it had very
many peculiar properties not possessed by
normally liquids or solids. Hence they con-
cluded that the argument for its existence was
very weak. The proponent of the argument
from design stresses the similarities between
the regularities of succession produced by man
and those which are laws of nature and so
between men and the agent which he postu-
lates as responsible for the laws of nature. The
opponent of the argument stresses the dissimi-
larities. The degree ofsupport which the con-
clusion obtains from the evidence depends on
how great the similarities are.
The degree of support for the conclusion
of an argument from analogy does not how-
ever depend merely on the similarities between
the types of evidence but on the degree to
which the resulting theory makes explanation
of empirical matters more simple and coher-
ent. In the case of the argument from design
the conclusion has an enormous simplifying
effect on explanations ofempirical matters. For
if the conclusion is true, ifa very powerful non-
embodied rational agent is responsible for the
operation of the laws of nature, then normal
scientific explanation would prove to be per-
sonal explanation. That is, explanation of some
phenomenon in terms of the operation of a
natural law would ultimately be an explana-
tion in terms of the operation of an agent.
Hence (given an initial arrangement of mat-
ter) the principles of explanation of phenom-
ena would have been reduced from two to
one. It is a basic principle of explanation that
we should postulate as few as possible kinds
of explanation. To take a more mundane ex-
ample — if we have as possible alternatives to
explain physical phenomena by the operation
of two kinds offorce, the electromagnetic and
the gravitational, and to explain physical phe-
nomena in terms of the operation of only one
kind of force, the gravitational, we ought al-
ways — ceteris paribus — to prefer the latter al-
ternative. Since as we have seen, we are
obliged, at any rate at present, to use explana-
tion in terms of the free choice of a rational

agent in explaining many empirical phenom-
ena, then if the amount of similarity between
the order in the Universe not produced by
human agents and that produced by human
agents makes it at all plausible to do so, we
ought to postulate that an agent is responsi-
ble for the former as well as for the latter. So
then in so far as regularities of succession pro-
duced by the operation of natural laws are
similar to those produced by human agents,
to postulate that a rational agent is responsi-
ble for them would indeed provide a simple
unifying and coherent explanation of natural
phenomena. What is there against taking this
step? Simply that celebrated principle of ex-
planation — entia non sunt multiplicanda
praeter necessitatem— do not add a god to your
ontology unless you have to. The issue turns
on whether the evidence constitutes enough
of a necessitas to compel us to multiply enti-
ties. Whether it does depends on how strong
is the analogy between the regularities of suc-
cession produced by human agents and those
produced by the operation of natural laws. I
do not propose to assess the strength of the
analogy but only to claim that everything turns
on it. I claim that the inference from natural
laws to a god responsible for them is of a per-
fectly proper type for inference about matters
of fact, and that the only issue is whether the
evidence is strong enough to allow us to af-
firm that it is probable that the conclusion is
true.
Now that I have reconstructed the argu-
ment from design in what is, I hope, a logi-
cally impeccable form, I turn to consider
Hume’s criticisms of it, and I shall argue that
all his criticisms alleging formal fallacies in the
argument do not apply to it in the form in
which I have stated it. This, we shall see, is
largely because the criticisms are bad criticisms
of the argument in any form but also in small
part because Hume directed his fire against
that form of the argument which used as its
premise the existence of regularities of co-
presence other than those produced by men,
and did not appeal to the operation of regu-
larities of succession. I shall begin by consid-
THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN
ering one general point which he makes only
in the Enquiry and then consider in turn all
the objections which appear on the pages of
the Dialogues.
(1) The point which appears at the be-
ginning of Hume’s discussion of the argument
in section XI of the Exquiry is a point which
reveals the fundamental weakness of Hume’s
sceptical position. In discussing the argument,
Hume puts forward as a general principle that
‘when we infer any particular cause from an
effect, we must proportion the one to the
other, and can never be allowed to ascribe to
the cause any qualities but what are exactly
sufficient to produce the effect.’* Now it is
true that Hume uses this principle mainly to
show that we are not justified in inferring that
the god responsible for the design of the Uni-
verse is totally good, omnipotent, and omnis-
cient. I accept, as Cleanthes did, that the
argument does not by itself lead to that con-
clusion. But Hume’s use of the principle tends
to cast doubt on the validity of the argument
in the weaker form in which I am discussing
it, for it seems to suggest that although we
may conclude that whatever produced the
regularity of the world was a regularity-pro-
ducing object, we cannot go further and con-
clude that it is an agent who acts by choice,
etc., for this would be to suppose more than
we need in order to account for the effect. It
is, therefore, important to realize that the prin-
ciple is clearly false on our normal understand-
ing of what are the criteria of inference about
empirical matters. For the universal adoption
of this celebrated principle would lead to the
abandonment of science. Any scientist who
told us only that the cause of E had E-pro-
ducing characteristics would not add an iota
to our knowledge. Explanation of matters of
fact consists in postulating on reasonable
grounds that the cause of an effect has certain
characteristics other than those sufficient to
produce the effect.
(2) Two objections seem to be telescoped
in the following passage of the Dialogues.
‘When two species of objects have always
been observed to be conjoined together, I can
105
R. G. SWINBURNE
infer by custom the existence of one wherever
I see the existence of the other; and this I call
in argument from experience. But how this ar-
gument can have place where the objects, as in
the present case, are single, individual, with-
out parallel or specific resemblance, may be
difficult to explain.’> One argument here seems
to be that we can only infer from an observed
A to an unobserved B when we have frequently
observed As and Bs together, and that we can-
not infer to a B unless we have actually ob-
served other Bs. Hence we cannot infer from
regularities of succession to an unobserved god
on the analogy of the connection between ob-
served regularities and human agents, unless
we have observed at other times other gods.
This argument, like the first, reveals Hume’s
inadequate appreciation of scientific method.
As we saw in the scientific examples which I
cited, a more developed science than Hume
knew has taught us that when observed As have
a relation R to observed Bs, it is often perfectly
reasonable to postulate that observed A*s, simi-
lar to As have the same relation to unobserved
and unobservable B*s similar to Bs.
(3) The other objection which seems to
be involved in the above passage is that we
cannot reach conclusions about an object
which is the only one of its kind, and, as the
Universe is such an object, we cannot reach
conclusions about the regularities character-
istic of it as a whole.° But cosmologists are
reaching very well-tested scientific conclusions
about the Universe as a whole, as are physical
anthropologists about the origins of our hu-
man race, even though it is the only human
race of which we have knowledge and per-
haps the only human race there is. The prin-
ciple quoted in the objections is obviously
wrong. There is no space here to analyse its
errors in detail but suffice it to point out that
it becomes hopelessly confused by ignoring
the fact that uniqueness is relative to descrip-
tion. Nothing describable is unique under all
descriptions (the Universe is, like the solar
system, a number of material bodies distrib-
uted in empty space) and everything describ-
able is unique under some description.
106
(4) The next argument which we meet in
the Dialogues is that the postulated existence
of a rational agent who produces the order of
the world would itself need explaining. Pic-
turing such an agent as a mind, and a mind as
an arrangement of ideas, Hume phrases the
objection as follows: ‘a mental world or Uni-
verse of ideas requires a cause as much as does
a material world or Universe of objects.’”
Hume himself provides the obvious answer
to this — that it is no objection to explaining X
by Y that we cannot explain Y. But then he
suggests that the Y in this case, the mind, is
just as mysterious as the ordered Universe.
Men never ‘thought it satisfactory to explain
a particular effect by a particular cause which
was no more to be accounted for than the
effect itself.’® On the contrary, scientists have
always thought it reasonable to postulate en-
tities merely to explain effects, so long as the
postulated entities accounted simply and co-
herently for the characteristics of the effects.
The existence of molecules with their charac-
teristic behaviour was ‘no more to be ac-
counted for’ than observable phenomena, but
the postulation of their existence gave a neat
and simple explanation of a whole host of
chemical and physical phenomena, and that
was the justification for postulating their ex-
istence.
(5) Next, Hume argues that if we are go-
ing to use the analogy of a human agent we
ought to go the whole way and postulate that
the god who gives order to the Universe is
like men in many other respects. ‘Why not
become a perfect anthropomorphite? Why not
assert the deity or deities to be corporeal, and,
to have eyes, a nose, mouths, ears, etc.’? The
argument from design is as we have seen, an
argument by analogy. All analogies break
down somewhere; otherwise they would not
be analogies. In saying that the relation of A
to B is analogous to a relation of A* to a pos-
tulated B*, we do not claim that B* is in all
respects like B, but only in such respects as to
account for the existence of the relation and
also in other respects except in so far as we
have contrary evidence. For the activity of a

god to account for the regularities, he must
be free, rational, and very powerful. But it is
not necessary that he, like men, should only
be able to act on a limited part of the Uni-
verse, a body, and by acting on that control
the rest of the Universe. And there is good
reason to suppose that the god does not op-
erate in this way. For, if his direct control was
confined to a part of the Universe, scientific
laws outside his control must operate to en-
sure that his actions have effects in the rest of
the Universe. Hence the postulation of the
existence of the god would not explain the
operations of those laws: yet to explain the
operation of all scientific laws was the point
of postulating the existence of the god. The
hypothesis that the god is not embodied thus
explains more and explains more coherently
than the hypothesis that he is embodied.
Hume’s objection would however have weight
against an argument from regularities of
copresence which did not appeal to the op-
eration of regularities of succession. For one
could suppose an embodied god just as well
as a disembodied god to have made the ani-
mal kingdom and then left it alone, as a man
makes a machine, or, like a landscape gardener,
to have laid out the galactic clusters. The ex-
planatory force of such a hypothesis is as great
as that of the hypothesis that a disembodied
god did these things, and argument from anal-
ogy would suggest the hypothesis of an em-
bodied god to be more probable. Incidentally,
a god whose prior existence was shown by the
existence of regularities of copresence might
now be dead, but a god whose existence was
shown by the present operation of regulari-
ties of succession could not be, since the ex-
istence of an agent is contemporaneous with
the temporal regularities which he produces.
(6) Hume urges — why should we not
postulate many gods to give order to the
Universe, not merely one? ‘A great number
of men join in building a house or a ship, in
rearing a city, in framing a commonwealth,
why may not several deities combine in fram-
ing a world?! Hume again is aware of the
obvious counter-objection to his suggestion —
THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN
‘To multiply causes without necessity is...
contrary to true philosophy.”!! He claims how-
ever that the counter-objection does not ap-
ply here, because it is an open question
whether there is a god with sufficient power
to put the whole Universe in order. The prin-
ciple, however, still applies whether or not we
have prior information that a being of suffi-
cient power exists. When postulating entities,
postulate as few as possible. Always suppose
only one murderer, unless the evidence forces
you to suppose a second. If there were more
than one deity responsible for the order of
the Universe, we should expect to see charac-
teristic marks of the handiwork of different
deities in different parts of the Universe, just
as we see different kinds of workmanship in
the different houses ofa city. We should ex-
pect to find an inverse square law of gravita-
tion obeyed in one part of the universe, and
in another part a law which was just short of
being an inverse square law — without the dif-
ference being explicable in terms of a more
general law. But it is enough to draw this ab-
surd conclusion to see how ridiculous the
Humean objection is.
(7) Hume argues that there are in the
Universe other things than rational agents
which bestow order. ‘A tree bestows order and
organization on that tree which springs from
it, without knowing the order; an animal in
the same manner on its offspring.’!* It would
therefore, Hume argues, be equally reason-
able if we are arguing from analogy, to sup-
pose the cause of the regularities in the world
‘to be something similar or analogous to gen-
eration or vegetation.’!* This suggestion makes
perfectly good sense if it is the regularities of
copresence which we are attempting to ex-
plain. But as analogous processes to explain
regularities of succession, generation or veg-
etation will not do, because they only pro-
duce regularities of copresence — and those
through the operation of regularities of suc-
cession outside their control. The seed only
produces the plant because of the continued
operation of the laws of biochemistry.
(8) The last distinct objection which I can
107
R. G. SWINBURNE
discover in the Dialoguesisthe following. Why
should we not suppose, Hume urges, that this
ordered Universe is a mere accident among
the chance arrangements of eternal matter? In
the course of eternity matter arranges itself in
all kinds of ways. We just happen to live in a
period when it is characterized by order, and
mistakenly conclude that matter is always or-
dered. Now, as Hume phrases this objection,
it is directed against an argument from de-
sign which uses as its premise the existence of
the regularities of copresence. ‘The continual
motion of matter . . . in less than infinite trans-
positions must produce this economy or or-
der, and by its very nature, that order, when
once established supports itself for many ages
if not to eternity’.’* Hume thus relies here
partly on chance and partly on the operation
of regularities of succession (the preservation
of order) to account for the existence of regu-
larities of copresence. In so far as it relies on
regularities of succession to explain regulari-
ties of copresence, such an argument has, as
we saw earlier, some plausibility. But in so far
as it relies on chance, it does not, if the amount
of order to be accounted for is very striking.
An attempt to attribute the operation of regu-
larities of succession to chance would not thus
be very plausible. The claim would be that
there are no laws of nature which always ap-
ply to matter; matter evinces in the course of
eternity all kinds of patterns of behaviour, it
is just chance that at the moment the states
of the Universe are succeeding each other in
a regular way. But if we say that it is chance
that in 1960 matter is behaving in a regular
way, our claim becomes less and less plausi-
ble as we find that in 1961 and 1962 and so
on it continues to behave in a regular way.
An appeal to chance to account for order be-
comes less and less plausible, the greater the
order. We would be justified attributing a
typewritten version of collected works of
Shakespeare to the activity of monkeys typ-
ing eternally on eternal typewriters if we had
some evidence of the existence of an infinite
quantity of paper randomly covered with type,
as well as the collected works. In the absence
108
of any evidence that matter behaved irregu-
larly at other temporal periods, we are not
justified in attributing its present regular be-
haviour to chance.
In addition to the objections which I have
stated, the Dialogues contain a lengthy pres-
entation of the argument that the existence
of evil in the world shows that the god who
made it and gave it order is not both totally
good and omnipotent. But this does not af-
fect the argument from design which, as
Cleanthes admits, does not purport to show
that the designer of the Universe does have
these characteristics. The eight objections
which I have stated are all the distinct objec-
tions to the argument from design which I
can find in the Enquiry and in the Dialogues,
which claim that in some formal respect the
argument does not work. As well as claiming
that the argument from design is deficient in
some formal respect, Hume makes the point
that the analogy of the order produced by men
to the other order of the Universe is too re-
mote for us to postulate similar causes.!° I have
argued earlier that if there is a weakness in the
argument it is here that it is to be found. The
only way to deal with this point would be to
start drawing the parallels or stressing the dis-
similarities, and these are perhaps tasks more
appropriate for the preacher and the poet than
for the philosopher. The philosopher will be
content to have shown that though perhaps
weak, the argument has some force. How
much force depends on the strength of the
analogy.
Notes
1 David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural
Religion, ed. H. D. Aiken (New York, 1948),
p. 28.
2 St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia, 2,
3, trans. Timothy McDermott, O.P. (London,
1964).
Ov Ibid.
4 David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human
Understanding, ed. L. A. Selby Bigge, 2nd
edn, 1902, p. 136.
5 David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural

Religion, ed. H. D. Aiken (New York, 1948),
(8s Ze
6 For this argument see also The Enquiry, pp.
147f.
7 Dialogues, p. 33.
ie) Ibid., p. 36.
9 Ibid., p. 40.
14 God’s Utility Function*
Richard Dawkins
My clerical correspondent of the previous
chapter found faith through a wasp. Charles
Darwin lost his with the help of another: “I
cannot persuade myself,” Darwin wrote, “that
a beneficent and omnipotent God would have
designedly created the Ichneumonidae with
the express intention of their feeding within
the living bodies of Caterpillars.” Actually
Darwin’s gradual loss of faith, which he
downplayed for fear of upsetting his devout
wife Emma, had more complex causes. His
reference to the Ichneumonidae was aphoris-
tic. The macabre habits to which he referred
are shared by their cousins the digger wasps.
... A female digger wasp not only lays her
egg in a caterpillar (or grasshopper or bee) so
that her larva can feed on it but, according to
Fabre and others, she carefully guides her sting
into each ganglion of the prey’s central nerv-
ous system, so as to paralyze it but not kill tt.
This way, the meat keeps fresh. It is not known
whether the paralysis acts as a general
anesthetic, or if it is like curare in just freezing
the victim’s ability to move. If the latter, the
prey might be aware of being eaten alive from
* From Richard Dawkins, River Out of Eden: A Dar-
winian View of Life (New York: Basic Books, 1995),
selections from ch. 4, pp. 95-8, 102-6, 120-2, 131
3. Reprinted with permission.
GUV oO UTILITY FUNUTIUN
IO) Moxicl,. jE, sho.
ll Ibid., p. 40.
IZ erlibidaipao 0:
13 Ibid., p. 47.
14 Ibid., p. 53.
15 See, for example, Dialogues, p. 18 and p. 37.
inside but unable to move a muscle to do any-
thing about it. This sounds savagely cruel but,
as we shall see, nature is not cruel, only
pitilessly indifferent. This is one of the hard-
est lessons for humans to learn. We cannot
admit that things might be neither good nor
evil, neither cruel nor kind, but simply cal-
lous — indifferent to all suffering, lacking all
purpose.
We humans have purpose on the brain. We
find it hard to look at anything without won-
dering what it is “for,” what the motive for it
is, or the purpose behind it. When the obses-
sion with purpose becomes pathological it is
called paranoia — reading malevolent purpose
into what is actually random bad luck. But
this is just an exaggerated form of a nearly
universal delusion. Show us almost any ob-
ject or process, and it is hard for us to resist
the “Why” question — the “What is it for?”
question.
The desire to see purpose everywhere is a
natural one in an animal that lives surrounded
by machines, works of art, tools and other
designed artifacts; an animal, moreover, whose
waking thoughts are dominated by its own
personal goals. A car, a tin opener, a screw-
driver and a pitchfork all legitimately warrant
the “What is it for?” question. Our pagan fore-
bears would have asked the same question
109
RICHARD DAWKINS
about thunder, eclipses, rocks, and streams.
Today we pride ourselves on having shaken
off such primitive animism. Ifa rock in a stream
happens to serve as a convenient stepping-
stone, we regard its usefulness as an acciden-
tal bonus, not a true purpose. But the old
temptation comes back with a vengeance when
tragedy strikes — indeed, the very word
“strikes” is an animistic echo: “Why, oh why,
did the cancer /earthquake/hurricane have to
strike my child?” And the same temptation is
often positively relished when the topic is the
origin ofall things or the fundamental laws of
physics, culminating in the vacuous existen-
tial question “Why is there something rather
than nothing?”
I have lost count of the number of times a
member of the audience has stood up after a
public lecture I have given and said something
like the following: “You scientists are very
good at answering ‘How’ questions. But you
must admit you’re powerless when it comes
to ‘Why’ questions.” Prince Philip, Duke of
Edinburgh, made this very point when he was
in an audience at Windsor addressed by my
colleague Dr Peter Atkins. Behind the ques-
tion there is always an unspoken but never
justified implication that since science is un-
able to answer “Why” questions, there must
be some other discipline that is qualified to
answer them. This implication is, of course,
quite illogical.
I’m afraid that Dr Atkins gave the Royal
Why fairly short shrift. The mere fact that it is
possible to frame a question does not make it
legitimate or sensible to do so. There are many
things about which you can ask, “What is its
temperature?” or “What color is it?” but you
may not ask the temperature question or the
color question of, say, jealousy or prayer. Simi-
larly, you are right to ask the “Why” question
of a bicycle’s mudguards or the Kariba Dam,
but at the very least you have no right to as-
sume that the “Why” question deserves an
answer when posed about a boulder, a mis-
fortune, Mt Everest or the universe. Questions
can be simply inappropriate, however heart-
felt their framing.
110
Somewhere between windscreen wipers and
tin openers on the one hand and rocks and
the universe on the other lie living creatures.
Living bodies and their organs are objects that,
unlike rocks, seem to have purpose written all
over them. Notoriously, of course, the appar-
ent purposefulness ofliving bodies has domi-
nated the classic Argument from Design,
invoked by theologians from Aquinas to
William Paley to modern “scientific”
creationists.
The true process that has endowed wings
and eyes, beaks, nesting instincts and every-
thing else about life with the strong illusion
of purposeful design is now well understood.
It is Darwinian natural selection. Our under-
standing of this has come astonishingly re-
cently, in the last century and a half. Before
Darwin, even educated people who had aban-
doned “Why” questions for rocks, streams and
eclipses still implicitly accepted the legitimacy
of the “Why” question where living creatures
were concerned. Now only the scientifically
illiterate do. But “only” conceals the unpalat-
able truth that we are still talking about an
absolute majority.
Actually, Darwinians do frame a kind of
“Why” question about living things, but they
do so in a special, metaphorical sense. Why
do birds sing, and what are wings for? Such
questions would be accepted as a shorthand
by modern Darwinians and would be given
sensible answers in terms of the natural selec-
tion of bird ancestors. The illusion of purpose
is so powerful that biologists themselves use
the assumption of good design as a working
tooliact
I now want to introduce two technical
terms, “reverse engineering” and “utility func-
tion.” In this section, I am influenced by Dan-
iel Dennett’s superb book Darwin’s
Dangerous Idea. Reverse engineering is a tech-
nique of reasoning that works like this. You
are an engineer, confronted with an artifact
you have found and don’t understand. You
make the working assumption that it was de-
signed for some purpose. You dissect and
analyze the object with a view to working out

what problem it would be good at solving:
“If Ihad wanted to make a machine to do so-
and-so, would I have made it like this? Or is
the object better explained as a machine de-
signed to do such-and-such?”
The slide rule, talisman until recently of the
honorable profession of engineer, is in the
electronic age as obsolete as any Bronze Age
relic. An archaeologist of the future, finding a
slide rule and wondering about it, might note
that it is handy for drawing straight lines or
for buttering bread. But to assume that either
of these was its original purpose violates the
economy assumption. A mere straight-edge
or butter knife would not have needed a slid-
ing member if the middle of the rule. Moreo-
ver, ifyou examine the spacing of the graticules
you find precise logarithmic scales, too me-
ticulously disposed to be accidental. It would
dawn on the archaeologist that, in an age be-
fore electronic calculators, this pattern would
constitute an ingenious trick for rapid multi-
plication and division. The mystery ofthe slide
rule would be solved by reverse engineering,
employing the assumption of intelligent and
economical design.
“Utility function” is a technical term not
of engineers but of economists. It means “that
which is maximized.” Economic planners and
social engineers are rather like architects and
real engineers in that they strive to maximize
something. Utilitarians strive to maximize “the
greatest happiness for the greatest number”
(a phrase that sounds more intelligent than it
is, by the way). Under this umbrella, the utili-
tarian may give long-term stability more or
less priority at the expense of short-term hap-
piness, and utilitarians differ over whether they
measure “happiness” by monetary wealth, job
satisfaction, cultural fulfillment or personal
relationships. Others avowedly maximize their
own happiness at the expense of the common
welfare, and they may dignify their egoism by
a philosophy that states that general happi-
ness will be maximized if one takes care of
oneself. By watching the behavior of individu-
als throughout their lives, you should be able
to reverse-engineer their utility functions. If
GOD’S UTILITY FUNCTION
you reverse-engineer the behavior of a coun-
try’s government, you may conclude that what
is being maximized is employment and uni-
versal welfare. For another country, the util-
ity function may turn out to be the continued
power ofthe president, or the wealth of a par-
ticular ruling family, the size of the sultan’s
harem, the stability of the Middle East or
maintaining the price of oil. The point is that
more than one utility function can be imag-
ined. It isn’t always obvious what individuals,
or firms, or governments are striving to maxi-
mize. But it is probably safe to assume that
they are maximizing something. This is be-
cause Homo sapiens is a deeply purpose-rid-
den species. The principle holds good even if
the utility function turns out to be a weighted
sum or some other complicated function of
many inputs.
Let us return to living bodies and try to
extract their utility function. There could be
many but, revealingly, it will eventually turn
out that they all reduce to one. A good way
to dramatize our task is to imagine that living
creatures were made by a Divine Engineer and
try to work out, by reverse engineering, what
the Engineer was trying to maximize: What
was God’s Utility Function?
Cheetahs give every indication of being su-
perbly designed for something, and it should
be easy enough to reverse-engineer them and
work out their utility function. They appear
to be well designed to kill antelopes. The teeth,
claws, eyes, nose, leg muscles, backbone and
brain of a cheetah are all precisely what we
should expect if God’s purpose in designing
cheetahs was to maximize deaths among an-
telopes. Conversely, if we reverse-engineer an
antelope we find equally impressive evidence
of design for precisely the opposite end: the
survival of antelopes and starvation among
cheetahs. It is as though cheetahs had been
designed by one deity and antelopes by a rival
deity. Alternatively, if there is only one Crea-
tor who made the tiger and the lamb, the chee-
tah and the gazelle, what is He playing at? Is
He a sadist who enjoys spectator blood sports?
Is He trying to avoid overpopulation in the
111
RICHARD DAWKINS
mammals of Africa? Is He maneuvering to
maximize David Attenborough’s television
ratings? These are all intelligible utility func-
tions that might have turned out to be true.
In fact, of course, they are all completely
wrong. We now understand the single Utility
Function oflife in great detail, and it is noth-
ing like any of those.
... The true utility function of life, that
which is being maximized in the natural world,
is DNA survival. But DNA is not floating free;
it is locked up in living bodies and it has to
make the most of the levers of power at its
disposal. DNA sequences that find themselves
in cheetah bodies maximize their survival by
causing those bodies to kill gazelles. Sequences
that find themselves in gazelle bodies maxi-
mize their survival by promoting opposite
ends. But it is DNA survival that is being maxi-
mized in both cases... .
Peacocks are burdened with finery so heavy
and cumbersome that it would gravely ham-
per their efforts to do useful work, even ifthey
felt inclined to do useful work — which, on
the whole, they don’t. Male songbirds use
dangerous amounts of time and energy sing-
ing. This certainly imperils them, not only
because it attracts predators but because it
drains energy and uses time that could be spent
replenishing that energy. A student of wren
biology claimed that one ofhis wild males sang
itself literally to death. Any utility function that
had the long-term welfare of the species at
heart, even the long-term survival ofthis par-
ticular individual male, would cut down on
the amount ofsinging, the amount of display-
ing, the amount of fighting among males. Yet,
because what is really being maximized is
DNA survival, nothing can stop the spread of
DNA that has no beneficial effect other than
making males beautiful to females. Beauty is
not an absolute virtue in itself. But inevitably,
if some genes do confer on males whatever
qualities the females of the species happen to
find desirable, those genes, willy-nilly, will
survive.
Why are forest trees so tall? Simply to
overtop rival trees. A “sensible” utility func-
112
tion would see to it that they were all short.
They would get exactly the same amount of
sunlight, with far less expenditure on thick
trunks and massive supporting buttresses. But
if they were all short, natural selection couldn’t
help favoring a variant individual that grew a
little taller. The ante having been upped, oth-
ers would have to follow suit. Nothing can
stop the whole game escalating until all trees
are ludicrously and wastefully tall. It is ludi-
crous and wasteful only from the point of view
of a rational economic planner thinking in
terms of maximizing efficiency. But it all makes
sense once you understand the true utility
function — genes are maximizing their own
survival. Homely analogies abound. At a cock-
tail party, you shout yourself hoarse. The rea-
son is that everybody else is shouting at top
volume. If only the guests could come to an
agreement to whisper, they’d hear one another
exactly as well with less voice strain and less
expenditure of energy. But agreements like
that don’t work unless they are policed. Some-
body always spoils it by selfishly talking a bit
louder, and, one by one, everybody has to
follow suit. A stable equilibrium is reached
only when everybody is shouting as loudly as
physically possible, and this is much louder
than required from a “rational” point of view.
Time and again, cooperative restraint is
thwarted by its own internal instability. God’s
Utility Function seldom turns out to be the
greatest good for the greatest number. God’s
Utility Function betrays its origins in an un-
coordinated scramble for selfish gain.
Humans have a rather endearing tendency
to assume that welfare means group welfare,
that “good” means the good of society, the
future well-being of the species or even ofthe
ecosystem. God’s Utility Function, as derived
from a contemplation ofthe nuts and bolts of
natural selection, turns out to be sadly at odds
with such utopian visions. To be sure, there
are occasions when genes may maximize their
selfish welfare at their level, by programming
unselfish cooperation, or even self-sacrifice, by
the organism at its level. But group welfare is
always a fortuitous consequence, not a primary

drive. This is the meaning of “the selfish
gene.”
To return to this chapter’s pessimistic begin-
ning, when the utility function — that which is
being maximized — is DNA survival, this is not
a recipe for happiness. So long as DNA is
passed on, it does not matter who or what
gets hurt in the process. It is better for the
genes of Darwin’s ichneumon wasp that the
caterpillar should be alive, and therefore fresh,
when it is eaten, no matter what the cost in
suffering. Genes don’t care about suffering,
because they-don’t care about anything.
If Nature were kind, she would at least make
the minor concession of anesthetizing cater-
pillars before they are eaten alive from within.
But Nature is neither kind nor unkind. She is
neither against suffering nor for it. Nature is
not interested one way or the other in suffer-
ing, unless it affects the survival of DNA. It is
easy to imagine a gene that, say, tranquilizes
gazelles when they are about to suffer a kill-
ing bite. Would such a gene be favored by
natural selection? Not unless the act of
tranquilizing a gazelle improved that gene’s
chances of being propagated into future gen-
erations. It is hard to see why this should be
so, and we may therefore guess that gazelles
suffer horrible pain and fear when they are
pursued to the death — as most of them even-
tually are. The total amount of suffering per
year in the natural world is beyond all decent
contemplation. During the minute it takes me
to compose this sentence, thousands of ani-
mals are being eaten alive; others are running
for their lives, whimpering with fear; others
are being slowly devoured from within by rasp-
ing parasites; thousands of all kinds are dying
of starvation, thirst, and disease. It must be
so. If there is ever a time of plenty, this very
fact will automatically lead to an increase in
population until the natural state of starva-
tion and misery is restored.
GOD’S UTILITY FUNCTION
Theologians worry away at the “problem
of evil” and a related “problem of suffering.”
On the day I originally wrote this paragraph,
the British newspapers all carried a terrible
story about a bus full of children from a Ro-
man Catholic school that crashed for no ob-
vious reason, with wholesale loss of life. Not
for the first time, clerics were in paroxysms
over the theological question that a writer on
a London newspapers (The Sunday Telegraph)
framed this way: “How can you believe in a
loving, all-powerful God who allows such a
tragedy?” The article went on to quote one
priest’s reply: “The simple answer is that we
do not know why there should be a God who
lets these awful things happen. But the hor-
ror of the crash, to a Christian, confirms the
fact that we live in a world ofreal values: posi-
tive and negative. If the universe was just elec-
trons, there would be no problem of evil or
suffering.”
On the contrary, if the universe were just
electrons and selfish genes, meaningless trag-
edies like the crashing of this bus are exactly
what we should expect, along with equally
meaningless good fortune. Such a universe
would be neither evil nor good in intention.
It would manifest no intentions of any kind.
In a universe of blind physical forces and ge-
netic replication, some people are going to
get hurt, other people are going to get lucky,
and you won’t find any rhyme or reason in it,
nor any justice. The universe we observe has
precisely the properties we should expect if
there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose,
no evil and no good, nothing but blind, piti-
less indifference. As that unhappy poet A. E.
Housman put it:
For Nature, heartless, witless Nature
Will neither know nor care.
DNA neither knows nor cares. DNA just
is. And we dance to its music.
Lis
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
15 From New Perspectives on Old-time Religion*
George N. Schlesinger
3 Corroboration from
Contemporary Astrophysics
Undeniably, the argument from design has,
in the eyes of many, suffered a very serious
setback through the general acceptance of
Darwin’s theory. ‘People began to agree with
Voltaire, who mocked the idea of an intelli-
gently planned universe by suggesting that
presumably the nose was designed to be such
as to fit spectacles. Bertrand Russell, who also
held the argument in low esteem, explains that
since Darwin we are able to understand that
‘it is not [our] environment was made to be
suitable to [us] but that [we] grew suitable to
it, and that is the basis of adaptation.”!
I propose now to discuss one of the ver-
sions of the argument that is immune to any
of the implications of evolutionary theory. It
is based on a considerable number of remark-
able scientific results, particularly results in
astrophysics, obtained in the second half of
the present century. In the context of this ver-
sion, there can be no talk about the long odds
against there being any sort of an environment
to which it should be possible for an organ-
ism to adapt itself. I do not believe that the
different versions of the argument I have ad-
vanced in previous publications, which are also
unaffected by Darwinism, have any less force
than the argument I am about to present. It
seems appropriate, however, that in a work
avowedly devoted to new perspectives on tra-
ditional positions we should concentrate on a
* From George N. Schlesinger, New Perspectives on
Old-time Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988),
pp. 124-38, 141-4, 147-8. Reprinted with permis-
sion.
114
particular version of the design argument that
was unavailable until very recently.
4 Two Kinds of Improbable
Events
It is an indispensable prerequisite to a correct
understanding of the theistic argument re-
cently become available that we develop and
clarify one of the most fundamental princi-
ples of empirical confirmation. . . . In very gen-
eral terms, this principle may be said to bid
scientists do away with mysteries, by showing
that what appeared to be astonishingly un-
likely coincidences were — assuming certain
hypotheses to be true — bound to take place,
that is, to turn the seemingly inexplicable into
what in fact was inevitable. Thus an event ora
series of events which we find surprising in-
duces us to look for a reasonable hypothesis,
the adoption of which would remove the
grounds for puzzlement by showing that what
has happened was predestined to happen.
The crucial question to pose in this context
is, what precisely constitutes a surprise? It is
obvious ... that just because a certain event
is highly improbable, that does not ensure that
it is genuinely surprising. We have referred to
the lottery in which there were a billion par-
ticipants, and A, who held a single ticket, won
the main prize. Surely, though his win was
exceedingly improbable, it is not a surprising
event in the sense that it urgently requires an
explanation. It would, for example, be absurd
to suggest that the police ought to conduct
an inquiry into the question of how A, who
had no more than one in a billion chances to
win, managed to secure the main prize. The
 FROM NEW PERSPECTIVES ON OLD-TIME RELIGION
most likely reason is that, right from the be-
ginning, it was an absolute certainty that one
or another ticket was going to win. Thus, while
the statement that the particular event of A’s
winning was about to take place had a very
small probability of turning out to be correct,
the statement that the kind of event (i.e. that
some ticket-holder ends up with the main
prize), of which A’s win was one of the many
possible instances, was going to be true, was
unquestionably right from the beginning.
On the other hand, consider the case of B,
who participates in three different lotteries,
each consisting of athousand tickets, and wins
the main prize in each one of them. This we
would find highly astonishing. Why? After all,
the probability of B’s triple win is 10-°, which
is precisely the probability of A’s single win;
why, then, is the one a surprising event and
the other not?
The reasonable answer seems to be that in
B’s case, not only the specific event but also
the kind of event that took place was highly
improbable; for the mere probability that amy
person among the ticket-holders should win
three lotteries in succession was also quite re-
mote — no more than 10°. In this case we are
witnessing an unusual sort of occurrence, and
should thus be legitimately puzzled by it.
There would be good grounds for further in-
vestigating whether any one tampered with
the process of drawing. Our seeing that the
hypothesis postulating foul play would remove
satisfactorily the source of our puzzlement
amounts, to some degree, to the confirma-
tion of that hypothesis.
The relatively simple point made so far may
be put in general terms as follows: Suppose
El, E2,...Emisa set of events and it is cer-
tain (or highly probable) that one member of
the set is going to occur. If 7 is very large,
then the probability of any particular event Ez
is very small; nevertheless its occurrence will
not constitute a surprise. Ez should not as-
tonish us, since we know that if it did not take
place, then some other, equally improbable
event was bound, or was at least very likely,
to materialize. On the other hand, when it is
highly improbable that even just a single mem-
ber ofa given set of events should take place,
then the occurrence of any member is an oc-
casion of surprise, calling for an explanatory
hypothesis.
What has just been said may reasonably be
claimed to express the very essence of surprise.
Since it is the essence of a surprising event
that it catches one unaware, it makes no sense
to say: under current circumstances it is cer-
tain or highly probable that such and such a
surprise is about to take place. If a kind of
event is predictable, ipso facto it is not surpris-
ing.
To a casual reader it may seem that there is
an obvious objection to our account of the
distinction between improbable events which
do and those which do not amount to a sur-
prise. He might claim that it is always possi-
ble to depict an improbable event as not
merely unexpected in itself but also as an in-
stance of an unexpected kind of event. Sup-
pose A, whose success in the lottery of one
billion tickets, as we said, caused no general
bewilderment, was born on 14 July. Clearly
the prior probability that this sort of event
should take place, namely, that the winner’s
birthday should fall on Bastille Day, is less than
1/365. Why can we then not insist that his
winning should in fact count as a surprise, see-
ing that the kzmd of event that was improb-
able did in fact happen?
The answer should become evident as soon
as we realize that a significant surprise, of the
sort that is relevant to confirmation theory, is
one which licitly demands an adequate ex-
planatory hypothesis showing that in fact
nothing puzzling has taken place. Now an
appropriate explanation has to provide a plau-
sible reason why a given event, rather than
something else, has actually occurred. Con-
sequently, when it is said that an improbable
event fails to qualify as a genuine surprise un-
less it is an instance of a kind which itself is
improbable, the term ‘kind’ is not to be un-
derstood as signifying just any random col-
lection of events. All events are members of
infinitely many sets; what is required in the
115
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
present context is that they belong to a cohe-
sive set. In a cohesive set all the members are
naturally related to one another, as the occur-
rence of each lends itself to the same type of
causal explanation. It is, of course, our back-
ground knowledge that serves as the basis for
judging the acceptability of a suggested ex-
planation.
What I have just said will become transpar-
ently clear as soon as we have a concrete illus-
tration. In our second lottery, for example, it
is obvious that we are dealing with a cohesive
set: B’s success of winning three times in a
row is a member of the collection of occur-
rence characterized as ‘some ticket-holder
winning three times in succession’. Common
experience suggests that this kind of triple win
may, in each of its instances, be caused by foul
play. Thus the hypothesis that the drawing
process was tampered with is reasonable and
may serve as an adequate explanation of what
seemed to be B’s startling stroke ofluck.
On the other hand the set characterized by
‘born on Bastille Day’ is an arbitrary set. There
is nothing in our background knowledge that
would permit us to postulate a reasonable
hypothesis that a person’s birth date may be
casually relevant to his chances in a lottery.
5 The Role of Surprise in
Confirmation
The vital distinction between two kinds of
improbable event is of pivotal importance to
the confirmation of hypotheses throughout
the whole of empirical science. Any scientist
worth the name is capable of recognizing at
once that a given event belongs to one or the
other category without necessarily ever hav-
ing articulated the difference as we have tried
to do here. Since it is best to keep the discus-
sion as non-technical as possible I shall try to
cite some rather elementary examples for il-
lustration.
Ever since Galileo, scientists have believed
that a lump oflead weighing many tons and a
light feather will accelerate at an equal rate
116
when, in the absence of air resistance, they
are subjected to the same gravitational force.
Even though the pull of gravity on the heavy
sample of lead may be many thousand times
greater than on the feather, it is exactly coun-
terbalanced by the appropriately greater mag-
nitude of the inertial resistance the massive
lead offers to acceleration. Newton and his
followers had no explanation why the two
types of masses, the gravitational and the in-
ertial, should be precisely equal. They had to
reconcile themselves to the idea that the
equivalence between these two different fea-
tures of a physical body was simply remark-
able coincidence.
Eventually Einstein came along and devel-
oped his revolutionary general theory of rela-
tivity, which led to an impressive amount of
simplification and unification in physics. One
of that theory’s great achievements was to
provide compelling reason why the two masses
coincide in magnitude: gravity and inertia have
been reduced to one and the same phenom-
enon. As Einstein said, the grounds for puz-
zlement at the ‘coincidence’ disappear
through ‘explaining the numerical equality of
inertia and gravitation by the unity of their
nature’.
Let us now imagine that the situation was
somewhat different; inertial and gravitational
masses were not equivalent, but one was pre-
cisely 17.35 times greater than the other. It is
safe to assert that in that case scientists would
not have had any sense of stupefaction at see-
ing that the ratio assumes the infinitely im-
probable number 17.35; no one is likely to
have felt an overwhelming urge to search for
a theory that would have explained why this
had to be so. It turns out, however, that the
ratio between two masses is 1, and this has
been a source of acute concern. As is known,
Einstein worked for many years with great
tenacity to develop general relativity, and he
had enough incentive to invest all that energy
because of his profound belief that such a
theory — the outlines of which he had con-
ceived at an early stage — must be true, and
that he would be able eventually to iron out
 FROM NEW PERSPECTIVES ON OLD-TIME RELIGION
its remaining wrinkles. The main factor sus-
taining him in his efforts was his firm convic-
tion that it simply cannot be a coincidence
that the values of the two masses are exactly
the same. What might strike one as puzzling
is that even though the number 17.35 is no
less rare among all the numbers than the
number 1, finding the ratio of the two masses
to be 17.35 would have left everyone, includ-
ing Einstein, indifferent. Why is it that one
number may play a major role in initiating one
of the greatest revolutions in the history of
science, when another might merely be writ-
ten down and then practically forgotten? It is
not hard to see that the answer is that while
the probability that the ratio should have the
value of 17.35 is infinitesimal, we are con-
fronted here with something which, though
exceedingly unlikely, is nevertheless not sur-
prising. The value was bound to be some
number. The number 1, however, is not just
some number, it is a special kind of number
in the present context. For example, the ratio
between the number of particulars that are
featherless bipeds and the number of those
that are sentient beings is 1. It turns out that
the set of featherless bipeds is identical to the
set of sentient beings. Often, when the ratio
between two magnitudes is 1, we find that we
are not really measuring two distinct things
but the manifestations of one and the same
thing. It was reasonable, therefore, for Ein-
stein to assume right from the beginning that
gravitational and inertial behaviour should
turn out to be different aspects of one and
the same feature of physical bodies. He as-
sumed rightly that magnitudes having the ra-
tio 1 have a ratio with a special kind ofa value,
and it should be very puzzling if no unifying
explanation then was found.
My second, brief example refers to the phys-
ics of four hundred years ago. At around the
year 1600, different physicists gave different
accounts why unsupported bodies near the
surface of the earth move vertically to the
ground (instead of moving upward, or hori-
zontally, or at this or that angle to the hori-
zontal, or just stay put), and why planets move
along closed curves symmetrical about at least
two axes. Conservative scientists held that all
terrestrial bodies had the propensity to reach
the centre of the earth, which was their in-
nately preferred place. On the other hand, the
movement of celestial bodies they explained
by assuming them to be embedded in rotat-
ing crystal spheres. Others like Kepler thought
that the force ofgravity between material bod-
ies was what explained both types of move-
ments. Terrestrial objects were subject to the
earth’s gravity and therefore fell towards it.
The movement ofplanets, on the other hand,
was a compromise result between their initial
velocity away from the sun and the attractive
force exerted on them by the sun.
Even though Kepler did not have much of
an idea about the nature of gravity, not know-
ing how, or with what, its magnitude varied,
all would readily concede that his position was
superior to the position of the Aristotelian
scientists. The reason why is fairly simple. The
Aristotelians cannot be said to be trying to
explain something truly surprising; there is
nothing genuinely amazing in finding one
group of bodies moving in one particular way
and another in a different specific manner.
Whatever moves is bound to move along some
curve. Kepler, however, could really see him-
self being confronted with a remarkable con-
junction of two different classes ofobjects: the
movement of terrestrial bodies, as well as the
movement of celestial ones, seemed to take
place in a manner as if pulled toward the rela-
tively most massive body in the vicinity. Thus
Kepler’s hypothesis was designed to explain
what could otherwise legitimately be regarded
as a puzzling phenomenon. It was therefore
better confirmed, by the then prevailing data,
than that ofAristotle’s followers.
6 Is the Universe a Put-up
Job?
We are now in the position to consider a vari-
ant on the most famous and most frequently
misunderstood argument (and therefore re-
ew,
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
jected even by many religious thinkers), the
argument from design. This version emerges
from several very recent results in physics and
astronomy. In the last few decades a tantaliz-
ingly great number of exceedingly rare coin-
cidences, vital for the existence of a minimally
stable universe and without which no form of
life could exist anywhere, have been discov-
ered. One of the many such felicitous coinci-
dences has been discussed by Brandon Carter
and concerns the ratio between the product
of the speed of light and the size of the quanta,
and the square of the charge of the electron.
He denotes this ratio by R1 and shows it to
equal roughly 137. Carter argues that if R1
were slightly more than 137, then all stars
would be blue giants and there would be no
planets at all, let alone living creatures; if it
were somewhat smaller, all stars would be red
dwarfs and thus the planets orbiting them far
too cold to sustain any kind of organism. It
seemed natural to some to regard such a star-
tlingly fortunate fact as indicative of a super-
natural and powerful being with a special
interest in the emergence and survival of hu-
man-like creatures.
The physicist Paul Davies, whose masterful
expositions ofthe latest results in physics and
cosmology few should fail to enjoy, discusses
our point at great length in several of his
books. In his Superforce he says this, among
other things:
... there is an almost unbelievable delicacy in
the balance between gravity and electromagnet-
ism within a star. Calculations show that changes
in the strength of either force by only one part
in 10° would spell catastrophe for stars like the
sun,
Many other important physical structures are
highly sensitive to minor alterations in the rela-
tive strengths of the forces. For example, a small
percentage increase in the strength ofthe strong
force would have caused all the hydrogen nu-
clei in the universe to have been consumed in
the big bang, leaving a cosmos devoid of its most
important stellar fuel.
In my book The Accidental Universe I have
made a comprehensive study ofall the apparent
118
‘accidents’ and ‘coincidences’ that seem to be
necessary in order that the important complex
structures which we observe in the universe
should exist. The sheer improbability that these
felicitous concurrences could be the result of a
series of exceptionally lucky accidents has
prompted many scientists to agree with Hoyle’s
pronouncement that ‘the universe is a put-up
job’.
The supreme example of complex organiza-
tion in the universe is life, and so special inter-
est attaches to the question of how dependent
is our own existence on the exact form of the
laws of physics. Certainly, human beings require
highly special conditions for their survival, and
almost any change in the laws of physics, in-
cluding the most minute variations in the nu-
merical values of the fundamental constants,
would rule out life as we know it. A more inter-
esting question, however, is whether such
minute changes would make any form of life
impossible. Answering this question is difficult
because of the absence of any generally agreed-
on definition of life. If, however, we agree that
life requires at least the existence of heavy at-
oms such as carbon, then quite stringent limits
can be placed on some ofthe fundamental con-
stants. For example, the weak force, which is
the driving force behind the supernovae explo-
sions that liberate the heavy elements into inter-
stellar space, could not vary too much in strength
from its observed value and still effectively ex-
plode stars.
The upshot of these studies seems to be that
many of the important physical structures in the
universe, including living organisms, depend
crucially on the exact form of the laws of phys-
ics. Had the universe been created with slightly
different laws, not only would we (or anybody
else) not be here to see it, but it is doubtful if
there would be any complex structures at all.”
The theist has thus been given an unprec-
edented opportunity to make substantial capi-
tal out of the new-wrought ideas of
astrophysics. He has now at his disposal a
whole array of thoroughly investigated con-
ditions which support the so-called ‘anthropic
principle’, that the universe is so because it is
exactly the way man requires it to be.
The anthropic principle, and the conjecture
 FROM NEW PERSPECTIVES ON OLD-TIME RELIGION
that it was put in force by a Divine Being bent
on obtaining conditions favourable to the ex-
istence of physical creatures capable of em-
bracing a religious life, has met with far less
than universal approval. Indeed, many have
ferociously opposed it. It is not that anyone
wishes to deny that a great number of minutely
attuned vital features have actually been dis-
covered. Even though physicists nowadays
hold that no result is to be regarded as abso-
lutely certain, they are not prepared to enter-
tain the thought that the very foundations of
our science are radically misconceived. Instead,
the attacks have been directed against the way
some, like Hoyle, wished to draw inferences
from recent findings, and not against the find-
ings themselves. These inferences, according
to the religious sceptics, were not merely du-
bious but downright preposterous. They were
preposterous, because the inferences were
made on the witless assumption that a highly
improbable phenomenon always calls for an
explanation. Only the ignorant fail to realize
that here, as in many other cases, something
was exceedingly improbable and yet bound to
happen. Thus, faced with the fact that some-
thing did indeed happen, there is no room
for explanatory hypotheses, let alone for su-
pernatural ones. The famous Jacques Monod,
for instance, writes in his Chance and Neces-
sity:
Among all the events possible in the Universe
the a priori probability of any particular one of
them occurring is next to zero. Yet the Uni-
verse exists; particular events must occur in it,
the probability of which (before the event) was
in finitesima.. . . Destiny is written as and while,
not before, it happens.?
Also relevant to our topic is a widely dis-
cussed essay by Ralph Estling in the New Sci-
entist. He explains in some detail why the
theistic argument based on the anthropic prin-
ciple is unacceptable. The core of his charge
is that the believer’s reasoning is based on the
discredited practice of using the concepts of
probability and randomness on an a postertort
basis. It is silly to be enraptured with finding
the universe to be precisely the way it is, when
every possible universe is precisely the way it
is. He bids us to recollect that ‘every human
being (and everything else) has truly enormous
odds against his being precisely him, and no-
body else, but once he is he and nobody else,
the matter rests, and no seeking retrospectively
over fantastic odds is called for’.* The article
is written in a witty, lively style. It even in-
cludes some funny cartoons. In one of them,
Estling derides the habit of ‘reason[ing |back-
ward, from presumed effect to ostensible
cause’ by depicting a theist pontificating: “The
existence of trousers proves that God meant
us to be bipeds.’ All in all, the paper is in-
structive, lucid, and enjoyable to read. How-
ever, the reasoning is almost unfalteringly
fallacious.
The central, elementary error of Estling, as
well as of Monod and many others, is the fail-
ure to make the vital distinction between
genuinely surprising and non-surprising im-
probable events. Earlier I have conceded that
scientists are perfectly sure-footed when re-
quired to make this distinction; it seems, how-
ever, that this is so only as long as they are
engaged in their scientific work. When ven-
turing into theology or philosophy, they usu-
ally put on a different kind of thinking-cap.
Monod is, of course, absolutely right that,
given any one of infinitely many universes,
some conjunction or other of physical
magnitudes will have to obtain. However, the
prevailing conjunction is not merely one of
indefinitely many; it is also an instance of a
virtually infinitesimally rare kind of universe:
the kind capable of sustaining life. The hy-
pothesis that it was produced by a Being in-
terested in sentient organic systems adequately
explains this otherwise inexplicably astonish-
ing fact.
The scientists we have referred to have ex-
pressed their views in works intended to be
read by laymen. Unfortunately, the great ma-
jority of non-professionals shy away from any-
thing dealing with technical matters even if
labelled ‘popular’. Thus, the general public
does not have much of an inkling of the whole
119
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
issue we have been discussing. This is likely to
change sooner or later. One widely read, lead-
ing contemporary novelist, John Updike, for
example, discusses very eloquently through
one of the chief characters in his latest work,
Roger’s Version, a number of startling coinci-
dences found in nature. He mentions the long
odds against the big bang working out so suc-
cessfully: the incredible, necessary precision of
the weak and strong forces holding together
the atomic nuclei, as well as the gravitational-
coupling constant, the neutron mass, and so
on. Even if these and many other parameters
were different merely by a tiny fraction, the
universe could not contain any life or even
just any planets or stars. He concludes, there-
fore, ‘. . . there’s no intrinsic reason for those
constants to be what they are except to say
God made them that way. God made Heaven
and Earth. It is what science has come to.”®
Interestingly enough, the hero of the book
also raises the objection of Monod and Estling.
‘Every set of circumstances is highly improb-
able’, he protests. He points out that he was
born with an exceedingly rare combination of
genes, but of course that means nothing since
some such combination is just as probable as
any other. To this the theist’s curt reply is,
‘Babies are born all the time, and there is only
one universe that we know of.’ Indeed the
argument from design does not work if we
assume, for instance with David Lewis, that
all possible universes are equally real. How-
ever, it is not sufficient merely to maintain that
ours is the only universe; it is also an essential
condition that the actual universe be such a
rare kind of universe that its existence should
call for a special explanation.
7 Some Humean Objections
There are a number of objections which may
be directed against this and other versions of
the argument from design. Most of these
originate with Hume; however, later writers
have amplified them so as to make them harder
to resist. I believe the most menacing ofthese
120
is the objection from the availability of many
alternatives to naturalism (N). Those who
adopt this approach need not find fault with
anything said so far, but simply point out that
it provides no more justification for accepting
theism (T) than for accepting beliefs in a great
variety of other, strange deities.
In a recent paper Gary Doore elaborates a
specific version of this objection,’ one intro-
duced by Plantinga in his well-known God and
Other Minds, and which the latter took to be
the crucial proof that as a piece of natural the-
ology the teleological argument is unsuccess-
ful. According to Doore, Plantinga maintains
that when the theist argues that God exists,
he wishes to argue for a long conjunctive state-
ment, some of whose conjuncts are the fol-
lowing:
(a) The universe is designed.
(b) The universe was produced by a single
agent.
(c) The agent who produced the universe is
omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly
good.
(d) The agent who produced the universe is
infinite, eternal, and disembodied.
Plantinga contends that the theist may claim
to have a certain amount of evidence for (a)
but not for (4)-(d), since in the case of (4)-
(@) ‘our total evidence affords in each case an
argument against it as strong as any it yields
for it’.. But an argument failing to support
(6)-(d) does not support the claim that God
exists.
Another Humean objection which Doore con-
siders to be particularly damaging is based on
his belief about what constitutes a legitimate
explanation. Hume claimed that no one has
ever ‘thought it satisfactory to explain a par-
ticular cause which was no more to be ac-
counted for than the effect itself’.? Doore
explains that what is meant is that it is unsat-
istactory to explain a certain effect by a cause
 FROM NEW PERSPECTIVES ON OLD-TIME RELIGION
which is more mysterious than the effect it-
self. He emphasizes that we are not to under-
stand Hume’s objection to be that since God’s
existence is not explained, no explanation can
be based on the statement that He exists. The
mysteriousness of theism in his opinion con-
sists in its postulating ‘A type of entity totally
different from any type of which we have ex-
perience’.
Let me begin by stating that Doore’s un-
derscoring of the incorrect interpretation of
Hume provides the latter with protection from
a most obvious attack. After all, what scien-
tists do all the time and could not do other-
wise is shift the unexplained further back, but
it is not possible to be left without some things
unexplained.“Thus the unexplainability of T
should not disqualify it from being an ad-
equate explanation.
Concerning what Doore believes to be the
correct version of Hume’s objection, it should
be obvious, first of all, that the question ‘Why
is nature on the whole the way it is?’ is funda-
mentally different from any question about a
specific aspect of nature. It is therefore only
natural for our response to the first kind of
inquiry to be radically different from our re-
sponse to the second. Some might go further
and claim that the naturalist’s own answers in
the two cases resemble one another even less.
Whenever we ask ‘Why does law L govern this
phenomenon?’ he responds by citing some
other set of laws which imply L. On the other
hand his response to the inquiry ‘Why is na-
ture on the whole the way it is?’ is to point
out that it is a brute fact that the universe is
the way it is, one that cannot be further ex-
plained.
Secondly, scientists do not seem to sub-
scribe to any principle prohibiting the postu-
lation of entirely unfamiliar entities in order
to explain the behaviour of accustomed enti-
ties. For example, we are very well acquainted
with several macroscopic aspects of familiar
gases: that they expand when heated, increase
in pressure when compressed, and so on. With
the advent ofthe kinetic theory, these aspects
have been explained by postulating that the
gases consist of tiny particles that are very ba-
sically different from anything we have ever
come across in our daily lives. Molecules are
the sort of entities that are devoid of colour,
temperature, capacity for heat, conductivity,
melting or boiling point, viscosity, and many
more properties exemplified by everything
around us. Thus molecules are a type of entity
totally different from any type of which we
have experience. Nevertheless, the kinetic
theory is frequently cited as a paradigm of a
superior explanation.
8 The Problem of Prior
Probabilities
The next objection is of a more recent vin-
tage. It deserves somewhat closer study since
its relevance extends well beyond the reaches
of theology.
My rendition of the argument from design
in Religion and Scientific Method has been
criticized by, among others, Graham Priest.
His objection, if successful, would actually be
far more so than he himself believed it; it
would damage, equally, virtually all the known
different versions of the argument from de-
sign. Be that as it may, Priest has confined
himself to the comparatively modest task of
taking apart no more than two versions, one
of which had appeared in the book just men-
tioned. He contends that my argument ac-
complishes no more than showing that the
probability ofT is raised by the available evi-
dence more than that of N. This on its own,
he charges, does not come to anything. It is
of no great help to the religious seeker to be
informed about changes in probabilities. It is
not the amount by which the credibility of a
hypothesis has increased by the evidence that
determines whether or not it is rational to
adopt it. What matters is the absolute final
value of the probabilities alternative hypoth-
eses have. Thus if T’s probability was exceed-
ingly small to begin with, then even if the
evidence increased it ten times more than it
increased that of N, it is still possible that its
121
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
final value would fall short of the current prob-
ability of N. But, he claims, I have failed to
say anything relevant to the question of
whether the probability of Twas large enough
initially, so that the evidence was capable of
raising it to a level above N’s probability.
Consequently, Priest feels forced to conclude
that I must be confusing evidence which raises
the credibility of a hypothesis to an absolutely
high degree with evidence which merely raises
it to a high degree relative to its prior prob-
ability.
Pe
It is fairly clear, therefore, that the whole sci-
entific enterprise cannot get off the ground
unless certain @ priori assumptions are made,
on the basis of which we assign finite initial
probabilities to certain hypotheses. A scien-
tist, for instance, may assume that a hypoth-
esis he is contemplating is of such simple form
that it is a singularly appropriate candidate to
be the law governing the phenomenon under
investigation, and thus assign non-zero value
to its prior probability. But if so, Priest would
need to produce some positive reason why, in
principle, similar considerations should not
apply to the theistic hypothesis.
ier
9 Prior Probabilities in
Metaphysics
Naturally, science is not the only area in which
decisions have to be made about the values of
prior probabilities. It is instructive to look at
Keith Lehrer’s discussion of this topic in the
context of Cartesian scepticism. Lehrer de-
notes by D the demonic hypothesis that there
is no external world but that all our sensory
experiences are caused by a powerful being.
The standard belief that our experiences are
caused by external, material objects he denotes
by M, and he lets E designate our experiences.
Clearly we may then assume that P(E/D) =
122
P(E/M), since it is the very source of Carte-
sian scepticism that E follows deductively from
either M or D. But P(D/E) # P(M/E), since
virtually none of us regard M and D as equally
good accounts of our experiences; common
sense says that our experiences are much more
likely to be due to the existence of a material
world than to our demon-manipulated imagi-
nation. Now by Bayes’s theorem:
isa nav beie)
and
P(E/M) x P(M)
P(M/E) =
P(E)
Since P(E/D) = P(E/M), we are forced to
conclude that P(M/E) is greater than P(D/
E), if and only if P(M) is greater than P(D).
We must therefore assign a higher prior prob-
ability to M than to D, if we are consistent.
If we examine the last point more carefully
it will appear to contain an amazingly bold
claim. It is a fact that M looks to every normal
person far more reasonable than D; the de-
mon hypothesis does not even enter into the
minds of the vast majority of the human race.
It requires a Descartes to persuade some of us
that D is not such a preposterous hypothesis
either. However, we must realize that it is E
which is responsible for our state of mind. I
have a visual and a tactile experience of adesk
being in front of me which immediately in-
duces me to believe that there isa desk in front
of me. Try, as you will, with all the mental
strength you can muster, to imagine that you
are a completely disembodied mind, never
having had any kind of sense-experiences
about an external world; how then would M
appear to you? It is crucial that one do this,
since that is the only way to arrive at an hon-
est assessment of P(M), which is the prob-
ability ofM in a context in which none of the
experiences we actually have occurs. I do not
believe that lengthy arguments are required
to convince someone that this would be a fan-
tastically hard task to accomplish. I say this
even without taking into account that some
 FROM NEW PERSPECTIVES ON OLD-TIME RELIGION
philosophers hold that the notion of disem-
bodied existence makes no sense at all. Ac-
cording to them, it is not certain what it is
that we are trying to assess when we attempt
to evaluate the subjective probability of M in
a context where we(?) do not have any sense-
impressions of a material world. In spite of
this, Lehrer has shown that we are forced to
conclude that it is reasonable to defend as-
signing a larger value to P(M) than to P(D).
In view of such an extravagantly liberal at-
titude concerning what conditions still per-
mit the assessment ofinitial probabilities, there
is not a shadow of doubt that there is no room
for Priest’s concern, and that it is legitimate
to assign a substantial prior probability to T.
Remarkably enough, in that case no arduous
mental acrobatics-of any sort need be at-
tempted in order to do so successfully. Some
may not see this immediately and may per-
haps wonder: is it not necessary to try to pic-
ture a situation far beyond anybody’s range,
in which it is not given that anything at all
exists, and to determine how we would feel
under these circumstances about the chance
that T is true? The answer is no. There is no
need to try to move back to a time before
creation when there was nothing — not even a
single human mind contemplating the likeli-
hood of a universe — and to gauge one’s feel-
ing as if under those conditions one were to
contemplate the existence of a Divine being
who would eventually create a universe.
Let me explain. About nine hundred years
ago St Anselm proposed his famous ontologi-
cal argument. This unique proof is based on
no empirical presuppositions, and instead re-
lies solely on tautologies and deductive logic.
It is generally regarded as one of the most in-
triguing and baffling arguments that have ever
been devised. Countless refutations and re-
buttals of the refutations have been produced;
by now there are dozens of different versions
of the argument, some employing the sophis-
ticated methods of contemporary modal logic.
It seems to me that no one could claim with
full confidence that the proof has definitely
been refuted, since it is unlikely that anyone
has mastered all its variants —- some of which
are based on presuppositions that are by no
means easy to appraise — in order to deter-
mine whether they are necessarily true, as their
advocates insist.
It does not matter very much for our pur-
poses, however, if some were absolutely con-
fident that the probability that any existing or
yet-to-be-proposed renderings are successful
is zero. What is important — and what nobody
would wish to deny — is that, in the course of
the centuries, some of the most illustrious
minds sincerely believed in the validity of the
argument. Obviously, those philosophers who
actually believe in the soundness of the onto-
logical proof are going to assign one to the
probability of T in the context of complete
ignorance of the existence of the universe. But
all the rest must at least concede — without
having to resort to any tortuous stretching of
the imagination — that T does appear likely
even when nothing is given, since there un-
deniably exists a human tendency to regard T
as true merely on the basis of tautologies and
deductive logic. Nothing of this sort can be
attempted in the context of Lehrer’s argu-
ment. It is not the case that a considerable
number of philosophers have ever contem-
plated the possibility ofestablishing the exist-
ence of an external world through a reasoning
process analogous to that of the ontological
argument.
It seems, therefore, that the argument from
design is in a decidedly better situation than
anything else with respect to the question, on
what basis do we assign non-zero initial prob-
ability to T? — there exists a basis unparalleled
in the case ofany other hypothesis. Now while
it is understandable that not everyone is aware
of this point and that some would find a way
to reject it, it is somewhat puzzling that Priest
believes that he has discovered a fatal flaw in
the argument from design, when all he has
really done is point at one of the most ubiqui-
tous and widely known features of empirical
inquiry.
It is hard to escape the thought that for
some reason many sceptics feel entitled to set
123
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
a much higher standard of justification in the
context of an investigation of the claims of
religion than in any other context. When it
comes to the theistic hypothesis, they are un-
willing to accept the indirect kind of evidence
upon which practically our whole system of
scientific knowledge rests; they demand a
much more palpable, compelling proof. Thus
Woody Allen’s zany reply why he is not a be-
liever — ‘If only God would give me a clear
sign! Like making a large deposit in my name
at a Swiss bank’ — may not be such a distorted
caricature of these sceptics’ attitude. Else-
where, of course, we are reconciled to the
universe teeming with things that refuse to
give us unmistakable signs of their presence,
and force us to detect them in roundabout,
indirect ways. The various elementary parti-
cles, the curvature of space, quasars, black
holes, as well as entities metaphysicians claim
to be part of the furniture of the universe, do
not grab us by the lapel loudly announcing
their presence; yet on the basis of the sophis-
ticated methods of science and metaphysics
that we employ, we are nevertheless satisfied
that they exist. For whatever reason, in the
context of religious inquiry many of us make
extravagant demands and refuse to accept any-
thing less than what we stipulate to be ‘a clear
sign’.
eee
Suppose the main points I have made in this
chapter are correct; is, then, the theist enti-
tled to declare complete victory, sit back, and
rest assured of having crushed all opposition
to the argument of design when properly ex-
plicated? Of course not. As with all metaphysi-
cal issues, disagreements will probably
124
continue indefinitely. The ingenious human
mind is an inexhaustible source of new argu-
ments, counterarguments, refutations, and
rejoinders, and both sides will keep advanc-
ing these.
However, instead of trying to present an
irrefutable proof for theism, the preceding
discussion aims to provide a vindication of a
much-maligned argument. In the last two
hundred years or so, theism has mostly been
on the defensive and in retreat. It is impor-
tant to show that the believer can offer a ra-
tional justification for his position that is at
least as respectable as that of his opponent’s.
And it is also important to show that he can
do this without having to reinterpret radically,
demythologize, or dilute traditional religious
doctrines; without having to take shelter in
impenetrably opaque metaphors and
mystifications; and without claiming immu-
nity from the testimonies of empirical evidence
and logical argument by invoking the special,
ineffable status of his beliefs.
Notes
1 Why I am not a Christian (London, 1957),
p. 6.
2 Superforce (New York, 1984), pp. 242-3.
3 Chance and Necessity (London, 1972), cited
in Estling (see n. 4 below).
4 ‘The Trouble with Thinking Backwards’, New
Scientist, 2 Jane 1983, p. 619.
5 Ibid.
6 Rager’s Version (New York, 1986), p. 14.
7 ‘The Argument from Design: Some Better
Reasons for Agreeing with Hume’, Religious
Studies (1980), pp. 145-61.
8 Ibid., p. 109.
9 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, ed.
H. D. Aiken (New York, 1948), p. 28.
The Evolutionary Anti- Naturalism
Argument
16 Is Naturalism Irrational?*
Alvin Plantinga
1 The Problem
_.. Most of us think (or would think on re-
flection) that at least a function or purpose of
our cognitive faculties is to provide us with
true beliefs. Moreover, we go on to think that
when they function properly, in accord with
our design plan, then for the most part they
do precisely that. Qualifications are necessary,
of course. There are various exceptions and
special cases: visual illusions, mechanisms like
forgetting the pain of childbirth, optimism
about recovery not warranted by the relevant
statistics, unintended conceptual by-products,
and so on. There are also those areas of cog-
nitive endeavor marked by enormous disagree-
ment, wildly varying opinion: philosophy and
Scripture scholarship come to mind. Here the
sheer volume of disagreement and the great
variety and contrariety of options proposed
suggest that either not all ofus are such that
our cognitive faculties do function according
to the design plan, in these areas, or that it is
not the case that the relevant modules of the
design plan are aimed at truth, or that the
design plan for those areas is defective.
Nevertheless, over a vast area of cognitive
terrain we take it both that the purpose (func-
* From Alvin Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Func-
tion (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993),
ch. 12, pp. 216-23, 225-7, 228-37. Reprinted with
permission.
tion) of our cognitive faculties is to provide
us with true or verisimilitudinous beliefs, and
that, for the most part, that is just what they
do. We suppose, for example, that most of
the deliverances of memory are at least ap-
proximately correct. True, if you ask five wit-
nesses how the accident happened, you may
get five different stories. Still, they will agree
that there was indeed an accident, and that it
was an automobile accident (as opposed, say,
to a naval disaster or a volcanic eruption);
there will usually be agreement as to the
number of vehicles involved (particularly if it
is a small number), as well as the rough loca-
tion of the accident (Aberdeen, Scotland, as
opposed to Aberdeen, South Dakota), and
so on. And all this is against the background
of massive and much deeper agreement: that
there are automobiles; that they do not dis-
appear when no one is looking; that if re-
leased from a helicopter they fall down rather
than up, that they are driven by people who
use them to go places, that they are seldom
driven by three-year-olds, that their drivers
have purposes, hold beliefs, and often act on
those purposes and beliefs, that few of them
(or their drivers) have been more than a few
miles from the surface of the earth, that the
world has existed for a good long time -
much longer than ten minutes, say — and a
million more such Moorean truisms. (Of
course, there is the occasional dissenter — in
the grip, perhaps, of cognitive malfunction
H25
ALVIN PLANTINGA
or a cognitively crippling philosophical
theory.)
We think our faculties much better adapted
to reach the truth in some areas than others;
we are good at elementary arithmetic and
logic, and the perception of middle-sized ob-
jects under ordinary conditions. We are also
good at remembering certain sorts of things:
I can easily remember what I had for break-
fast this morning, where my office was located
yesterday, and whether there was a large ex-
plosion in my house last night. Things get
more difficult, however, when it comes to an
accurate reconstruction of what it was like to
be, say, a fifth-century Bc Greek (not to men-
tion a bat), or whether the axiom of choice or
the continuum hypothesis is true; things are
even more difficult, perhaps, when it comes
to figuring out how quantum mechanics is to
be understood, and what the subnuclear realm
of quark and gluon is really like, ifindeed there
really isa subnuclear realm of quark and gluon.
Stull, there remains a vast portion of our cog-
nitive terrain where we think that our cogni-
tive faculties do furnish us with truth.
But isn’t there a problem, here, for the natu-
ralist? At any rate for the naturalist who thinks
that we and our cognitive capacities arrived
upon the scene after some billions of years of
evolution (by way of natural selection, genetic
drift, and other blind processes working on
such sources of genetic variation as random
genetic mutation)? Richard Dawkins (accord-
ing to Peter Medawar, “one of the most bril-
liant of the rising generation of biologists”)
once leaned over and remarked to A. J. Ayer
at one of those elegant, candle-lit, bibulous
Oxford college dinners that he couldn’t im-
agine being an atheist before 1859 (the year
Darwin’s Origin of Species was published);
“although atheism might have been logically
tenable before Darwin,” said he, “Darwin
made it possible to be an intellectually fulfilled
atheist.”!
Now Dawkins thinks Darwin made it pos-
sible to be an intellectually fulfilled atheist. But
perhaps Dawkins is dead wrong here. Perhaps
the truth lies in the opposite direction. If our
126
cognitive faculties have originated as Dawkins
thinks, then their ultimate purpose or func-
tion (if they ave a purpose or function) will
be something like survival (of individual, spe-
cies, gene, or genotype); but then it seems
initially doubtful that among their functions
— ultimate, proximate, or otherwise — would
be the production of true beliefs. Taking up
this theme, Patricia Churchland declares that
the most important thing about the human
brain is that it has evolved; hence, she says, its
principal function is to enable the organism
to move appropriately:
Boiled down to essentials, a nervous system ena-
bles the organism to succeed in the four F’s:
feeding, fleeing, fighting and reproducing. The
principal chore of nervous systems is to get
the body parts where they should be in order
that the organism may survive. Improvements
in sensorimotor control confer an evolutionary
advantage: a fancier style of representing is ad-
vantageous so long as it is geared to the organ-
isms way of life and enhances the organism’s
chances of survival [Churchland’s emphasis].
Truth, whatever that is, definitely takes the hind-
most.”
Her point, I think, is that (from a naturalis-
tic perspective) what evolution guarantees is
(at most) that we behave in certain ways — in
such ways as to promote survival, or survival
through childbearing age. The principal func-
tion or purpose, then, (the “chore” says
Churchland) of our cognitive faculties is not
that of producing true or verisimilitudinous
beliefs, but instead that of contributing to
survival by getting the body parts in the right
place. What evolution underwrites is only (at
most) that our behavior be reasonably adap-
tive to the circumstances in which our ances-
tors found themselves; hence (so far forth) it
does not guarantee mostly true or
verisimilitudinous beliefs. Of course our be-
liefs might be mostly true or verisimilitudinous
(hereafter Pll omit the “verisimilitudinous);
but there is no particular reason to think they
would be: natural selection is interested not
in truth, but in appropriate behavior. What

Churchland says suggests, therefore, that natu-
ralistic evolution — that is, the conjunction of
metaphysical naturalism with the view that we
and our cognitive faculties have arisen by way
of the mechanisms and processes proposed by
contemporary evolutionary theory — gives us
reason to doubt two things: (a) that a purpose
of our cognitive systems is that of serving us
with true beliefs, and (b) that they do, in fact,
furnish us with mostly true beliefs.
W. V. O. Quine and Karl Popper, however,
apparently demur. Popper argues that since
we have evolved and survived, we may be
pretty sure that our hypotheses and guesses
as to what the world is like are mostly cor-
rect.* And Quine says he finds encouragement
in Darwin: } conditional probability is relatively low: the
What does make clear sense is this other part of
the problem ofinduction: why does our innate
subjective spacing of qualities accord so well with
the functionally relevant groupings in nature as
to make our inductions tend to come out right?
Why should our subjective spacing of qualities
have a special purchase on nature and a lien on
the future?
There is some encouragement in Darwin. If
people’s innate spacing of qualities is a gene-
linked trait, then the spacing that has made for
the most successful inductions will have tended
to predominate through natural selection. Crea-
tures inveterately wrong in their inductions have
a pathetic but praiseworthy tendency to die be-
fore reproducing their kind.*
Indeed, Quine finds a great deal more encour-
agement in Darwin than Darwin did: “With
me,” says Darwin,
the horrid doubt always arises whether the con-
victions of man’s mind, which has been devel-
oped from the mind of the lower animals, are
of any value or at all trustworthy. Would any
one trust in the convictions of amonkey’s mind,
if there are any convictions in such a mind?®
So here we appear to have Quine and Pop-
per on one side and Darwin and Churchland
on the other. Who is right? But a prior ques-
tion: what, precisely, is the issue? Darwin and
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
Churchland seem to believe that (naturalis-
tic) evolution gives one a reason to doubt that
human cognitive faculties produce for the
most part true beliefs: call this “Darwin’s
Doubt.” Quine and Popper, on the other
hand, apparently hold that evolution gives us
reason to believe the opposite: that human
cognitive faculties do produce for the most part
true beliefs. How shall we understand this
opposition?
2 Darwin’s Doubt
One possibility: perhaps Darwin and Church-
land mean to propose that a certain objective
probability of human cognitive faculties’ be-
ing reliable (producing mostly true beliefs),
given that human beings have cognitive fac-
ulties (of the sort we have) and given that these
faculties have been produced by evolution
(Dawkins’ blind evolution, unguided by the
hand of God or any other person). If meta-
physical naturalism and this evolutionary ac-
count are both true, then our cognitive
faculties will have resulted from blind mecha-
nisms like natural selection, working on such
sources of genetic variation as random genetic
mutation. Evolution is interested, not in true
belief, but in survival or fitness. It is therefore
unlikely that our cognitive faculties have the
production of true belief as a proximate or
any other function, and the probability of our
faculties’ being reliable (given naturalistic evo-
lution) would be fairly low. Popper and Quine,
on the other side, judge that probability fairly
high.
The issue, then, is the value of a certain
conditional probability: P(R/(N&E&C)).
Here N is metaphysical naturalism. It isn’t easy
to say precisely what naturalism zs, but per-
haps that isn’t necessary in this context; promi-
nent examples would be the views of (say)
David Armstrong, the later Darwin, Quine,
and Bertrand Russell. (Crucial to metaphysi-
cal naturalism, of course, is the view that there
is no such person as the God of traditional
Ley,
ALVIN PLANTINGA
theism.) E is the proposition that human cog-
nitive faculties arose by way of the mechanisms
to which contemporary evolutionary thought
directs our attention; and C is a complex
proposition whose precise formulation is both
difficult and unnecessary, but which states
what cognitive faculties we have — memory,
perception, reason, Reid’s sympathy — and
what sorts of beliefs they produce. R, on the
other hand, is the claim that our cognitive fac-
ulties are reliable (on the whole, and with the
qualifications mentioned), in the sense that
they produce mostly true beliefs in the sorts
of environments that are normal for them. And
the question is: what is the probability of R
on N&E&C? (Alternatively, perhaps the in-
terest of that question lies in its bearing on
this question: what is the probability that a
belief produced by human cognitive faculties
is true, given N&E&C?) And if we construe
the dispute in this way, then what Darwin and
Churchland propose is that this probability is
relatively low, whereas Quine and Popper
think it fairly high.
Stich versus Pangloss
Well, what sorts of considerations would be
relevant to this question? Consider the sort of
argument implicit in the passage from Quine:
“Creatures inveterately wrong in their induc-
tions have a pathetic but praiseworthy ten-
dency to die before reproducing their kind,”
he says; humankind, happily enough, has not
died before reproducing its kind; so probably
we human beings are not inveterately wrong
in our inductions. This claim is specified to
inductions, of course; but presumably the
same would go for some or all of our other
characteristic beliefs. (According to J. Fodor,
“Darwinian selection guarantees that organ-
isms either know the elements of logic or be-
come posthumous.”°) The claim seems to be
that the selection processes involved in evolu-
tion are likely to produce cognitive faculties
that are reliable, given that they produce cog-
nitive faculties at all.
Stephen Stich attempts to set out the argu-
128
ment implicit in Quine’s and Popper’s brief
and cryptic remarks. (He notes that versions
of this argument circulate widely in the oral
tradition, but are seldom if ever developed in
any detail.) As he sees it, this argument essen-
tially involves two premises: (a) that “evolu-
tion produces organisms with good
approximations to optimally well-designed
characteristics or systems,”’ and (b) that “an
optimally well-designed cognitive system is a
rational cognitive system,” where (on one of
the two understandings of “rational” he con-
siders) a rational cognitive system, in turn, is
a reliable cognitive system, one that produces
a preponderance of true beliefs. Stich proposes
“to make it clear that there are major prob-
lems to be overcome by those who think that
evolutionary considerations impose interest-
ing limits on irrationality;”® what he shows, I
think, is that the denials of (a) and (b) are
wholly compatible with contemporary evolu-
tionary theory, and not implausible with re-
spect to it.
By way of attack on (a) he points out that
natural selection is not the only process at work
in evolution; there is also (among others) ran-
dom genetic drift, which “can lead to the
elimination of a more fit gene and the fixa-
tion of a less fit one.” For example, a geneti-
cally based and adaptively favorable trait might
arise within a population ofsea gulls; perhaps
six members ofthe flock enjoy it. Being birds
of a feather, they flock together — sadly
enough, at the site of a natural disaster, so
that all are killed in a tidal wave or volcanic
eruption or by a large meteorite. The more fit
gene thus gets eliminated from the popula-
tion. (There is also the way in which a gene
can be fixed, in a small population, by way of
random walk.) He points out further, with
respect to (a), that there is no reason to think
it inevitable that natural selection will have the
opportunity to select for optimal design. For
example, an adaptively positive trait might be
linked with an adaptively negative trait by plei-
otropy (where one gene codes for more than
one trait or system); then it could happen that
the gene gets selected and perpetuated by vir-

tue of its link with the positive trait, and the
negative trait gets perpetuated by way of its
link with the gene. A truly optimal system —
one with the positive trait but without the
negative — may never show up, or may show
up too late to fit in with the current develop-
ment of the organism.
With respect to (b), the claim that an
optimally designed cognitive system is rational
(that is, reliable), Stich observes, first, that
optimal design, presumably, is to be under-
stood in terms of fitness: “From the point of
view of natural selection, it is plausible to say
that one system is better designed than a sec-
ond if an organism having the first would be
more fit — that is, more likely to survive and
reproduce successfully — than a conspecific
having the second. A system is optimally well
designed if it enhances biological fitness more
than any alternative” (p. 57). He then argues
that reliable cognitive systems are not neces-
sarily more fitness-enhancing than unreliable
ones; it is not the case, he argues, that for any
two cognitive systems S, and S,, if S, is more
reliable than S, then S, is more fitness-enhanc-
ing than S,. S,, for example, might cost too
much by way of energy or memory capacity;
alternatively, the less reliable S, might pro-
duce more by way of false beliefs but none
the less contribute more to survival.
So Stich’s point is this: as far as contempo-
rary evolutionary theory is concerned, there
is little reason to endorse either (a) or (b).
But has he correctly identified the conclusions
(or the premises) of those he sets out to re-
fute?? “We now have a pair of arguments,” he
says, “for the claim that evolution and natural
selection guarantee at least a close approxi-
mation to full rationality in normal organisms,
ourselves included” (p. 59, my emphasis) and
“An essential component in both arguments
sketched in 3.1, aimed at showing that evolu-
tion will zmsure rationality, is...” (p. 63, my
emphasis). If his aim is to cast doubt on these
arguments, taken as arguments for the claim
that evolution and natural selection guaran-
tee or insure rationality, then he has certainly
fulfilled his aim. But perhaps Quine and Pop-
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
per and their allies do not mean to argue any-
thing quite so strong. Perhaps what they mean
to argue is only that it is fairly or highly prod-
able, given that we and our cognitive faculties
have evolved according to the processes en-
dorsed by contemporary evolutionary theory,
that those faculties are reliable; perhaps they
mean to argue only that P(R/(N&E&C)) is
fairly high. What Stich shows is that it is per-
fectly possible both that we and our cognitive
faculties have evolved in the ways approved
by current evolutionary theory, and that those
cognitive faculties are not reliable. But that
does not address Quine’s argument taken as
an implicit argument for the claim that P(R/
(N&E&C)) is fairly high, and a fortiorz it does
not serve as an argument for Darwin’s Doubt,
that is, for the claim that P(R/(N&E&C)) is
fairly low.
The Doubt Developed
Can we assemble an argument for Darwin’s
Doubt from (among other things) the mate-
rials Stich presents? In order to avoid irrel-
evant distractions, suppose we think, first, not
about ourselves and our ancestors, but about
a hypothetical population of creatures a lot
like ourselves on a planet similar to Earth.
(Darwin proposed that we think about another
species, such as monkeys.) Suppose these crea-
tures have cognitive faculties, hold beliefs,
change beliefs, make inferences, and so on;
and suppose these creatures have arisen by way
of the selection processes endorsed by con-
temporary evolutionary thought. What is the
probability that their faculties are reliable?
What is P(R/N&E&C)), specified not to us,
but to them? According to Quine and Pop-
per, the probability in question would be
rather high: beliefisconnected with action in
such a way that extensive false belief would
lead to maladaptive behavior, in which case it
is likely that the ancestors of those creatures
would have displayed that pathetic but praise-
worthy tendency Quine mentions.
But now for the contrary argument. ...
Assume, then, that our creatures have belief
beg
ALVIN PLANTINGA
systems, and that these systems are adaptive:
they produce adaptive behavior, and at not
too great a cost in terms of resources, What is
the probability (on this assumption together
with N&E&C) that their cognitive faculties
are reliable; and what is the probability that a
belief produced by those faculties will be true?
Not as high as you might think. For, of
course, beliefs don’t causally produce behavior
by themselves, it is beliefs, desires, and other
things that do so together. Suppose we over-
simplify a bit and say that my behavior is a
causal product just of my beliefs and desires.
Then the problem is that clearly there will be
any number of different patterns of belief and
desire that would issue in the same action; and
among those there will be many in which the
beliefs are wildly false. Paul is a prehistoric
hominid; the exigencies of survival call for him
to display tiger-avoidance behavior. There will
be many behaviors that are appropriate: flee-
ing, for example, or climbing a steep rock face,
or crawling into a hole too small to admit the
tiger, or leaping into a handy lake. Pick any
such appropriately specific behavior B. Paul
engages in B, we think, because, sensible fel-
low that he is, he has an aversion to being
eaten and believes that Bis a good means of
thwarting the tiger’s intentions.
But clearly this avoidance behavior could
be a result of athousand other belief-desire
combinations: indefinitely many other belief-
desire systems fit B equally well. (Here let
me ignore the complication arising from the
fact that belief comes in degrees.) Perhaps
Paul very much /ikes the idea of being eaten,
but whenever he sees a tiger, always runs off
looking for a better prospect, because he
thinks it unlikely that the tiger he sees will
eat him. This will get his body parts in the
right place so far as survival is concerned,
without involving much by way of true be-
lief. (Of course we must postulate other
changes in Paul’s ways of reasoning, includ-
ing how he changes beliefin response to ex-
perience, to maintain coherence.) Or perhaps
he thinks the tiger is a large, friendly, cuddly
pussycat and wants to pet it; but he also be-
130
lieves that the best way to pet it is to run
away from it. Or perhaps he confuses run-
ning toward it with running away from it,
believing of the action that is really running
away from it, that it is running toward it; or
perhaps he thinks the tiger is a regularly re-
curring illusion, and, hoping to keep his
weight down, has formed the resolution to
run a mile at top speed whenever presented
with such an illusion; or perhaps he thinks
he is about to take part in a sixteen-hundred-
meter race, wants to win, and believes the
appearance of the tiger is the starting signal;
or perhaps. . . . Clearly there are any number
of belief-cum-desire systems that equally fit
a given bit of behavior where the beliefs are
mostly false. Indeed, even if we fix desire,
there will still be any number of systems of
belief that will produce a given bit of
behavior: perhaps Paul does not want to be
eaten, but (a) thinks the best way to avoid
being eaten is to run toward the tiger, and
(b) mistakenly believes that he is running to-
ward it when in fact he is running away.
But these possibilities are wholly preposter-
ous, you say. Following Richard Grandy, you
point out that when we ascribe systems of
belief and desire to persons, we make use of
“principles of humanity,” whereby we see oth-
ers as resembling what we take ourselves to
be.!° You go on to endorse David Lewis’s sug-
gestion that a theory of content requires these
“principles of humanity” in order to rule out
as “deeply irrational” those nonstandard be-
lief-desire systems; their contents involved are
“unthinkable,” and are hence disqualified as
candidates for someone’s belief-desire struc-
ture.'! Surely you (and Grandy and Lewis) are
right: in ascribing beliefs to others, we do think
of them as like what we think we are. (This
involves, among other things, thinking that
the (a) purpose or function of their cognitive
systems, like that of ours, is the production of
true beliefs.) And a theory of content ascrip-
tion does indeed require more than just the
claim that the content of my beliefs must fit
my behavior and desires: that leaves entirely
too much latitude as to what that content, on

a given occasion, might in fact be. These prin-
ciples of humanity will exclude vast hordes of
logically possible belief-desire systems as sys-
tems (given human limitations) no human
being could have; thus such principles will ex-
clude my attributing logical omniscience (or
probabilistic coherence) to Paul, or even a
system involving the de re belief, with respect
to each real number in the (open) unit inter-
val, that it is indeed greater than 0. These prin-
ciples will also exclude some systems as systems
we think no properly functioning human be-
ing would have: accordingly, I will not at-
tribute to Paul the view that emeralds are grue,
or the belief that it would be good to have a
nice saucer of mud for lunch (Elizabeth
Anscombe, Intention, sec. 38).
These points are quite correct; but they do
not bear on the present question. It is true
that a decent theory of content ascription must
require more than that the belief fit the
behavior; for a decent theory of content as-
cription must also respect or take for granted
what we ordinarily think about our desires,
beliefs, and circumstances and the relations
between these items. But in the case of our
hypothetical population, these “principles of
humanity” are not relevant. For we are not
given that its members are human; more im-
portant, we are not given that those princi-
ples of humanity, those commonsense beliefs
about how their behavior, belief, and desire
are related, are true of them. We can’t assume
that their beliefs, for given circumstances,
would be similar to what we take it we would
believe in those circumstances. We must ask
what sorts of belief-desire systems are possible
for these creatures, given only that they have
evolved according to the principles of con-
temporary evolutionary theory; clearly these
gerrymanders are perfectly possible. So per-
haps their behavior has been adaptive, and
their systems of belief and desire such as to fit
that adaptive behavior; those beliefs could
none the less be wildly wrong. There are in-
definitely many belief-desire systems that fit
adaptive behavior, but where the beliefs in-
volved are not for the most part true. A share
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
of probability has to be reserved for these pos-
sibilities as well.
[...]
Now return to Darwin’s Doubt. The reason-
ing that applies to these hypothetical creatures,
of course, also applies to us; so if we think the
probability of R with respect to them is rela-
tively low on N&E&C, we should think the
same thing about the probability of R with
respect to us. Something like this reasoning,
perhaps, is what underlay Darwin’s doubt —
although Darwin did not have the benefit of
pleiotropy, random genetic drift, gene fixa-
tion by random walk, and the other bells and
whistles that adorn current evolutionary
theory. So taken, his claim is that P(R/
N&E&C) (specified to us) is rather low, per-
haps somewhat less than 1/2. Arguments of
this sort are less than coercive; but it would
be perfectly sensible to estimate these prob-
abilities in this way.
3 A Preliminary Argument
against Naturalism
Suppose you do estimate these probabilities
in roughly this way: suppose you concur in
Darwin’s Doubt, taking P(R/(N&E&C)) to
be fairly low. But suppose you also think, as
most of us do, that in fact our cognitive facul-
ties ave reliable (with the qualifications and
nuances introduced previously). Then you
have a straightforward probabilistic argument
against naturalism — and for traditional the-
ism, if you think these two the significant al-
ternatives. According to Bayes’ Theorem,
P((N&E&C)/R) =
P(N&E&C) x P(R/(N&E&C))
P(R)
where P(N&E&C) is your estimate of the
probability for N&E&C independent of the
consideration of R. You believe R, so you
assign it a probability near 1 and you take
1st
ALVIN PLANTINGA
P(R/(N&E&C)) to be no more than 1/2.
Then P((N&E&C)/R) will be no greater than
1/2 times P7/(N&E&C), and will thus be fairly
low. You believe C (the proposition specifying
the sorts of cognitive faculties we have); so you
assign it a very high probability; accordingly
P((N&E)/R) will also be low. No doubt you
will also assign a very high probability to the
conditional if naturalism is true, then our firc-
ulties have arisen by way of evolution; then you
will judge that P(N/R) is also low. But you do
think R is true; you therefore have evidence
against N. So your belief that our cognitive
faculties are reliable gives you a reason for re+
jecting naturalism and accepting its denial.
The same argument will not hold, of course,
for traditional theism; on that view the prob-
ability that our cognitive faculties are reliable
will be much higher than 1/2; for, according
to traditional (Jewish, Christian, Muslim) the-
ism, God created us in his image, a part of
which involves our having knowledge over a
wide range of topics and areas. So (provided
that for you the prior probabilities of tradi-
tional theism and naturalism are comparable)
P (traditional theism /R) will be considerably
greater than P(N/R).
4 The Main Argument against
Naturalism
The Doubt Developed Again
Still, the argument for a low estimate of P(R/
(N&E&C)) is by no means irresistible. In
particular, our estimates of the various prob-
abilities involved in estimating P(R/
(N&E&C)) with respect to that hypothetical
population were (of necessity) both extremely
imprecise and also poorly grounded. You
might reasonably hold, therefore, that the
right course here is simple agnosticism: one
just does not know (and has no good way of
finding out) what P(R/(N&E&C)) might be.
It could be very low; on the other hand it
could be rather high. With our limited cogni-
tive resources, you say, the proper course is to
hold no view about what that probability
132
might be; the proper course is agnosticism.
This also seems sensible; accordingly, let’s
suppose, for the moment, that the proper
course is agnosticism about that probability.
What would then be the appropriate attitude
toward R (specified to that hypothetical popu-
lation)? Someone who accepts N&E and also
believes that the proper attitude toward P(R/
(N&E&C)) is one of agnosticism clearly
enough has good reason for being agnostic
about R as well. She has no other source of
information about R (for that population); but
the source of information she does have gives
her no reason to believe R and no reason to
disbelieve it. The proposition in question is
the sort for which one needs evidence if one
is to believe it reasonably; since there is no
evidence the reasonable course is to withhold
belief.
But now suppose we again apply the same
sort of reasoning to ourselves and our con-
dition. Suppose we think N&E is true: we
ourselves have evolved according to the
mechanisms suggested by contemporary
evolutionary theory, unguided and un-
orchestrated by God or anyone else. Suppose
we think, furthermore, that there is no way to
determine P(R/(N&E&C)) (specified to us).
What would be the right attitude to take to
R? Well, if we have no further information,
then wouldn’t the right attitude here, just as
with respect to that hypothetical population,
be agnosticism, withholding belief?
Compare the case of a believer in God, who,
perhaps through an injudicious reading of
Freud, comes to think that religious belief
generally and theistic belief in particular is al-
most always produced by wish fulfillment.
Such beliefs, she now thinks, are not produced
by cognitive faculties functioning properly in
a congenial environment according to a de-
sign plan successfully aimed at truth; instead
they are produced by wish fulfillment, which,
while indeed it has a function, does not have
the function of producing true beliefs. Sup-
pose she considers the objective probability
that wish fulfillment, as a belief-producing
mechanism, is reliable. She might quite prop-

erly estimate this probability as relatively low;
alternatively, however, she might think the
right course, here, is agnosticism; and she
might also be equally agnostic about the prob-
ability that a belief should be true, given that
it is produced by wish fulfillment. But then in
either case she has a defeater for any belief she
takes to be produced by the mechanism in
question. Consider the first case: she thinks
the probability that wish fulfillment is reliable
is low, and the probability that a belief should
be true, given that it is produced by wish
fulfillment not far from 1/2. Then she has a
straightforward defeater for any ofher beliefs
she takes to be produced by wish fulfillment.
Her situation is like that of the person who
comes into a factory, sees an assembly line
carrying apparently red widgets, and is then
told by the shop superintendent that these
widgets are being irradiated by a variety of red
lights, which makes it possible to detect oth-
erwise undetectable hairline cracks. She should
take it that the probability that a widget is red,
given that it looks red, is fairly low; and she
then has a reason, with respect to any particu-
lar widget coming down the line, to doubt
that it is red, despite the fact that it looks red.
To use John Pollock’s terminology (and since
I am already filching his example, why not?),
she has an undercutting defeater (rather than
a rebutting defeater). It isn’t that she has ac-
quired some evidence for that widget’s being
nonred, thus rebutting the belief that it is red;
it is rather that her grounds for thinking it
red have been undercut. And, indeed, upon
hearing (and believing) that the widgets are
being thus irradiated, she will probably no
longer believe that the widget in question is
red.
Consider, on the other hand, a second kind
of case: here she does not come to believe that
the probability of a widget’s being red, given
that it looks red, is low; instead, she is agnos-
tic about that probability. As before, the shop
superintendent tells her that those widgets are
being irradiated by red light; but then a vice-
president comes along and tells her that the
shop superintendent suffers from a highly re-
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
silient but fortunately specific hallucination,
so that he is reliable on other topics even if
totally unreliable on red lights and widgets.
Still, the vice president imself doesn’t look
wholly reliable: there is a certain shiftiness
about the eyes... .
Then she doesn’t know what to believe
about those alleged red lights. What will she
properly think about the color of the widgets?
She will presumably be agnostic about the
probability of awidget’s being red, given that
it looks red; she won’t know what that prob-
ability might be; for all she knows it could be
very low, but also, for all she knows, it could
be high. The rational course for her, there-
fore, is to be agnostic about the deliverances
of her visual perception (so far as color detec-
tion is concerned) in this situation. But then
she also has a good reason for being equally
agnostic about the proposition a is red, where
a is any of those red-appearing widgets com-
ing down the assembly line. She has an un-
dercutting defeater for the proposition a 1s red;
this defeater gives her a reason to be agnostic
with respect to that proposition. If she has no
defeater for that defeater, and no further evi-
dence for the proposition, then on balance the
right attitude for her to take toward it would
be agnosticism.
By parity of reason, the same goes, I should
think, for the believer in God of a couple of
paragraphs back. She too has an undercutting
defeater for beliefin God; if that defeater re-
mains itself undefeated and if she has no other
source of evidence, then the rational course
would be to reject belief in God. That is not
to say, of course, that she would in fact be
able to do so; but it remains the rational
course.
But now suppose we return to the person
convinced of N&E who is agnostic about
P(R/(N&E&C)): something similar goes for
him. He is in the same position with respect
to any belief B of his, as is that believer in
God. He is in the same condition, with re-
spect to B, as the widget observer who didn’t
know what or who to believe about those red
lights. So he too has a defeater for B, and a
133
ALVIN PLANTINGA
good reason for being agnostic with respect
to it. If he has no defeater for that defeater,
and no other source of evidence, the right at-
titude toward B would be agnosticism. That
is not to say that he would in fact be able to
reject B. Due to that animal faith noted by
Hume, Reid, and Santayana (but so-called
only by the last-named), chances are he would
not; still, agnosticism is what reason requires.
Here, then, we have another way of develop-
ing Darwin’s Doubt, a way that does not de-
pend upon estimating P(R/(N&E&C)) as
low, but requires instead only agnosticism
about that probability.
The Argument
By way of brief review: Darwin’s Doubt can
be taken as the claim that the probability of R
on N&E&C is fairly low; as I argued, that is
plausible. But Darwin’s Doubt can also be
taken as the claim that the rational attitude to
take, here, is agnosticism about that probabil-
ity; that is more plausible. Still more plausible
is the disjunction of these two claims: either
the rational attitude to take toward this prob-
ability is the judgment that it is low, or the
rational attitude is agnosticism with respect
to it. But then the devotee of N&E has a
defeater for any belief B he holds. Now the
next thing to note is that B might be N&E
itself, our devotee of N&E has an undercut-
ting defeater for N&E, a reason to doubt it, a
reason to be agnostic with respect to it. (This
also holds if he isn’t agnostic about P(R/
(N&E&C)) but thinks it low, as in the pre-
liminary argument; he has a defeater either
way.) If he has no defeater for this defeater
and no independent evidence — if his reason
for doubting N&E remains undefeated — then
the rational course would be to reject belief
in N&E.
And here we must note something special
about N&E. So far, we have been lumping
together all of our cognitive faculties, all of
our sources of belief, and all the sorts of be-
liefs they produce. But perhaps these differ-
ent sorts of faculties should be treated
134
differentially; clearly the argument can be nar-
rowed down to specific faculties or powers or
belief-producing mechanisms, with possibly
different results for different cases. And surely
the argument does apply more plausibly to
some cognitive powers than to others. If there
are such differences among those faculties or
powers, presumably perception and memory
would be at an advantage as compared with
the cognitive mechanisms whereby we come
to such beliefs as, say, that arithmetic is in-
complete and the continuum hypothesis is
independent of ordinary set theory. For even
if we evaluated the probabilities differently
from the way I suggested, even if we thought
it likely, on balance, that evolution would se-
lect-for reliable cognitive faculties, this would
be so only for cognitive mechanisms produc-
ing beliefs relevant to survival and reproduc-
tion. It would not hold, for example, for the
mechanisms producing the beliefs involved in
a logic or mathematics or set theory course.
According to Fodor (as we saw), “Darwinian
selection guarantees that organisms either
know the elements of logic or become post-
humous;” but this would hold at most? for
the most elementary bits of logic. It is only
the occasional assistant professor of logic who
needs to know even that first-order logic is
complete in order to survive and reproduce.
Indeed, the same would go generally for
the more theoretical parts of science.
Evolution suggests a status for the distinctions
we naturally make, that removes them far from
the role of fundamental categories in scientific
description. Classification by colour, or currently
stable animal-mating groups is crucial to our
survival amidst the dangers of poison and fang.
This story suggests that the ability to track di-
rectly certain classes and divisions in the world
is not a factor that guides scientists in theory
choice. For there is no such close connection
between the jungle and the blackboard. The
evolutionary story clearly entails that such abili-
ties of discrimination were “selected for,” by a
filtering process that has nothing to do with
successful theory choice in general. Indeed, no
faculty of spontaneous discrimination can plau-

sibly be attributed a different status within the
scientific account of our evolution. Even ifsuc-
cessful theory choice will in the future aid sur-
vival of the human race, it cannot be a trait
“selected for” already in our biological history.
So even if you think Darwinian selection
would make it probable that certain belief-
producing mechanisms — those involved in the
production of beliefs relevant to survival — are
reliable, that would not hold for the mecha-
nisms involved in the production ofthe theo-
retical claims of science, such beliefs, for
example as E, the evolutionary story itself. And
of course the same would go for N.
What we have seen so far, therefore, is that
the devotee of N&E has a defeater for any
belief he holds, and a stronger defeater for
N&E itself. If he has no defeater for this
defeater, and no independent evidence, then
the rational attitude toward N&E would be
one of agnosticism.
But perhaps he will claim to have independ-
ent evidence. “True,” he says, “if N&E were
all [ had to go on, then the right cognitive
stance would be agnosticism about R and in
fact about any proposition produced by my
belief-producing faculties, including N&E it-
self. But why can’t reason inductively as fol-
lows? My cognitive faculties must indeed be
reliable. For consider A,, any of my beliefs.
Naturally enough, I believe A), that is, I be-
lieve that A, is true. So A, is one of my beliefs
and A, is true; A, is one of my beliefs and A,
is true, A; is one of my beliefs and A; is true,
and so on. So, by induction, I argue that all
or nearly all of my beliefs are true; I therefore
conclude that my faculties are probably reli-
able (or at any rate probably reliable now)
because as a matter of fact it is probable that
each of the beliefs they have presently pro-
duced is true.”
This argument ought to meet with less than
universal acclaim. The friend of N&E does
no better, arguing this way, than the theist
who argues that wish fulfillment must be a
reliable belief-producing mechanism by run-
ning a similar argument with respect to the
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
beliefs he holds that he thinks are produced
by wish fulfillment. He does no better than
the widget observer who, by virtue of a simi-
lar argument, continues to believe that those
widgets are red, even after having been told
by the building superintendent that they are
irradiated by red light. Clearly this is not the
method of true philosophy.
Accordingly, the friend of N&E can’t ar-
gue in this way that he has independent evi-
dence for R. Of course, she isn’t likely to argue
in that way; she is more likely to suggest that
we consult the scientific results on the mat-
ter: what does science tell us about the likeli-
hood that our cognitive faculties are reliable?
But this can’t work either. For consider any
argument from science (or anywhere else) he
might produce. This argument will have
premises; and these premises, he claims, give
him good reason to believe R (or N&E). But
note that he has the very same defeater for
each of those premises that he has for R and
for N&E; and he has the same defeater for his
belief that those premises constitute a good
reason for R (or N&E). For that belief, and
for each of the premises, he has a reason for
doubting it, a reason for being agnostic with
respect to it. This reason, obviously, cannot
be defeated by an ultimately undefeated
defeater. For every defeater of this reason he
might have, he knows that he has a defeater-
defeater: the very undercutting defeater that
attached itself to R and to N&E in the first
place.
We could also put it like this: any argument
he offers, for R, is in this context delicately
circular or question-begging. It is not formally
circular; its conclusion does not appear among
its premises. It is instead (we might say) prag-
matically circular in that it purports to give a
reason for trusting our cognitive faculties, but
is itself trustworthy only if those faculties (at
least the ones involved in its production) are
indeed trustworthy. In following this proce-
dure and giving this argument, therefore, he
subtly assumes the very proposition he pro-
poses to argue for. Once I come to doubt the
reliability of my cognitive faculties, I can’t
135
ALVIN PLANTINGA
properly try to allay that doubt by producing
an argument; for in so doing I rely on the
very faculties I am doubting. The conjunc-
tion of evolution with naturalism gives its ad-
herents a reason for doubting that our beliefs
are mostly true; perhaps they are mostly wildly
mistaken. But then it won’t help to argue that
they can’t be wildly mistaken; for the very rea-
son for mistrusting our cognitive faculties gen-
erally will be a reason for mistrusting the
faculties generating the beliefs involved in the
argument.
But (someone might say) isn’t there a prob-
lem with this argument for pragmatic circu-
larity? The devotee of N&E begins (naturally
enough) by accepting N&E; upon being ap-
prised of the previous argument (so I say), he
comes to see that he has an undefeated un-
dercutting defeater for R and hence an unde-
feated reason for doubting N&E; hence (so I
say) it is irrational for him to accept N&E,
unless he has other evidence; but any pur-
ported other evidence will be subject to the
same defeater as N&E. But now comes the
rejoinder: as soon as our devotee of N&E
comes to doubt R, he should also come to
doubt his defeater for R; for that defeater, af-
ter all, depends upon his beliefs, which are a
product of his cognitive faculties. So his
defeater for R (and N&E) is also a defeater
for that defeater, that is, for itse/f. But then
when he notes that, and doubts his defeater
for R, he no longer /asa defeater (undefeated
or otherwise) for N&E; so how is it irrational
for him to accept N&E?
What we really have here is one of those
nasty dialectical loops to which Hume calls
our attention:
The skeptical reasonings, were it possible for
them to exist, and were they not destroy’d by
their subtlety, wou’d be successively both strong
and weak, according to the successive disposi-
tions of the mind. Reason first appears in pos-
session of the throne, prescribing laws, and
imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and
authority. Her enemy, therefore, is oblig’d to
take shelter under her protection, and by mak-
ing use of rational arguments to prove the falla-
136
ciousness and imbecility of reason, produces in
a matter, a patent under her hand and seal. This
patent has at first an authority, proportioned to
the present and immediate authority of reason,
from which it is deriv’d. But as it is suppos’d to
be contradictory to reason, it gradually dimin-
ishes the force of that governing power, and its
own at the same time; till at last they both van-
ish away into nothing by a regular and just dimi-
nution ... "Tis happy, therefore, that nature
breaks the force of all skeptical arguments in
time, and keeps them from having any consid-
erable influence on the understanding.”
When the devotee of N&E notes that he has
a defeater for R, then at that stage he also notes
(if apprised of the present argument) that he
has a defeater for N&E; indeed, he notes that
he has a defeater for anything he believes.
Since, however, his having a defeater for N&E
depends upon some of his beliefs, what he now
notes is that he has a defeater for his defeater
of Rand N&E; so now he no longer has that
defeater for Rand N&E. So then his original
condition of believing R and assuming N&E
reasserts itself: at which point he again has a
defeater for R and N&E. But then he notes
that that defeater is also a defeater of the
defeater of R and N&E; hence. ... So goes
the paralyzing dialectic. After a few trips
around this loop, we may be excused for
throwing up our hands in despair, or disgust,
and joining Hume in a game of backgammon.
The point remains, therefore: one who accepts
N&E (and is apprised of the present argu-
ment) has a defeater for N&E, a defeater that
cannot be defeated by an ultimately unde-
feated defeater. And isn’t it irrational to ac-
cept a belief for which you know you have an
ultimately undefeated defeater?
Hence the devotee of N&E has a defeater
D for N&E - a defeater, furthermore, that
can’t be ultimately defeated; for obviously D
attaches to any consideration one might bring
forward by way of attempting to defeat it. If
you accept N&E, you have an ultimately un-
defeated reason for rejecting N&E: but then
the rational thing to do is to reject N&E. If,
furthermore, one also accepts the conditional

if N is true, then so is E, one has an ultimately
undefeated defeater for N. One who contem-
plates accepting N, and is torn, let’s say, be-
tween N and theism, should reason as follows:
if Iwere to accept N, I would have good and
ultimately undefeated reason to be agnostic
about N; so I should not accept it. Unlike the
preliminary argument, this is not an argument
for the falsehood of naturalism and thus (given
that naturalism and theism are the live options)
for the truth of theism; for all this argument
shows, naturalism might still be true. It is in-
stead an argument for the conclusion that (for
one who is aware of the present argument)
accepting naturalism is irrational. It is like the
self- referential argument against classical
foundationalism: classical foundationaism is
either false or such that I would be unjusti-
fied in accepting it; so (given that I am aware
of this fact) I can’t justifiably accept it.!® But
of course it does not follow that classical
foundationalism is not true; for all this argu-
ment shows, it could be true, though not ra-
tionally acceptable. Similarly here; the
argument is not for the falsehood of natural-
ism, but for the irrationality of accepting it.
The conclusion to be drawn, therefore, is that
the conjunction ofnaturalism with evolution-
ary theory is self-defeating: it provides for it-
self an undefeated defeater. Evolution,
therefore, presents naturalism with an unde-
feated defeater. But if naturalism is true, then,
surely, so is evolution. Naturalism, therefore,
is unacceptable.
The traditional theist, on the other hand,
isn’t forced into that appalling loop. On this
point his set of beliefs is stable. He has no
corresponding reason for doubting that it is a
purpose of our cognitive systems to produce
true beliefs, nor any reason for thinking that
P(R/(N&E&C)) is low, nor any reason for
thinking the probability ofa belief’s being true,
given that it is a product of his cognitive fac-
ulties, is no better than in the neighborhood
of 1/2. He may indeed endorse some form
of evolution; but if he does, it will be a form
of evolution guided and orchestrated by God.
And qua traditional theist — gua Jewish, Mus-
IS NATURALISM IRRATIONAL?
lim, or Christian theist — he believes that God
is the premier knower and has created us hu-
man beings in his image, an important part of
which involves his endowing them with a re-
flection of his powers as a knower.’®
Of course he can’t sensibly argue that in
fact our beliefs are mostly true, from the
premise that we have been created by God in
his image. More precisely, he can’t sensibly
follow Descartes, who started from a condi-
tion of general doubt about whether our cog-
nitive nature is reliable, and then used his
theistic belief as a premise in an argument de-
signed to resolve that doubt. Here Thomas
Reid is surely right:
Descartes certainly made a false step in this mat-
ter, for having suggested this doubt among oth-
ers — that whatever evidence he might have from
his consciousness, his senses, his memory, or his
reason, yet possibly some malignant being had
given him those faculties on purpose to impose
upon him; and therefore, that they are not to
be trusted without a proper voucher. To remove
this doubt, he endeavours to prove the being of
a Deity who is no deceiver; whence he con-
cludes, that the faculties he had given him are
true and worthy to be trusted.
It is strange that so acute a reasoner did not
perceive that in this reasoning there is evidently
a begging of the question.
For, if our faculties be fallacious, why may
they not deceive us in this reasoning as well as
in others?!”
Suppose, therefore, you find yourself with
the doubt that our cognitive faculties produce
truth: you can’t quell that doubt by produc-
ing an argument about God and his veracity,
or indeed, any argument at all; for the argu-
ment, of course, will be under as much suspi-
cion as its source. Here no argument will help
you; here salvation will have to be by grace,
not by works. But the theist has nothing im-
pelling him in the direction of such skepticism
in the first place; no element ofhis noetic sys-
tem points in that direction; there are no
propositions he already accepts just by way of
being a theist, which together with forms of
reasoning (the defeater system, for example)
137
ALVIN PLANTINGA
lead to the rejection ofthe belief that our cog-
nitive faculties have the apprehension oftruth
as their purpose and for the most part fulfill
that purpose.
Once again, therefore, we see that natural-
istic epistemology flourishes best in the gar-
den of supernaturalistic metaphysics.
Naturalistic epistemology conjoined with
naturalistic metaphysics leads via evolution to
skepticism or to violation of canons of ration-
ality; conjoined with theism it does not. The
naturalistic epistemologist should therefore
prefer theism to metaphysical naturalism.'*
... LT have argued that the best way to con-
strue warrant is in terms of proper function: a
belief has warrant, for a person, if it is pro-
duced by her cognitive faculties functioning
properly in a congenial epistemic environment
according to a design plan successfully aimed
at the production of true or verisimilitudinous
belief. We have seen something of how this
view applies in a number of areas of our cog-
nitive life. We have also seen that this view of
warrant is a naturalistic one, but one that re-
quires, for its best flourishing, to be set in the
context of supernatural theism... .
Notes
1 The Blind Watchmaker (New York: Norton,
1986), pp. 6, 7.
2 Journal of Philosophy, 84 (October 1987),
p. 548.
3 Objective Knowledge: an Evolutionary
Approach (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972),
p. 261.
4 “Natural Kinds,” in Ontological Relativity and
Other Essays (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1969), p. 126.
5 Letter to William Graham, Down, July 3,
1881, in The Life and Letters of Charles Dar-
win Including an Autobiographical Chapter,
138
ed. Francis Darwin (London: John Murray,
1887), 1:315-16.
“Three Cheers for Propositional Attitudes,”
in Representations (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT
Press 1981), p. 121.
Here I assume that (a) is to be understood as
“evolution always or nearly always produces
organisms with good approximations.”
The Fragmentation of Reason (Cambridge,
Mass.: MIT Press, 1990), p. 56.
Of course, it would be easy to misunderstand
the arguments of those he tries to refute, given
their authors reluctance to state them explic-
itly.
“Reference, Meaning and Belief,” Journal of
Philosophy, 70 (1973), pp. 443¢f.
Wl On the Plurality of Worlds (Oxford: Basil
Blackwell, 1986), pp. 38ff., 107-8.
2 “At most” because, as I argued, if Darwinian
selection guarantees anything, it is only that
the organism’s behavioris adaptive: there isn’t
anything in particular it needs to believe (or, a
fortiori, to know).
13 Bas van Fraassen, Laws and Symmetry (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 52-3.
14 A Treatise of Human Nature, with an analyti-
cal index, ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1888), I, IV, i, p. 187.
15 See my “Reason and Belief in God,” in Faith
and Rationality: Reason and Belief in God.
16 Things may stand differently with a bare the-
ist — one who holds only that there is an om-
nipotent, omniscient, and wholly good creator,
but does not add that God has created
humankind in his own image.
17, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of the Human
Mind, in Inquiries and Essays, ed. R.
Beanblossom and Keith Lehrer (Indianapolis:
Hackett, 1983), V, 7, p. 276.
18 Victor Reppert reminds me that the argument
of this chapter bears a good bit of similarity to
arguments to be found in chs III and XIII of
C. S. Lewis’ Miracles; the argument also re-
sembles Richard Taylor’s argument in ch. X
of his Metaphysics.
The Argument from Religious Experience
17 From The Autobiography of St Teresa of Avila*
St Teresa of Avila
Chapter 27
... At the end of two years, during the whole
of which time both other people and myself
were continually praying for what I have de-
scribed — that the Lord would either lead me
by another way or make plain the truth: and
these locutions which, as I have said, the Lord
was giving me were very frequent — I had the
following experience. I was at prayer on a fes-
tival of the glorious Saint Peter when I saw
Christ at my side — or, to put it better, I was
conscious of Him, for neither with the eyes of
the body nor with those of the soul did I see
anything. I thought He was quite close to me
and I saw that it was He Who, as I thought,
was speaking to me. Being completely igno-
rant that visions of this kind could occur, I
was at first very much afraid, and did nothing
but weep, though, as soon as He addressed a
single word to me to reassure me, I became
quiet again, as I had been before, and was quite
happy and free from fear. All the time Jesus
Christ seemed to be beside me, but, as this
was not an imaginary vision, I could not dis-
cern in what form: what I felt very clearly was
that all the time He was at my right hand, and
a witness of everything that I was doing, and
that, whenever I became slightly recollected
* From The Life of Teresa of Jesus: The Autobiography
of St Teresa of Avila, tr. and ed. E. Allison Peers (Gar-
den City, N.Y.: Image Books, 1960), selections from
chs 27 and 28 (pp. 248-51, 258-62). Reprinted with
permission.
or was not greatly distracted, I could not but
be aware of His nearness to me.
Sorely troubled, I went at once to my con-
fessor, to tell him about it. He asked me in
what form I had seen Him. I told him that I
had not seen Him at all. Then he asked me
how I knew it was Christ. I told him that I
did not know how, but that I could not help
realizing that He was beside me, and that I
saw and felt this clearly; that when in the Prayer
of Quiet my soul was now much more deeply
and continuously recollected; that the effects
of my prayer were very different from those
which I had previously been accustomed to
experience; and that the thing was quite clear
to me. I did nothing, in my efforts to make
myself understood, but draw comparisons —
though really, for describing this kind of vi-
sion, there is no comparison which is very
much to the point, for it is one ofthe highest
kinds of vision possible. This was told me later
by a holy man of great spirituality called Fray
Peter of Alcantara,' to whom I shall afterwards
refer, and other distinguished and learned men
have told me the same thing. Of all kinds of
vision it is that in which the devil has the least
power of interference, and so there are no
ordinary terms by which we women, who have
so little knowledge, can describe it: learned
men will explain it better. For, if I say that I
do not see Him with the eyes either of the
body or of the soul, because it is not an im-
aginary vision, how can I know and affirm that
He is at my side, and this with greater cer-
tainty than if I were to see Him? It is not a
13g
ST TERESA OF AVILA
suitable comparison to say that it is as if a per-
son were in the dark, so that he cannot see
someone who is beside him, or as if he were
blind. There is some similarity here, but not a
great deal, because the person in the dark can
detect the other with his remaining senses, can
hear him speak or move, or can touch him. In
this case there is nothing like that, nor is there
felt to be any darkness — on the contrary, He
presents Himself to the soul by a knowledge
brighter than the sun. I do not mean that any
sun is seen, or any brightness is perceived, but
that there is a light which, though not seen,
illumines the understanding so that the soul
may have fruition of so great a blessing. It
brings great blessings with it.
It is not like another kind of consciousness
of the presence of God which is often experi-
enced, especially by those who have reached
the Prayer of Union and the Prayer of Quiet.
There we are on the point of beginning our
prayer when we seem to find Him Whom we
are about to address and we seem to know
that He is hearing us by the spiritual feelings
and effects of great love and faith of which we
become conscious, and also by the fresh reso-
lutions which we make with such deep emo-
tion. This great favour comes from God: and
he to whom it is granted should esteem it
highly, for it is a very lofty form of prayer. But
it is not a vision. The soul recognizes the pres-
ence of God by the effects which, as I say, He
produces in the soul, for it is by that means
that His Majesty is pleased to make His pres-
ence felt: but in a vision the soul distinctly
sees that Jesus Christ, the Son of the Virgin,
is present. In that other kind of prayer there
come to it influences from the Godhead; but
in this experience, besides receiving these, we
find that the most sacred Humanity becomes
our Companion and is also pleased to grant
us favours.
My confessor then asked me who told me
it was Jesus Christ. ‘He often tells me so Him-
self, I replied; ‘but, before ever He told me
so, the fact was impressed upon my under-
standing, and before that He used to tell me
He was there when I could not see Him.’ IfI
140
were blind, or in pitch darkness, and a person
whom I had never seen, but only heard of,
came and spoke to me and told me who he
was, I should believe him, but I could not
affirm that it was he as confidently as if I had
seen him. But in this case I could certainly
affirm it, for, though He remains unseen, so
clear a knowledge is impressed upon the soul
that to doubt it seems quite impossible. The
Lord is pleased that this knowledge should
be so deeply engraven upon the understand-
ing that one can no more doubt it than one
can doubt the evidence of one’s eyes — indeed,
the latter is easier, for we sometimes suspect
that we have imagined what we see, whereas
here, though that suspicion may arise for a
moment, there remains such complete cer-
tainty that the doubt has no force.
It is the same with another way in which
God teaches the soul, and addresses it with-
out using words, as I have said. This is so ce-
lestial a language that it is difficult to explain
it to mortals, however much we may desire to
do so, unless the Lord teaches it to us by ex-
perience. The Lord introduces into the inmost
part of the soul what He wishes that soul to
understand, and presents it, not by means of
images or forms of words, but after the man-
ner of this vision aforementioned. Consider
carefully this way in which God causes the soul
to understand what He wills, and also great
truths and mysteries; for often what I under-
stand, when the Lord expounds to me some
vision which His Majesty is pleased to present
to me, comes in this way; for the reasons I
have given, I think this is the state in which
the devil has the least power of interference.
If the reasons are not good ones, I must be
suffering from deception.
Chapter 28
Returning to our subject: I spent some days,
though only a few, with that vision continu-
ally in my mind, and it did me so much good

that I remained in prayer unceasingly and con-
trived that everything I did should be such as
not to displease Him Who, as I clearly per-
ceived, was a witness of it. And, although I
was given so much advice that I sometimes
became afraid, my fear was short-lived, for the
Lord reassured me. One day, when I was at
prayer, the Lord was pleased to reveal to me
nothing but His hands, the beauty of which
was so great as to be indescribable. This made
me very fearful, as does every new experience
that I have when the Lord is beginning to
grant me some supernatural favour. A few days
later I also saw that Divine face, which seemed
to leave me completely absorbed. I could not
understand why the Lord revealed Himself
gradually like this since He was later to grant
me the favour of seeing Him wholly, until at
length I realized that His Majesty was leading
me according to my natural weakness. May
He be blessed for ever, for so much glory all
at once would have been more than so base
and wicked a person could bear: knowing this,
the compassionate Lord prepared me for it
by degrees.
Frets
It is not a radiance which dazzles, but a soft
whiteness and an infused radiance which, with-
out wearying the eyes, causes them the great-
est delight; nor are they wearied by the
brightness which they see in seeing this Di-
vine beauty. So different from any earthly light
is the brightness and light now revealed to
the eyes that, by comparison with it, the
brightness of our sun seems quite dim and we
should never want to open our eyes again for
the purpose of seeing it. It is as if we were to
look at a very clear stream, in a bed of crystal,
reflecting the sun’s rays, and then to see a very
muddy stream, in an earthy bed and overshad-
owed by clouds. Not that the sun, or any other
such light, enters into the vision: on the con-
trary, it is like a natural light and all other kinds
of light seem artificial. It is a light which never
gives place to night, and, being always light,
is disturbed by nothing. It is of such a kind,
FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ST TERESA
indeed, that no one, however powerful his
intellect, could, in the whole course ofhis life,
imagine it as it is. And so quickly does God
reveal it to us that, even if we needed to open
our eyes in order to see it, there would not be
time for us to do so. But it is all the same
whether they are open or closed: if the Lord
is pleased for us to see it, we shall do so even
against our will. There is nothing powerful
enough to divert our attention from it, and
we can neither resist it nor attain to it by any
diligence or care of our own. This I have con-
clusively proved by experience, as I shall re-
late.
I should like now to say something of the
way in which the Lord reveals Himself
through these visions. I do not mean that I
shall describe how it is that He can introduce
this strong light into the inward sense and
give the understanding an image so clear that
it seems like reality. That is a matter for learned
men to explain. The Lord has not been
pleased to grant me to understand how it is;
and I am so ignorant, and my understanding
is so dull that, although many attempts have
been made to explain it to me, I have not yet
succeeded in understanding how it can hap-
pen. There is no doubt about this: I have not
a keen understanding, although Your Rever-
ence may think I have; again and again I have
proved that my mind has to be spoon-fed, as
they say, if it is to retain anything. Occasion-
ally my confessor used to be astounded at the
depths of my ignorance, and it never became
clear to me how God did this and how it was
possible that He should; nor, in fact, did I
want to know, so I never asked anyone about
it, though, as I have said, I have for many
years been in touch with men of sound learn-
ing. What I did ask them was whether certain
things were sinful or no: as for the rest, all I
needed was to remember that God did eve-
rything and then I realized that I had no rea-
son to be afraid and every reason to praise
Him. Difficulties like that only arouse devo-
tion in me, and, the greater they are, the
greater is the devotion.
I will describe, then, what I have discov-
141
WILLIAM ALSTON
ered by experience. How the Lord effects it,
Your Reverence will explain better than I and
will expound everything obscure of which I
do not know the explanation. At certain times
it really seemed to me that it was an image I
was seeing; but on many other occasions I
thought it was no image, but Christ Himself,
such was the brightness with which He was
pleased to reveal Himself to me. Sometimes,
because of its indistinctness, I would think the
vision was an image, though it was like no
earthly painting, however perfect, and I have
18 Perceiving God*
William Alston
I want to explore and defend the idea that the
experience, or, as I shall say, the perception, of
God plays an epistemic role with respect to
beliefs about God importantly analogous to
that played by sense perception with respect
to beliefs about the physical world. The na-
ture of that latter role is, of course, a matter
of controversy, and I have no time here to go
into those controversies. It is admitted, how-
ever, on (almost) all hands that sense percep-
tion provides us with knowledge (justified
belief) about current states of affairs in the
immediate environment of the perceiver and
that knowledge of this sort is somehow re-
quired for any further knowledge ofthe physi-
cal world. The possibility I wish to explore is
that what a person takes to be an experience
of God can provide him/her with knowledge
(justified beliefs) about what God is doing,
or how God is “situated,” vis-a-vis that sub-
ject at that moment. Thus, by experiencing
* From The Journal of Philosophy, 83 (1986), pp. 655-
66. Reprinted with permission.
142
seen a great many good ones. It is ridiculous
to think that the one thing is any more like
the other than a living person is like his por-
trait: however well the portrait is done, it can
never look completely natural: one sees, in fact,
that it is a dead thing... .
Note
1 This Franciscan saint had in 1540 initiated a
Discalced Reform in his Order not unlike that
afterwards begun by St Teresa.
the presence and activity of God, S$ can come
to know (justifiably believe) that God is sus-
taining her in being, filling her with His love,
strengthening her, or communicating a cer-
tain message to her. Let’s call beliefs as to how
God is currently related to the subject M-de-
liefs (M for manifestation); these are the “per-
ceptual beliefs” of the theological sphere. I
shall suppose that here too the “perceptual”
knowledge one acquires from experience is
crucial for whatever else we can learn about
God, though I won’t have time to explore
and defend that part of the position; I will
have my hands full defending the claim that
M-beliefs are justified. I will just make two
quick points about the role of M-beliefs in
the larger scheme. First, just as with our
knowledge of the physical world, the recog-
nition of a crucial role for perceptual knowl-
edge is compatible with a wide variety of views
as to just how it figures in the total system
and as to what else is involved. Second, an
important difference between the two spheres
is that in the theological sphere perceptual
beliefs as to what God has “said” (communi-

cated, revealed) to one or another person play
a major role.
I have been speaking alternatively of per-
ceptual knowledge and of the justification of
perceptual beliefs. In this paper I shall con-
centrate on justification, leaving to one side
whatever else is involved in knowledge. It will
be my contention that (putative) experience
of God is a source ofjustification for M-be-
liefs, somewhat in the way that sense experi-
ence is a source of justification for perceptual
beliefs. Again, it is quite controversial what
this latter way is. I shall be thinking of it in
terms of a direct-realist construal of sense per-
ception, according to which I can be justified
in supposing that my dog is wagging his tail
just because something is visually presenting
itself to me as (looks like) my dog wagging
his tail; that is, it looks to me in such a way
that I am thereby justified in thereby suppos-
ing it to be my dog wagging his tail. Analo-
gously I think of the “experience of God” as
a matter of something’s presenting itself to
one’s experience as God (doing so and so); so
that here too the subject is justified in believ-
ing that God is present to her, or is doing so
and so vis-a-vis her, just because that is the
way in which the object is presented to her
experience. (For the purposes of this paper
let’s focus on those cases in which this pres-
entation is not via any sensory qualities or
sensorily perceivable objects. The experience
involved will be nonsensory in character.) It
is because I think of the experience of God as
having basically the same structure as the sense
perception of physical objects that I feel enti-
tled to speak of “perceiving God.” But though
I construe the matter in direct-realist terms,
most of what I have to say here will be rel-
evant to a defense of the more general claim
that the experiential justification of M-beliefs
is importantly parallel to the experiential jus-
tification of perceptual beliefs about the physi-
cal environment, on any halfway plausible
construal of the latter, at least on any halfway
plausible realist construal.
I shall develop the position by way of re-
sponding to a number of objections. This pro-
PERCEIVING GOD
cedure reflects my conviction that the very
considerable incidence of putative perceptions
of God creates a certain initial presumption
that these experiences are what they seem to
be and that something can thereby be learned
about God.
Objection I. What reason do we have for
supposing that anyone ever does really per-
ceive God? In order for S to perceive God it
would have to be the case that (1) God exists,
and (2) God is related to S or to his experi-
ence in such a way as to be perceivable by him.
Only after we have seen reason to accept all
that will we take seriously any claim to per-
ceive God.
Answer. It all depends on what you will take
as a reason. What you have in mind, presum-
ably, are reasons drawn from some source other
than perceptions of God, e.g. metaphysical ar-
guments for the existence and nature of God.
But why do you think you are justified in that
restriction? We don’t proceed in this way with
respect to sense perception. Although in de-
termining whether a particular alleged percep-
tion was genuine we don’t make use of the
results of that perception, we do utilize what
has been observed in many other cases. And
what alternative is there? The conditions of
veridical sense perception have to do with states
of affairs and causal interactions in the physical
world, matters to which we have no cognitive
access that is not based on sense perception.
In like fashion, if there is a divine reality, why
suppose that the conditions of veridically per-
ceiving it could be ascertained without relying
on perceptions of i# In requiring external vali-
dation in this case but not the other you are
arbitrarily imposing a double standard.
Objection II. There are many contradic-
tions in the body of M-beliefs. In particular,
persons report communications from God that
contradict other reported communications.
How, then, can one claim that all M-beliefs
are justified?
Answer. What is (should be) claimed is only
prima facte justification. When a person be-
143
WILLIAM ALSTON
lieves that God is experientially present to him,
that belief is justified unless the subject has
sufficient reasons to suppose it to be false or
to suppose that the experience is not, in these
circumstances, sufficiently indicative of the
truth of the belief. This is, of course, precisely
the status of individual perceptual beliefs about
the physical environment. When, seeming to
see a lake, I believe there to be a lake in front
of me, my belief is thereby justified unless I
have sufficient reason to suppose it false or to
suppose that, in these circumstances, the ex-
perience is not sufficiently indicative of the
truth of the belief.
Objection III. It is rational to form beliefs
about the physical environment on the basis
of the way that environment appears to us in
sense experience (call this practice of belief
formation SP) because that is a generally reli-
able mode of belief formation. And it is reli-
able just because, in normal conditions, sense
experience varies concomitantly with varia-
tions in what we take ourselves to be perceiv-
ing. But we have no reason to suppose any
such regular covariation for putative percep-
tion of God. And hence we lack reason for
regarding as rational the parallel practice of
forming M-beliefs on the basis ofwhat is taken
to be a perception of God (call that practice
RE).
Answer. This is another use of a double
standard. How do we know that normal sense
experience varies concomitantly with perceived
objects? We don’t know this a priori. Rather,
we have strong empirical evidence for it. That
is, by relying on sense perception for our data
we have piled up evidence for the reliability
of SP. Let’s call the kind of circularity exhib-
ited here epistemic circularity. It is involved
whenever the premises in an argument for the
reliability or rationality of a belief-forming
practice have themselves been acquired by that
practice.’ If we allow epistemically circular
arguments, the reliability of RE can be sup-
ported in the same way. Among the things
people have claimed to learn from RE is that
God will enable people to experience His pres-
144
ence and activity from time to time in a ve-
ridical way. By relying on what one learns from
the practice of RE, one can show that RE is a
reliable belief-forming practice. On the other
hand, if epistemically circular arguments are
not countenanced, there can be no significant
basis for a reliability claim in either case.
Objection IV. A claim to perceive X, and
so to form reliable perceptual beliefs about X
on the basis of this, presupposes that the ex-
perience involved is best explained by the ac-
tivity of X, inter alia. But it seems that we
can give adequate explanations of putative
experiences of God in purely naturalistic terms,
without bringing God into the explanation at
all. Whereas we can’t give adequate explana-
tions of normal sense experience without
bringing the experienced external objects into
the explanation. Hence RE, but not SP, is
discredited by these considerations.
Answer. I do not believe that much of a
case can be made for the adequacy of any natu-
ralistic explanation of experiences of God. But
for present purposes I want to concentrate on
the way in which this objection once more
depends on a double standard. You will have
no case at all for your claim unless you, ques-
tion-beggingly, restrict yourself to sources of
evidence that exclude RE. For from RE and
systems built up on its output we learn that
God is involved in the explanation of every
fact whatever. But you would not proceed in
that way with SP. If it is a question of deter-
mining the best explanation of sense experi-
ence you will, of course, make use of what
you think you have learned from SP. Again,
you have arbitrarily applied different stand-
ards to the two practices.
Here is another point. Suppose that one
could give a purely psychological or physi-
ological explanation of the experiences in
question. That is quite compatible with God’s
figuring among their causes and, hence, com-
ing into an ideally complete explanation. Af-
ter all, it is presumably possible to give an
adequate causal explanation of sense experi-
ence in terms of what goes on within the skull,

but that is quite compatible with the external
perceived objects’ figuring further back along
the causal chain.
Objection V. You have been accusing me
of arbitrarily employing a double standard.
But J maintain that RE differs from SP in ways
that make different standards appropriate. SP
is a pervasive and inescapable feature of our
lives. Sense experience is insistent, omnipres-
ent, vivid, and richly detailed. We use it as a
source of information during all our waking
hours. RE, by contrast, is not universally
shared; and even for its devotees its practice is
relatively infrequent. Moreover, its deliver-
ances are, by comparison, meager, obscure,
and uncertain. Thus when an output of RE
does pop up, it is naturally greeted with more
skepticism, and one properly demands more
for its validation than in the case of so regular
and central part of our lives as SP.
Answer. I don’t want to deny either the
existence or the importance of these differ-
ences. I want to deny only that they have the
alleged bearing on the epistemic situation.
Why should we suppose that a cognitive ac-
cess enjoyed only by a part of the population
is less likely to be reliable than one that is uni-
versally distributed? Why should we suppose
that a source that yields less detailed and less
fully understood beliefs is more suspect than
a richer source? A priori it would seem just as
likely that some aspects of reality are accessi-
ble only to persons that satisfy certain condi-
tions not satisfied by all human beings as that
some aspects are equally accessible to all. A
priori it would seem just as likely that some
aspects of reality are humanly graspable only
in a fragmentary and opaque manner as that
some aspects are graspable in a more nearly
complete and pellucid fashion. Why view the
one sort of cognitive claim with more suspi-
cion than the other? I will agree that the spotty
distribution of RE calls for explanation, as do
the various cognitively unsatisfactory features
of its output. But, for that matter, so does the
universal distribution and cognitive richness
of SP. And in both cases explanations are forth-
PERCEIVING GOD
coming, though in both cases the outputs of
the practices are utilized in order to achieve
those explanations. As for RE, the limited dis-
tribution may be explained by the fact that
many persons are not prepared to meet the
moral and other “way of life” conditions that
God has set for awareness of Himself. And
the cognitively unsatisfactory features of the
doxastic output are explained by the fact that
God infinitely exceeds our cognitive powers.
Objection VI. When someone claims to see
a spruce tree in a certain spot, the claim is
checkable. Other people can take a look, pho-
tographs can be taken, the subject’s condi-
tion can be diagnosed, and so on. But there
are no comparable checks and tests available
in RE. And how can we take seriously a claim
to have perceived an objective state of affairs
if there is, in principle, no intersubjective way
of determining whether that claim is correct?
Answer. The answer to this objection is
implicit in a point made earlier, viz. that pu-
tative experience of God yields only prima
facte justification, justification (unqualifiedly)
provided there are no sufficient overriding
considerations. This notion has a significant
application only where there is what we may
call an overrider system, i.e. ways of determin-
ing whether the facts are such as to indicate a
belief from the range in question to be false
and ways of determining whether conditions
are such that the basis of the belief is suffi-
ciently indicative ofits truth. SP does contain
such a system. What about RE? Here we must
confront a salient difference between the two
spheres. If we consider the way in which a
body ofbeliefs has been developed on the basis
of SP we find pretty much the same system
across all cultures. But our encounters with
God have spawned a number of different reli-
gious communities with beliefs and practices
of worship which are quite different, though
with some considerable overlap. These differ-
ences carry with them differences in overrider
systems. But it remains true that if we con-
sider any particular religious community which
exhibits a significant commonality in doctrine
145
WILLIAM ALSTON
and worship it will feature a more or less defi-
nite overrider system. For concreteness let’s
think of what I will call the mainline Chris-
tian community. (From this point onward I
will use the term “RE” for the practice of
forming M-beliefs as it goes on in this com-
munity.) In that community a body of doc-
trine has developed concerning the nature of
God, His purposes, and His interactions with
mankind, including His appearances to us. If
an M-belief contradicts this system that is a
reason for deeming it false. Moreover there is
a long and varied history of experiential en-
counters with God, embodied in written ac-
counts as well as oral transmission. This
provides bases for regarding particular expe-
riences as more or less likely to be veridical,
given the conditions, psychological or other-
wise, in which they occurred, the character of
the subject, and the effects in the life of the
subject. Thus a socially established religious
doxastic practice like RE will contain a rich
system of overriders that provides resources
for checking the acceptability of any particu-
lar M-belief.
But perhaps your point is rather that there
are no external checks on a particular report,
none that do not rely on other claims of the
same sort. Let’s agree that this is the case. But
why suppose that to be any black mark against
RE? Here is the double standard again. After
all, particular claims within SP cannot be
checked without relying on what we have
learned from SP. Suppose I claim to see a fir
tree in a certain spot. To check on this one
would have to rely on other persons’ percep-
tual reports as to what is at that spot, our gen-
eral empirical knowledge of the likelihood of
a fir tree in that locality, and so on. Apart from
what we take ourselves to have learned from
SP, we would have nothing to go on. One
can hardly determine whether my report was
accurate by intuiting self-evident truths or by
consulting divine revelation. But if SP counts
as having a system of checks even though this
system involves relying on some outputs of
the practice in order to put others to the test,
why should RE be deemed to have no such
146
system when its procedures exhibit the same
structure? Once more you are, arbitrarily, set-
ting quite different requirements for different
practices.
Perhaps your point was that RE’s system of
checks is unlike SP’s. In particular, the fol-
lowing difference can be discerned. Suppose
I report seeing a morel at a certain spot in the
forest. Now suppose that a number of quali-
fied observers take a good look at that spot at
that time and report that no morel is to be
seen. In that case my report would have been
decisively disconfirmed. But nothing like that
is possible in RE. We can’t lay down any con-
ditions (of a sort the satisfaction of which we
can determine) under which a properly quali-
fied person will experience the presence of
God if God is “there” to be experienced.
Hence a particular report cannot be decisively
disconfirmed by the experience of others.
But what epistemic relevance does this dif-
ference have? Why should we suppose that RE
is rendered dubious for lacking checkability
of this sort? Let’s consider what makes this
kind of intersubjective test possible for SP.
Clearly it is that we have discovered fairly firm
regularities in the behaviour of physical things,
including human sense perception. Since there
are stable regularities in the ways in which
physical objects disclose themselves to our
perception, we can be assured that if X exists
at a certain time and place and if S satisfies
appropriate conditions then S is sure to per-
ceive X. But no such tight regularities are dis-
coverable in God’s appearances to our
experience. We can say something about the
way in which such matters as the distribution
of attention and the moral and spiritual state
of the subject are conducive to such appear-
ances; but these most emphatically do not add
up to the sort of lawlike connections we get
with SP. Now what about this difference? Is
it to the epistemic discredit of RE that it does
not enable us to discover such regularities?
Well, that all depends on what it would be
reasonable to expect if RE does put us into
effective cognitive contact with God. Given
what we have learned about God and our re-

lations to Him (from RE, supplemented by
whatever other sources there be), should we
expect to be able to discover such realities if
God really exists? Clearly not. There are sev-
eral important points here, but the most im-
portant is that it is contrary to God’s plans for
us to give us that much control, cognitive and
practical. Hence it is quite understandable, if
God exists and is as RE leads us to suppose,
that we should not be able to ascertain the
kinds of regularities that would make possible
the kinds ofintersubjective tests exhibited by
SP. Hence, the epistemic status of RE is in no
way diminished by its lack of such tests. Once
more RE is subjected to an inappropriate
standard. This time, however, it is not a dou-
ble standard, but rather an inappropriate sin-
gle standard. RE is being graded down for
lacking positive features of other practices,
where these features cannot reasonably be
supposed to be generally necessary conditions
of epistemic excellence, even for experiential
practices. Thus my critic is exhibiting what we
might term epistemic chauvinism, judging al-
ien forms of life according to whether they
conform to the home situation, a procedure
as much to be deplored in the epistemic as in
the political sphere.
Objection VII. How can it be rational to
take RE as a source ofjustification when there
are incompatible rivals that can lay claim to
that status on exactly the same grounds? M-
beliefs of different religious communities con-
flict to a considerable extent, particularly those
concerning alleged divine messages, and the
bodies of doctrine they support conflict even
more. We get incompatible accounts of God’s
plans for us and requirements on us, of the
conditions of salvation, and so on. This being
the case, how can we pick out just one of these
communal practices as yielding justified be-
lief?
Answer. I take this to be by far the most
serious difficulty with my position. I have cho-
sen to concentrate on what I take to be less
serious problems, partly because their consid-
eration brings out better the main lineaments
PERCEIVING GOD
of the position, and partly because any seri-
ous treatment of this last problem would spill
beyond the confines of this paper.’ Here I shall
have to content myself with making one basic
point. We are not faced with the necessity of
choosing only one such practice as yielding
prima facie justified M-beliefs. The fact that
there are incompatibilities between systems of
religious beliefs, in M-beliefs and elsewhere,
shows that not all M-beliefs can be true, but
not that they cannot all be prima facie justi-
fied. After all, incompatible beliefs within a
system can all be prima facie justified; that’s
the point of the prima facie qualification.
When we are faced with a situation like that,
the hope is that the overrider system and other
winnowing devices will weed out the incon-
sistencies. To be sure, intersystem winnow-
ing devices are hazier and more meager than
those which are available within a system; but
consistency, consonance with other well-en-
trenched beliefs and doxastic practices, and
general reasonability and plausibility give us
something to go on. Moreover, it may be that
some religious ways of life fulfill their own
promises more fully than others. Of course,
there is never any guarantee that a unique way
of resolving incompatibilities will present it-
self, even with a system. But where there are
established practices of forming beliefs on the
basis of experience, I believe the rational
course is to regard each such beliefas thereby
prima facie justified, hoping that future de-
velopments, perhaps unforeseeable at present,
will resolve fundamental incompatibilities.
In conclusion I will make explicit the general
epistemological orientation I have been pre-
supposing in my defense of RE. I take our
human situation to be such that we engage in
a plurality of basic doxastic practices, each of
which involves a distinctive sort of input to
belief-forming “mechanisms,” a distinctive
range of belief contents (a “subject matter”
and ways of conceiving it), and a set of func-
tions that determine belief contents as a func-
tion of input features. Each practice is socially
established: socially shared, inculcated, rein-
147
WILLIAM ALSTON
forced, and propagated. In addition to expe-
riential practices, with which we have been
concerned in this paper, there are, e.g., infer-
ential practices, the input of which consists of
beliefs, and the practice of forming memory
beliefs. A doxastic practice is not restricted to
the formation of first-level beliefs; it will also
typically involve criteria and procedures of
criticism of the beliefs thus formed; here we
will find the “overrider systems” of which we
were speaking earlier. In general, we learn
these practices and engage in them long be-
fore we arrive at the stage ofexplicitly formu-
lating their principles and subjecting them to
critical reflection. Theory is deeply rooted in
practice.
Nor, having arrived at the age of reason,
can we turn our back on all that and take a
fresh start, in the Cartesian spirit, choosing
our epistemic procedures and criteria anew,
on a purely “rational” basis. Apart from reli-
ance on doxastic tendencies with which we
find ourselves, we literally have nothing to go
on. Indeed, what Descartes did, as Thomas
Reid trenchantly pointed out, was arbitrarily
to pick one doxastic practice he found him-
self engaged in — accepting propositions that
seem self-evident — and set that as a judge over
all the others, with what results we are all too
familiar. This is not to say that we must ac-
quiesce in our prereflective doxastic tenden-
cies in every respect. We can tidy things up,
modify our established practices so as to make
each more internally consistent and more con-
sistent with the others. But, on the whole and
for the most part, we have no choice but to
continue to form beliefs in accordance with
these practices and to take these ways of form-
ing beliefs as paradigmatically conferring
epistemic justification. And this is the way that
epistemology has in fact gone, except for some
arbitrary partiality. Ofcourse it would be sat-
isfying to economize our basic commitments
by taking one or a few of these practices as
basic and using them to validate the others;
but we have made little progress in this enter-
prise over the centuries. It is not self-evident
that sense perception is reliable, nor can we
148
establish its reliability if we restrict ourselves
to premises drawn from introspection; we can-
not show that deductive reasoning is valid
without using deductive reasoning to do so;
and so on. We are endowed with strong ten-
dencies to engage in a number of distinct
doxastic practices, none of which can be war-
ranted on the basis of others. It is clearly the
better part of wisdom to recognize beliefs that
emerge from these practices to be rational and
justified, at least once they are properly sifted
and refined.
In this paper I have undertaken to extend
this account to doxastic practices that are not
universally practiced. Except for that matter
of distribution and the other peripheral mat-
ters mentioned in Objection V and except for
being faced with actually existing rivals, a reli-
gious experiential doxastic practice like RE
seems to me to be on all fours with SP and
other universal practices. It too involves a dis-
tinctive range of inputs, a range of belief con-
tents, and functions that map features of the
former on to contents of the latter. It is so-
cially established within a certain community.
It involves higher-level procedures of correc-
tion and modification of its first-level beliefs.
Though it maybe acquired in a deliberate and
self-conscious fashion, it is more typically ac-
quired in a practical, prereflective form.
Though it is obviously evitable in a way SP,
€.g., is not, for many of its practitioners it is
just about as firmly entrenched.
These similarities lead me to the conclu-
sion that if, as it seems we must concede, a
belief is prima facie justified by virtue of
emerging from one ofthe universal basic prac-
tices, we should also concede the same status
to the products of RE. I have sought to show
that various plausible-sounding objections to
this position depend on the use of a double
standard or reflect arbitrary epistemic chau-
vinism. They involve subjecting RE to inap-
propriate standards. Once we appreciate these
points, we can see the strength ofthe case for
RE as one more epistemically autonomous
practice of belief formation and source of jus-
tification.
 PERCEIVING GOD

Notes

1 See my “Epistemic Circularity,” Philosophy and 2 For an extended treatment ofthis issue see my
Phenomenological Research, 47, 1 (September “Religious Experience and Religious Diver-
1986): pp. 1-30. sity,” forthcoming in Christian Scholars? Re-
/ view.

149
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Introduction

The Problem
19 The Problem of Evil and Some Varieties of Atheism
WILLIAM L. ROWE
20 Pain and Pleasure: an Evidential Problem for Theists
PAUL DRAPER

Defense
21 On Being Evidentially Challenged
ALVIN PLANTINGA

Theodicies
22 From Theodicy in Islamic Thought
AL-GHAZALI
23 From the Book of Doctrines and Beliefs
SAADYA GAON
24 The Magnitude, Duration, and Distribution of Evil:
A Theodicy
PETER VAN INWAGEN
25 Natural Evil and the Possibility of Knowledge
RICHARD SWINBURNE
26 An Irenaen Theodicy
JOHN H. Hick
27 The Problem of Evil
ELEONORE STUMP

Alternative Perspectives
28 Coercion and the Hiddenness of God
MiIcHAEL J. Murray
29 Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God
MarityN McCorp ADAMS
30 The Theology of Liberation in Africa
BisHop DEsMoNnD TuTu
Introduction
In Part Two we looked at arguments which
were attempts to provide proofs of, or at least
evidence for, the existence of God. In this Part,
we will examine the issue of whether or not
reason can provide us with arguments against
the existence of God. While many atheists dis-
believe in God simply because they claim to
have no evidence for God’s existence, others
claim that the existence of evil in the world
provides a decisive argument, or at least pow-
erful evidence, against the claim that God ex-
ists.
In recent philosophical work, arguments
against the existence of God based on evil have
been offered in one of two forms. The first
form, often called the “logical problem of
evil,” attempts to show that the existence of
evil is logically inconsistent with the existence
of abeing which is all-powerful, all-knowing,
and perfectly good. In short, the argument is
that if a being is perfectly good, it wants to
prevent all evil, if it is all-powerful, it is able
to prevent all evil, and if it is all-knowing, no
evil escapes its notice. Thus if there were a
being which had all three characteristics, this
being would eliminate or prevent all evil. But
evil exists. Therefore, there is no being which
is all-powerful, all-knowing, and perfectly
good.
The logical problem ofevil has been severely
criticized in recent years and is regarded in
the contemporary literature on the subject as
largely discredited. In brief, the problem with
this argument is that it assumes something
false. Specifically, it assumes that a good be-
ing would prevent every evil it can under any
circumstances. It seems clear, however, that
there are circumstances in which even a per-
fectly good being would allow some evil, in
particular in cases where allowing those evils
is necessary for bringing about certain out-
weighing goods or for preventing outweigh-
ing evils. Thus, at best, the logical problem of
evil shows us that if God exists, the only evil
that exists is evil for which there is some good
reason. And since it seems impossible to dem-
onstratively prove that there is 20 good reason
for some particular evil or other, there is no
way to demonstratively prove that God does
not exist on the basis of evil.
Recent discussions of this topic have thus
focused on the other form of argument based
on evil, often called the “evidential problem.”
This version holds not that the existence of
evil is logically inconsistent with God’s exist-
ence, but simply that the existence of the
amounts and types of evil in the world makes
it very unlikely that there is an all-knowing,
all-powerful, and perfectly good divine being.
The first two essays in this section are attempts
to set forth this “evidential problem.”
The first essay by William Rowe argues that
we can think of instances of evil which (as far
as we can reasonably tell) are not necessary
for bringing about a greater good or prevent-
ing a greater evil. We will call such evils “gra-
tuitous evils.” Because it seems clear that there
are gratuitous evils, and such evils are incom-
patible with God’s existence, the reasonable
thing to do is to believe that there is no God.
Rowe argues that there are only three ways
for theists to respond to this argument. First,
they can argue that the reasons for thinking
that there are gratuitous evils are somehow
defective. Second, they can point out particu-
lar outweighing goods and evils that require
the existence of supposed gratuitous evils. And
third, they can hold that since (a) there is good
reason to believe that God exists, and (b) God
would not allow gratuitous evil, thus (c) evils
which appear to be gratuitous must not be
such in fact. Rowe thinks, however, that none
of these responses succeeds.
A more recent version of the evidential
problem is presented by Paul Draper in the
second selection. This essay, a more challeng-
153
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
ing selection for introductory students, argues
that the best way to assess the problem of evil
for theism is by asking which of two compet-
ing theories seems to explain evil more rea-
sonably. The first theory is theism, the second
is what he calls the “hypothesis of indiffer-
ence” (HI), i.e. the hypothesis that “neither
the nature nor the condition of sentient be-
ings on earth is the result of benevolent or
malevolent actions performed by nonhuman
persons.” As with certain versions of the tele-
ological argument for God’s existence, then,
Draper tries to argue that evil provides the
basis for an “argument to the best explana-
tion” which leads us to atheism. In particular,
Draper focuses on the evil of biological pain.
When we consider the various explanations
that might be offered by the theist for the
existence of physical and mental suffering, they
appear to be that such suffering serves either
some biologically useful function or they en-
hance certain moral features of the world. In
the end, Draper holds, there appears to be far
more suffering than necessary to meet these
supposed aims for physical suffering. Thus, it
looks as if the existence of such suffering is
not at all satisfactorily explained by theism.
Since, however, the existence of the suffering
that we find is wholly expected on HI, we
should take the existence of such suffering to
provide significant evidence for HI over the-
ism.
In the next two sections of this Part there
are a number of responses to the challenge
raised by evil. The first essay is a direct re-
sponse to the arguments raised by Draper. The
others are attempts to pursue the second line
of response that Rowe recommends to the
theist, namely, setting out accounts of out-
weighing goods and evils that might explain
the existence of the evils we see about us.
Plantinga’s response to Draper is, like Drap-
er’s piece, a more challenging essay for intro-
ductory students. For those who want to skip
some of the more technical details of
Plantinga’s essay, we suggest that you con-
centrate only on sections | and 2.3 and fol-
lowing. Plantinga’s response to Draper is
154
two-pronged. First, he argues that it is not at
all clear that the balance of pleasure and pain
is better explained on HI than on theism. As
Draper notes, we would expect, given HI, that
pleasures and pains would have as their main
function to serve survival and reproductive
ends. But when we consider that the pleas-
ures and pains involved in friendship, exercise
of religion, artistic appreciation, altruistic
behavior, etc., do not clearly serve survival and
reproductive aims primarily (if at all), it is not
clear that HI is more likely than theism. Sec-
ond, he argues that other evidence that the
theist has for the truth of theism makes it more
reasonable to affirm theism over HI even in
the face of any contrary evidence provided by
evil (we might view this part of Plantinga’s
response as falling along the lines of Rowe’s
third line of response that theists might pur-
sue to the evidential problem).
The next section provides a catalogue of
“theodicies,” i.e. attempts to point out out-
weighing goods and evils that provide a good
reason for God allowing the evil the world
contains. The first essay, by the eleventh-cen-
tury Islamic philosopher Al-Ghazali (1058-
1111), contains a brief statement of his claim
that the evil in the world is justified because
this world is the best possible. The evils con-
tained in the world do not detract from the
goodness of this world since they are neces-
sary for the existence and recognition of the
goods that the world contains.
In the next selection, the medieval Jewish
philosopher Saadya Gaon (882-942) presents
a brief and articulate defense of the claim that
evil arises in the world by way of human free
choices. Since, he argues, true freedom re-
quires that God not determine the outcome
of individual choices, the evils in the world
can only be explained by appeal to the free
choices of creatures.
In the following essay, Peter van Inwagen
holds that the simple appeal to free will in
explaining evil, which is found in Saadya Gaon
and others, does not constitute a full-fledged
theodicy because although it might explain
why there is some evil rather than none, it

fails to explain the magnitude, duration, and
distribution of evil. Van Inwagen addresses
these questions by sketching out a detailed
theodicy that is heavily indebted to a tradi-
tional Christian view. In general, van Inwagen
traces the source of evil (including so-called
natural evil) to human free choice. He argues
that the magnitude and duration ofsuffering
are to be explained as necessary for securing
certain goods God could not otherwise secure.
Possibly the most striking claim that van
Inwagen defends here is the claim that the
distribution of evil can be explained merely as
a matter of chance, and that this fact is not
inconsistent with the traditional conception
of God.
Richard Swinburne’s essay focuses on the
phenomenon of natural evil. Swinburne ar-
gues that in order to have a world in which
free creatures can exercise their freedom in a
morally significant way (in a way that involves
choosing between goods and evils), we must
have a fairly robust awareness of the conse-
quences of our actions. In order for me to
seek to do harm or good, I must first believe,
for example, that moving my arms this way or
that will have certain consequences, good or
bad, in the world. How can I come to such
knowledge? Either I will have to learn it by
witnessing such acts and their consequences
or God would have to implant such knowl-
edge in me directly. But, Swinburne contin-
ues, if God simply implants the requisite
thoughts, I will find myself having these be-
liefs about the operation of the world which
are not grounded in any evidence I possess.
This would mean that I would have beliefs
which I could not be sure were reliable (i.e.,
these beliefs would be indistinguishable from
false beliefs I just find rattling around inside
my head with no grounding at all). Thus, such
beliefs must be /earned. And they can only be
learned if there are cases in which I observe
the forces of nature yielding benefit and harm
in my environment through lawlike processes.
Asa result, it is a necessary condition for crea-
tures exercising morally significant freedom
that there be such regular laws, the operation
INTRODUCTION TO PART THREE
of which result in benefit or harm to sentient
creatures. Of course, the argument Swinburne
presents here is part of a cumulative case, a
case made in detail in the book from which
this selection is taken. To complete his argu-
ment, Swinburne would have to make the case
that it is worth having the sort of freedom
described here, and that, generally, it is mor-
ally permissible to allow certain evils (i.e.,
wrongdoing) in order to secure outweigh-
ing goods. This is a matter addressed by
Swinburne elsewhere in his work.
John Hick defends what has come to be
known as the Irenaean theodicy, following the
thought of the second-century Christian
thinker Irenaeus (120-202). Hick contends
that the purpose of human life is to allow hu-
mans as free creatures to cultivate habitual
dispositions which in turn constitute them as
persons of one sort or another: kind or irasci-
ble, altruistic or selfish, caring or mean-spir-
ited, virtuous or vicious, etc. To have the
opportunity to engage in such a process, how-
ever, requires that a number ofconditions be
satisfied. First, these creatures must have the
sort of freedom that allows them to choose to
do good or evil. Second, these creatures must
be situated in an environment that provides
them with opportunities to develop charac-
ters. This may mean that there are stable and
orderly laws of nature. But it also may require
that we can cause or relieve the pain of oth-
ers. Only in such environments, i.e. ones con-
taining both moral and natural evil, can free
creatures have the opportunities to make truly
morally significant choices, choices of the sort
that are necessary for morally significant char-
acter development.
In the next essay, Eleonore Stump argues
that God allows moral and natural evils to
occur since this is the best (or only) way that
God can bring human beings to recognize that
their wills are defective, a necessary condition
for bringing about their restoration. Since we
are incapable of repairing our defective wills
alone, and God cannot do it unilaterally with-
out impinging upon our freedom, the only
remaining solution is for God to prompt us
155
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
to ask him to repair our wills on our behalf.
But in order to see our condition, to desire a
change, and to ask God to effect this change,
moral and natural evils are required. Without
these, there will simply be no motive to make
the required changes.
The final three essays included in this Part
provide some alternative perspectives on the
issue of the relationship ofevil to God. In the
first essay, Michael Murray takes up the chal-
lenge posed by a feature of the world that must
be regarded by the religious believer as a form
of evil, namely, God’s hiddenness. The fact
that God is hidden seems to yield outcomes
that the theist must regard as evil, e.g. disbe-
liefinGod. Thus the theist seems obliged to
explain why God would remain hidden.
Murray argues that one of the conditions that
needs to be maintained if free creatures are to
be capable of acting freely is absence of coer-
cion. If, however, God were to make his ex-
istence and purposes too evident, we would
be coerced both to trust God and to follow
his commands. As a result, God must main-
tain a measure of hiddenness.
Marilyn Adams, in her essay, focuses on a
different species of the problem of evil, the
one raised by what she calls “horrendous
evils,” i.e. evils so great that participation in
them “gives one reason to doubt whether
one’s life could be a great good to one on the
whole.” Adams argues that appeals to tradi-
tional theodicies are of no help here because
they only speak about the way in which the
existence of evil brings about certain “global
goods.” Horrendous evils, however, require
that God recompense the sufferer directly to
ensure that her life is not rendered “a bad bet”
on the whole. Adams thinks that responses
that satisfy this demand are available, but that
they require appeal to strategies different from
156
those mentioned in, for example, the essays
described above.
Ina similar vein, Desmond Tutu argues that
“liberation theology” aims at showing God’s
concern not merely for the attaining of global
“outweighing” goods, but for individuals situ-
ated in particular circumstances and subjected
to particular evils. The implication here, of
course, is that an adequate theodicy must ex-
plain not only how God achieves a positive
global balance of goods over evils, but also
how God can remedy the suffering of the op-
pressed in their individual circumstances.
Without this, religious believers, he claims,
must admit that life might be characterized
by nothing more than “despair and helpless-
ness” rather than hope.
Further Reading
There is, not surprisingly, a vast array of lit-
erature on the topic of evil. Two classic texts
presenting and critiquing the logical problem
of evil are respectively:
Mackie, J. L., The Miracle of Theism (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1982), ch. 9.
Plantinga, Alvin, God, Freedom and Evil
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1977).
A wide variety of classical and contemporary
essays on the problem of evil can be found
in the following collections:
Adams, Marilyn, and Robert Adams, The Prob-
lem of Evil (Oxford: Oxford University
Pressei992):
Howard-Snyder, Daniel, The Evidential Ar-
gument from Evil (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1996).
Peterson, Michael, The Problem ofEvil: Selected
Readings (Notre Dame, Ind.: University
of Notre Dame Press, 1982).
The Problem
19 The Problem of Evil and Some Varieties of
Atheism*
William L. Rowe
This paper is concerned with three interrelated
questions. The first is: Is there an argument
for atheism based on the existence of evil that
may rationally justify someone in being an
atheist? To this first question I give an affirma-
tive answer and try to support that answer by
setting forth a strong argument for atheism
based on the existence of evil. The second
question is: How can the theist best defend
his position against the argument for atheism
based on the existence of evil? In response to
this question I try to describe what may be an
adequate rational defense for theism against
any argument for atheism based on the exist-
ence of evil. The final question is: What posi-
tion should the informed atheist take
concerning the rationality of theistic belief?
Three different answers an atheist may give
to this question serve to distinguish three va-
rieties of atheism: unfriendly atheism, indif-
ferent atheism, and friendly atheism. In the
final part of the paper I discuss and defend
the position of friendly atheism.
Before we consider the argument from evil,
we need to distinguish a narrow and a broad
sense of the terms “theist,” “atheist,” and
“agnostic.” By a “theist” in the narrow sense
I mean someone who believes in the exist-
ence of an omnipotent, omniscient, eternal,
supremely good being who created the world.
By a “theist” in the broad sense I mean some-
*From American Philosophical Quarterly, 16:4
(1979), pp. 335-41. Reprinted with permission.
one who believes in the existence of some sort
of divine being or divine reality. To be a the-
ist in the narrow sense is also to be a theist in
the broad sense, but one may be a theist in
the broad sense — as was Paul Tillich — with-
out believing that there is a supremely good,
omnipotent, omniscient, eternal being who
created the world. Similar distinctions must
be made between a narrow and a broad sense
of the terms “atheist” and “agnostic.” To be
an atheist in the broad sense is to deny the
existence of any sort of divine being or divine
reality. Tillich was not an atheist in the broad
sense. But he was an atheist in the narrow
sense, for he denied that there exists a divine
being that is all-knowing, all-powerful and
perfectly good. In this paper I will be using
tne Terms theisni, Cteisty waathersmis
“atheist,” “agnosticism,” and “agnostic” in
the narrow sense, not in the broad sense.
I
In developing the argument for atheism based
on the existence of evil, it will be useful to
focus on some particular evil that our world
contains in considerable abundance. Intense
human and animal suffering, for example, oc-
curs daily and in great plenitude in our world.
Such intense suffering is a clear case of evil.
Of course, if the intense suffering leads to
some greater good, a good we could not have
obtained without undergoing the suffering in
Loy,
WILLIAM L. ROWE
question, we might conclude that the suffer-
ing is justified, but it remains an evil never-
theless. For we must not confuse the intense
suffering in and ofitself with the good things
to which it sometimes leads or of which it may
be a necessary part. Intense human or animal
suffering is in itself bad, an evil, even though
it may sometimes be justified by virtue of be-
ing a part of, or leading to, some good which
is unobtainable without it. What is evil in it-
self may sometimes be good as a means be-
cause it leads to something that is good in
itself. In such a case, while remaining an evil
in itself, the intense human or animal suffer-
ing is, nevertheless, an evil which someone
might be morally justified in permitting.
Taking human and animal suffering as a
clear instance of evil which occurs with great
frequency in our world, the argument for athe-
ism based on evil can be stated as follows:
(1) There exist instances of intense suffer-
ing which an omnipotent, omniscient
being could have prevented without
thereby losing some greater good or
permitting some evil equally bad or
worse.
(2) An omniscient, wholly good being
would prevent the occurrence of any in-
tense suffering it could, unless it could
not do so without thereby losing some
greater good or permitting some evil
equally bad or worse.
(3) .. There does not exist an omnipotent,
omniscient, wholly good being.
What are we to say about this argument for
atheism, an argument based on the profusion
of one sort of evil in our world? The argu-
ment is valid; therefore, if we have rational
grounds for accepting its premises, to that
extent we have rational grounds for accepting
atheism. Do we, however, have rational
grounds for accepting the premises ofthis ar-
gument?
Let’s begin with the second premise. Let s,
be an instance of intense human or animal
suffering which an omniscient, wholly good
158
being could prevent. We will also suppose that
things are such that s, will occur unless pre-
vented by the omniscient, wholly good (OG)
being. We might be interested in determin-
ing what would be a sufficient condition of
OG failing to prevent s,. But, for our purpose
here, we need only try to state a necessary con-
dition for OG failing to prevent s,. That con-
dition, so it seems to me, is this:
Either (i) there is some greater good, G,
such that Gis obtainable by OG
only if OG permits 5,
or (ii) there is some greater good, G,
such that Gis obtainable by OG
only if OG permits either s, or
some evil equally bad or worse,
or (iit) 5, is such that it is preventable
by OG only if OG permits some
evil equally bad or worse.
It is important to recognize that (iii) is not
included in (i). For losing a good greater than
5, 1s not the same as permitting an evil greater
than s,. And this because the absence of agood
state of affairs need not itself be an evil state
of affairs. It is also important to recognize that
s, might be such that it is preventable by OG
without losing G (so condition (i) is not satis-
fied) but also such that if OG did prevent it,
G would be lost unless OG permitted some
evil equal to or worse than s,. If this were so,
it does not seem correct to require that OG
prevent s,. Thus, condition (ii) takes into ac-
count an important possibility not encom-
passed in condition (i).
Is it true that ifan omniscient, wholly good
being permits the occurrence of some intense
suffering it could have prevented, then either
(1) or (ii) or (ili) obtains? It seems to me that
it is true. But if it is true then so is premise (2)
of the argument for atheism. For that premise
merely states in more compact form what we
have suggested must be true if an omniscient,
wholly good being fails to prevent some in-
tense suffering it could prevent. Premise (2)
says that an omniscient, wholly good being
would prevent the occurrence of any intense

suffering it could, unless it could not do so
without thereby losing some greater good or
permitting some evil equally bad or worse.
This premise (or something not too distant
from it) is, I think, held in common by many
atheists and nontheists. Of course, there may
be disagreement about whether something is
good, and whether, if it is good, one would
be morally justified in permitting some intense
suffering to occur in order to obtain it. Some-
one might hold, for example, that no good is
great enough to justify permitting an inno-
cent child to suffer terribly.! Again, someone
might hold that the mere fact that a given
good outweighs some suffering and would be
lost if the suffering were prevented, is not a
morally sufficient reason for permitting the
suffering. But to hold either of these views is
not to deny (2). For (2) claims only that zfan
omniscient, wholly good being permits intense
suffering then either there is some greater good
that would have been lost, or some equally
bad or worse evil that would have occurred,
had the intense suffering been prevented. (2)
does not purport to describe what might be a
sufficient condition for an omniscient, wholly
good being to permit intense suffering, only
what is a mecessary condition. So stated, (2)
seems to express a belief that accords with our
basic moral principles, principles shared by
both theists and nontheists. If we are to fault
the argument for atheism, therefore, it seems
we must find some fault with its first premise.
Suppose in some distant forest lightning
strikes a dead tree, resulting in a forest fire. In
the fire a fawn is trapped, horribly burned,
and lies in terrible agony for several days be-
fore death relieves its suffering. So far as we
can see, the fawn’s intense suffering is point-
less. For there does not appear to be any
greater good such that the prevention of the
fawn’s suffering would require either the loss
of that good or the occurrence of an evil
equally bad or worse. Nor does there seem to
be any equally bad or worse evil so connected
to the fawn’s suffering that it would have had
to occur had the fawn’s suffering been pre-
vented. Could an omnipotent, omniscient
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
being have prevented the fawn’s apparently
pointless suffering? The answer is obvious, as
even the theist will insist. An omnipotent,
omniscient being could have easily prevented
the fawn from being horribly burned, or, given
the burning, could have spared the fawn the
intense suffering by quickly ending its life,
rather than allowing the fawn to lie in terrible
agony for several days. Since the fawn’s in-
tense suffering was preventable and, so far as
we can see, pointless, doesn’t it appear that
premise (1) of the argument is true, that there
do exist instances of intense suffering which
an omnipotent, omniscient being could have
prevented without thereby losing some greater
good or permitting some evil equally bad or
worse.
It must be acknowledged that the case of
the fawn’s apparently pointless suffering does
not prove that (1) is true. For even though we
cannot see how the fawn’s suffering is required
to obtain some greater good (or to prevent
some equally bad or worse evil), it hardly fol-
lows that it is not so required. After all, we are
often surprised by how things we thought to
be unconnected turn out to be intimately con-
nected. Perhaps, for all we know, there is some
familiar good outweighing the fawn’s suffer-
ing to which that suffering is connected in a
way we do not see. Furthermore, there may
well be unfamiliar goods, goods we haven’t
dreamed of, to which the fawn’s suffering is
inextricably connected. Indeed, it would seem
to require something like omniscience on our
part before we could lay claim to knowing that
there is no greater good connected to the
fawn’s suffering in such a manner than an
omnipotent, omniscient being could not have
achieved that good without permitting that
suffering or some evil equally bad or worse.
So the case of the fawn’s suffering surely does
not enable us to establish the truth of (1).
The truth is that we are not in a position to
prove that (1) is true. We cannot know with
certainty that instances ofsuffering of the sort
described in (1) do occur in our world. But it
is one thing to know or prove that (1) is true
and quite another thing to have rational
159
WILLIAM L. ROWE
grounds for believing (1) to be true. We are
often in the position where in the light of our
experience and knowledge it is rational to
believe that a certain statement is true, even
though we are not in a position to prove or to
know with certainty that the statement is true.
In the light of our past experience and knowl-
edge it is, for example, very reasonable to be-
lieve that neither Goldwater nor McGovern
will ever be elected President, but we are
scarcely in the position of knowing with cer-
tainty that neither will ever be elected Presi-
dent. So, too, with (1), although we cannot
know with certainty that it is true, it perhaps
can be rationally supported, shown to be a
rational belief.
Consider again the case of the fawn’s suf-
fering. Is it reasonable to believe that there is
some greater good so intimately connected
to that suffering that even an omnipotent,
omniscient being could not have obtained that
good without permitting that suffering or
some evil at least as bad? It certainly does not
appear reasonable to believe this. Nor does it
seem reasonable to believe that there is some
evil at least as bad as the fawn’s suffering such
that an omnipotent being simply could not
have prevented it without permitting the
fawn’s suffering. But even if it should some-
how be reasonable to believe either of these
things of the fawn’s suffering, we must then
ask whether it is reasonable to believe either
of these things of a// the instances of seem-
ingly pointless human and animal suffering
that occur daily in our world. And surely the
answer to this more general question must be
no. It seems quite unlikely that a// the in-
stances of intense suffering occurring daily in
our world are intimately related to the occur-
rence of greater goods or the prevention of
evils at least as bad; and even more unlikely,
should they somehow all be so related, than
an omnipotent, omniscient being could not
have achieved at least some of those goods
(or prevented some of those evils) without
permitting the instances of intense suffering
that are supposedly related to them. In the
light of our experience and knowledge ofthe
160
variety and scale of human and animal suffer-
ing in our world, the idea that none of this
suffering could have been prevented by an
omnipotent being without thereby losing a
greater good or permitting an evil at least as
bad seems an extraordinary absurd idea, quite
beyond our belief. It seems then that although
we cannot prove that (1) is true, it is, never-
theless, altogether reasonable to believe that
(1) is true, that (1) is a rational belief.
Returning now to our argument for athe-
ism, we’ve seen that the second premise ex-
presses a basic belief common to many theists
and nontheists. We’ve also seen that our ex-
perience and knowledge of the variety and
profusion of suffering in our world provides
rational support for the first premise. Seeing
that the conclusion, “There does not exist an
omnipotent, omniscient, wholly good being”
follows from these two premises, it does seem
that we have rational support for atheism, that
it is reasonable for us to believe that the theis-
tic God does not exist.
II
Can theism be rationally defended against the
argument for atheism we have just examined?
If it can, how might the theist best respond
to that argument? Since the argument from
(1) and (2) to (3) is valid, and since the the-
ist, no less than the nontheist, is more than
likely committed to (2), it’s clear that the theist
can reject this atheistic argument only by re-
jecting its first premise, the premise that states
that there are instances of intense suffering
which an omnipotent, omniscient being could
have prevented without thereby losing some
greater good or permitting some evil equally
bad or worse. How, then, can the theist best
respond to this premise and the considerations
advanced in its support?
There are basically three responses a theist
can make. First, he might argue not that (1)
is false or probably false, but only that the
reasoning given in support of it is in some
way defective. He may do this either by argu-

ing that the reasons given in support of (1)
are in themselves insufficient to justify accept-
ing (1), or by arguing that there are other
things we know which, when taken in con-
junction with these reasons, do not justify us
in accepting (1). I suppose some theists would
be content with this rather modest response
to the basic argument for atheism. But given
the validity of the basic argument and the
theist’s likely acceptance of (2), he is thereby
committed to the view that (1) is false, not
just that we have no good reasons for accept-
ing (1) as true. The second two responses are
aimed at showing that it is reasonable to be-
lieve that (1) is false. Since the theist is com-
mitted to this view I shall focus the discussion
on these two attempts, attempts which we can
distinguish as “the direct attack” and “the
indirect attack.”
By a direct attack, I mean an attempt to
reject (1) by pointing out goods, for exam-
ple, to which suffering may well be connected,
goods which an omnipotent, omniscient be-
ing could not achieve without permitting suf-
fering. Itis doubtful, however, that the direct
attack can succeed. The theist may point out
that some suffering leads to moral and spir-
itual development impossible without suffer-
ing. But it’s reasonably clear that suffering
often occurs in a degree far beyond what is
required for character development. The the-
ist may say that some suffering results from
free choices of human beings and might be
preventable only by preventing some meas-
ure of human freedom. But, again, it’s clear
that much intense suffering occurs not as a
result of human free choices. The general dif-
ficulty with this direct attack on premise (1) is
twofold. First, it cannot succeed, for the the-
ist does not know what greater goods might
be served, or evils prevented, by each instance
of intense human or animal suffering. Second,
the theist’s own religious tradition usually
maintains that in this life it is not given to us
to know God’s purpose in allowing particular
instances of suffering. Hence, the direct at-
tack against premise (1) cannot succeed and
violates basic beliefs associated with theism.
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
The best procedure for the theist to follow
in rejecting premise (1) is the indirect proce-
dure. This procedure I shall call “the G. E.
Moore shift,” so-called in honor of the twen-
tieth-century philosopher, G. E. Moore, who
used it to great effect in dealing with the ar-
guments of the skeptics. Skeptical philosophers
such as David Hume have advanced ingen-
ious arguments to prove that no one can know
of the existence of any material object. The
premises of their arguments employ plausible
principles, principles which many philosophers
have tried to reject directly, but only with
questionable success. Moore’s procedure was
altogether different. Instead of arguing directly
against the premises of the skeptic’s argu-
ments, he simply noted that the premises im-
plied, for example, that he (Moore) did not
know ofthe existence of apencil. Moore then
proceeded indirectly against the skeptic’s
premises by arguing:
(1) Ido know that this pencil exists.
(2) If the skeptic’s principles are correct I
cannot know of the existence ofthis pen-
cil.
(3) .«. The skeptic’s principles (at least one)
must be incorrect.
Moore then noted that his argument is just as
valid as the skeptic’s, that both of their argu-
ments contain the premise “If the skeptic’s
principles are correct Moore cannot know of
the existence of this pencil,” and concluded
that the only way to choose between the two
arguments (Moore’s and the skeptic’s) is by
deciding which ofthe first premises it is more
rational to believe — Moore’s premise “I do
know that this pencil exists” or the skeptic’s
premise asserting that his skeptical principles
are correct. Moore concluded that his own
first premise was the more rational of the two.”
Before we see how the theist may apply the
G. E. Moore shift to the basic argument for
atheism, we should note the general strategy
of the shift. We’re given an argument: p, q,
therefore, 7. Instead of arguing directly against
p, another argument is constructed — not-7,
161
WILLIAM L. ROWE
qg, therefore, not-p — which begins with the
denial of the conclusion of the first argument,
keeps its second premise, and ends with the
denial of the first premise as its conclusion.
Compare, for example, these two:
(1) p (I) not-7
q q
cw’ “.not-p
It is a truth of logic that If (1) is valid (II)
must be valid as well. Since the arguments are
the same so far as the second premise is con-
cerned, any choice between them must con-
cern their respective first premises. To argue
against the first premise (p) by constructing
the counter argument (II) is to employ the
G. E. Moore shift.
Applying the G. E. Moore shift against the
first premise of the basic argument for athe-
ism, the theist can argue as follows:
(not-3) There exists an omnipotent, omnis-
cient, wholly good being.
(2) An omniscient, wholly good being
would prevent the occurrence of
any intense suffering it could, un-
less it could not do so without
thereby losing some greater good
or permitting some evil equally bad
or worse.
(not-1) therefore, it is not the case that there
exist instances of intense suffering
which an omnipotent, omniscient
being could have prevented with-
out thereby losing some greater
good or permitting some evil
equally bad or worse.
We now have two arguments: the basic argu-
ment for atheism from (1) and (2) to (3), and
the theist’s best response, the argument from
(not-3) and (2) to (not-1). What the theist
then says about (1) is that he has rational
grounds for believing in the existence of the
theistic God (not-3), accepts (2) as true, and
sees that (not-1) follows from (not-3) and (2).
He concludes, therefore, that he has rational
162
grounds for rejecting (1). Having rational
grounds for rejecting (1), the theist concludes
that the basic argument for atheism is mis-
taken.
Ii
We’ve had a look at a forceful argument for
atheism and what seems to be the theist’s best
response to that argument. If one is persuaded
by the argument for atheism, as I find myself
to be, how might one best view the position
of the theist. Of course, he will view the the-
ist as having a false belief, just as the theist
will view the atheist as having a false belief.
But what position should the atheist take con-
cerning the rationality of the theist’s belief?
There are three major positions an atheist
might take, positions which we may think of
as some varieties of atheism. First, the atheist
may believe that no one is rationally justified
in believing that the theistic God exists. Let
us call this position “unfriendly atheism.” Sec-
ond, the atheist may hold no belief concern-
ing whether any theist is or isn’t rationally
justified in believing that the theistic God ex-
ists. Let us call this view “indifferent atheism.”
Finally, the atheist may believe that some the-
ists are rationally justified in believing that the
theistic God exists. This view we shall call
“friendly atheism.” In this final part of the
paper I propose to discuss and defend the
position of friendly atheism.
If no one can be rationally justified in be-
lieving a false proposition then friendly athe-
ism is a paradoxical, ifnot incoherent position.
But surely the truth of a beliefis not a neces-
sary condition of someone’s being rationally
justified in having that belief. So in holding
that someone is rationally justified in believ-
ing that the theistic God exists, the friendly
atheist is not committed to thinking that the
theist has a true belief. What he is committed
to is that the theist has rational grounds for
his belief, a belief the atheist rejects and is
convinced he is rationally justified in reject-
ing. But is this possible? Can someone, like

our friendly atheist, hold a belief, be convinced
that he is rationally justified in holding that
belief, and yet believe that someone else is
equally justified in believing the opposite?
Surely this is possible. Suppose your friends
see you offon a flight to Hawaii. Hours after
take-off they learn that your plane has gone
down at sea. After a twenty-four hour search,
no survivors have been found. Under these
circumstances they are rationally justified in
believing that you have perished. But it is
hardly rational for you to believe this, as you
bob up and down in your life vest, wondering
why the search planes have failed to spot you.
Indeed, to amuse yourself while awaiting your
fate, you might very well reflect on the fact
that your friends are rationally justified in be-
lieving that you are now dead, a proposition
you disbelieve and are rationally justified in
disbelieving. So, too, perhaps an atheist may
be rationally justified in his atheistic belief and
yet hold that some theists are rationally justi-
fied in believing just the opposite of what he
believes.
What sort of grounds might a theist have
for believing that God exists. Well, he might
endeavor to justify his belief by appealing to
one or more of the traditional arguments:
Ontological, Cosmological, Teleological,
Moral, etc. Second, he might appeal to cer-
tain aspects of religious experience, perhaps
even his own religious experience. Third, he
might try to justify theism as a plausible theory
in terms of which we can account for a variety
of phenomena. Although an atheist must hold
that the theistic God does not exist, can he
not also believe, and be justified in so believ-
ing, that some ofthese “justifications of the-
ism” do actually rationally justify some theists
in their belief that there exists a supremely
good, omnipotent, omniscient being? It seems
to me that he can.
If we think of the long history of theistic
belief and the special situations in which peo-
ple are sometimes placed, it is perhaps as ab-
surd to think that no one was ever rationally
justified in believing that the theistic God ex-
ists as it is to think that no one was ever justi-
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
fied in believing that human being would
never walk on the moon. But in suggesting
that friendly atheism is preferable to unfriendly
atheism, I don’t mean to rest the case on what
some human beings might reasonably have
believed in the eleventh or thirteenth century.
The more interesting question is whether
some people in modern society, people who
are aware of the usual grounds for belief and
disbelief and are acquainted to some degree
with modern science, are yet rationally justi-
fied in accepting theism. Friendly atheism is a
significant position only if it answers this ques-
tion in the affirmative.
It is not difficult for an atheist to be friendly
when he has reason to believe that the theist
could not reasonably be expected to be ac-
quainted with the grounds for disbelief that
he (the atheist) possesses. For then the athe-
ist may take the view that some theists are ra-
tionally justified in holding to theism, but
would not be so were they to be acquainted
with the grounds for disbelief— those grounds
being sufficient to tip the scale in favor of athe-
ism when balanced against the reasons the
theist has in support of his belief.
Friendly atheism becomes paradoxical, how-
ever, when the atheist contemplates believing
that the theist has all the grounds for atheism
that he, the atheist, has, and yet is rationally
justified in maintaining his theistic belief. But
even so excessively friendly a view as this per-
haps can be held by the atheist if he also has
some reason to think that the grounds for
theism are not as telling as the theist is justi-
fied in taking them to be.
In this paper I’ve presented what I take to
be a strong argument for atheism, pointed out
what I think is the theist’s best response to
that argument, distinguished three positions
an atheist might take concerning the ration-
ality of theistic belief, and made some remarks
in defense of the position called “friendly athe-
ism.” I’m aware that the central points of the
paper are not likely to be warmly received by
many philosophers. Philosophers who are
atheists tend to be tough-minded — holding
that there are no good reasons for supposing
163
PAUL DRAPER
that theism is true. And theists tend either to
reject the view that the existence of evil pro-
vides rational grounds for atheism or to hold
that religious belief has nothing to do with
reason and evidence at all. But such is the way
of philosophy.
20 Pain and Pleasure: an Evidential Problem for
Theists*
Paul Draper
1 The Nature of the Problem
I will argue in this paper that our knowledge
about pain and pleasure creates an epistemic
problem for theists. The problem is not that
some proposition about pain and pleasure can
be shown to be both true and logically incon-
sistent with theism. Rather, the problem is
evidential. A statement reporting the obser-
vations and testimony upon which our knowl-
edge about pain and Pleasure is based bears a
certain significant negative evidential relation
to theism. And because ofthis, we have a prima
facie good epistemic reason to reject theism —
that is, a reason that is sufficient for rejecting
theism unless overridden by other reasons for
not rejecting theism.
By “theism” I mean the following state-
ment:
There exists and omnipotent, omniscient, and
morally perfect person who created the Uni-
verse.
I will use the word “God” as a title rather
than as a proper name, and I will stipulate that
necessary and sufficient conditions for bear-
* From Nous, 23 (1989), pp. 12-29. Reprinted with
permission.
164
Notes
1 See Ivan’s speech in book V, ch. IV of The
Brothers Karamazov.
2 See, for example, the two chapters on Hume
in G. E. Moore, Some Main Problems of
Philosophy (London, 1953).
ing this title are that one be an omnipotent,
omniscient, and morally perfect person who
created the Universe. Given this (probably
technical) use of the term “God,” theism is
the statement that God exists.
Some philosophers believe that the evils we
find in the world create an evidential problem
for theists because theism fails to explain these
evils (or most of what we know about them).
(See, for example, Hare 1968.) This position
is attractive. It seems to reflect the intuitions
of a great many people who have regarded
evil as an epistemic problem for theists. After
all, the most common way ofstating the prob-
lem of evil is to ask a why question like “if
God exists, then why is there so much evil in
the world?” And such questions are either
genuine or rhetorical requests for explanation.
Moreover, the relevance of theodicies to this
alleged problem of evil is quite clear, since a
theodicy can very naturally be understood as
an attempt to explain certain evils or facts
about evil in terms of theism.
But other philosophers who agree that the-
ism fails to explain most of the evils we find in
the world deny that this creates an epistemic
problem for theists — that is, they deny that
this explanatory failure is a prima facie good
reason to reject theism. This disagreement has
led to a debate over how much evil, if any,

theism needs to explain to avoid disconfirma-
tion. (See, for example, Yandell 1969a and
1969b, Kane 1970, Mavrodes 1970, pp. 90-
els Ahern 197 Liviare972.and Yandell
1972.) What the members of both sides of
this debate have failed to recognize is that one
cannot determine what facts about evil the-
ism needs to explain or how well it needs to
explain them without considering alternatives
to theism. The important question, a ques-
tion that David Hume asked (1980, Part XI,
pp. 74-5) but that most contemporary phi-
losophers ofreligion have ignored, is whether
or not any serious hypothesis that is logically
inconsistent with theism explains some signifi-
cant set of facts about evil or about good and
evil much better than theism does.
I will argue for an affirmative answer to this
question. Specifically, I will compare theism
to the following alternative, which I will call
“the Hypothesis of Indifference” (“HI” for
short):
(HI) neither the nature nor the condition ofsen-
tient beings on earth is the result of bene-
volent or malevolent actions performed by
nonhuman persons.
Unlike theism, HI does not entail that super-
natural beings exist and so is consistent with
naturalism. But HI is also consistent with the
existence of supernatural beings. What makes
HI inconsistent with theism is that it entails
that, if supernatural beings do exist, then no
action performed by them is motivated by a
direct concern for our well-being. Now let
“©” stand for a statement reporting both the
observations one has made of humans and
animals experiencing pain or pleasure and the
testimony one has encountered concerning
the observations others have made of sentient
beings experiencing pain or pleasure. By
“pain” I mean physical or mental suffering of
any sort. I will argue that the pain and pleas-
ure in our world create an epistemic problem
for theists by arguing that:
(C) Hl explains the facts O reports much better
than theism does.
PAIN AND PLEASURE
One problem with this formulation of C is
that the verb “to explain” has a number of
distinct but easily confused meanings. For my
purposes here, it will suffice to point out that
in some instances the claim that one hypoth-
esis explains some observation report much
better than another is equivalent in meaning,
or at least bears a close conceptual connec-
tion, to the claim that the truth of that obser-
vation report is much less surprising on the
first hypothesis than it is on the second. Since
I suspect that it is only in these instances that
comparisons of explanatory power support
comparisons of probability, I will reformulate
C as the claim that the facts O reports are
much more surprising on theism than they are
on HI, or more precisely, that the antecedent
probability of O is much greater on the as-
sumption that HI is true than on the assump-
tion that theism is true. By the “antecedent”
probability of O, I mean O’s probability, in-
dependent of (rather than temporally prior to)
the observations and testimony it reports. So
my reformulation of C is best expressed as
follows:
(C) independent of the observations and testi-
mony O reports, O is much more probable
on the assumption that HI is true than on
the assumption that theism is true.
For the sake of brevity, I will use P(x/y) to
represent the probability of the statement x,
independent of the observations and testimony
O reports, on the assumption that the state-
ment y is true. Using this notation, I can ab-
breviate C in the following way:
(C) P(O/HI) is much greater than P(O/the-
ism).
One last elucidatory remark about C. The
probabilities employed in C are epistemic ones
rather than, for example, statistical, physical,
or logical probabilities. Thus, they can vary
from person to person and from time to time,
since different persons can be in different
epistemic situations at the same time and the
same person can be in different epistemic situ-
165
PAUL DRAPER
ations at different times. For example, sup-
pose that six hands of poker are dealt. Then
the epistemic probability that one hand in-
cludes four aces will be different for those play-
ers who inspect their hands and find no aces
and those players who inspect their hands and
discover one or more aces. And the epistemic
probability for any of the six players that one
hand includes four aces will be different be-
fore inspecting his or her hand than after in-
specting it.
Now suppose that I succeed in showing that
C is true (relative to my own and my readers’
epistemic situations). Then the truth of C is
(for us) a prima facie good (epistemic) reason
to believe that theism is less probable than HI.
Thus, since the denial of theism is obviously
entailed by HI and so is at least as probable as
HI, the truth of C is a prima facie good rea-
son to believe that theism is less probable than
not. And since it is epistemically irrational to
believe both that theism is true and that it is
less probable than not, the truth of C is also a
prima facie good reason to reject (i.e. to cease
or refrain from believing) theism.
In section 2, I will argue that C is true.
However, my argument will depend on the
assumption that theodicies do not significantly
raise P(O/theism). In section 3, I will defend
this assumption. And in section 4, I will dis-
cuss the significance of C’s truth.
2 The Biological Utility of Pain
and Pleasure
The claim that P(O/HI) is much greater than
P(O/theism) is by no means obviously true.
The fact that O reports observations and tes-
timony about pleasure as well as pain should
make this clear. So an argument for this claim
is needed. I will argue that is the biological
role played by both pain and pleasure in goal-
directed organic systems that renders this claim
true. In order to explain precisely why this is
so, I will need to introduce a concept of “bio-
logical usefulness.”
Though no one doubts that organic sys-
166
tems are goal-directed in some objective sense,
it is by no means easy to provide a precise
analysis of this kind of goal-directedness. As a
first approximation, we may say that a system
S is “goal-directed” just in case from some
property G that S has exhibited or will ex-
hibit, a broad range of potential environmen-
tal changes are such that: (i) if they occurred
at a time when S is exhibiting G and no com-
pensating changes took place in the parts of
S, then S would cease to exhibit G and never
exhibit G again, and (ii) if they occurred at a
time when S is exhibiting G, then compen-
sating changes would take place in the parts
of S, resulting in either S’s continuing to ex-
hibit G or in S’s exhibiting G once again. (Cf.
Boorse 1976 and Ruse 1973.) Notice that to
be goal-directed in this sense does not entail
direction to the conscious end of some intel-
ligent being. Notice also that the organic
world is made up of complex and interdepend-
ent goal-directed systems, including ecosys-
tems, populations of organisms, organisms,
parts of organisms, parts of parts of organ-
isms, and so on.
I will call the goals to which organic sys-
tems are directed in this sense their “biologi-
cal goals.” And I will say that a part of some
goal-directed organic system S is “biologically
useful” just in case (i) it causally contributes
to one of S’s biological goals (or to one of the
biological goals of some other goal-directed
organic system of which it is a part), and (ii)
its doing so is not biologically accidental. (It
is in virtue of clause (ii) that, for example, a
nonfatal heart attack that prevents a person
from committing suicide cannot be called bio-
logically useful.) Notice that much ofthe pain
and pleasure in the world is biologically use-
ful in this sense. Consider, for example, the
pain my cat Hector felt when he jumped on
top of a hot over door. Hector’s quick re-
sponse to this pain enabled him to avoid seri-
ous injury, and he now flees whenever an oven
door is opened. Hector’s pain in this case, like
much ofthe pain reported by O, was biologi-
cally useful. For it causally contributed to two
central biological goals of individual organ-

isms, namely, survival and reproduction, and
its doing so was plainly not accidental from a
biological point of view. Of course, there is
also much pain and pleasure in our world that
is not biologically useful: for instance, maso-
chistic pleasure and pain resulting from burns
that ultimately prove fatal. (I will sometimes
call this kind of pain and pleasure “biologi-
cally gratuitous.” )
This notion of biological utility enables me
to introduce a statement logically equivalent
to O that will help me show that C is true.
Ret fOl2s5O2.” and:“O3” stand for state:
ments respectively reporting the facts O re-
ports about:
(1) moral agents experiencing pain or pleas-
ure that we know to be biologically use-
ful,
(2) sentient beings that are not moral agents
experiencing pain, or pleasure that we
know to be biologically useful, and
(3) sentient beings experiencing pain or
pleasure that we do not know to be bio-
logically useful.
Since O is obviously logically equivalent to
the conjunction of Ol, O2, and O3, it fol-
lows that, for any hypothesis h:
P(O/h) = P(Ol & O2 & O3/h)
But the following theorem of the mathemati-
cal calculus of probability holds for epistemic
probability:
P(Ol & O2 & O3/h) =
P(O1/h) x P(O2/h & Ol) x
P(O3/h & Ol & O2).
Thus, C is true — P(O/HI) is much greater
than P(O/theism) — just in case:
A: P(O1/HI) x P(O2/HI & Ol) x
P(O3/HI & O1 & O2)
is much greater than
PAIN AND PLEASURE
B: P(Ol/theism) x P(O2/theism & O1) x
P(O3/theism & Ol & O2).
I will argue that A is much greater than B by
arguing that each of the multiplicands of A is
either greater or much greater than the corre-
sponding multiplicand of B. As I will explain
in section 3, my arguments will assume that
theodicies do not significantly raise P(O/the-
ism).
Let us begin with O1, which reports those
facts reported by O about humans (who are
moral agents) experiencing pain or pleasure
that we know to be biologically useful. We
know antecedently — that is, we know inde-
pendent of the observations and testimony O
reports — that humans are goal-directed or-
ganic systems, composed of parts that system-
atically contribute to the biological goals of
these systems. This seems to give us reason to
expect that human pain and pleasure, if they
exist, will also systematically contribute to
these goals. (And this is, of course, precisely
what O1 reports.) But notice that pain and
pleasure are in one respect strikingly dissimi-
lar to other parts of organic systems: they have
intrinsic moral value. Pain is intrinsically bad,
and pleasure is intrinsically good. Does this
difference substantially decrease the amount
of support that our antecedent knowledge
about humans gives to the “prediction” that
pain and pleasure, if they exist, will systemati-
cally contribute to biological goals? I submit
that it does if we assume that theism is true,
but does not if we assume that HI is true. It is
this difference between HI and theism that
makes P(O1/HI) much greater than P(O1/
theism).
Allow me to explain. HI entails that, if pain
and pleasure exist, then they are not the re-
sult of malevolent or benevolent actions per-
formed by nonhuman persons. So on HI, the
moral difference between pain and pleasure
and other parts of organic systems gives us no
antecedent reason to believe that pain and
pleasure will not play the same biological role
that other parts of organic systems play. In-
deed, a biological explanation of pain and
167
PAUL DRAPER
pleasure is just the sort of explanation that one
would expect on HI. But theism entails that
God is responsible for the existence of any pain
and pleasure in the world. Since God is mor-
ally perfect, He would have good moral rea-
sons for producing pleasure even if it is never
biologically useful, and He would not permit
pain unless He had, not just a biological rea-
son, but also a morally sufficient reason to do
so. And since God is omnipotent and omnis-
cient, He could create goal-directed organic
systems (including humans) without biologi-
cally useful pain and pleasure. So theism en-
tails both that God does not need biologically
useful pain and pleasure to produce human
goal-directed organic systems and that, if hu-
man pain and pleasure exist, then God had
good moral reason for producing them, rea-
sons that, for all we know antecedently, might
very well be inconsistent with pain and pleas-
ure systematically contributing to the biologi-
cal goals of human organisms. Therefore, we
would have much less reason on theism than
on HI to be surprised if it turned out that
human pain and pleasure differed from other
parts of organic systems by not systematically
contributing to the biological goals of those
systems. Hence, since O1 reports that the pain
and pleasure experienced by humans (who are
moral agents) do contribute in this way,
P(O1/HI) is much greater than P(O1 /the-
ism).
One might object that from theism and our
antecedent knowledge that goal-directed or-
ganic systems exist, we can infer that the bio-
logical functions of the parts of those systems
are themselves morally worthwhile, which
gives us reason on theism that we do not have
on HI to expect pain and pleasure to have
biological functions. It might be thought that
this counterbalances the reasons offered above
for concluding that O1 is antecedently much
more likely given HI than it is given theism.
Now we obviously cannot infer from theism
and our antecedent knowledge that the greater
the number offunctioning parts in an organic
system, the more valuable the system. We
might be able to infer that organic systems
168
are valuable and that the parts of these sys-
tems that have biological functions are valu-
able because the systems could not exist
without functioning parts. But this does not
imply that we have as much or even close to
as much reason on theism as on HI to expect
pain and pleasure to have biological functions.
For an omnipotent and omniscient being
could produce such systems without biologi-
cally useful pain and pleasure. Thus, since a
morally perfect being would try to accomplish
its goals with as little pain as possible, the value
of organic systems gives us no reason on the-
ism to expect pain to have biological func-
tions. And since pleasure has intrinsic value
and so is worth producing whether or not it
furthers some other goal, the value of organic
systems gives us very little reason on theism
to expect pleasure to have biological functions.
O2 reports the observations and testimony
reported by O about sentient beings that are
not moral agents (e.g. young human children
and nonhuman animals) experiencing pain or
pleasure that we know to be biologically use-
ful. Independent of the observations and tes-
timony O reports, we know that some sentient
beings that are not moral agents are biologi-
cally very similar to moral agents. Since Ol
implies that moral agents experience biologi-
cally useful pain and pleasure, this knowledge
makes it antecedently likely on HI and O1
that some sentient beings that are not moral
agents will also experience biologically useful
pain and pleasure. Now at first glance, one
might think that this knowledge makes the
existence of such pain and pleasure just as likely
on theism & O1. After all, from the assump-
tion that theism and O1 are both true, it fol-
lows that God has good moral reasons for
permitting biologically useful pain. But there
is an important difference between the bio-
logically useful pain that O1 reports and the
biologically useful pain that O2 reports. Given
theism & O1, we have reasons to believe that
God permits the pain O1 reports because it
plays some sort of (presently indiscernible)
moral role in the lives of the humans that ex-
perience it. But the pain O2 reports cannot

play such a role, since the subjects of it are
not moral agents. This difference is plainly not
relevant on HI & O1, but it gives us some
reason on theism & O1 to expect that the
good moral reasons God has for permitting
moral agents to experience pain do not apply
to animals that are not moral agents, and hence
some reason to believe that God will not per-
mit such beings to experience pain. So P(O2/
HI & O1) is somewhat greater than P(O2/
theism & O1).
O3 reports facts about sentient beings ex-
periencing pain or pleasure that we do not
know to be biologically useful. This includes
much pain and pleasure that we know to be
biologically gratuitous, as well as some that is
not known to be useful and is also not known
to be gratuitous. I will give a two-part argu-
ment for the conclusion that P(O3/HI & Ol
& O2) is much greater than P(O3/theism &
Oles'O2):
First, we obviously have much more reason
on theism & Ol & O2 than we have on HI
& Ol & O2 to expect sentient beings (espe-
cially nonhuman animals) to be happy — in
any case much more happy than they would
be if their pleasure were limited to that re-
ported by O1 and O2. Instead, when the facts
O3 reports are added to those reported by
O1 and O2, we find that many humans and
animals experience prolonged and intense suf-
fering and a much greater number are far from
happy. In addition, we have more reason on
theism & O] & O2 than on HI & Ol & O2
to expect to discover a close connection be-
tween certain moral goods (e.g. justice and
virtue) and biologically gratuitous pain and
pleasure, but we discover no such connection.
Second, we have, antecedently, much more
reason on HI & O1] & O2 than on theism &
O1 & O2 to believe that the fundamental role
of pain and pleasure in our world is a biologi-
cal one and that the presence of biologically
gratuitous pain and pleasure is epiphenom-
enal, a biological accident resulting from na-
ture’s or an indifferent creator’s failure to “fine
tune” organic systems. And this is undeniably
supported (though not entailed) by what O3
PAIN AND PLEASURE
reports. To demonstrate this, a couple ofdefi-
nitions are needed. First, by “pathological”
pain or pleasure, I mean pain or pleasure that
results from the failure of some organic sys-
tem to function properly. For example, pain
caused by terminal cancer and sadistic pleas-
ure are pathological in this sense. And sec-
ond, by “biologically appropriate” pain or
pleasure, I mean pain or pleasure that occurs
in a situation which is such that it is biologi-
cally useful that pain or pleasure is felt in situ-
ations of this sort. For instance, the pain felt
by a person killed in a fire is not biologically
useful, but it is biologically appropriate be-
cause it is biologically useful that humans feel
pain when they come in contact with fire.
Clearly much of the pain and pleasure reported
by O3 is either pathological or biologically
appropriate, and very little is known to be both
nonpathological and biologically inappropri-
ate. And this is exactly what one would ex-
pect if pain and pleasure are fundamentally
biological rather than moral phenomena, and
so is much more to be expected on HI & Ol
& O2 than on theism & O1 & O2.
Therefore, assuming that theodicies do not
significantly raise P(O/theism), the first and
third multiplicands ofA are much greater than
the first and third multiplicands of B, and the
second multiplicand ofA is greater than the
second multiplicand ofB.And this implies that
P(O/HI) is much greater than P(O /theism).
3. The Moral Value of Pain and
Pleasure
In addition to their biological roles, pain and
pleasure also play various moral roles in our
world. By appealing to these roles, the theist
might hope to explain some of the facts O
reports in terms of theism, and thereby render
O less surprising on theism than it is initially.
This would seem to be the theist’s most prom-
ising strategy for undermining the argument
for C given above. Theodicies can be treated
as attempts to carry out such a strategy. While
few would deny that most theodicies are rather
169
PAUL DRAPER
obvious failures, it is widely thought that plau-
sible theistic explanations of suffering can be
constructed by appealing to the intrinsic or
instrumental moral value of free will. So it is
necessary to determine what effect such
theodicies have on P(O/theism). Addition-
ally, it is important to evaluate the increas-
ingly popular position that evidential
arguments from evil against theism fail because
the disproportion between omniscience and
human knowledge makes it quite likely, on
the assumption that God exists, that humans
would not understand why God permits evil:
(For a defense of this position, see Wykstra
1984.)
Evaluating Theodtcies
Explaining some phenomenon in terms of a
statement usually involves adding other state-
ments to that statement. This is certainly true
in the case of theodicies, which typically add
to the claim that God exists the claims that
God has a certain goal, that even God must
produce or permit certain evils in order to
accomplish that goal and that accomplishing
the goal is, from a moral point of view, worth
the evils...
Free Will and the Advancement of
Morality
Most free will theodicies appeal to a certain
sort of moral freedom, which I will call “free-
dom*.” An action is free* only if(i) it is free
in an incompatibilist sense — that is, in a sense
incompatible with its being determined by
antecedent condition outside the agent’s con-
trol — and (ii) if it is morally right, then at
least an alternative action that is open in an
incompatibilist sense to the agent is such that
it would be morally wrong for the agent to
perform that alternative action. This concept
of freedom is used to give the following the-
istic explanation of immorality. Freedom* has
great value (either because morally right ac-
tions that are freely* performed are more valu-
able than right actions that are not freely*
170
performed or because, following Hick (1966),
moral virtue that is acquired by freely* per-
forming right actions is more valuable than
moral virtue that is not freely* acquired). For
this reason, God endows humans with free-
dom. However, since it is logically impossible
to force a person to freely* perform a right
action instead of a wrong one, God cannot
give humans freedom* and ensure that hu-
mans will never perform morally wrong ac-
tions.
Unfortunately, humans sometimes abuse
their freedom* by performing wrong actions.
Nevertheless, God is justified in giving humans
freedom* because a world in which humans
freely* perform both right and wrong actions
is (provided that the balance of right over
wrong actions or of morally good humans over
morally bad humans is sufficiently favorable)
better than a world in which immorality is
prevented by withholding freedom* from
humans.
Notice that, so far, we have no explanation
of the existence of pain. For there are morally
right actions and morally wrong actions that
do not entail the existence of pain. Wrong
actions of this sort include some instances of
breaking promises, killing, attempting to cause
pain, and depriving someone of pleasure. So
God could have given humans freedom* with-
out permitting pain. The first version of the
free will theodicy that I will evaluate adds to
the above explanation of immorality the pro-
posal that God permits pain in order to ad-
vance morality. This proposal can be spelled
out in the following way. God wants humans
to freely* perform right actions instead of
wrong ones. Of course, as mentioned above,
He cannot force humans to freely* perform
only morally right actions, but He would have
some control over the balance of right over
wrong actions because even free* choices can
be influenced and because God would know
what free* choices humans would make (or
would be likely to make) in various situations.
In particular, God might use pain to influ-
ence humans to freely* perform right actions
instead of wrong ones. Also, some right ac-

tions entail the existence of pain, and God
might know prior to creating humans that
some or all humans would perform (or would
be likely to perform) these right actions if given
the chance. Therefore, God might use pain
to obtain a more favorable balance of freely*
performed right actions over wrong actions.
This version of the free will theodicy em-
ploys the following expansion of theism:
(T,) God exists, and one of His final ends is a
favorable balance of freely* performed right
actions over wrong actions.
I doubt that a consensus could ever be reached
about P(T, /theism). For T, presupposes sev-
eral very controversial metaphysical and ethi-
cal positions. For example, it presupposes that
the concept of “freedom*” is coherent, that
humans have freedom*, and that freedom” is
of great value. Since I obviously do not have
the space here to discuss how plausible these
claims are, I will assume for the sake of argu-
ment that P(T,/theism) is high.
I will argue, however, that P(O/T,) is not
significantly higher than P(O/theism & ~T,).
This implies that, even if P(T, /theism) is high,
our first version of the free will theodicy does
not significantly increase P(O/theism). If, as
I will assume, it is, morally permissible for God
to use pain to advance morality, then we have
reason on T, that we do not have on theism
& ~T, to expect that the world will contain
both pain that influences humans to perform
morally right action and pain that is logically
necessary for some of the right actions hu-
mans perform. Since O reports the existence
of pain of both these sorts, we have a predic-
tive success for the theodicy. But O also re-
ports both that pain often influences humans
to perform morally wrong actions and that
pain is logically necessary for many of the
wrong actions humans perform. And we have
reason on T, that we do not have on theism
& ~T, to be surprised by these facts. Further-
more, the observations and testimony O re-
ports provide strong evidence that the world
does not presently contain a very impressive
PAIN AND PLEASURE
balance of right over wrong actions performed
by humans and that this is due in part both to
a variety of demoralizing conditions like ill-
ness, poverty and ignorance, and to the ab-
senée of conditions that tend to promote
morality. All of this is even more surprising
on T, than on theism & ~T,. (Cf. Adams
1985, pp. 250-1.) So T,’s “predictive” ad-
vantages are counterbalanced by several seri-
ous “predictive” disadvantages, and for this
reason P(O/T,) is not significantly greater
than P(O/theism & ~T)).
Free Will and Responsibility
Some free will theodicists claim that God gives
humans freedom* to bring about suffering
(either by producing it or by failing to pre-
vent it) in order to increase the responsibility
humans have for their own well-being and the
well-being of others and thereby increase the
importance of the moral decisions humans
make. By an “important” moral decision, these
theodicists mean a decision upon which the
presence or absence of something of great
positive or negative value depends. The key
value judgment here is that, all else held equal,
the more important the moral decisions we
are free* to make, the more valuable our free-
dom* is. By not preventing us from freely*
bringing about evils, including serious ones,
God increases our control over how valuable
the world is and thereby increases the value
of our freedom*. This theodicy employs the
following expansion of theism:
(T,) God exists, and one of His final ends is for
humans to have the freedom* to make very
important moral decisions.
I will assume, once again, that P(T,/theism)
is high, and I will argue that this second ver-
sion of the free will theodicy does not signifi-
cantly raise P(O/theism) by arguing that
P(O/T,) is not significantly greater than P(O/
theism & ~T,).
I will begin by arguing that Richard
Swinburne (1979, ch. 11) fails in his attempt
171
PAUL DRAPER
to extend this theodicy so that it accounts for
pain for which humans are not morally respon-
sible. (I will call this sort of pain “amoral
pain.”) Swinburne believes that free will
theodicies that employ T, can account for such
pain because (i) they explain why God gives
humans the freedom* to bring about suffer-
ing and (ii) amoral pain is necessary if humans
are to have genuine freedom* to bring about
suffering. Swinburne defends (ii) in the fol-
lowing way. Freedom* to bring about suffer-
ing requires the knowledge of how to bring
about suffering. And humans can obtain such
knowledge in only one of two ways: either by
God telling them how to bring about suffer-
ing or by experiencing how this is done. Un-
fortunately, if God told humans how to bring
about suffering, then humans would know
that God exists, and hence would have little
temptation to do evil and so no genuine free-
dom* to bring about suffering. So for humans
to have such freedom, they must learn by ex-
perience how to bring about suffering, and
hence must learn this either by observing suf-
fering for which no human is morally respon-
sible or by observing suffering brought about
by other humans. But for any particular kind
of suffering, there must have been a first time
when a human knew how to bring it about
despite never having observed suffering of that
kind brought about by a human. Hence, if
humans are to learn by experience how to
bring about suffering, then amoral pain must
exist. Therefore, such suffering is necessary for
humans to have the freedom* to bring about
suffering.
I will make three comments about this ar-
gument for (ii). First, even if it is sound, it
obviously does not provide an adequate the-
istic account of amoral pain from which hu-
mans gain no new knowledge about how to
produce or prevent suffering. Second, even if
it is sound, it does not provide an adequate
theistic explanation of most of the amoral pain
that does give humans new knowledge ofthis
sort. For an omnipotent and omniscient be-
ing could have greatly decreased the variety
of ways in which humans know how to harm
172
others, and so greatly decreased the amount
of amoral pain needed for this knowledge,
without decreasing the amount of harm hu-
mans can do to others and so without decreas-
ing the amount of control that humans have
over the well-being of others. Third, and most
importantly, the argument is not sound. As
Stump (1983) and Moser (1984) have ob-
served, God could, without permitting amoral
pain, give humans the knowledge of how to
bring about suffering without revealing His
existence and so without undermining human
freedom*. For example, as Stump (pp. 52-3)
has pointed out, humans might regularly have
vivid, message-laden dreams and learn of their
reKability, and yet not be compelled to be-
lieve in God.
So if this second version of the free will
theodicy raises P(O/theism) at all, it is be-
cause we have reason on T, that we do not
have on theism & ~T, to expect the existence
of pain for which humans are morally respon-
sible. Now, giving humans the freedom* to
bring about intense suffering is certainly one
way (though not the only way) of giving hu-
mans the freedom* to make important moral
decisions. So assuming that there is no better
way, we have some reason on T, to expect
humans to have such freedom’, and so rea-
son on T, to expect the existence of pain for
which humans are morally responsible. But
even granting all this, it can be shown that
P(O/T,) is not significantly greater than P(O/
theism & ~T,) by showing that other facts O
reports are even more surprising on T, than
they are on theism & ~T),.
An analogy between God and a good par-
ent will be useful here. Ironically, such an anal-
ogy is often used to defend this sort of
theodicy. For example, Swinburne (1979) re-
sponds to the objection that God should not
give humans the freedom* to seriously harm
others by asserting that the objector is asking
that God “make a toy-world, a world where
[our choices] matter, but not very much” (p.
219). Such a God “would be like the over-
protective parent who will not let his child
out of sight for a moment” (p. 220). But

Swinburne neglects to ask whether or not
humans are worthy of the freedom* to seri-
ously harm others. A good parent gradually
increases a child’s responsibility as the child
becomes capable of handling greater respon-
sibility. Children who are unworthy of a cer-
tain responsibility are not benefited by parents
who give them that responsibility. On the as-
sumption that T, is true, one would expect
that God would behave like a good parent,
giving humans great responsibility only when
we are worthy ofit. lam not claiming that on
T, one would expect God to impose a good
moral character on humans before He gives
them serious responsibilities. Nor am I claim-
ing that creatures who are worthy of great
responsibility would never abuse that respon-
sibility. Rather, I am claiming that on T, one
would expect God to give all or some humans
less responsibility — and in particular no abil-
ity to do serious evils — until they freely* de-
veloped the strength of character that would
make them worthy of greater responsibility.
And if at some point humans become worthy
of and are given great responsibility but nev-
ertheless abuse this responsibility to such an
extent that they are no longer worthy of it,
then one would on T, expect God, like a good
parent, to decrease the amount of responsi-
bility humans have until they are worthy of a
second chance.
But O conflicts with all of these expecta-
tions. Many humans are plainly not worthy of
the freedom* to do serious evils. Nor is the
human race making any significant amount
of moral progress. If God exists, then for cen-
turies He has been allowing his children to
torment, torture, and kill each other. Thus,
even if they were once worthy of great respon-
sibility, they no longer are, and hence are not
benefited by having such responsibility. So like
T,, T,’s predictive advantages are counterbal-
anced by several serious predictive disadvan-
tages. Therefore, P(O/T,) is not significantly
greater than P(O/theism & ~T,), and hence
this second version of the free will theodicy
fails to significantly raise P(O/theism).
PAIN AND PLEASURE
The “Infinite Intellect Defense”
Some philosophers think that “evidential ar-
guments from evil” can be refuted by point-
ing out that since God’s knowledge about
good and evil is limitless, it is not all that sur-
prising that He produces or permits evils for
reasons that are unknown to humans. The
expansion of theism suggested here is the fol-
lowing:
(T;) God exists and has a vast amount of knowl-
edge about good and evil and how they are
related that humans do not have.
Since P(T,/theism) = one, P(O/theism) =
P(O/T;). But this does not reveal any defect
in my argument for C. For antecedently — that
is, independent of the observations and testi-
mony O reports — we have no reason to think
that God’s additional knowledge concerning
good and evil is such that He would permit
any of the facts O reports to obtain. Of course,
an omnipotent and omniscient being might,
for all we know antecedently, have moral rea-
sons unknown to us to permit the evil reported
by O. But it is also the case that such a being
might, for all we know antecedently, have
moral reasons unknown to us to prevent this
evil. Indeed, we have no more reason ante-
cedently to believe that such a being would
know of some great good unknown to us
whose existence entails the existence of the
pain O reports than we have reason to believe
that such a being would know of some great
good unknown to us whose existence entails
the nonexistence of the pain or the pleasure
O reports. And an omnipotent and omniscient
being might very well know of means, far too
complicated for humans to understand, by
which He could obtain certain goods with-
out the evil O reports. Of course, given the
facts O reports, we have some reason on T; to
expect that humans will be unable to produce
a plausible theistic explanation of those facts.
But HI gives us even more reason to expect
this. So human ignorance does not solve the
theist’s evidential problems.
Hence, none ofthe theodicies we have con-
173
PAUL DRAPER
sidered significantly raises P(O/theism).
Therefore, relative to the espistemic situations
of those of us who are unable to think of some
other much more successful theodicy (i.e. all
of us, I suspect), C is true: P(O/HI) is much
greater than P(O/theism).
4 The Significance of the
Problem
In The Origin of Species, Charles Darwin ar-
gued that his theory of the evolution of spe-
cies by means of natural selection explains
numerous facts (e.g. the geographical distri-
bution of species and the existence of atro-
phied organs in animals) much better than the
alternative hypothesis, that each species of
plant and animal was independently created
by God. (Let us call this latter hypothesis “spe-
cial creationism.”) Darwin’s results were sig-
nificant partly because special creationists at
Darwin’s time did not have nor were they able
to obtain any evidence favoring special
creationism over evolutionary theory that out-
weighed or at least offset Darwin’s evidence
favoring evolutionary theory over special
creationism. For this reason, many theists,
while continuing to believe in creationism,
which is consistent with Darwin’s theory, re-
jected special creationism. And those theists
who were familiar with Darwin’s arguments
and yet remained special creationists did so at
a cost: their belief in special creationism was
no longer an epistemically rational one.
Similarly, how significant my results are
depends, in part, on how many theists have
or could obtain propositional or nonpropos-
itional evidence favoring theism over HI that
offsets the propositional evidence, provided
by my argument for C, favoring HI over the-
ism. Any theist confronted with my argument
for C who lacks such evidence and is unable
to obtain it cannot rationally continue to be-
lieve that theism is true. It is beyond the scope
of this paper to determine how many theists
would be in such a position. But I will make
four sets of comments that I hope indicate
174
how difficult a theist’s search for the needed
evidence might be.
First, I do not see how it could be shown
that HI is an ad hoc hypothesis or that theism
is intrinsically more probable than HI. For
HI is consistent with a wide variety of both
naturalistic and supernaturalistic hypotheses,
and it has no positive ontological commit-
ments. Theism, on the other hand, is a very
specific supernaturalistic claim with a very
strong ontological commitment. Indeed, such
differences between theism and HI might very
well provide additional evidence favoring HI
over theism.
Second, traditional and contemporary ar-
guments for theism are far from compelling —
that is, they are far from being so persuasive
as to coerce the acceptance of all or even most
rational theists. Thus, even if some such ar-
guments were sound, most theists, including
many philosophically sophisticated ones,
would not recognize this, and hence the ar-
gument would not provide them with evi-
dence favoring theism over HI. (The evidence
would exist, but they would not ave it.)
Third, many traditional and contemporary
arguments for theism, including many versions
of the cosmological argument, the teleologi-
cal argument, and the argument from con-
sciousness, may not solve the theist’s problem
even if they are sound and recognized by the
theist to be so. For they at most purport to
show that an omnipotent and omniscient be-
ing exists — not that the being is morally per-
fect. Suppose then that some such argument
is sound. My argument for C would work just
as well if HI were replaced with the following
hypothesis, which I will call “the Indifferent
Deity Hypothesis”:
There exists an omnipotent an omniscient per-
son who created the Universe and who has no
intrinsic concern about the pain or pleasure of
other beings.
Like theism, this hypothesis entails that an
omnipotent and omniscient being exists. So
establishing that such a being exists would help

the theist only if the theist also has strong evi-
dence favoring theism over the Indifferent
Deity Hypothesis.
Finally, religious experiences of the kind
appealed to by “Reformed Epistemologists”
like Alvin Plantinga (1983) are ambiguous
with respect to the moral attributes of the crea-
tor. While Plantinga is correct in claiming that
theists typically do feel inclined in certain cir-
cumstances (e.g. “when life is sweet and satis-
fying”) to think that the creator is morally
good, sensitive theists also feel inclined in
other circumstances — namely, when they ex-
perience poignant evil — to believe that the
creator is indifferent to their good or to the
good of others. And many atheists have very
powerful experiences in which they seem to
be aware of the ultimate indifference of na-
ture. These experiences are very common and
are very similar phenomenologically to the
experiences Plantinga mentions. Moreover, C
implies that these “experiences of indifference”
are better corroborated than the “theistic ex-
periences” to which Plantinga appeals. Thus,
even if Plantinga is correct in thinking that
theistic experiences confer prima facie justifi-
cation on the theist’s belief in God, experi-
ences of indifference defeat this justification.
Therefore, theistic experiences do not provide
nonpropositional evidence that favors theism
over HI, or at least none that outweighs the
propositional evidence favoring HI over the-
ism provided by my argument for C.
References
Adams, Robert M., “Middle Knowledge and the
Problem of Evil,” American Philosophical Quar-
terly, 14 (1977), pp. 109-17.
—,, “Plantinga on the Problem of Evil.” In Alvin
Plantinga, ed. James E. Tomberlin and Peter
van Inwagen (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1985), pp.
225-55.
Ahern, M. B., The Problem of Evil (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1971).
Boorse, Christopher, “Wright on Functions,” Phzlo-
sophical Review, 85 (1976), pp. 70-86.
Hare, Peter H., and Edward H. Madden, Evil and
PAIN AND PLEASURE
the Concept of God (Springfield, Ill.: Charles C.
Thomas, 1968).
——., “Evil and Inconclusiveness,” Sophia (Aus-
tralia), 11 (1972), pp. 8-12.
Hick, John, Evil and the God of Love (New York:
Harper, and Row, 1966).
Hume, David, Dialogues Concerning Natural Re-
ligion, ed. Richard Popkin (Indianapolis:
Hackett, 1980).
Kane, Stanley, “Theism and Evil,” Sophia (Aus-
tralia), 9 (1970), pp. 14-21.
Mavrodes, George I., Belief in God: a Study in the
Epistemology of Religion (New York: Random
House, 1970).
Moser, Paul K., “Natural Evil and the Free Will
Defense,” International Journal for Philosophy
of Religion, 15 (1984), pp. 149-56.
Pargetter, Robert, “Evil as Evidence against the
Existence of God,” Mind, 85 (1976), pp. 242-
De
Plantinga, Alvin, “The Probabilistic Argument
from Evil,” Philosophical Studies, 35 (1979),
pp. 1-53.
——., “Reason and Belief in God.” In Faith and
Rationality: Reason and Belief im God, ed. Alvin
Plantinga and Nicholas Wolterstorff (Notre
Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
1983), pp. 16-93.
Reichenbach, Bruce, “The Inductive Argument
from Evil,” American Philosophical Quarterly,
17 (1980), pp. 221-7.
Ruse, Michael, The Philosophy ofBiology (London:
Hutchinson, 1973).
Sircello, Guy, A New Theory of Beauty (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1975).
Stump, Eleonore, “Knowledge, Freedom and the
Problem of Evil,” International Journal for Phi-
losophy of Religion, 14 (1983), pp. 49-58.
Swinburne, Richard, The Existence of God (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1979).
Wykstra, Stephen J., “The Humean Obstacle to
Evidential Arguments from Suffering: On
Avoiding the Evils of ‘Appearance,’ ” Interna-
tional Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 16
(1984), pp. 73-93.
Yandell, Keith E., “Ethics, Evils and Theism,”
Sophia (Australia), 8 (1969a), pp. 18-28.
——,, “A Premature Farewell to Theism,” Religious
Studies, 5 (1969b), pp. 251-5.
——, “Theism and Evil: A Reply,” Sophia (Aus-
tralia), 11 (1972), pp. 1-7.
WS
Defense
21 On Being Evidentially Challenged*
Alvin Plantinga
1 The Argument Initially
Stated
Pain and pleasure, says Paul Draper, consti-
tute an evidential problem for theists.’ What
precisely is the problem?
The problem is not that some proposition about
pain and pleasure can be shown to be both true
and logically inconsistent with theism. Rather,
the problem is evidential. A statement report-
ing the observations and testimony upon which
our knowledge about pain and pleasure is based
bears a certain significant negative evidential
relation to theism.
What is that statement, and what is the sig-
nificant negative evidential relation it bears to
theism? As for the former,
Now let “O” stand for a statement reporting
both the observations one has made of humans
and animals experiencing pain or pleasure and
the testimony one has encountered concerning
the observations others have made of sentient
beings experiencing pain or pleasure. By “pain”
I mean physical or mental suffering of any sort.
So O is the statement that bears a significant
negative evidential relation to theism. Note
that O is person relative: each of us will have
her own O, and my O may differ from yours.
“From The Evidential Argument from Evil, ed. Dan-
iel Howard-Snyder (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1996), pp. 244-61. Reprinted with permission.
176
My O, we might say, sets out the facts about
the magnitude, variety, distribution, duration,
and the like (for short, the “disposition” )of
pleasure and pain as I know them.
Now what is the significant negative evi-
dential relation to theism in which O stands?
Here Draper bows in the direction of David
Hume: most contemporary philosophers of
religion (unlike Hume) “have failed to recog-
nize that one cannot determine what facts
about evil theism needs to explain or how well
it needs to explain them without considering
alternatives to theism.” The important ques-
tion is “whether or not any serious hypoth-
esis that is logically inconsistent with theism
explains some significant set of facts about evil
or about good and evil much better than the-
ism does.”
The answer to this important question, says
Draper, is that indeed there is such a hypoth-
esis, one that is both inconsistent with theism
and explains some significant facts about good
and evil much better than theism does. This
is the “Hypothesis of Indifference” (HI for
short):
(HI) neither the nature nor the condition
of sentient beings on earth is the re-
sult of benevolent or malevolent ac-
tions performed by nonhuman
persons.
HI, of course, is inconsistent with theism
(taking the latter to entail that the world has
been created by a person who is wholly good

as well as omnipotent and omniscient). And
now Draper’s claim:
(C) HI explains the facts O reports much
better than theism does.
What is it for a proposition to “explain” some-
thing like the facts that O reports?
I will reformulate C as the claim that the facts
O reports are much more surprising on theism
than they are on HI, or more precisely, that the
antecedent probability ofO is much greater on
the assumption that HI is true than on the as-
sumption that theism is true.
I take it the more precise formulation is the
operative one here; we must therefore ask what
this “antecedent probability” is. “By the ‘an-
tecedent’ probability of O,” says Draper, “I
mean O’s probability, independent of(rather
than temporally prior to) the observations and
testimony it reports.”
Finally, the probability in question is
epistemic probability, not (for example) logi-
cal, statistical, or physical probability. And
what is epistemic probability?
The concept of epistemic probability is an ordi-
nary concept of probability for which no ad-
equate philosophical analysis has, in my opinion,
been proposed. As a first approximation, how-
ever, perhaps the following analysis will do:
Relative to K, p is epistemically more prob-
able than q, where K is an epistemic situation
and p and q are propositions, just in case any
fully rational person in K would have a higher
degree of belief in p than in q.
As Draper says, epistemic probability is an
ordinary concept that is difficult to analyze or
explain; suppose we provisionally accept Drap-
er’s proposed first approximation.’ I take it
there is an implicit restriction to human per-
sons; how things might go with other rational
creatures is not our present concern. What
does K include; what goes into an epistemic
situation? We shall have to return to this ques-
tion later; for now let’s say initially that K, for
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
a given person S, would include at least some
of the other propositions S believes, as well as
the experiences S is undergoing and perhaps
has undergone; it would also include what S
remembers, possibly a specification of S’s
epistemic environment, and no doubt more
besides.
Now we see the general shape of the argu-
ment: the first premise is C, the claim that HI
explains O much better than theism does —
that is, the antecedent epistemic probability
ofO given HI is much greater than the ante-
cedent probability of O given theism. And
second, if C is true, says Draper, then “we
have a prima facie good epistemic reason to
reject theism — that is, a reason that is suffi-
cient for rejecting theism unless overridden
by other reasons for not rejecting theism.”
Here he is apparently relying on a general prin-
ciple; perhaps something like
(1) For any propositions P and Q and per-
son S, if Sbelieves Pand Qand there is a
serious hypothesis R that is incompat-
ible with P and such that the epistemic
probability of Q with respect to R for S$
is much greater than the epistemic prob-
ability of Q with respect to P for S, then
Shas a prima facie good epistemic rea-
son to reject P.
So Draper’s claim is that HI explains O much
better than theism does; since HI is a serious
hypothesis and is inconsistent with theism, we
have a prima facie good reason for rejecting
theism:
Suppose that I succeed in showing that C is true
(relative to my own and my reader’s epistemic
situations). Then the truth of C is (for us) a
prima facie good (epistemic) reason to believe
that theism is less probable than HI. Thus, since
the denial of theism is obviously entailed by HI
and so is at least as probable as HI, the truth of
C is a prima facie good reason to believe that
theism is less probable than not. And since it is
epistemically irrational to believe both that the-
ism is true and that it is less probable than not,
the truth of C is also a prima facie good reason
Le,
ALVIN PLANTINGA
to reject (i.e. to cease or refrain from believing)
theism.
2 The Argument Examined
This is a subtle and powerful challenge; it de-
serves a closer look. The argument has two
premises, C and (1). Suppose we begin with
(1).
2.1 On Being Evidentially
Challenged
Draper argues that P(O/HI) is much larger
(with respect to the theist’s epistemic situa-
tion) than P(O/theism); I shall give some rea-
sons later for thinking that false. But suppose
it were true: what kind and how much of a
challenge to theistic belief would this be? How
widespread is this evidential disability? Before
we can answer this question, we must ask an-
other: what is a serzous alternative hypothesis?
Draper answers this question elsewhere: “Spe-
cifically, one hypothesis is a “serious” alterna-
tive to another only if (i) it is not ad hoc — the
facts to be explained are not arbitrarily built
into it — and (ii) it is at least as plausible ini-
tially as the other hypothesis.”* Condition (i)
requires no present comment, but what about
condition (ii)? How are we to understand
“plausibility” here? I think Draper means to
abstract from specific epistemic situations: the
plausibility of a hypothesis depends not on
considerations such as the specific evidence
(propositional and nonpropositional) I may
have for or against it (else HI might not be
nearly as plausible, for me, as theism), but on
more general considerations such as its scope,
how it fits in with what is generally known (a
hypothesis entailing that the world is flat
wouldn’t be plausible), and the like. We don’t
have an account of plausibility that is at all
precise or specific, but perhaps we don’t need
one for present purposes.
So suppose we say that a proposition P is
evidentially challenged for S if it satisfies the
antecedent of (1): Pis evidentially challenged
178
for a person S if and only if S believes P and
there are propositions Q and R such that S
believes Q, R is incompatible with P, and Qis
much more probable with respect to R than
with respect to P. What (1) claims is that if a
proposition P is evidentially challenged for S,
then S has a prima facie good epistemic rea-
son for rejecting P— for being agnostic with
respect to it or believing its denial. Is this re-
ally true? Is being evidentially challenged a
serious handicap?
Well, how widespread is it? How many of
my beliefs ave evidentially challenged, for me?
More, perhaps, than we might initially think.
For example, here are three more propositions
related, for me, as are theism, O and HI: (1)
George is a non-Catholic, (2) George is a pro-
fessor at Notre Dame, and (3) George is a
Catholic academic. I believe both (1) and (2);
but (2) is much more likely (perhaps a mil-
lion times more likely) on (3), a proposition
incompatible with (1), than it is on (1). Does
this fact give me a good reason to reject (1)?
(Should I reconsider: George is a professor at
Notre Dame, after all, and that is enormously
more likely on (3) than on (1). So maybe he’s
really a Catholic?). Not clearly.
Indeed, I think it likely that everything I
believe — in any event every belief of mine that
is possible in the broadly logical sense — is also
evidentially challenged. I don’t know how to
give a proof of this claim (it probably isn’t
worth spending a whole lot of time trying to
find a general proof); but it certainly seems
likely to be the case. So, for example, let P be
the proposition that I am now typing at my
computer and let Q be the proposition that
the lilacs are blooming in my backyard. Q
is
improbable on P (sadly enough, most of the
time when I am typing on my computer, the
lilacs aren’t blooming): as R, choose the
proposition I and some dinner guests are in
the backyard (out of reach of my computer)
admiring the lilacs. Clearly Q ismuch more
likely with respect to R than with respect to P
(I hardly ever admire the lilacs with dinner
guests while typing at my computer). The
proposition that I am now typing on my com-

puter is therefore evidentially challenged; does
this give me much of a prima facie reason to
reject it?
Alternatively, let P be the proposition that
London, England, is larger than London,
Ontario, and let Q be the proposition that
yesterday afternoon I was in the north half of
the woods behind my house. I believe both
of these propositions. Qis unlikely on P; lam
seldom in those woods (though if Iam I am
likely to be in the north half). And let R be
the proposition that yesterday afternoon I
went for a walk in the woods behind my house
in order to try to recover from the shock of
learning that as a matter of fact London, Eng-
land, is smaller than London, Ontario. P is
evidentially challenged, but the challenge
doesn’t give me much ofa reason to doubt it.
I think you get the picture. For any propo-
sition I believe (so long as it is not logically
impossible) I can find an evidential challenge.
And this leads me to think that a challenge of
this sort is not very significant by itself or in
the general case. If every or nearly every propo-
sition I believe faces an evidential challenge,
then I don’t learn much ofinterest about the-
ism in learning that it too faces such a chal-
lenge. Indeed, O itself, the proposition
recording what I’ve learned by observation
and testimony of the pattern of pain and pleas-
ure, faces an evidential challenge. Let Q be as
above, the proposition that yesterday after-
noon I was in the north half of the woods
behind my house; this is improbable with re-
spect to O, but probable with respect to yes-
terday afternoon, while walking in the woods
behind my house, I suddenly realized that O ts
false, which is of course incompatible with O.
Under what conditions (if any) would a
challenge of this sort de significant? What sorts
of beliefs are such that their being subject to
an evidential challenge gives us serious reason
to doubt them? Here we think first of scien-
tific hypotheses. I propose a hypothesis to
explain the behavior of gases: you point out
that certain data are more probable with re-
spect to another hypothesis incompatible with
mine; that certainly seems to be a strong prima
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
facie reason to doubt my hypothesis.
But here we must be careful. Every scien-
tific hypothesis I believe (like the rest of what
I believe) faces an evidential challenge, and in
most cases those evidential challenges cast al-
most no doubt on the hypothesis. For exam-
ple, I believe that Newtonian mechanics is
pretty nearly correct for everyday objects and
velocities. Returning to the previous exam-
ple, however, it is unlikely, with respect to
Newtonian mechanics, that yesterday I should
have been in the north half of the woods be-
hind my house, but likely that I should have
been there with respect to the proposition that
yesterday afternoon I took a walk in the woods
in order to recover from the shock of learning
that Newtonian mechanics isn’t anywhere
nearly correct for everyday objects and veloci-
ties. Does that give me a reason to doubt
Newtonian mechanics? Probably not.
Why not? There are at least two reasons. To
facilitate discussion, suppose we say that when
a hypothesis Pis evidentially challenged for S,
the other proposition Q that S believes is the
datum and the proposition R incompatible
with P with respect to which Qis much more
likely than it is with respect to Pis the alter-
native hypothesis. Now obviously enough a
hypothesis like Newtonian mechanics is not
obliged to account for or predict something
like the fact that I was in the north half of the
woods yesterday; that is not the business it is
in. It doesn’t matter that this datum is im-
probable on Newtonian mechanics, and the
fact that it is casts no doubt on it. For each
scientific hypothesis, there will be a body of
data (past and future) such that the success of
the hypothesis depends upon how well it ex-
plains that data (the data relevant to the
theory); and the datum in question is not rel-
evant to Newtonian mechanics. Similarly, for
an evidential challenge to have any force, the
alternative hypothesis must also be relevant.
(The denial of Newtonian mechanics isn’t,
presumably, a relevant alternative, and, as
Draper in effect points out, we don’t get a
relevant alternative hypothesis by conjoining
the denial of Newtonian mechanics with the
179
ALVIN PLANTINGA
proposition that I was in the woods yester-
day.) Of course we don’t so far know what
relevance is (we have only given it a name);
and it is a monumentally nontrivial matter to
say what it consists in.
But perhaps we need not carry this discus-
sion further for present purposes. Let’s pretend
that we know (at least roughly and to a zeroeth
approximation) what relevance is. And say that
a proposition Pis relevantly challenged when it
faces an epistemic challenge in which Q is a
relevant datum and R a relevant alternative
hypothesis. Now many scientific hypotheses (at
least on the most usual stories) get all or nearly
all of their epistemic probability from the fact
that they account for the relevant data;* and a
proposition of that sort is heavily challenged
indeed by a relevant evidential challenge. If I
discover that a belief of this sort is subject to
an evidential challenge, then I do indeed have
substantial evidence against it and a good prima
facie reason to give it up.
So what we have so far is that a proposition’s
being subject to a relevant evidential challenge
is serious evidence against it if it is a scientific
hypothesis and is such that the evidence for it
is just the fact that it properly explains the data
in question and perhaps does so better than
any relevant alternative hypothesis. But (to re-
turn to Draper’s evidential challenge) it is an
enormous and in my opinion wholly false as-
sumption to think that belief in God, or more
broadly, the larger set of Christian (or Jewish
or Muslim) beliefs of which belief in God is a
part, is, at any rate for most believes, relevantly
like a scientific hypothesis. The evidence for
these beliefs is not the fact (if it is a fact) that
they properly explain some body of data. For
most believers, theistic belief is part of a larger
whole, a Christian or Muslim or Jewish whole,
and is not accepted as anything like a scientific
hypothesis. That is, it is not accepted as an ex-
planation of anything,* and its evidence does
not consist in the fact that it nicely explains
some body of data.
But does this fact, crucially important as it
is, deliver theism from Draper’s evidential
challenge? Is it ovly scientific hypotheses for
180
which (relevant) evidential challenges are se-
rious? No. Suppose you are under the impres-
sion that your friend Paul has been vacationing
on Cape Cod for the last couple of weeks, but
you get postcards from him, all of which were
mailed from Grand Teton National Park; he
doesn’t say in the postcards where he is, but
he does note the remarkably dry air, as well as
the great differences between day and
nighttime temperatures. Then I think your
belief that he is vacationing at Cape Cod is
seriously challenged (a relevant alternative
hypothesis being that he is vacationing in the
Tetons). This is true even though the warrant
for your belief that he was vacationing on the
Cape didn’t arise as a result of its properly
explaining data of one kind or another. (You
have a rather indistinct memory of his telling
you so.) So it isn’t just scientific hypotheses
that can be called into question by virtue of
facing a relevant evidential challenge. (What
does seem more likely is that a relevant evi-
dential challenge is serious only if the chal-
lenged belief doesn’t have much warrant that
comes from sources other than its explaining
some body of data.)
Well, then, what about theism? Suppose
Draper is right: suppose the probability of O
on theism is much less than that of O on HI;
would that constitute a relevant evidential
challenge? That depends on whether O is a
relevant datum and HI a relevant alternative
hypothesis for theism. Since we don’t have
much of an idea of what relevance is, that
question may be a little difficult. But let’s agree
that O is indeed relevant. What about HI?
Here I have my doubts. HI is equivalent to
the denial oftheism conjoined with the propo-
sition that the nature and condition of sen-
tient beings isn’t due to the benevolent or
malevolent action of any other nonhuman
persons either. One doesn’t ordinarily think
of the denial of ahypothesis as a relevant al-
ternative hypothesis; what about the denial of
the hypothesis conjoined with something else?
But rather than pursue that question, suppose
we concede for purposes of argument that HI,
like O, is relevant to theism. If so, then HI

and O meet the initial conditions for present-
ing theism with a relevant evidential challenge;
what remains to be seen is (1) whether in fact
O is much more probable with respect to HI
than with respect to theism, (2) whether, if it
is, there are other data much more probable
with respect to theism than with respect to
HI, and (3) whether theism has much by way
of warrant that doesn’t arise from its nicely
explaining a body of data. Let’s begin with
the first of these questions.
2.2 IsC True?
Draper restates C as C*: “the antecedent prob-
ability of O is much greater on the assump-
tion that HI is true than on the assumption
that theism is true” and argues for it as fol-
lows. First, he introduces the notion of bio-
logical usefulness. “a part of some goal-directed
organic system S is ‘biologically useful’ just in
case (i) it causally contributes to one of S’s
biological goals (or to one of the biological
goals of some other goal-directed organic sys-
tem of which it is a part), and (ii) its doing so
is not biologically accidental.” Second, O
(which, you recall, reports roughly what you
know about the pattern of pain and pleasure
among sentient creatures on earth) can be
partitioned into three propositions, Ol, O2,
and O3: O1 states what O says about the pat-
tern, with respect to moral agents of pain and
pleasure that we know to be biologically use-
ful; O2 states what O says about the distribu-
tion, with respect to sentient beings that are
not moral agents, of pain and pleasure we
know to be biologically useful; and O3 states
what O says about the pattern with respect to
sentient beings generally (moral agents or not)
ofpain and pleasure we don’t know to be bio-
logically useful. O is logically equivalent to
the conjunction of Ol with O2 and O83; but
then (where /is any proposition) by the prob-
ability calculus,
P(Ol & O2 & O3/h) =
P(OL/h) x P(O2/h & Ol) x
P(O3/h & Ol & O2).
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
Hence C* is true if and only if
(2) P(O1/HI) x P(O2/HI & O1) x
P(O3/HI & Ol & O2)
is much greater than
(3) P(Ol/theism) x P(O2/theism & O1) x
P(O3/theism & Ol & O2).
And Draper argues that (2) 7s much greater
than (3); he argues that the first and third
multiplicands of (2) are much greater than the
corresponding multiplicands of (3), and that
the second multiplicand of (3) is greater (al-
though not necessarily much greater) than the
second multiplicand of (3).
Before examining his argument, we must
first briefly note a couple of preliminaries. First,
remember that a proposition has epistemic
probability for a person S; we aren’t asking
whether, say, P(O1/HI) is much greater than
P(Ol/theism) simpliciter, but whether it is
much greater with respect to a given epistemic
situation. (Since Draper claims that his argu-
ment presents an evidential problem for the-
ists, this would presumably be the epistemic
situation of a typical theist, or of most or many
theists, or something of the sort.) Different
people have different epistemic situations;
P(O1/HI) is different with respect to differ-
ent situations; hence P(O1/HI) may be quite
different for you than for me. In order to sim-
plify matters, I shall conduct the discussion
relative to my own epistemic situation, al-
though of course I am hoping it will be easy
enough to apply the results to your epistemic
situation.
Second, when I ask what P(O1 /theism) is,
I am not, of course, to say that it is unity, on
the grounds that I know O1 to be true. No
doubt I do know O1 to be true, but I am to
estimate this probability, as Draper says, “in-
dependent of the observations and testimony
O reports,” and hence with respect to an
epistemic situation different from my own.
Which epistemic situation? Perhaps we can
make an initial stab as follows: suppose we
181
ALVIN PLANTINGA
assume, for purposes of carrying on the argu-
ment, that we can speak of one epistemic situ-
ation’s being similar to another, and indeed
can compare degrees of likeness here, so that
we can say of three epistemic situations A, B,
and C that A is more similar to B than C is.
Then perhaps we could add that the sort of
epistemic situation with respect to which Iam
to evaluate the epistemic probability of O is
one that is, among epistemic situations that
do not include the belief that O1, maximally
similar to mine. This raises further problems:
are there epistemic situations distinct from but
maximally similar to mine? And which respects
of similarity are to be weighted most heavily?
Different weighings will result in very differ-
ent values for (O1/HI). But these are prob-
lems with the whole notion of epistemic
probability; we don’t have to solve all the
problems connected with that vexed notion
before considering Draper’s argument.
Third, how shall I estimate P(O1/H1I), rela-
tive to my epistemic situation? I am a theist;
therefore I don’t believe HI, and in fact be-
lieve that it is false. So of course I can’t just
add it to my epistemic situation and try to
estimate P(O1/HI) with respect to the re-
sult: that result would be a disgusting
hodgepodge. Following the previous sugges-
tion, perhaps we must ask what P(O1/HI)
would be relative to an epistemic situation that
was maximally similar to mine among
epistemic situations including HI.
Returning to Draper’s argument: as we saw,
he proposes to argue that (2) is much more
probable than (3) by arguing that the first and
third multiplicands of (2) are much greater
than their counterparts in (3) and that the
second multiplicand of(2) is greater than that
of (3). I shall consider only what he has to say
about the first and third multiplicands.
2.3. Is P(O1/HI) >! P(Ol/Theism)?
O1, you recall, is a proposition reporting what
you (or I) know by way of observation and
testimony about the pattern, with respect to
moral agents, of pain and pleasure that we
182
know to be biologically useful. So the ques-
tion is whether this pattern is very much more
probable, for me, on HI than on theism.
Draper thinks it is much more probable. Why
so? Because (a) we know that human beings
are goal-directed organic systems; (b) this
leads us to expect that the distribution of pain
and pleasure among human beings would sys-
tematically contribute to the achievement of
the organic goals of human beings; and (c)
that is just what O1 shows. So the probability
of O1 on HI is relatively high. But on theism
things are quite different. That is because pain
and pleasure have an evaluative or axiological
dimension: pain is bad and pleasure is good.
Consequently, “we would have much less rea-
son on theism than on HI to be surprised if it
turned out that human pain and pleasure dif-
fered from other parts of organic systems by
not systematically contributing to the biologi-
cal goals of those systems. hence, since Ol
reports that the pain and pleasure experienced
by humans (who are moral agents) do con-
tribute in this way, P(O1/HI) is much greater
than P(O1/theism).”
But is this really so? Suppose we look a bit
further. I agree that we shouldn’t be particu-
larly surprised, given theism, if pain and pleas-
ure did not systematically contribute to those
biological goals (and let’s suppose that the
main relevant biological goals, as Draper seems
to think, are survival and reproduction). But
this is in large part because one doesn’t really
know what to expect God to do. We would
of course expect that he would choose the best
alternative, if indeed there is a best, but we
don’t know nearly enough to know what that
best alternative might be. So we wouldn’t be
particularly surprised ifit turned out that pain
and pleasure did not systematically contrib-
ute to the goals of survival and reproduction.
But something similar seems to me to be
true on HI. Consider an epistemic situation
that contains the belief that HI and is other-
wise as much like mine as possible: with re-
spect to such an epistemic situation it would
not, I think, be at all overwhelmingly prob-
able that pleasure and pain contribute system-

atically to the organic goals of survival and
reproduction on the parts of moral agents.
There are several reasons. For one thing, I
am strongly inclined to believe that there are
moral agents — angels and devils — who are sen-
tient beings but for whom pleasure and pain
don’t play much of a biological role at all. But
of course the moral agents we know best are
human beings, so suppose we stick to them.
As Draper says, we do indeed know of many
human phenomena that contribute to the or-
ganic goals of survival and reproduction; but
we also know of much that does not so con-
tribute, or prima facie does not so contribute,
or at any rate is such that we do not know that
it does so contribute. Thus, for example, mo-
rality plays an enormously important role in
human life; much of what it enjoins and much
of our response to what it enjoins doesn’t at all
obviously contribute to the biological goals of
survival and reproduction. Many human be-
ings display a powerful sense ofjustice and fierce
determination to follow it where it leads; they
are willing to devote enormous time and en-
ergy and sometimes their very lives to trying
to right wrongs, defend the weak, uproot a
wicked and unjust social system. On the face
of it, most of this seems to have very little to
do with contributing to such biological goals
as survival and reproduction.
Many human beings are also deeply altruis-
tic: there are Mother Teresa and the little sis-
ters of the poor; there are the Jesuit
missionaries of the sixteenth century and the
Methodist missionaries of the nineteenth;
there are enormous numbers of people who
have risked or given their lives to save others
from accident, disease, and attack. Most of us,
in fact, display altruistic impulses; most of us
at one time or another are prepared to help
others who need help, even at considerable
cost to ourselves. These are things people do;
but they too seem to have little connection
with survival and reproduction.
There is also religion. Being religious is a
nearly universal human characteristic; it com-
mands great loyalty and devotion; over the
world and at all times past and present most
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
people have been prepared to devote time,
energy, and material resources to the service
of religious goals. Many have chosen lives of
celibacy in the service of what they take to be
true religion; and some have been prepared
to sacrifice their very lives to what they see as
its proper practice. Once more, these religious
activities don’t seem to contribute to such
biological goals as reproduction and survival.
There are many other characteristically hu-
man activities and phenomena that apparently
do not (or do not apparently) contribute to
those biological goals. Literature, poetry,
music, art, mathematics, logic, philosophy,
nuclear physics, evolutionary biology, play,
humor, exploration, and adventure — these are
phenomena of enormous significance in hu-
man life. Indeed they are among the most
important and significant of all the things we
human beings do. But again, they don’t seem
in any direct way to contribute to survival and
reproduction.
So many of the most important human phe-
nomena do not appear to contribute, in any
systematic way, to these biological goals. Of
course some urge a biological explanation of
these phenomena: contrary to initial appear-
ances, they say, they really do contribute to
survival and reproduction; and therein lies
their real significance. But most of these “ex-
planations” range from the dubious to the
preposterous. In any event, that is how they
seem to me, and it is my epistemic situation
that is at issue here.
There are, then, many human phenomena,
and indeed phenomena widely thought to be
of the greatest significance, that do not, or
prima facie do not, or at any rate are not
known to contribute systematically to those
biological goals. Therefore, with respect to my
epistemic situation and HI, it would not be
particularly surprising, so it seems to me, if
the distribution of human pleasure and pain
did not contribute in this way to the biologi-
cal goals of survival and reproduction. Rela-
tive to my epistemic situation, P(O1/HI) does
not seem much greater, if greater at all, than
P(O1 /theism).
183
ALVIN PLANTINGA
2i43 As P(O3/HI @ OLE O02) >
! P(O3/Theism & OL & O2)?
Well, why should we think so? Draper’s argu-
ment is twofold. In the first place, on theism
and Ol and O2, he says, it is probable that
sentient creatures in general would be happy;
on HI & O1 & O2 this is not so; and in fact
they are not in general happy. Secondly,
we have, antecedently, much more reason on
HI & O1 & O2 than on theism to believe that
the fundamental role ofpain and pleasure in our
world is a biological one and that the presence
of biologically gratuitous pain and pleasure is
epiphenomenal, a biological accident resulting
from nature’s or an indifferent creator’s failure
to “fine tune” organic systems;
and, he adds, “this is undeniably supported
(though not entailed) by what O3 reports.”
Turn to the second reason first. The claim
is that with respect to the theist’s epistemic
situation, it is very likely on HI & Ol & O2
that the fundamental role of pleasure and pain
in our world is a biological one; on theism &
Ol & O2 this is not particularly likely. Now
it isn’t entirely easy to evaluate this sugges-
tion. HI is in the neighborhood of a disjunc-
tion of naturalism with indifferent creationism,
the proposition that we have been created by
one or more morally indifferent beings. I be-
lieve that on naturalism & Ol & O2 it is likely
that the fundamental role of pain and pleas-
ure in our world is biological, but I can’t see
that the same goes for indifferent creationism.
And how are these — naturalism and indiffer-
ent creationism — to be weighted? How would
they be weighted in an epistemic situation that
contained the belief that HI but was other-
wise as much as possible like mine? Which
would be more probable, and how much more
probable? I really haven’t the faintest idea how
to answer those questions.
But let’s suppose for purposes of argument
that Draper is right: on HI and O1 and O2
but not on theism & O1 & O2 there is excel-
lent reason to believe that the fundamental
role of pleasure and pain, in our world, is bio-
184
logical. Now Draper thinks “this is undeni-
ably supported (though not entailed) by what
O3 reports.” But és it really supported? We
must note the enormous diversity and variety
of human pleasure and pain; much of it doesn’t
seem to have any direct connection at all with
such biological goals as survival and reproduc-
tion. Think again of the pleasure and pain,
the suffering and joy that go with morality
and religion, not to mention friendship, art,
science, music, literature, play, humor, and the
like. How much of the pleasure and pain that
I experience in a day is biologically useful or
significant? Maybe I dribble hot water on my
hand while trying to make tea: that pain is
biologically useful, as is the pleasure of a good
meal, sexual pleasure, the satisfied glow fol-
lowing vigorous exercise, and perhaps (but
also perhaps not) the pain and sadness upon
hearing of a friend’s serious and possibly fatal
disease. But most of the pleasure and pain of
my day isn’t like that.
Take the pleasure first: there is enjoying the
company of family and friends, amiable ban-
ter with genial colleagues, a good laugh with
a friend, satisfaction in finishing a paper, de-
light in getting the first copies of a pair of
books I’ve been working on for years, delight
in some new accomplishment on the part of
one of my children (or students or friends),
delight in a glorious spring day, satisfaction
in noting that (after about eight years) the
lilacs have finally decided to bloom, a gleam
of malicious pleasure in seeing just how bad
some of the arguments against mind-body
dualism really are, pleasure in hearing from
someone on e-mail, in anticipating an
upcoming rock-climbing trip (or remember-
ing one of twenty years ago), exalting in a bit
of Mozart, satisfaction at working out a philo-
sophical problem, or in coming to new (for
me, anyway) insight, or in learning something
interesting and important, delight in the sight
of someone or something beautiful, feeling,
during morning devotions, just a glimmer (sel-
dom more) of the Psalmist’s joy and delight
in the Lord, feeling a wholly inadequate bit
of gratitude for God’s presence in my life and

for the splendid offer of grace to me and those
I love and others, sometimes feeling just a bit
of that ultimate safety, that knowledge that
nothing can go really wrong, finally and irre-
trievably wrong, for God’s children in God’s
world.
On the other side, there is fear that I’ll once
more make an ass of myself in an upcoming
sticky situation, embarrassment at some fool-
ish or ill-conceived thing I’ve said, pique or
disappointment or sorrow over something I’ve
done wrong, something I’ve failed at, some-
thing where I should have known better (or
worse (contrary to Socrates), where I knew
better but did it anyway), a bit of sorrow for
sins that seem to stick to me like glue decade
after decade, sardonic disappointment when
I come to see the devious and subtle way in
which I have once more deceived myself (and
others) trying to make myself look good, sor-
row and disappointment that I don’t make
more progress on the tough road of sanctifi-
cation, worry that I’ll never get to finish the
books and projects I have in mind, a pang of
real fear when I think of old age and what it
brings, anger and sorrow over my father’s
more than half a century of suffering from
manic depressive psychosis (why the hell
should he have to suffer like that for so long?
what can that possibly be good for?), pain
when I think of my children’s sorrow and sad-
ness because of the handicaps of their chil-
dren, anger upon hearing of a fresh atrocity
in former Yugoslavia, or Los Angeles, disgust
that I can’t seem to control my appetite, in-
cipient fury upon reading of yet another case
of horrifying child abuse (I’d like to get a base-
ball bat and show that bastard what it feels
like to be abused!), mixed sorrow and anger
when J hear of another person whose impor-
tant work in God’s kingdom has been de-
stroyed or compromised by some sexual or
other wrongdoing, a pang of envy when one
of my friends does something terrific, some-
thing I wish I’d done, followed by a prick of
conscience and a pang of guilt for being envi-
ous instead of delighted, frustration that I
can’t get something properly figured out, dis-
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
tress at feeling stupid when I can’t understand
something that I’m pretty sure makes good
sense, and so on.
None ofthis seems at all directly connected
with the satisfaction of those biological goals.
In fact the vast bulk of pleasure and pain in
my life seems to have little connection with
those goals; and I suspect the same goes for
others. Again, some people will argue that in
fact the pleasure and pain that go with these
things zs biologically useful; but again, most
of these arguments seem at best doubtful and
at worst plainly foolish. Perhaps we can say,
with Draper, that it isn’t known that these
don’t have a biological explanation; but of
course it is also not known that they do. Fur-
thermore, it is my epistemic situation that is
at issue; I don’t in fact believe that these pleas-
ures and pains do have a biological explana-
tion, and think it rather unlikely that they do.
So (contrary to Draper) I do not think that
what O3 reports at all strongly supports (with
respect to my epistemic situation) the claim
that the fundamental role of pleasure and pain
(at least in the lives of human beings) is bio-
logical. T/is reason for thinking P(O3/(HI
& Ol & O2)) much greater than P(O3/(the-
ism & Ol & O2)), therefore, seems to me
mistaken.
Suppose we turn now to Draper’s other rea-
son for thinking P(O3/(HI & O1 & O2))
much greater than P(O3/(theism & O1 &
O2)): this is the claim that sentient creatures
are not in general happy, while on theism &
Ol & O2, but not on HI & Ol & O2, we
would expect them to be so. Now first, it isn’t
easy to be at all sure whether or not sentient
creatures are in general happy: how would we
know a thing like that? We don’t know nearly
enough about the inner lives of nonhuman
creatures. (We do have such expressions as
“Happy as a clam,” and “Snug as a bug in a
rug,” but what do we really know here? How
happy is your average housefly?) We do bet-
ter with other human beings; but even here
our knowledge of the interior lives of others
is at best fragmentary and crude. What seems
fairly clear is that most of us display a com-
185
ALVIN PLANTINGA
plex mixture of joy and sorrow; we are happy
part of the time and unhappy part of the time;
for many of us, sorrow predominates, but for
others joy or contentment is uppermost; and
most of us, I suppose, think our lives on bal-
ance happy enough so that we have little in-
terest in terminating them. So I can’t rely at
all heavily on the suggestion that sentient be-
ings are mostly unhappy.
But what is really interesting here is the
claim that on theism & Ol & O2 (with re-
spect to the theist’s epistemic situation) it is
probable that most sentient creatures would
be happy. Is this really true? Perhaps this is so
with respect to the epistemic situation of
someone who is an austere theist: someone
who is a theist, that is, but does not accept
any ofthe additional beliefs that characterize
Christians, Jews, Muslims, and most other
theists. But of course the vast majority of the-
ists are not austere theists. And many, per-
haps most, theists take it as part of their
background information that our world is a
fallen world. Human beings, and perhaps oth-
ers among God’s rational and moral creatures,
have sinned; as a result our world is fallen,
broken, in need of restoration; and human
beings and perhaps other sentient creatures
are in need of repentance, reconciliation, sal-
vation. Given this, however, we shouldn’t re-
ally expect that human beings and other
sentient creatures would be happy in their
earthly lives. Part of my epistemic situation is
the belief that the world is indeed fallen.
Hence it isn’t true, so far as I can see, that
relative to my epistemic situation, the prob-
ability of most sentient creatures’ being happy
is high with respect to theism & O1 & O2;
furthermore it is doubtful that it is higher on
theism & Ol & O2 than on HI& Ol & O2.
But am I not somehow begging the ques-
tion by bringing in these other religious be-
liefs, such as that God’s creatures have fallen
into sin? Well, why so? Can’t I use all that I
believe in this context? The question is how
these probabilities stand with respect to my
epistemic situation; the belief that the world
is fallen is certainly part of that epistemic situ-
186
ation. But aren’t these beliefs connected with
theism in such a way that I wouldn’t hold them
if |were not a theist? Perhaps; but exactly how
is that relevant? Before turning to this very
important congeries of questions, however, I
want to consider a defeater for the prima facie
reason Draper thinks he’s offered for reject-
ing theistic belief.
3 Other Evidence
It is far from obvious, so I’ve argued, that
P(O/theism) is much higher, with respect to
the theist’s epistemic situation, than P(O/HI).
As a matter of fact, there is little difference,
particularly in view of the rest of what most
theists believe. (I realize there is a promissory
note to discharge here.) But I believe there is
also other evidence here, other evidence of
the very sort Draper calls attention to. This
evidence supports theism as opposed to HI
(and indeed outweighs the evidence, if any,
provided by Draper’s evidential challenge).
The evidence in question consists of proposi-
tions I believe that are far more probable on
theism than on HI (if we like, we could think
of them as evidential challenges to HI). I
mention just a couple of these, because I am
out of space; there is of course vastly more to
be said.
First, what precisely is it that O reports?
Well, it reports the distribution of pain and
pleasure (with respect to all sentient beings)
that I have myself observed, together with
what I know or believe by testimony — what
other people tell me, what I read in the news-
papers or in textbooks in various areas of bi-
ology, etc. But of course what I learn in this
way isn’t nearly all that I believe about the
pattern of pain and pleasure. For I also be-
lieve in eternal life. The precise contours of
this are certainly obscure, but it includes an
eternity of bliss for enormous numbers of
God’s creatures. If it also includes separation
from God and accompanying sorrow and
emptiness for others, that will be so only if it
is in accord both with divine justice and with

divine love. Call the whole pain-and-pleasure
pattern I accept “O+”: O+ includes or entails
O and a great deal more. Still further, O+ is
vastly more probable, epistemically speaking,
on theism than on HI. That is, the whole pat-
tern of pleasure and pain that I think the world
displays is much more probable on theism than
on HI. Furthermore, O+ isn’t just any old
proposition; it is one that entails (and is not
entailed by) O. This is important; what it
means is that any evidence offered against the-
ism by the fact (as for purposes of argument
we are temporarily conceding) that O is more
probable on HI than on theism is outweighed
by the fact that O+ is more probable on the-
ism than on HI.
There is much else I believe that is vastly
more probable on theism than on HI. I be-
lieve that human beings have fallen into sin
but can achieve salvation and eternal life
through Jesus Christ, who suffered and died
as a propitiation for our sins. These things are
not logically incompatible with HI, but they
certainly seem vastly less probable with respect
to it than with respect to theism.
“But,” comes the rejoinder, “isn’t there
something question-begging or dialectically
deficient in appealing in this context to such
beliefs as that ours is a fallen world, or O+, or
to such specifically Christian beliefs as those
of Incarnation and Atonement? This is circu-
lar; or if it isn’t circular, then at least it has the
form of a closed curve in space (as Quine says
in another connection). For surely you
wouldn’t believe these things if you didn’t
believe theism.” Perhaps that is so; but how is
it relevant? Well, perhaps as follows. The whole
point of Draper’s argument is to try to show
that the theist who doesn’t have other evi-
dence — evidence that counterbalances or out-
weighs the evidence against theism provided
by the fact (as we are assuming) that O is more
likely on HI than on theism — holds irrational
views or in some related way suffers from some
epistemic deficiency. He therefore offers what
he takes to be some evidence against theism.
Now suppose I replied by deducing something
from theism — something such that my only
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
evidence for it is theism or my evidence for
theism — and then proposed that as
counterevidence. That would be dialectically
reprehensible, because this “evidence” would
be relevant and usable only if it did not suffer
from the same deficiency that Draper proposes
to pin on my theistic belief. But if its only
warrant just zs my theism, or my warrant for
my theism, then if my theism suffers from that
deficiency, so does this “evidence.” To
procced in this way would be to ignore Drap-
er’s claim, or assume that it is false.
Of course I didn’t deduce these things from
theism; the latter doesn’t entail these more
specifically Christian beliefs. Still, let’s con-
cede, for the moment, that the Christian be-
liefs are rational, for me, only if theism is.
4 Nonpropositional Evidence
What we have been thinking about so far, of
course, is propositional evidence for and against
theism, evidence from other things the theist
believes. And so far as propositional evidence
goes, it seems to me that theism, with respect
to my epistemic situation, does at least as well
as HI — at any rate if the theist can properly
appeal to such other things he believes as O+,
the fall into sin of some of God’s rational crea-
tures, the Atonement, and the like. Some of
these things entail theism; others don’t, but
are such that they would be epistemically prob-
able for a person only if theism were probable
for that person. But can the theist properly
appeal to these beliefs in responding to Drap-
er’s challenge? Well, why not? Take the ones
that entail theism: Draper points out that they
won’t be any more epistemically probable, for
a theist, than theism itself; so a challenge to
theism is also a challenge to them. This is cor-
rect; but of course it is also true that theism
won’t be any /ess epistemically probable, for
the theist, than they are; so any epistemic prob-
ability they have will be transferred to theism
itself. The same is true for those Christian
doctrines I’ve cited that do not entail theism:
they can contribute to the epistemic probabil-
187
ALVIN PLANTINGA
ity of theism, as we have seen, by way of be-
ing such that they are much more probable,
on theism, than on HI or other propositions
incompatible with theism. Now all of this per-
tains to propositional evidence for and against
theism; but the most important question here,
I think, concerns the nonpropositional evi-
dence, if any, for and against both theism and
those other Christian beliefs. Is there
nonpropositional evidence for or against the-
ism? And consider those other Christian be-
liefs: is there nonpropositional evidence for
and against them? To translate this question
into Draper’s framework: are there
nonpropositional features of my epistemic situ-
ation that confer epistemic probability, for me,
on theism and other Christian beliefs, or on
their denials?
I have run out of space and shall have to be
ridiculously brief and dogmatic. I find myself
with belief in God; I also hold such beliefs as
that human beings have fallen into sin, that
God was in Christ, reconciling the world to
himself, and that we can receive the benefit of
that reconciliation by faith. So far as I can see,
I don’t believe these propositions on the evi-
dential basis of other propositions I believe,
although, of course, they form part of a con-
nected and coherent network of beliefs. Now,
are these beliefs epistemically rational relative
to my epistemic situation? According to Drap-
er’s conception of epistemic probability, that
depends on whether a fully rational person in
my epistemic situation would accept them.
Well, would she?
Here I think there are at least two ques-
tions, an internal question and an external
question. The first question is whether I am
rational in holding my beliefs in the sense in
which whether for all I can tell from the in-
side, so to speak, my beliefs meet the appro-
priate internal standards — whether I am within
my intellectual rights in believing as I do,
whether I have properly taken account of other
things I know, whether I have paid proper
attention to objections and to what others say
~— whether, in a word (or two), I have done
my epistemic best, or at least as well as I can
188
be expected to do. I read the Bible; I find
myself enthusiastically assenting to the good
news of the Gospel; am I doing my epistemic
best? This is a complicated question; my
“epistemic best” depends among other things
on the rest of what I believe. But, if I have
carefully considered the objections to what I
believe, and (finding them wanting) am still
convinced, what more can I do? (I believe that
I am a substance that endures, lasts through
time; if I carefully consider Parfittian objec-
tions but am still convinced, what more can I
do?) I think about some of the great evils the
world regularly displays: famine, flood, pesti-
lence, starvation, warfare, the horrifying ways
in which human beings sometimes treat each
other; I may be moved to ask myself whether
God really does love us. But then I think of
the Incarnation and Atonement (I don’t know
why God permits all this evil, but He is him-
self willing to suffer unthinkable agony to give
us a way out); and the doubts may disappear.
Am I not doing my epistemic best here? What
more am I supposed to do?
The other question is external. It is really
the question of warrant: the question whether
my beliefs have that quality or quantity enough
of which is sufficient, along with truth, to
guarantee knowledge. What is that quality?
As I see the matter, one of my beliefs has war-
rant just if it is produced by cognitive facul-
ties functioning properly in an appropriate
cognitive environment according to a design
plan successfully aimed at truth.° (There are
of course other views as to what warrant is,
but what follows will hold for most of them.)
Now, does my belief, e.g. that Jesus Christ is
the divine son of God who became incarnate,
suffered and died, and rose again to enable us
to have life — does this belief have warrant?
Well, it does, if there is such a thing as the
internal testimony of the Holy Spirit, which
enables Christians to grasp, understand, and
believe what the Lord proposes to teach us in
the Scriptures — and if the proposition in ques-
tion is one of the ones the Holy Spirit thus
enables us to know. And what about my be-
lief that there is such a person as God? Does

this have warrant, i.e. warrant it gets independ-
ently of being accepted on the evidential ba-
sis of other propositions I believe? Again, it
does, if there is such a thing as the Sensus
Divinitatis of which Calvin speaks, and ifthis
belief of mine is a result of the working of
that faculty (and not, as Freud suggests, a re-
sult of wishful thinking or some other source
of neurotic belief).
But zs there such a thing as the Internal
Testimony of the Holy Spirit, and zsthere such
a thing as the Sensus Divinitatis And do they
teach us what Christians take them to teach?
These are the important questions; but they
take us well beyond epistemology into meta-
physics, or religion, or theology, or all three.
To determine whether there is nonpropos-
itional warrant for Christian and theistic be-
lief, we have to determine whether Christian
and theistic beliefs are true; the question
whether there is nonpropositional evidence for
these propositions is not theologically or reli-
giously neutral.
By way of conclusion: I think we can see
that the issues to which Draper directs our
attention are fundamentally issues of coher-
ence; they have to do with relationships among
the propositions theists typically believe. Drap-
er’s claim, from this perspective, is that the
typical theist’s set of beliefs is in a certain way
incoherent: there are probabilistic relations
among them of such a sort as to make her
beliefs unstable. Draper claims this gives her a
reason for rejecting her belief in God. I’ve
argued that Draper’s claims here are probably
mistaken: if we take into account all that a
typical theist believes, including (in the case
of Christian theists) beliefs about sin, Incar-
nation, Atonement, eternal life, and the like,
the alleged incoherence seems to disappear.
Of course a theist who concurred with
Draper, agreeing that the alleged incoherence
is real, has options. Draper says she has a rea-
son to reject beliefin God; but she could also
ON BEING EVIDENTIALLY CHALLENGED
extirpate the incoherence not by rejecting the-
ism but by rejecting some ofthe other beliefs
involved — O itself, for example. Here it may
be protested that we know O, so that it is not
a good candidate for rejection. This brings us
to a wholly different set of topics and ques-
tions, questions and topics that take us be-
yond coherence into the neighborhood of
warrant. I believe these are the more impor-
tant questions here. The more important ques-
tions have to do not with whether my belief
in God is coherent with my other beliefs but
with whether my belief in God has warrant,
warrant of its own, so to speak, warrant that it
doesn’t get by being appropriately related to
the other propositions I believe. This ques-
tion, however, takes us well beyond our
present set of questions; it takes us from epis-
temology into metaphysics.
Notes
1 Paul Draper, “Pain and Pleasure: An Eviden-
tial Problem for Theists” [see Reading 20,
above].
2 For a fuller account of a closely related no-
tion, that of epistemic conditional probabil-
ity, see chs 8 and 9 of my Warrant and Proper
Function (New York: Oxford University Press,
1993)
3 Paul Draper, “Probabilistic Arguments from
Evil,” Religious Studies (1993).
4 This really isn’t exactly right. Special Relativ-
ity, for example, gets its warrant for me not
from the fact that it properly accounts for those
data but from the fact that I have been told
and believe that it does; but trying to put the
matter more accurately would take us too far
afield. See my Warrant and Proper Function,
ch. 4.
5 See my “Is Theism Really a Miracle?” Faith
and Philosophy, 3 (1986).
6 For a development and explanation of this
enigmatic pronouncement, see my Warrant
and Proper Function, chs | and 2.
189
Theodicies
22 From Theodicy in Islamic Thought*
Al-Ghazali
... [One must] believe with utter certainty in
which
there is neither weakness nor doubt that if
God had created all creatures with the
intelligence
of the most intelligent among them and the
knowledge of the most learned among
them; and (5)
if He had created for them all the knowledge
their souls could sustain and had poured out
upon them wisdom ofindescribable extent; then,
had He given each one of them the knowledge,
wisdom, and intelligence of them all,and (10)
revealed to them the consequences of things
and taught them the mysteries of the
transcendent
world and acquainted them with the subtleties
of divine favor and the mysteries of final
punishments, until they were made well
aware (15)
of good and evil, benefit and harm; then, if
He had ordered them to arrange this world and
the transcendent world in terms of the
knowledge
and wisdom they had received, (even then)
that act of arrangement on the part of all of (20)
them, helping each other and working in concert,
would not make it necessary to add to the way in
which God has arranged creation in this world
and
the next by (so much as) a gnat’s wing, nor to
subtract from it (by so much as) a gnat’s
wing; (25)
* From Theodicy in Islamic Thought: the Dispute over
Al-Ghazali’s “Best of All Possible Worlds,” ed. Eric
Ormsby (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1984), pp. 38-41. Reprinted with permission.
190
nor would it raise a speck of dust or lower a
speck of dust; (their arrangement) would not
ward off sickness or fault or defect or poverty
or injury from one so afflicted, and it would not
remove health or perfection or wealth or
advantage (30)
from one so favored.
But if people directed their gaze and considered
steadfastly everything that God has created in
heaven and earth, they would see neither
discrepancy
nor rift. (35)
Everything which God apportions to man,
such as
sustenance, life-span, pleasure and pain, capacity
and incapacity, belief and disbelief, obedience
and sin, is all of it sheer justice, with no in-justice
in it; and pure right, with no wronginit. (40)
Indeed, it is according to the necessarily right
order, in accord with what must be and as it must
be and in the measure in which it must be; and
there is not in possibility anything whatever more
excellent, more perfect, and more complete
than it. (45)
For if there were and He had withheld it, having
power to create it but not deigning to do so, this
would be miserliness contrary to the divine
generosity
and injustice contrary to the divine justice.
But if He were not able, it would be
incapability (50)
contrary to divinity.
Indeed, all poverty and loss in this world is a

diminution in this world but an increase in the
next. Every lack in the next world in relation to
one individual is a boon in relation to
someone (55)
else. For were it not for night, the value of day
would be unknown. Were it not for illness, the
healthy would not enjoy health. Were it not for
hell, the blessed in paradise would not know the
extent of their blessedness. In the same way,
the (60)
lives of animals serve as ransom for human souls;
and the power to kill them which is given to
humans
is no injustice.
Indeed, giving precedence to the perfect over
the imperfect is justice itself. So too is (65)
heaping favors on the inhabitants of paradise
by increasing the punishment of the inhabitants
of hell. The ransom of the faithful by means of
the unfaithful is justice itself.
As long as the imperfect is not created, the (70)
perfect will remain unknown. If beasts had not
been created, the dignity of man would not be
manifest. The perfect and the imperfect are
correlated. Divine generosity and wisdom require
the simultaneous creation of the perfect
and (75)
the imperfect.
Just as the amputation of a gangrenous hand in
order to preserve life is justice, since it involves
FROM THEODICY IN ISLAMIC THOUGHT
ransoming the perfect through the imperfect, so
too the matter of the discrepancy which
exists (80)
among people in their portion in this world and
the next. That is all justice, without any wrong;
and right in which there is no caprice.
Now this is a vast and deep sea with wide shores
and tossed by billows. In extent it is
comparable (85)
to the sea of God’s unity. Whole groups of the
inept drown in it without realizing that it is an
arcane matter which only the knowing
comprehend.
Behind this sea is the mystery of predestination
where the many wander in perplexity and
which (90)
those who have been illuminated are forbidden
to divulge.
The gist is that good and evil are foreordained.
What is foreordained comes necessarily to be
after
a prior act of divine volition. No one can
rebel (95)
against God’s judgement; no one can appeal His
decree and command. Rather, everything small
and
large is written and comes to be in a known and
expected
measure. “What strikes you was not there to
miss you; what misses you was not there to strike
you.”
191
SAADYA GAON
23 From the Book of Doctrines and Beltefs*
Saadya Gaon
2 The Freedom of the Will
Having explained the way in which we should
approach these questions relating to the Jus-
tice of God, I say this: It accords with the jus-
tice of the Creator and His mercy towards man
that He should have granted him the power
and ability to do what He commanded him
to do, and to refrain from what He forbade
him to do. This is established by Reason and
by Scripture. By Reason, because the Wise will
not insist that a person should do a thing
which lies beyond his ability and strength; by
Scripture, as it says, ‘O My people, what have
I done unto thee? and wherein have I wearied
thee? Testify against Me’ (Micah 6: 3).
Furthermore, it is said in Scripture, “They
that wait for the Lord shall renew their
strength’ (Isa. 40.31); moreover, ‘Keep
silence before Me, O Islands, and let the
peoples renew their strength’ (Isaiah 41:1),
and ‘... When the morning is light, they
execute it, because it is in the power of their
hand’ (Micah 2:1).
I also found that the ability to act must nec-
essarily exist before the act, so as to give man
the free choice of either acting or abstaining
from the act. For if the ability to act came
into existence only at the moment of the act
and were co-existent with it, the two would
be either mutually interdependent or neither
of them would be the cause of the other. If,
on the other hand, the ability to act were to
* From Saadya Gaon, Book of Doctrines and Beliefs,
ed. Alexander Altmann, in Three Jewish Philosophers
(New York: Meridian Books, 1960), pp. 118-23. Re-
printed with permission.
ie
arise only after the act, man would have the
power to take back an act which he had al-
ready performed. This is absurd, and the other
alternative which we mentioned before is like-
wise absurd. It, therefore, follows that man’s
power to act must exist before his action so
that, by his power, he may be able perfectly
to fulfil the commandment of his Lord and
God.
I deem it important to make clear that in
the same way as a man’s action is a positive
act, his abstention from a certain action is like-
wise a positive act, for by abstaining from that
action he does, in fact, the opposite of it. This
is not the case with the Creator (be He ex-
alted and glorified), whose abstention from
creating things is not an act. For if He ab-
stains from creating the substances and their
qualities, it is something to which there exists
no opposite, whereas man, whenever he ab-
stains from doing one thing, actually chooses
the opposite since his action concerns acci-
dents only: if he does not love, he hates; if he
is not favourably disposed, he is angry; there
is no intermediate position between these.!
Thus Scripture says, “Therefore shall ye keep
My charge, that ye do not any of these abomi-
nable customs, which were done before you’
(Leviticus 18:30), and furthermore, ‘Yea, they
do not unrighteousness; they walk in His ways
(Psalm 119:3).
I must further explain that man does not
perform any action unless he chooses to do it,
since it is impossible for one to act if he has
no free will or fails to exercise his free will.
The fact that the Law does not prescribe pun-
ishment for one who commits an illicit act
unintentionally is not because he has no free

will, but because of his ignorance of the cause
and effect of his particular action. Thus, we
say of one who killed a person unintention-
ally that, for instance, the hewing of the wood
was done intentionally and with his free will,
whereas his failure to prevent the accident was
unintentional.* Or to quote the case of one
who has desecrated the Sabbath,* the gather-
ing of the sticks may have been intentional,
but the person forgot that that particular day
was the Sabbath.
Having dealt with all these points, I main-
tain further that the Creator (be He exalted)
does not allow His power to interfere in the
least with the actions of men, nor does He
compel them to be either obedient or disobe-
dient. I have proofs for this doctrine founded
on sense perception, Reason, Scripture and
Tradition.
In regard to sense perception, I have found
that a man observes from his own experience
that he has the power to speak and to be si-
lent, the power to seize a thing and to aban-
don it; he does not notice any other force that
would hinder him in any way from exercising
his will-power. The simple truth is that he di-
rects the impulses ofhis nature by his Reason,
and if he follows the bidding of Reason, he is
prudent, if he does not, he is a fool.
As to the proof based on Reason, our pre-
vious arguments have already shown how un-
tenable is the idea that one action can be
attributed to two agents. Now one who
thinks that the Creator (be He exalted and
glorified) interferes with the actions of men,
does in fact ascribe one single action to God
and Man together. Furthermore, if God used
compulsion against man, there would be no
sense in His giving him commandments and
prohibitions. Moreover, if He compelled him
to do a certain action, it would be inadmissi-
ble to punish him for it. In addition, if men
acted under compulsion, it would be neces-
sary to mete out reward to believers and infi-
dels alike, since each of them did only what
he was ordered to do. If awise man employs
two workmen, the one that he may build, and
FROM THE BOOK OF DOCTRINES AND BELIEFS
the other that he may destroy, it is his duty to
pay wages to both. Moreover, it is impossible
to assume that man acts under compulsion,
for if this were the case, he would have to be
excused since one knows that man is unable
to prevail against the power of God, and if
theinfidel offered the excuse that it was not
within his power to believe in God, it would
be necessary to consider him as justified and
to accept his excuse.
As to the proofs based on Scripture, we have
already mentioned the verse, ‘Therefore
choose life’ (Deuteronomy 30:19). The sin-
ners are told, “This has been of your doing;
will He accept any of your persons?’ (Malachi
1:9). Moreover, the Creator explains clearly
that He is innocent with regard to their sins,
as He says, ‘Woe to the rebellious children,
saith the Lord, that take counsel, but not of
Me’ (Isaiah 30:1). He makes it clear that He
is innocent with regard to the doings of the
false prophets, saying ‘I have not sent these
prophets, yet they ran; I have not spoken to
them, yet they prophesied’ (Jeremiah 23:21),
and other similar pronouncements.
As to the proofs based on Tradition, our
ancient Teachers have told us, ‘Everything lies
in the hands of God except the fear of God,
as it says, “And now, Israel, what doth the
Lord Thy God require of thee, but to fear the
Lord Thy God” ’ (Deuteronomy 10:12).
3 Providence and Free Will
All this explanation brings me to the follow-
ing question, which will no doubt be asked:
‘If what you have said is true, viz. that the will
of God has no share in the disobedience of
those who disobey Him, how is it possible that
there should exist in His world anything which
does not find His approval, or to which He
does not give His consent?”* The answer to
this is not far to seek. It is this: we regard it as
strange that a wise man should tolerate within
the realm of his power anything which is un-
193
SAADYA GAON
desirable from his point of view, and to which
he cannot give his consent. This is intelligible
in the case of ahuman being since he dreads
those things which cause him harm, but our
Lord does not dread disobedience on account
of Himself, since it is impossible to assume
that any sort of accident should affect Him.
He abhors disobedience for our own sakes
because it has a harmful effect on us. For if we
sin against Him and fail to acknowledge His
Truth, we act foolishly, and if we sin against
each other, we endanger our lives and posi-
tions. Since this is quite clear and manifest it
is not strange that there should exist in His
world things which we consider to be strange.
When He explains to us that He abhors cer-
tain things, He does so for our own sakes in
His way of mercy, as He made it clear in Scrip-
ture by saying, ‘Do they provoke Me? saith
the Lord; do they not provoke themselves, to
the confusion of their own faces?’ (Jeremiah
TAD).
Perhaps, someone will ask further: ‘If God
knows that which is going to be before it
comes into being, He knows in advance if a
certain person will disobey Him; now that
person must by necessity disobey God, for
otherwise God’s foreknowledge would not
prove to be correct.’ The fallacy underlying
this question is even more evident than that
underlying the previous one. It is this: He who
makes this assertion has no proof that the
knowledge of the Creator concerning things
is the cause of their existence. He merely im-
agines this to be so, or chooses to believe it.
The fallacy of this assumption becomes quite
clear when we consider that, if God’s knowl-
edge of things were the cause of their exist-
ence, they would have existed from eternity,
since God’s knowledge of them is eternal. We
do, however, believe that God knows things
as they exist in reality, i.e. of those things which
He creates, He knows in advance that He is
going to create them, and of those things
which are subject to man’s free will He knows
in advance that man is going to choose them.
Should one object, ‘If God knows that a cer-
tain person will speak, is it possible for that
194
person to be silent?? we answer quite simply
that if that person was to keep silent instead
of speaking we should have said in our origi-
nal statement that God knew that this man
would be silent, and we were not entitled to
state that God knew that this person would
speak. For God knows man’s ultimate action
such as it will be whether sooner or later after
all his planning; it is exactly the thing God
knows, as is said, ‘The Lord knoweth the
thoughts of man’ (Psalm 94:11), and further-
more, ‘For I know their inclination how they
do even now’ (Deuteronomy 31:21).
I found people who asked on this point:
“How can it be reconciled with God’s wisdom
that He gives commandments and prohibi-
tions to the righteous knowing as He does
that they will always obey Him? I found there
are four ways of answering this question. (1)
The commandments were given in order to
inform man what God desired of him; (2) in
order that man’s reward should be complete,
for if he acted in conformity to God’s will
without being commanded to do so, he would
have no claim to reward; (3) if it were proper
for God to bestow reward upon man for some-
thing concerning which He did not command
him, it would be equally proper to punish him
for something concerning which he issued no
prohibition. This, however, would be unjust;
(4) the commandments were given in order
to enjoin, for a second time, through the
prophet, the commandments which are al-
ready established by Reason so that man, be-
ing warned and well prepared, should be
particularly careful to perform them, as it says,
‘If Thou warn the righteous man, that the
righteous sin not, he shall surely live, because
he took warning’ (Ezekiel 3:21)....
Notes
1 Saadya distinguishes between God’s and man’s
actions: God acts by creating the substances,
and when He does not create He does not act
at all. Man, who is incapable of creative activ-

ity, only acts by producing accidental condi-
tions. He, therefore, is acting even if he ab-
stains from an explicit act: if he fails to love,
he hates, etc. Saadya introduced this distinc-
tion first in connection with the problem of
Creation in chapter I. There he points out
that before God created the world He did
not act at all. In this chapter Saadya wishes to
make clear (a) that man’s freedom of the will
(‘his ability to act’) is present both in his ac-
tion and abstention from action, since even
his passivity has the positive character of an
act; (b) that, on the other hand, God’s non-
24 The Magnitude, Duration, and Distribution of
Evil:.a Theodicy*
Peter van Inwagen
In his work on the problem of evil, Alvin
Plantinga has made a useful distinction be-
tween “giving a theodicy” and “giving a
defense.” To give a theodicy is to “answer in
some detail the question ‘What is the source
of the evil we find, and why does God permit
it?’ ”! To give a defense is to construct a story
according to which both God and evil exist
and to attempt to show that this story is “pos-
sible in the broadly logical sense.”* The pur-
pose of giving a theodicy is “to justify the ways
of God to men.” The purpose of giving a
defense is, in the first instance, to show that
the coexistence of God and evil is possible.
(In the first instance. But one might have fur-
ther projects in mind — such as the project of
showing that the existence of God is not im-
probable on some body of evidence that in-
cludes a description of the amounts and kinds
of evil that actually exist.)
Plantinga is rather down on theodicies. I
* From Philosophical Topics, 16:2 (1988), pp. 161-87.
Reprinted with permission.
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
interference with man’s freedom must not be
understood as an act in analogy with man’s
abstention from acting, but as absolute pas-
sivity. Thus, man’s freedom is completely as-
sured.
2 Cf. Deuteronomy 19:1-3.
w Cf. Numbers 15:32-6.
4 Mu’tazilite theology formulates the above
problem as follows: ‘whether God has power
over the evil deeds and injustices’.
have heard him say that to give a theodicy is
“presumptuous.” I propose, nevertheless, to
offer a theodicy. I propose to explain God’s
ways — or at least to offer a partial and specu-
lative explanation of those ways. I am suffi-
ciently sensitive to the merits of Plantinga’s
charge of presumption, however, to wish to
say something in response to it. I will make
three points.
(1) Ido not claim that the theodicy I shall
offer is comprehensive. That is, while I shall
ascribe to God certain reasons for allowing
evil to exist, I do not claim to give all of His
reasons, or even to claim that the reasons I
shall give are His most important reasons. For
all I know, God has reasons for allowing evil
to exist that no human being could under-
stand; perhaps, indeed, He has hundreds of
perfectly good reasons that no possible crea-
ture could understand. What I claim for the
theodicy presented in this essay is this: it al-
leges a reason, or an interconnected set of rea-
sons, that God has for allowing evil — of the
195
PETER VAN INWAGEN
amounts and kinds we observe — to come to
be and to continue; if these were the only rea-
sons God had for permitting evil, they would
by themselves justify this permission.
(2) The theodicy I shall present is not in any
large part my own invention. I do not claim
to be the first human being in history to have
fathomed God’s purposes. Nor do I claim to
be the recipient of a special revelation from
God: I do not claim to be a prophet whom
God has charged with the task of disseminat-
ing an explanation of His ways. The method
of this essay is simply philosophical reflection
on the data of Christian revelation — or, more
exactly, on what one tradition holds (in my
view, correctly) to be the data of Christian
revelation. (Those who do not share my alle-
giance to these data may wish to regard this
essay as providing one more defense, in
Plantinga’s sense.)
(3) Inso far as anything in this essay is origi-
nal, it is speculative. I do not claim that what
is unique to this essay has any authority over
those who accept the data of Christian revela-
tion referred to above. But I claim more for
these speculations than that they are “possi-
ble in the broadly logical sense.” I offer them
as consonant with and a plausible elaboration
of the data of Christian revelation. (This, by
the way, could not be claimed for them if they
contained any element that was improbable
on the known facts of science and history. I
therefore explicitly claim that no proposition
contained in the theodicy presented in this
essay is improbable on the whole set ofpropo-
sitions endorsed by the special sciences.) One
might object that someone who offers a
theodicy in such a tentative fashion as this is
not really “giving a theodicy” in Plantinga’s
sense. To “give a theodicy,” one might ar-
gue, is to represent oneself as knowing that
every proposition one puts forward is true.
Perhaps there is some justice in this protest.
If so, however, there is certainly room for the
kind of thing I propose to do. There seems to
be no reason to require that everyone who
196
tells a story about God and evil must either
claim to know this story to be true or else claim
only that it is possible in the broadly logical
sense. And I think that if one does put for-
ward an admittedly speculative but (or so one
believes) plausible account of God’s reasons
for allowing the existence of evil, one is not
abusing language if one describes one’s offer-
ing as a theodicy.
These three points, it seems to me, are suf-
ficient to disarm the charge of presumption.
It is generally, but not universally, conceded
by Christians that the existence of evil has
something to do with free will. The theodicy
I shall present is of the “free will” type. That
is to say, it proceeds by extending and elabo-
rating the following story:
God made the world and it was very good. An
important part of its goodness was that it con-
tained creatures made in His own image — that
is, created beings capable of understanding (to
some degree) their own nature and their place
in the scheme ofthings entire; creatures, moreo-
ver, that were fit to be loved by God and to
love Him in return and to love one another.
But love implies freedom: for A to love Bis for
A freely to choose to be united to Bin a certain
way. Now even an omnipotent being cannot
ensure that some other being freely choose x over
y. For God to create beings capable of loving
Him, therefore, it was necessary for Him to take
a risk: to risk the possibility that the beings He
created would freely choose to withhold their
love from Him.
To love God and to desire to submit to His
will are very closely related — at least as closely
as the love of one’s offspring and the desire to
nurture and protect and raise them. God’s free
creatures — or some of them — instead ofloving
Him and submitting to His will, chose to turn
away from Him and “to follow instead the de-
vices and desires of their own hearts.” It was
thus that evil entered the world. A husband and
father who turns away from his wife and chil-
dren and suppresses his natural desire to live with
 MAGNITUDE,
and to love and protect them, and chooses in-
stead to indulge a desire for fame or sexual ad-
venture or “self-realization,” turns himself into
something unnatural and harmful. Likewise, a
creature who turns away from God turns him-
self into something unnatural and harmful.
Having turned away from God, His creatures
laid violent hands on the created world. They
snatched it out of His grasp and turned it to
their own purposes. We are now living with the
catastrophic consequences of that act.
This is the beginning of our theodicy. At its
heart is what is a familiar “move” in discus-
sions of the problem ofevil, the insistence that
even an omnipotent being cannot ensure that
someone freely do one thing rather than some
contemplated alternative. Some philosophers
have said that the proposition
An omnipotent being cannot ensure that a crea-
ture who has a free choice between x and y
choose x rather than y
is false — and, of course, necessarily false, for,
owing to its modal character, this proposition
is necessarily false if it is false at all. The issues
raised by this contention have been extensively
debated, and I have nothing new to say about
them. I shall simply assume that this proposi-
tion is true.
I proceed now to elaborate the above very
sketchy narrative of the origin of evil. It is
obvious that this must be done. As it stands,
the narrative accounts for the existence of only,
as we might say, “some evil or other.” It says
nothing about evil of the kinds or in the
amounts we actually observe, or anything
about its duration — thousands upon thou-
sands of years — or anything about the fact
that its worst effects are distributed apparently
at random and certainly without regard for
desert. I shall elaborate this narrative with cer-
tain propositions drawn from Christian the-
ology. All Christian theologians who could lay
any claim to the titles “orthodox,” “Catho-
lic,” or “traditional” would accept the follow-
ing theses:
DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
Allevil is the result of the primordial act of turn-
ing away from God; there is no source of evil
other than creaturely rebellion.
The creatures who committed the initial act of
rebellion received sufficient warning that their
act would lead to disaster. While they may have
been unlike us in many ways, they were not chil-
dren and were at least as intelligent as we; they
fully understood the warning and the wisdom
and authority ofits Source.
Among the creatures who rebelled were an en-
tire generation of human beings, all of the hu-
man beings who were alive at some particular
moment. [In my view, it was the first genera-
tion of human beings. But I shall not build this
into our theodicy because (a) it is not neces-
sary, and (b) to argue that the proposition that
there was a first generation of human beings is
compatible with what we know about our evo-
lutionary history would require a lengthy digres-
sion. The digression would involve the removal
of two sorts of misunderstanding: misunder-
standings about what it would be for there to
be a first generation of human beings, and mis-
understandings about what scientific study of
the evolutionary history of our species has actu-
ally shown. ] Before this rebellion, there was no
evil — or at any rate none that affected human
beings.
In turning away from God, our ancestors ru-
ined themselves; they became unable to turn
back to Him of their own power, as someone
who ignores a warning not to go too near the
edge ofa pit may fall into it, injure himself, and
be unable to climb out. Thus, the act of rebel-
lion, or its immediate consequences, may be
called “the Fall.”
Their ruin was in some way inherited by all of
their descendants. [This does not necessarily
mean that their genes were altered by the Fall. I
believe that it is possible to construct models of
the Fall according to which its hereditary aspect
is due to the effects of unaltered genes operat-
ing under conditions for which they were not
“designed” — namely, conditions attendant upon
separation from God. But I will not argue for
this here. ]Thus, evil is a persisting and — by any
natural means — unalterable fact of history.
197
PETER VAN INWAGEN
God has not left His creatures to their misery —
not, at any rate, His human creatures. He has
inaugurated a plan whose workings will one day
eventuate in the Atonement (at-one-ment) of
His human creatures with Himself. (Or, at least,
the Atonement of some of His human creatures
with Himself. It may be that some ofHis crea-
tures will, by their own free choice, resist Atone-
ment forever.) In order to achieve Atonement
with God, a ruined creature must turn to God
and ask for His help and accept that help. The
undoing of creaturely ruin must be a coopera-
tive endeavor. The creature cannot accomplish
it for himself, and even an omnipotent being
cannot effect the required sort of regeneration
of a creature ifthe creature refuses to be regen-
erate. Any aspect of the creatures’ environment
that would tend to discourage them from turn-
ing to Him and asking for His help would there-
fore be an obstacle to the completion of His
plan.
Every human being has an eternal future (and,
therefore, the human species has an eternal fu-
ture). We are now living, and have been living,
throughout the archaeologically accessible past,
within a temporary aberration in human history,
an aberration that is a finite part of an eternal
whole. When God’s plan of Atonement comes
to fruition, there will never again be undeserved
suffering or any other sort of evil. The “age of
evil” will eventually be remembered as a sort of
transient “flicker” at the very beginning of hu-
man history.
I have said that I have drawn these points from
Christian theology. But I have stated them so
abstractly that, I think, at least some Jews and
Muslims would agree with most of them. (The
major point of disagreement would probably
be over my inclusion among them ofthe doc-
trine of Original Sin; that is, the doctrine of
hereditary ruin.) Now the body of Christian
theology deals with what we may call — from
our present vantage point of lofty abstraction
— the detazls of(what Christians believe to be)
God’s plan of Atonement. But in the present
essay I shall hardly mention such matters as
God’s calling of Israel to be His people, the
giving of the Law, the Incarnation, the minis-
try of Jesus, the institution of the Eucharist,
198
the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, the Ascen-
sion, the Descent of the Holy Spirit, or the
one, holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. It
will be enough for my purposes to include in
my theodicy the proposition that God has some
plan of Atonement and that it will someday
succeed in reuniting to Him all who choose
to be reunited.
I added the above flesh to the skeleton pro-
vided by the standard “free-will” account of
the origin of evil because it was clear that that
skeleton was no theodicy. The skeleton, how-
. ever, will require more flesh than this. We have
still not got a finished theodicy. If we claimed
that we had, a skeptic might, quite properly,
respond along the following lines.
“God, you say, has set in motion a plan of
Atonement. But why is it taking so long for
His plan to work out? It’s all very well to tell
a tale that represents ‘the age of evil’ as a ‘tran-
sient flicker at the very beginning of human
history.’ But every finite period is a mere flicker
in Eternity. Nothing has been said to chal-
lenge the obvious proposition that God would
not allow ‘the age of evil’ to go on any longer
than necessary. Why, then, is ‘this long’ nec-
essary?
“And why is there so much evil at any given
time? Evil may be, as you say, the result of the
creaturely abuse of free will. But the amount
of evil could have been far less. For example,
God, without in any way diminishing Cain’s
free will, could have warned Abel not to turn
his back on him. If the implied general policy
had been put into effect, a vast amount of evil
would have been avoided.
“And why does God allow evil to be so
unfairly distributed? Why is it so often the in-
nocent — small children, for example — who
suffer? Why is it so often the wicked who pros-
per?
“And what about ‘physical’ or ‘natural’ evil?
How can the effects of the Bubonic Plague or
the Lisbon earthquake be a result of creaturely
free will?
“To roll all of these questions into one, Why
has it been for thousands and thousands of
years that enormous numbers of uncompre-

hending children have died as a result of epi-
demic disease and famine and natural disaster
— while many a tyrant has died in bed? How
could evil of such types and quantity and du-
ration and distribution be necessary to God’s
plan of Atonement? Or, if all this evil is zot
necessary to God’s plan, why does He not
eliminate most of it and make do with that
residue of evil that is really necessary?”
II
I will continue to flesh out our skeletal
theodicy by attending to the questions posed
by our imaginary skeptic. I will address the
last of them first.
The question presupposes that if there are
evils that are not required by God’s plan of
Atonement, then there is such a thing as “that
residue of evil that is really necessary,” the
minimum of evil that is required for God’s
plan to succeed. But this is not a very plausi-
ble thesis. It is not very plausible to suppose
that there is a way in which evil could be dis-
tributed such that (i) that distribution of evil
would serve God’s purposes as well as any dis-
tribution could and (ii) God’s purposes would
be less well served by any distribution involv-
ing less evil. (One might as well suppose that
if God’s purposes require an impressively tall
prophet to appear at a certain place and time,
there is a minimum height such a prophet
could have.) But if there is no minimum of
evil that would serve God’s purposes, then one
cannot argue that God is unjust or cruel for
not “getting by with less evil” — any more than
one can argue that a law that fines motorists
$25.00 for illegal parking is unjust or cruel
owing to the fact that a fine of $24.99 would
have an identical deterrent effect. The same
point can be made in relation to time. If there
is a purpose that is served by allowing “the
age of evil” to have a certain duration, doubt-
less the same purpose would be served if the
age of evil were cut short by a day ora year or
even a century. But we would not call a judge
unjust or cruel for imposing on a criminal a
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
sentence of ten years on the ground — doubt-
less true — that a sentence of ten years less a
day would have served as well whatever end
the sentence was designed to serve. It is obvi-
ous that if, for any amount of evil that would
have served God’s purposes, slightly less evil
would have served His purposes just as well —
a very plausible assumption — then the princi-
ple that God should have got by with less evil,
if less would have served, entails the (ex hy-
pothest false) conclusion that God should have
got by with no evil at all. It may be a difficult
problem in philosophical logic correctly to
diagnose the defect in illegitimate sorites ar-
guments, but it is certainly evident that such
a defect exists.
The important things to recognize about
these two points are, first, that they are valid
and that to ignore them is to court confu-
sion, and, secondly, that, valid though they
be, they do not really meet the essence of the
difficulty perceived by the skeptic, the diffi-
culty that prompts him to ask, Why so much?
Why so long? To revert to our legal and judi-
cial analogy, there may be no minimum ap-
propriate fine for illegal parking, but (most of
us would agree) ifa fine of $25.00 would serve
whatever purposes a fine for illegal parking is
supposed to serve — deterrence, presumably —
then it would be wrong to set the fine at five
thousand dollars. Similarly, ifan “age of evil”
of twenty years’ duration, an age during which
there were a few dozen broken bones and a
score or so of very bad cases of influenza,
would have served God’s ends as well as the
actual evil of human history serves them, then
the enormity of His achieving these same ends
by allowing the existence of “actual evil” passes
all possibility of adequate description.
What the theodicist must do, given the facts
ofhistory, is to say what contribution — what
essential contribution — to God’s plan of
Atonement is made by the facts about the
types, magnitude, duration, and distribution
of evil that are made known to us by histori-
ans and journalists (not to mention our own
experience).
It will be useful to divide this problem fac-
199
PETER VAN INWAGEN
ing the theodicist — and why not call it simply
the problem of evil? - into several
subproblems. One division of the problem of
evil is well known: the division of the prob-
lem into “the problem of moral evil” and “the
problem of natural evil.” A second division,
one that will be particularly useful in our
project of fleshing out our skeletal theodicy
so as to meet the questions of the imaginary
skeptic, cuts across the first. It divides the
problem into three:
the problem of the magnitude of evil
the problem of the duration of evil
the probiem of the distribution of evil.
Ill
I assume that we already have an adequate
answer to the problem of moral evil. 1am not
much interested in treating the problem of
natural evil; my main interest in the present
essay is the subproblems generated by the sec-
ond division. I shall, accordingly, treat the
problem of natural evil in a rather perfunc-
tory way. I shall suggest the broadest outlines
of a solution and leave the details for another
time — or another writer. (But some of the
things said in the course of our later discus-
sion of the distribution problem will have
some relevance to questions about the role in
God’s plan of natural evil.)
Natural evil is often cited as a special prob-
lem for those who say that evil entered the
world through the creaturely abuse of free will,
since tornadoes and earthquakes are obviously
not caused by the acts — free or unfree — of
human beings. The evil that results from tor-
nadoes and earthquakes must nevertheless be
treated in any theodicy of the “free will” type
as somehow stemming from creaturely free
will. One notorious way of doing this is to
postulate that tornadoes and earthquakes are
caused by malevolent nonhuman creatures.
Another way (the way I shall take) proceeds
from the observation that it is not earthquakes
and tornadoes per se that are evil, but rather
200
the suffering and death that they cause. Con-
sider the following tale.
“Earthquakes all occur in one particular
region called Earthquake Country, a region
that was uninhabited (because everyone knew
about the earthquakes and had no reason to
go there) until twenty years ago. At that time,
gold was discovered on the borders of Earth-
quake Country and the geological indications
were that there was much more inside. Moti-
vated solely by a desire to get rich, many peo-
ple — people by no means in want — moved to
Earthquake Country to prospect for gold.
Many took their families with them. Some of
them got rich, but many of them were killed
or maimed by earthquakes.”
This tale may not be true, but it demon-
strates that earthquakes need not be caused
by the actions of creatures for the suffering
and death caused by earthquakes to be a re-
sult of the actions of those creatures.
Our theodicy, as we have so far stated it,
entails that at one time — before the Fall — our
ancestors lived in a world without evil. This, I
suppose, entails that they were not subject to
the baleful effects of earthquakes and torna-
does. But why not? Well, for the purposes of
a perfunctory treatment of the problem of
natural evil, we need assume only that there
was some reason for this, a reason that became
inoperative when our ancestors separated
themselves from God. We might suppose, for
example, that the old tradition (it is without
biblical warrant) that Adam and Eve possessed
“preternatural powers” is substantially correct,
and that these powers included certain cogni-
tive powers; we might suppose that our
unfallen ancestors knew (and pretty far in ad-
vance) whether an earthquake or tornado
would strike a particular spot — and when. And
we might suppose that their being able to
know such things depended on their union
with God and was lost as a natural conse-
quence of their separating themselves from
God. We must remember that, according to
Christianity, human beings were designed for
union with God, in the same sense as that in
which they are designed to live in community

with one another and to use language. A “fe-
ral child” is a ruined human being — though
he is no less our brother than is Homer or
Leonardo — and his ruin entails a grave dimi-
nution of his cognitive powers. According to
Christianity, we have all been ruined by our
separation from God, just as the feral child
has been ruined by his separation from the
human community. (The feral child’s ruin is
thus a ruin within a ruin, a second, individual
ruin of an already ruined common human
nature.) And the ruin of human nature con-
sequent on our separation from God may have
involved a grave diminution of our cognitive
powers. According to the “just-so story” Iam
telling,* we were designed by God to be able
to protect ourselves from earthquakes and
tornadoes — if you think that it would be pos-
sible to design a planet, and a universe to con-
tain it, that was both capable of supporting
human life and contained no earthquakes or
tornadoes, I can only point out that you have
never tried — and that the loss of this power is
as natural a consequence of our ancestors’
separation from God as is the loss of the ca-
pacity to acquire language a natural conse-
quence of the feral child’s separation from the
human community. (Expansion of this just-
so story to cover tigers and droughts and epi-
demic disease and so on is left as an exercise
for the reader.) Doubtless we could tell many
tales of speculative theological fiction having
the feature that our being subject to the de-
structive forces of nature is ultimately a con-
sequence of the creaturely abuse of free will.
For our purposes, as I have said, it will suffice
to assume that one of the tales that fits this
abstract description is true.
This is all I have to say about natural evil,
but I wish to remind the reader that if all hu-
man beings were wise and good, our sufferings
would be vastly less than they are; and it is
probably not true that we should be much
better off for a complete elimination of natu-
ral evil. Doubtless there would be human be-
ings more than willing to take up the slack.
Our ancestral ruin is primarily a moral, as
opposed to a cognitive, ruin. But ruins we are.
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
If two explorers — who have never seen such a
thing —- come upon a ruined temple in the jun-
gle, and if one of them thinks that it is a natu-
ral geological formation and the other that it
is a building that is just as it was designed to
be, neither will understand its shape. From
the Christian point of view, it is impossible
for one to understand humanity if one thinks
of ahuman being as either a product of natu-
ral forces behind which there is no Mind or as
the work that a Mind intended to produce.
Both naturalism and deism (Christianity
holds) go wrong about our nature right at the
outset, and neither can yield an understand-
ing of that nature.
We thus have some basis for understanding
both “moral” and “natural” evil. (In a sense,
the theodicy I am proposing entails that there
is no fundamental distinction between them:
natural evil is a special category ofmoral evil.)
That is, we have a basis for understanding why
God would allow such things to come to be.
(This is a very abstract statement. Remember,
we have not yet said anything about the mag-
nitude, duration, or distribution of either sort
of evil.) We may, to sum up, add the follow-
ing statement to our theodicy.
Our unfallen ancestors were somehow able to
protect themselves from earthquakes and tor-
nadoes and wild beasts and disease and so on.
This ability depended on their union with God,
and was lost when they separated themselves
from Him.
I now turn to my primary interests in offer-
ing a theodicy: The magnitude, duration, and
distribution of evil.
IV
“Our ancestors turned away from God and
ruined themselves both morally and intellec-
tually — and thus they began to harm one an-
other and they lost their aboriginal power to
protect themselves from the potentially de-
structive forces of nonhuman nature. This
201
PETER VAN INWAGEN
condition — their wickedness and helplessness
— has persisted through all the generations,
being somehow hereditary. But God has set a
chain of events in motion that will eventually
bring this state of affairs to an end.”
The theodicist who wishes to add to this
story elements that will account for evil as we
actually find it must consider the questions
about the magnitude, duration, and distribu-
tion of evil that we have put into the mouth
of our imaginary skeptic. It will aid my order
of exposition — and not, I think, unfairly
modify the skeptic’s case — if we recast the
skeptic’s three questions as four questions. The
first and third have to do with the duration of
evil, the second with its magnitude, and the
fourth with its distribution.
Question 1 Why didn’t God immediately
restore His fallen creatures to
their original union with Him?
Question 2 Why doesn’t God protect His
fallen creatures from the worst
effects of their separation from
Him: the horrible pain and suf-
fering?
Question 3 Why has God allowed “the age
of evil” to persist for thousands
and thousands of years?
Question 4 Why do the innocent suffer and
the wicked prosper?
Question I
What would doing that actually have involved?
Suppose that two brothers quarrel. Suppose
that the quarrel becomes violent and then bit-
ter and that finally they come to hate each
other. Suppose that their mother prays to God
that He restore their mutual love — and not
by any gradual process, but immediately, right
on the spot. What is she asking God to do? I
can think of only one thing: to grant her re-
quest, God would have to wipe away all
memory of everything that had happened be-
tween them since just before the moment they
quarreled. Any philosopher worth his salt will
probably be able to think of several concep-
202
tual difficulties that would attend this plan,
but (assuming they could be overcome by
omnipotence) God would not do such a thing,
because, as Descartes has pointed out, God is
not a deceiver, and such an act would consti-
tute a grave deception about the facts of his-
tory. (I have no memory of a violent, bitter
quarrel with Eleonore Stump, and thus my
memory represents the past to me as contain-
ing no such quarrel. I have the best epistemic
warrant for believing that no such quarrel has
ever occurred. If she and I fave so quarreled
and if God has “deleted” my memories of it —
and has somehow rendered the resulting set
of memories coherent — then He has deceived
me about the past.) I cannot see how God
could simply, by sheer fiat, immediately have
restored fallen humanity other than by a simi-
lar grave deception. And, we may add, if He
did, what would happen next? What would
prevent the Fall from immediately recurring?
V
Question 2
Consider the parable of the Prodigal Son.
(Those whose memory of this story is dim will
find it in the Gospel according to St Luke 15:
11-32.) Suppose the father of the Prodigal
had foreseen the probable effects of his son’s
rash use of his patrimony, and had hired ac-
tors to represent themselves as gamblers and
deliberately to lose substantial sums to the
Prodigal; and suppose that he had further ar-
ranged for his agents to bribe prostitutes to
tell the Prodigal that they had fallen in love
with him and wanted to give him all their earn-
ings (following which declaration they are to
pass on to him monies provided by his father);
and suppose that the father’s agents, on his
instructions, had followed the Prodigal about
in secret to protect him from the dangers at-
tendant on the night life of the ancient Mid-
dle East.
What would have been the effects of this
fatherly solicitude? Certainly the son could

have continued to squander his substance in-
definitely and with impunity. But here the
word impunity must be understood in a rather
superficial sense: for the son will be living a
life of illusion (and that is a misfortune), and
it is hard to see what could ever induce him
to consider returning to his father (and I am
inclined to think that that would also be a
misfortune).
This modification of the story of the Prodi-
gal Son suggests why it is that God does not
simply “cancel” — by an almost continuous
series of miracles — the pain and suffering that
our separation of ourselves from Him has led
to. First, if He did so, He would be, no less
than in the case of the deleted memories, a
deceiver. If He did so, we should be living in
a world of illusion. Our lives would be invis-
ibly “propped up” by God, but we should —
justifiably — think that we were living success-
fully simply by the exercise of our native pow-
ers. This, it seems to me, would reduce our
existence to something worse than meaning-
less: we should be, every one ofus, comic fig-
ures. (If there were a novel whose plot was
the “revised” life of the Prodigal Son sketched
above, he could not be its hero or even a sym-
pathetic character. The novel would be a low
comedy and he would be the butt of the joke.)
Now illusion of this sort is a bad thing in it-
self, but it would have consequences even
worse than its intrinsic badness. If God did
what is proposed, we should all be satisfied
with our existence — or at least a lot closer to
being satisfied than most of us are now. And
if we are satisfied with our existence, why
should we even consider turning to God and
asking for His help? An essential and impor-
tant component of God’s plan of Atonement
— this constitutes an addition to our theodicy
— is to make us dissatisfied with our state of
separation from Him; and not by miraculously
altering our values or by subjecting us to illu-
sion or by causing us suffering that has no
natural connection with our separation, but
simply by allowing us to “live with” the natu-
ral consequences of this separation, and by
making it as difficult as possible for us to de-
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
lude ourselves about the kind ofworld we live
in: a hideous world, much of whose hideous-
ness is quite plainly traceable to the inability
of human beings to govern themselves or to
ordér their own lives. Let us expand our
theodicy:
As essential part of God’s plan of Atonement
for separated humanity is fer human beings to
perceive that a natural consequence of human
beings’ attempting to order their own lives is a
hideous world — a world that is hideous not only
by His standards, but by the very standards they
themselves accept.
Why is it important for human beings to per-
ceive the hideousness of the world? Well, first,
because that’s how things are. That’s what
“man on his own” means. Look at the world
around you — the world of violence, starva-
tion, hatred, the world of the death camps and
the Gulag and (quite possibly) thermonuclear
or ecological catastrophe. (These are not the
worst features of separated human life in the
eyes of God, for these are all finite evils, and
He can see quite plainly that each of us daily
risks an infinite evil, the loss of the end for
which he was made. But they really are hide-
ous and they are recognizable as hideous by
almost everyone, no matter what his beliefs
and values may be.) These are natural effects
of our living to ourselves, just as a literally fe-
ral existence is a natural effect of an infant’s
separation from the human community.
People who do not believe in God do not,
of course, see our living to ourselves as a re-
sult of a prehistoric separation from God. But
they can be aware — and it is a part of God’s
plan of Atonement that they should be aware
— that something is pretty wrong and that this
wrongness is a consequence of the intrinsic
inability of human beings to devise a manner
of life that is anything but hideous. (They can
be aware. Few are. Part of the reason is that
various myths* have been invented® for the
purpose of obscuring the intrinsic incapacity
of human beings to live successfully even by
their own standards. The myths of Enlight-
enment, Progress, and the Revolution are the
203
PETER VAN INWAGEN
most prominent of these. Such myths in the
end refute themselves by leading to ever
deeper human misery; but, unfortunately, only
in the end.) The broad psychological outlines
of this feature of the plan that our theodicy
ascribes to God are not hard to fathom. The
realization that undirected human life is bound
to be a failure even in secular terms may pos-
sibly set people to wondering whether there
may not be some direction somewhere. But
people who still think that the obvious hid-
eousness of our worid is caused by some acci-
dental feature of human life — superstition,
technological backwardness, primitive eco-
nomic organization — one that we shall pres-
ently get round to altering, are probably not
going even to consider turning to God. It is a
commonplace that religious belief is more
prevalent in South America and the Middle
East and Africa than in the English-speaking
countries and Western Europe. One possible
explanation of this fact is that miserable and
uneducated people turn to religious institu-
tions as a man with a painful and incurable
illness turns to quacks (and he is all the more
likely to fall prey to quacks if he is unedu-
cated). Here is another possible explanation.
In the relatively prosperous and well-ordered
West, people — middle-class people, anyway —
are subject to an illusion about human nature
and the conditions of human life. Although
the prosperity and order in their lives is due
to a special, fragile, and transient set of cir-
cumstances, they foolishly regard the kind of
life they lead as the sort of thing human na-
ture can be trusted to produce. The “wretched
of the earth,” on the other hand, see human
nature as it really is. Many of them may be
uneducated, in the sense of lacking the cog-
nitive skills necessary to construct and oper-
ate a machine-based civilization, but they are
far better educated than middle-class Euro-
peans and Americans as regards the most gen-
eral and important features of human nature.
If an analogy involving medical quackery is
wanted, we may say that a typical “post-reli-
gious” American or European is like a des-
perately sick man who has got his hands on
204
some temporary panacea and who, as a con-
sequence, has decided that the doctors who
attempted to impress upon him the gravity of
his condition are all quacks.
God’s refusal to “cancel” the suffering that
isa natural consequence of the Fall by pro-
viding separated humanity with a vast set of
miraculous and invisible props can (accord-
ing to the theodicy I propose) be understood
on the model of a doctor who refuses to pre-
scribe a painkiller (say, for angina), on the
ground that he knows that his patient will
curtail some beloved but self-destructive ac-
tivity — long-distance running, say — only if
the patient continues to experience the pain
that his condition signals. Now this sort of
behavior on the part of a doctor may well be
morally objectionable. The doctor is the pa-
tient’s fellow adult and fellow citizen, and, or
so it can plausibly be argued, it would be pre-
sumptuous of him to act in such a paternalis-
tic way. One might even say that in so acting
the doctor would be “playing God.” But we
can hardly accuse God of playing God. God is
justifiably paternalistic because He is our Fa-
ther and because He is perfect in knowledge
and wisdom and because, or so I would ar-
gue, He has certain rights over us. These
rights, as I see it, derive from the following
facts: He made up the very idea of there be-
ing creatures like us out of the thought of His
own mind, and He made us out of nothing to
meet the specifications contained in that idea;
everything we have — including the intellec-
tual and moral faculties by means of which
we make judgments about paternalism — we
have received from Him; He made us for a
certain purpose (to glorify Him and to enjoy
Him forever) and we threaten to prevent that
purpose from being fulfilled.
I have suggested that the initial stage of
God’s plan of Atonement essentially involves
His separated creatures’ being aware of the
hideousness of their condition and of its be-
ing a natural result of their attempting to or-
der their own lives. I would also suggest that
the outcome of His plan of Atonement, the
unending union ofcreatures with Himself, will

essentially involve the memory of that hideous-
ness. A student of mine, a Christian, once told
me ofa professor of philosophy who had ques-
tioned him somewhat as follows. “You Chris-
tians believe that in the beginning man was in
Paradise, and that in the end man will be in
Heaven. In each of these states, man is in per-
fect union with God. So what is the differ-
ence between Paradise and Heaven? By
abusing his free will, you say, man lost Para-
dise. And, you say, Heaven will be forever.
But how can you know that man, having at-
tained Heaven, won’t proceed to lose it again
by abuse ofhis free will?” There is a very sim-
ple answer to this question. The human be-
ings in Heaven (that is, those whom God has
rescued and restored to union with Himself;
“Heaven” is not the name of a place but of a
condition) will know what it’s like to be sepa-
rated from God. They will remember the hid-
eousness of their lives before the restoration
of their union with God, and their continu-
ing in their restored state will be no more
puzzling than the refusal of the restored Prodi-
gal Son to leave his father’s house a second
time. (Christian theologians have generally
held that the inhabitants of Heaven — unlike
the inhabitants of Paradise — are unable to sin.
If the considerations of the present paragraph
are combined with the theses on the nature
of free will that I have argued in my essay
“When Is the Will Free?”® it is easy to see why
this should be so.) Theologians have also held
that the happiness of those in Heaven will es-
sentially involve, will perhaps be identical with,
an immediate, intuitive knowledge of God,
generally called the Beatific Vision. We might
speculate that this Vision will have as a com-
ponent an awareness of God’s opposite, an
awareness best revealed in the memory of sepa-
ration from Him. Reflection on reunited lov-
ers or returned exiles suggests why this might
be the case.
Let us formally add these ideas to our
theodicy:
The perception by human beings of their inca-
pacity to “live to themselves” is essential to
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
God’s plan of Atonement because, first, with-
out this perception few if any human beings
would consider turning to God. (If, therefore,
God were miraculously to “cancel” the natural
consequences of separation from Himself, He
would not only be a deceiver but would remove
the only motivation fallen human beings have
for turning to Him.) And because, secondly,
memory ofthe hideousness of separated human
life will be an important, perhaps an essential,
component ofthe final state of restored human-
ity. Among the natural consequences ofsepara-
tion from God is the vast quantity of pain and
suffering that we observe.
VI
Question 3
I am uncertain about what to say about the
duration of the “age of evil.” I suggest some
speculations that seem to me to be plausible.
e@ Perhaps God wants the final community
of those in union with Him to be rather /arge.
(Couldn’t God allow an increase in the hu-
man population to occur after His plan of
Atonement has been completed? Well, there
is certainly the point to be considered that
people born after the completion of God’s
plan would not remember the “age of evil”
and thus would be just as liable to sin as their
remote ancestors in Paradise; and it might be,
as I have speculated, that memory of a world
separated from God will be an essential part
of the final condition of restored humanity.)
e@ Perhaps God wants the final community
of those in union with Him to be rather di-
verse. It seems plausible to suppose that if God
had brought the age of evil to an end in, say,
Ap 1000, the final human community would
have been very unlike what it would be if He
brought that age to an end tomorrow. In the
latter case the final community would con-
tain men and women whose cast of mind and
world-view were radically unlike those of the
members of any earlier age or culture. One
might speculate that the members of acom-
munity composed of people born in diverse
periods and cultures would be able to perceive
205
PETER VAN INWAGEN
and to communicate to one another aspects
of the Divine Nature that the members of a
community of less heterogeneous cultural ori-
gins would have been blind to.
@ Various important stages in God’s plan
of Atonement may require particular levels of
social and cultural development. The unhappy
first generation of separated human beings
must have been in a truly miserable state, hav-
ing lost the smoothly functioning behavioral
instincts of their purely animal ancestors, but
without the learned social organization, cus-
tom, and tradition by which human beings —
as we know them — maintain themselves in an
environment indifferent to their welfare. (Per-
haps they were even without an actual lan-
guage: a population of feral children, as it were.
I suppose no one claims to know what would
happen to a closed population of feral chil-
dren over many generations?) Or even if they
were never wholly without a culture and so-
cial organization, we can hardly suppose them
to have had anything but a tribal culture. It
may well be that God’s plan of Atonement
requires that at certain points in history some
people belong to a more “advanced” culture
than a tribal culture. If we consider the Chris-
tian account of God’s plan of Atonement, for
example, we shall see that it is evident that
the ministry of Jesus (an essential part of God’s
plan) could not have taken place in a culture
much different from that offirst-century Pal-
estine; certainly it could not have taken place
in a tribal culture, or in a “normal” culture of
the ancient Mediterranean world, a pagan
polytheism. A “specialized” culture like that
of ancient Judaism cannot appear overnight.
Even if one does not believe the biblical ac-
count of God’s long interaction with Israel,
one must grant that the Hebrew culture of
two thousand years ago embodied a long his-
tory. (God doubtless had the power to “raise
up children for Abraham from these stones,”
but if He had exercised that power He would
have been a deceiver; vivid and detailed memo-
ries of the long history of their people were
an essential part of the reaction of Jesus’ He-
brew audience to His preaching.) And, of
206
course, the rapid and accurate spread of the
news about Jesus (also an essential part of
God’s plan, according to Christians) could
hardly have happened except within the set-
ting of a vast, cosmopolitan empire.
e Creatures like ourselves, sunk deep in self-
will, take a long time to respond to any sort
of guidance, particularly if it appeals to con-
siderations higher than power and wealth. It
may be hard to kick against the goad, but it is
certainly done.
Question 4
Let us not discuss cases of the suffering of the
innocent that depend on human wickedness
or folly or corrupt institutions. Let us instead
examine cases in which there are no oppres-
sors but only victims. These would seem to
raise all of the difficulties for the theodicist
that are raised by cases in which an oppressor
is present, and to be amenable to a smaller
class of solutions; they are not, for example,
amenable to any solution that involves a con-
cern for the ultimate spiritual welfare of the
oppressor or respect for his free will or any-
thing ofthat sort.
A young mother dies of leukemia. A school
bus full of children is crushed by a landslide.
A child is born without limbs. A wise and good
man in the prime of life suffers brain damage
and spends the remaining thirty years of his
life in a coma. I do not know of a good gen-
eral term for such events. Journalists often call
them tragedies. But this word is properly ap-
plied only to events that are in some sense
meaningful, and I know of no reason to think
that such events always have a “meaning.” I
will call them horrors.
Why do horrors happen? I want to suggest
that horrors happen for no reason at all, that
when, for example, a child is born without
limbs, the only answer to the question, “Why
did that happen?” is “There is no reason or
explanation; it just happened.” Or, at any rate,
I want to suggest that this is sometimes the
case. (Whether some horrors are brought
about by God for special purposes is a ques-

tion I shall not attempt to answer. If some
horrors are brought about by God, and thus
have a purpose and a meaning known to God
but not to us, I have no opinion as to what
proportion of the whole they might consti-
tute.) But are not a// events ordered by God,
and must not a// events therefore have some
sort of meaning? Christians and other theists
are, I believe, committed to the truth of the
following proposition:
God is the maker ofall things, visible and invis-
ible (other than Himself); He sustains all cre-
ated things in existence from moment to
moment, and continuously supplies them with
their causal powers.
In a previous essay, in which I presented an
account of God’s action in the world, I ar-
gued that this proposition is consistent with
the proposition that there are events having
the following feature: If one asks concerning
one of these events, “Why did that happen?”
the only answer to one’s question is, “There
is no reason or explanation for that event. God
did not cause it to happen or intend it to hap-
pen. It is not a part of God’s plan for the world
or anyone else’s plan for anything. It just hap-
pened, and that’s all there is to say about it.”
(Let us say of such events that they are due to
chance.) Now to say that there is no answer to
the question, Why did X occur? is not to say
there is no answer to such questions as Why
did God allow X to occur? or Why did God
not prevent X? I ended the earlier essay with
these words:
If what I have said is true, it yields a moral for
students of the problem of evil: Do not attempt
any solution to this problem that entails that
every particular evil has a purpose, or that, with
respect to every individual misfortune, or every
devastating earthquake, or every disease, God
has some special reason for allowing it. Con-
centrate rather on the problem of what sort of
reasons a loving and providential God might
have for allowing His creatures to live in a world
in which many of the evils that happen to them
happen to them for no reason at all.
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
I will now take my own advice and present
my solution to this problem. God’s reason for
allowing His creatures to live in such a world
is that their living in such a world is a natural
consequence of their separation from Him.
Consider again our earlier sketchy account of
natural evil: in separating ourselves from God,
we have somehow deprived ourselves of our
primordial defenses against such potentially
destructive things as tigers and landslides and
tornadoes. But if, by our rebellion and folly,
we have allowed the destructive potential of
these things to become actual, how shall we
expect the effects of that actuality to be dis-
tributed? At random, surely? That is, with no
correlation between these things and the in-
nocence or wickedness of the people they
impinge on — since the operations of these
things in no way depend upon the moral quali-
ties of the people they interact with? In fact,
there is little correlation between the manner
in which these things operate and amy factor
under human control (although civilization
does what it can to try to induce correlations
of this type).
Suppose that a certain man chooses, ofhis
own free will, to stand at spot x at time ¢. His
arrival at that place at that time converges with
the arrival ofan avalanche. Let us suppose that
God did not miraculously cause the avalanche,
and that He did not “move” the man to be at
that place at that time. And let us also sup-
pose that neither the man’s arrival at x at ¢
nor the avalanche’s arrival at x at ¢ was deter-
mined by the laws of nature and the state of
the world, say, one hundred years earlier. (This
is a plausible assumption on scientific grounds.
Quantum mechanics has the following as-
tounding consequence: Imagine a billiard ta-
ble, one not subject to external influence other
than constant, uniform gravitation, on which
there are rolling perfectly spherical and per-
fectly elastic balls that —- somehow — do not
lose energy to the walls of the table in colli-
sion or to its surface in friction; the position
of the balls a minute or so in the future is not
even approximately determined by the laws
of nature and the present physical state of the
207
PETER VAN INWAGEN
balls. This example strongly suggests that the
precise moment at which an avalanche occurs
is not determined a hundred years in advance. )
The man’s death in the avalanche would
seem to be in every sense due to chance, even
though (the theist must suppose) God knew
in advance that he would be killed by the ava-
lanche and could have prevented it. In fact,
the theist must suppose that, during the course
of that event, God held all of the particles that
composed the man and the moving mass of
snow and ice in existence and continuously
decreed the operation of the laws of nature
by which those particles interacted with one
another.
Why did God not miraculously save the
man? We have seen the answer to this ques-
tion already. He might very well have. Per-
haps He sometimes does miraculously save
people in such situations. But if He always
did so, He would be a deceiver. If He always
saved people about to be destroyed by a
chance encounter with a violent phenomenon
of nature, He would engender an illusion with
the following propositional content:
It is possible for human beings to live apart from
God and not be subject to destruction by
chance,
To live under this illusion would be a bad thing
in itself, but, more importantly, it would have
harmful effects. This illusion would be, as it
were, a tributary of illusion feeding into a great
river of illusion whose content was, “Human
beings can live successfully in separation from
God.”
In our current state of separation from God,
we are continually blundering into “lines of
causation” (the descent of an avalanche; the
evolution of the AIDS virus; the building up
of tension along a geological fault) that per-
haps have no purpose at all and certainly have
no purpose in relation to us. (It is simply a
part of the mechanics of nature that intrinsi-
cally harmless but potentially destructive
things like avalanches or viruses or earthquakes
should exist. As I remarked above, if you think
208
that you can design a world which does not
contain such things and which can also serve
as a home for human beings, you have never
tried. Such things are a part of God’s design
in the sense that the ticking sound made by a
clock is a part of the watchmaker’s design: not
intended, necessitated by what is intended,
foreseen, and allowed for. What is not in any
sense a part of God’s design is this avalanche,
this virus, and this earthquake. These are —
sometimes, at any rate — due to chance.) If we
had never separated ourselves from God, we
should have been able to avoid such blunders.
No longer to be able to avoid them is a natu-
ral consequence ofthe Fall. It is as if God had
had — for some purpose — to cover the earth
with a certain number ofdeep pits. These pits
(we may stipulate) were not dangerous, since
they could easily be seen and avoided; but we
frustrated God’s providence in this matter by
deliberately making ourselves blind; and now
we complain that some of us — quite often the
good and wise and innocent — fall into the
pits. God’s response to this complaint, accord-
ing to the theodicy I propose, is this: “You
are the ones who made yourselves blind. If
you make yourselves blind, some of you will
fall into the pits, and, moreover, w/o falls into
a pit and when will be wholly a matter of
chance. Goodness and wisdom and innocence
have no bearing on this matter. That’s part of
what being blind means.” Or, rather, this is
what we might imagine God’s response to be
in our simple “world of pits.” In the real world,
we should have to picture God as saying some-
thing more complex, something like the fol-
lowing.
“Even I can’t make a world which is suit-
able for human beings but which contains no
phenomena that would harm human beings
if they were in the wrong place at the wrong
time. The reasons for this are complicated, but
they turn on the fact that the molecular bonds
that hold you human beings together must
be weaker by many orders of magnitude than
the disruptive potential of the surges of en-
ergy that must happen here and there in a
structurally and nomologically coherent world

complex enough to contain you. My provi-
dence dealt with this fact by endowing you
with the power never to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time, a power you lost when you
ruined yourselves by turning away from Me.
That is why horrors happen to some of you:
you simply blunder into things. If I were to
protect you from the consequences of your
blindness by guiding you away from poten-
tially destructive phenomena by an unending
series of miracles — and I remind you that for
all you know I sometimes do guide you out of
harm’s way — I should be deceiving you about
the meaning of your separation from Me and
seriously weakening the only motivation you
have for returning to Me.”
We may add the following proposition to
our theodicy:,
Among the natural consequences of the Fall is
the following evil state of affairs: Horrors hap-
pen to people without any relation to desert.
They happen simply as a matter of chance. It is
a part of God’s plan of Atonement that we real-
ize that a natural consequence ofour living to
ourselves is our living in a world that has that
feature.
This completes my presentation of the
theodicy I propose. I have fleshed out the well-
known story about how evil entered the world,
through the abuse of the divine gift of free
will; I have fleshed it out in such a way as to
provide plausible — at any rate, I find them
plausible — answers to four pointed questions
about the magnitude, duration, and distribu-
tion of evil. But in a sense it is not possible
effectively to present a theodicy in a single
piece of work by one author. Various elements
in any proposed theodicy are bound to be
thought false or felt to be implausible by some
people. An essential part of presenting a
theodicy is meeting the objections of those
who have difficulties with it, or perhaps refin-
ing it in the face of their objections. A theodicy
is a dialectical enterprise. The present essay,
therefore, is best regarded as the “opening
move” in such an enterprise, rather than a fin-
ished product. In closing, I wish to answer
MAGNITUDE, DURATION, DISTRIBUTION OF EVIL
one objection to the theodicy I have pre-
sented, an objection that has been raised in
conversation and correspondence by Eleonore
Stump. Professor Stump objects that the
theodicy I have presented represents God as
allowing people to suffer misfortunes that do
not (even in the long run) benefit them. An
example may make the point ofthis objection
clear. Suppose that God allows a horrible, dis-
figuring accident to happen to Alice (a true
accident, an event due entirely to chance, but
one that God foresaw and could have pre-
vented). And suppose that the only good that
is brought out ofthis accident is embodied in
the following state of affairs and certain of its
remote consequences: The accident, together
with an enormous number of similar horrors,
causes various people to realize that one fea-
ture of aworld in which human beings live to
themselves is that in such a world horrors hap-
pen to people for no reason at all. But sup-
pose that Alice herself did not need to realize
this; suppose that she was already fully aware
of this consequence of separation from God.
And suppose that many of the people who do
come to realize this partly as the result of
Alice’s accident manage (owing mainly to
luck) to get through life without anything very
bad happening to them. According to Stump,
these suppositions — and it is pretty certain
that there ave cases like this if our theodicy is
correct — represent God as violating the fol-
lowing moral principle:
It is wrong to allow something bad to happen
to X — without X’s permission — in order to
secure some benefit for others (and no benefit
for X).
I do not find this principle particularly appeal-
ing — not as a universal moral principle, one
that is supposed to apply with equal rigor to
all possible moral agents in all possible cir-
cumstances. The circumstances in which it
seems most doubtful are these: The agent is
in a position of lawful authority over both X
and the “others” and is responsible for their
welfare (consider, for example, a mother and
209
RICHARD SWINBURNE
her children or the state and its citizens); the
good to be gained by the “others” is consid-
erably greater than the evil suffered by X; there
is no way in which the good for the “others”
can be achieved except by allowing the evil in
question to happen to X or to someone else
no more deserving of it than X; the agent
knows these things to be true. By way of ex-
ample, we might consider cases of quarantine
or of the right of eminent domain. Is it not
morally permissible for the state to restrict my
freedom of movement and action if I am the
carrier of acontagious disease, or to force me
to move if my house stands in the way of a
desperately needed irrigation canal (one that
will not benefit me in any way)? It is not to
the point to protest that these cases are not
much like cases involving an omnipotent God,
who can cure diseases or provide water by sim-
ple fiat. They are counterexamples to the
above moral principle, and, therefore, that
moral principle is false. What is required of
anyone who alleges that the theodicy I have
proposed represents God as violating some
(correct) moral principle is a careful statement
of that moral principle. When we have exam-
ined that carefully stated moral principle, and
25 Natural Evil and the Possibility of Knowledge*
Richard Swinburne
[Note: In his book Providence and the Problem
of Evil, Swinburne argues that the moral and
natural evils serve different good purposes, some
of them more than one good purpose. Reading
25 argues that natural evil makes available to
humans the possibility of the knowledge which
* This essay forms the basis of Richard Swinburne,
Providence and the Problem ofEvil (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1998), ch. 10. Reprinted with permission.
210
have satisfied ourselves that it is without
counterexample, we can proceed with the ar-
gument.
Notes
1 The characterization is Plantinga’s. See his
“Self-Profile,” in Alvin Plantinga, ed. James
E. Tomberlin and Peter van Inwagen
(Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1985), p. 42.
2 The characterization is mine. The phrase “pos-
sible in the broadly logical sense,” however, is
Plantinga’s. See, e.g., The Nature of Necessity
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974), p. 2.
3 I have borrowed this use of “just-so story”
from Daniel Dennett. (See his Elbow Room:
The Varieties of Free Will Worth Wanting
{Cambridge, Mass. MIT Press: 1980], p. 38.)
Dennett’s just-so stories are tales told to illus-
trate possibility, tales told against a background
that may be described as the standard model
of evolution. My just-so story is of a similar
sort, but the “background” is provided by what
I have described as “the data of Christian rev-
elation.”
4 Timothy 4: 3-4.
Ou Ephesians 6: 12.
6 Philosophical Perspectives, 3 (1989), pp. 399-
422. I owe this point to Eleonore Stump.
they require in order to choose between good
and evil. The final section claims that death is
not as such an evil, but that it does serve many
and varied good purposes. In these sections he
argues only that certain evils are necessary for
certain great goods. Elsewhere in the book he
argues that God does not necessarily do wrong
to one person if he makes that person suffer for
the greater good of another. These extracts thus
provide only a sample of his approach. ]
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
The Need for Knowledge of
Consequences
For humans to have a choice between doing
good and doing bad, we need to have true
beliefs about the effects of our actions — for
the goodness or badness of an action is so of-
ten a matter of it having good or bad conse-
quences. It is bad to kick other people because
it will hurt them, good to give the starving
some food because that will enable them to
stay alive. And so on. So if God is to give us
the choice between good and bad, he must
give us true beliefs about the consequences of
our actions — beliefs in which we have enough
confidence to make it matter how we choose.
We need a whole sheaf ofbeliefs with respect
to many different actions, about what conse-
quences will follow from them. How is God
to give us these beliefs? The argument of this
chapter is that God cannot give us true beliefs
about the effects of our actions (good and bad)
without providing natural processes (in which
humans are not involved) whereby those ef-
fects (good and bad) are produced in a regu-
lar way — or rather he cannot do this without
depriving us of considerable other benefits.
Natural evil is needed to give us the true be-
liefs without which we could not have a free
choice between good and bad.
I distinguished earlier between the neces-
sary truths of morality, and the contingent
truths which follow therefrom when factual
information about the consequences and cir-
cumstances of actions is added. It is (plausi-
bly) a necessary moral truth that it is wrong
to give money to beggars if they will spend it
only on drugs which kill. It is factual matter
that certain beggars will spend money only
on drugs which kill. It follows that it is a con-
tingent moral truth that it is wrong to give
money to those beggars. Now I do not know
of any satisfactory proof that experience is
necessary either for the acquisition of concepts
or for acquisition of knowledge of necessary
truths of their interconnection. Someone has
a concept to the extent to which he can con-
ceive what it would be like for it to have ap-
plication, and to the extent to which he can
recognize that it does apply. And someone
can see what is involved in its application (i.e.,
know necessary truths which concern it) with-
out ever having observed its application.
Someone might be born with an ability to
conceive what it would be like for something
to be red or green and to recognize red and
green objects, even if he has never observed
such; and this ability will enable him to rec-
ognize as a necessary truth that nothing can
be red and green all over. The same applies to
the necessary truths of morality. Someone
might know what wrong was when the world
as yet contained none, and he might know
which actions were wrong and which states
of affairs were bad before ever they had oc-
curred. Our moral knowledge is not acquired
in this way but there is no reason why some
human agent should not be. God could en-
sure that humans were given moral concepts
and a deep imagination which would enable
them to comprehend necessary truths about
their application without their having any ex-
perience of harsh moral realities. We could
know that it is good to feed anyone starving
even if we knew of no one who was starving;
that torturing in order to extort belief in a
creed is wrong, even if no one had ever done
it. However, I argued earlier that although
humans could acquire moral knowledge with-
out experience, there was nevertheless a cer-
tain value in their acquiring it through
experience. My concern here is not with
knowledge of necessary moral truths, but with
the factual knowledge ofthe effects of our ac-
tions (described fairly narrowly) and so with
the nature of our actions (described more
fully) which we need in order to know the
contingent moral truths by which our actions
should be guided. Or rather my concern is
initially with our need for true factual beliefs
— that they need to amount to knowledge will
be argued later. We need true beliefs that an
action of describing a black man as a ‘nigger’
causes distress and so is an act of hurting; that
an act of smoking increases the risk of early
death. We need such true beliefs before we
211
RICHARD SWINBURNE
can see which of our actions are (in virtue of
our moral knowledge such as that hurting is
bad) good or bad.
How is God to give us such true factual
beliefs? He could just implant them is us.
Wondering how to hurt someone, I could find
myself believing that kicking him, or telling
others about the misdemeanours ofhis youth
would in different ways hurt him. I could find
myself believing, for no reason at all, that giv-
ing money to Oxfam will relieve starvation,
and spending it on buying books will not have
this effect.
But as we begin to spell out this suggestion,
it begins to seem less and less coherent. How
could one have a concept of something unless
one had some idea of what would be evidence
for the instantiation of that concept — if one
could obtain it? I couldn’t have a concept of a
desk unless I could recognize a certain visual
or tactual shape, or a description of an object,
as grounds for believing that there was a desk
present. So to have any concept at all I must
have the concept of grounds or evidence. And
where the concept is of something beyond
myself now (in the public world, or the mental
life of someone else, or in the future or in the
past) the concept will be a concept of fallible
evidence. To understand what a telephone is,
I must understand an object looking like so-
and-so, or satisfying some description (‘object
of such-and-such shape connected to a wire,
with a mouthpiece through which people talk’)
as (fallible) grounds for believing that here is a
telephone. Beliefs are beliefs about concepts
being instantiated. To believe that it will rain
in London tomorrow is to believe that ‘being
rainy’ will be instantiated in the London air
tomorrow. And I couldn’t have that belief un-
less I had some idea of what would be some
grounds for supposing that it is raining, or will
rain, that one is in London, that it is the day
after I spoke. I must know what rain feels or
looks like, what the name of London on a sign
looksilike, ors. ..opR ths
From all this it follows that I couldn’t just
believe that giving money to Oxfam will re-
lieve starvation, unless I had some idea of how
22
to check up on the belief, confirm it or refute
it; and so could distinguish a belief which my
evidence supports and one which has no such
support — in other words the distinction be-
tween a justified and an unjustified belief.
True, my beliefs about how to check up on
the belief might be very simple ones. It might
be that the only way of which I can think of
checking up on whether it will rain tomorrow
is to wait and see if it does. But in such a case
Iam bound to recognize my belief as not hav-
ing the kind of justification that a belief that
it is raining here and now might have; and so
as being capable of having its justification im-
proved. I couldn’t have beliefs unless I had
some idea of when they are well or ill justi-
fied. In case any reader thinks that I am un-
reasonably assuming that all believers must be
as rational as philosophers, I should point out
that the only animals to which we are willing
to ascribe the notion of belief, are those which
we can recognize as sometimes checking up
on, or discarding their beliefs. We will only
say that the cat believes that there is food in
the cupboard, if we can recognize when she is
investigating whether there is, or when she
has come to realize that there is not.
So God can only give us beliefs about the
consequences ofour actions if he gives us some
idea of how to confirm or refute them. And
these inductive standards of confirmation and
refutation must be correct standards — stand-
ards, the application of which really does show
how things will (probably) be. If we think that
it matters that our beliefs be as well justified
as possible (and it is certainly a good thing
that we should think this about the beliefs
about our actions having bad or good conse-
quences) confirming or refuting them is some-
thing we will rightly seek to do. And if the
beliefs we have about the future consequences
of our actions are simply hunches, and do not
have any more justification than that (do not
even have the justification that our hunches
have proved right in the past), we will (be-
cause of having correct inductive standards)
normally recognize this and realize that the
consequences of our actions are very uncer-
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
tain and so too are whether our actions are
(objectively) good or bad. If God is to allow
us to choose between actions which have con-
sequences about which we have beliefs of
enough strength to make the choice a serious
one, he must provide those beliefs in the con-
text of having the opportunity of looking for
and coming to assess evidence in the present,
about the future.
The same holds, even more obviously, if
God is to give us the opportunity to choose
whether or not to learn more about the ef-
fects of our actions, to find out more and more
differences which we can make to the world.
Setting about increasing the range of our be-
liefs is a matter of finding evidence which sup-
ports new beliefs. But if this process is to take
place we must have an understanding of what
is evidence for what — for example, the fact
that lions have killed humans is grounds for
supposing that they will do so again; and the
fact that there are marks in the shape of a li-
on’s paw is grounds for supposing that there
are lions in the vicinity. And once we have
standards for when present evidence supports
a belief about the future, we will become more
strongly aware ofthe distinction between jus-
tified and unjustified beliefs about the future,
and ofthe possibility of checking out the less
justified ones. Although creatures could have
instinctive responses where the notion of jus-
tification does not arise, they must see beliefs
as more or less justified. Either my beliefs are
supported or at any rate fit in with other be-
liefs, in which case they will be justified, or
they will not fit in, and having correct stand-
ards of evidence, I will normally realize this —
realize that the evidence renders them improb-
able. But I cannot believe something which
everything I believe taken together shows to
be improbable — I cannot believe of some be-
lief both that probably it is false and that it is
true. So I will not believe it. Having the power
to investigate further inevitably involves sort-
ing out one’s existing beliefs.
The upshot of all this is that God cannot
just give us true beliefs about the consequences
of our actions; those true beliefs must in gen-
eral be justified. To have the concept ofa be-
lief (about things outside ourselves) being jus-
tified is to have the concept of evidence
supporting beliefs to different degrees. And
God cannot give us a choice whether to ex-
tend the range of our beliefs about the conse-
quences of our actions without giving us, not
merely standards of evidence, but actual evi-
dence whose force we can assess. Justified true
beliefI shall call knowledge. We need knowl-
edge of the consequences of our actions in
order to choose between good and bad; and,
in particular, we need to know which of our
actions will have bad consequences. Now an
action of any embodied creature, such as a
human, consists in bringing about some bod-
ily movement and in causing some more re-
mote state of affairs. So how is God to give
me knowledge of what consequences the
movement will have (either by enabling me
to check out a hunch about this, or by inves-
tigating without having any initial hunch)?
Hence: the Need for Natural
Processes Producing Bad
Consequences
All knowledge of the future is knowledge of
what natural processes will bring about or of
what agents will bring about intentionally (or
both, if intentions are moulded by natural
processes; or if they mould those processes).
Someone may infer to a future event either
by regarding what will happen as to be pro-
duced by a natural process or as to be pro-
duced intentionally. So knowledge that my
action A, which consists in bringing about
some result C, will have a further consequence
E, will be knowledge either that natural proc-
esses dictate that C brings about E, or knowl-
edge that some other agent on observing C
will bring about E intentionally. Knowledge
that putting cyanide in a man’s drink will kill
him is knowledge of a natural process — that
cyanide kills; and knowledge that you will visit
me today when you have promised to visit me
is knowledge of intentional agency.
213
RICHARD SWINBURNE
If God is to give to humans a range of ac-
tions with consequences bad and good, he
must ensure that human actions have these
consequences — either as a result of a natural
process which he implants in the world, or as
a result of his direct intentional action. (Or
by making some other rational agent produce
them. But I ignore that possibility, since the
effect is then the same as if he produces them
by his own direct intentional action.) And if
the human agent is to have knowledge of those
consequences, he must learn about them ei-
ther by discerning the natural process or by
discovering God’s intention. God could give |
me knowledge of the consequences of my ac-
tion by telling me in advance what he will
bring about if I do the action. I might hear in
my ear or see on the screen the English words
‘If you shoot him, he will die.’ But if I regard
my actions as having the consequences they
do in virtue of some other agent intentionally
making the actions have those consequences,
I must regard that agent as in control of my
life, and not merely my life; but, since he de-
termines the effect of my actions on others, as
in control of their lives too. I must regard him
as in control of the Universe, at least locally.
And I must regard him as perfectly good. For
his local freedom of operation to determine
what happens is (to all appearances) absolute,
and so therefore is his local knowledge of what
will happen. And so, as the simplest hypoth-
esis, I must regard him as knowledgeable also
in other fields, including morality, and free in
other fields; and so as knowing the good, and,
not being distracted by temptation from pur-
suing it, as perfectly good. Under those cir-
cumstances I could indeed know the
consequences of my actions, and know
whether they are ones which I believe good
or ones which I believe bad. But I would re-
gard my every movement as overseen by an
all-knowing and perfectly good being, i.e., a
God. And this would be no mere balance-of-
probability belief. It would be a belief which
guided every action of mine, and about which
I could continually speculate without ceasing
to act through doubting the consequences of
214
anything I did. That would make the choice
between good and bad impossible — given our
normal (good) system of desires.
So, to preserve that benefit, God must im-
plant in nature a system of natural processes.
I understand by a natural process one in which
a cause ofa given kind produces an effect of
another kind in a regular way either with natu-
ral necessity or with natural probability. Natu-
ral processes are predictable processes; and if
they are to be of any use to humans for pro-
duction, the regularities must be of a simple
recognizable kind. The a priori principles of
what is evidence for what are centred on prin-
ciples for recognizing what kinds of thing
cause what other kinds of thing. The simplest
and most basic such principle is that if in the
past, under varied conditions, As have (al-
ways/almost always) been followed by Bs,
then (very probably /fairly probably), As cause
Bs. If in the past mustard seeds being put
in the ground and watered has always been
followed by the appearance of mustard seed-
lings, then very probably the implanting and
watering of mustard seeds causes the appear-
ance of mustard seedlings. Of course, there
are many sub-principles which need to be
added to give an adequate account of our prin-
ciples of inference to causes, which are not
brought out by this simple example; but the
example captures the most basic principle of
such inference. (We shall need to refer to a
few other principles in due course.) So the
basic way in which God can provide us with
knowledge of natural processes — that As cause
Bs — is showing us many instances of the
successions involved under different condi-
tions — implanting in the world many instances
of As being followed by Bs under different
conditions. Once we have this knowledge,
then we know that if we produce A as an im-
mediate effect of a bodily movement, thereby
we cause B. Observing many mustard seed —
seedling successions, we come to know that
the way to produce mustard seedlings is to
sow mustard seeds. We can make this kind of
inference without automatically needing to
suppose that God causes the system of natu-
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
ral processes (although, I believe and have
argued elsewhere, the operation of natural
processes does in fact provide an important
part of a cumulative case for belief in God).
And this of course is the way in which we do
come to learn about the effects of our actions,
and see any beliefs about this we already have
as justified.
We learn that eating toadstools causes stom-
ach pain by seeing people eat toadstools and
then suffering pain. We learn that alcohol
makes people unsteady drivers by seeing peo-
ple have many drinks and then driving un-
steadily, and so on. These observations open
up a range of possible actions, good and bad,
which would not otherwise be available. Once
we learn that eating toadstools causes stom-
ach pain, we then have open to us the oppor-
tunity to causé others to suffer stomach pain
(by feeding them with toadstools), to allow
others (e.g. children) to be exposed to the risk
of stomach pains (by allowing them to gather
toadstools without warning them of the pos-
sible effects), or to prevent others from incur-
ring this risk. These opportunities would not
have been available without the knowledge;
observation of natural processes producing
pain provides that knowledge. We know that
rabies causes a terrible death. With this knowl-
edge we have the possibility of preventing such
death (e.g. by controlling the entry of pet
animals into Britain), or of negligently allow-
ing it to occur or even ofdeliberately causing
it. Only with the knowledge of the effects of
rabies are such possibilities open to us. That
knowledge is provided by observations of vari-
ous people suffering subsequently to being
bitten by dogs and other animals with rabies
in various circumstances. Or, again, how are
humans to have the opportunity to stop fu-
ture generations catching asbestosis, except
through knowledge of what causes asbesto-
sis? We obtain that knowledge through
records which show that persons in contact
with blue asbestos many years ago have died
from asbestosis thirty years later.
Our study of nature may reveal processes
with which we cannot interfere, but whose
further consequences we may learn to avoid
by learning where and when they will occur.
We may come to learn when comets will ap-
pear, volcanoes erupt, or earthquakes quake,
without (yet) being able to initiate or prevent
these; but whose further consequences we may
be able to influence. Knowledge of when and
where earthquakes are likely to occur gives us
the opportunity deliberately to cause, negli-
gently to risk, or, alternatively, intentionally
to prevent suffering and death caused by earth-
quakes; e.g., by taking the risk of building on
areas subject to earthquake, or by making the
effort to mobilize the human race to avoid in
future the consequences of a major earth-
quake.
The claim that a particular future A will
cause B requires to be justified by past obser-
vations, paradigmatically of past As being fol-
lowed by Bs. Our normal inductive criteria
reveal that such a claim is better justified if it
is based on many recent purported observa-
tions of As in many different circumstances
being followed invariably by Bs. Observations
remote in time may have been misrecorded
or have occurred under circumstances differ-
ent in some way from those holding in the
present which affects the causal sequence in
some crucial way. The more observations there
are in different circumstances, the better the
evidence that the sequence of As being fol-
lowed by Bs is a genuine causal sequence, not
a mere occasional regularity. The observations
might concern, not As and Bs, but many very
different sequences which provide substantial
but indirect evidence for a general scientific
theory of which it is a remote consequence
that an A will be followed by a B. But the less
similar is the evidence to the kind of phenom-
ena predicted, the greater the doubt must be
whether the sophisticated scientific theory re-
ally works for the latter; and that will require
to be checked out by looking at phenomena
very similar to those predicted. Our knowl-
edge of the future consequences of our ac-
tions is better justified in so far as it comes
from many tests in similar circumstances.
So the surest knowledge that if I take fre-
215
RICHARD SWINBURNE
quent large doses of heroin I shall die must
come from observations of frequent heroin
intake being followed by death. And many
recent observations under different conditions
provide the most sure knowledge possible.
There could be a complicated scientific theory
of which it was a remote consequence that
heroin would have this effect. The theory
would be confirmed by it being a simple theory
which yielded true predictions of the conse-
quences of taking other, chemically similar
drugs, perhaps tested sometimes on animals
rather than humans. The remoteness of the
theory, and its never having been tested with
respect to heroin on humans would, however,
make its prediction about the effect of heroin
on me much less well-evidenced. And that
some drug causes pain is hardly likely to be
even remotely evidenced, except via observa-
tion of other drugs causing pain or other un-
pleasant sensations (so different are sensations
from other things). Pain there must be ob-
served if we are to have knowledge of when
our actions will cause pain.
Most important, however, is the moral sig-
nificance of actions which bring about men-
tal events, i.e., experiences of sentient beings.
Actions are paradigmatically good in so far as
they promote pleasurable and knowledge-
deepening and friendship-deepening experi-
ences; bad in so far as they promote pain,
ignorance and poverty of imagination and
understanding. Most sure knowledge of the
experience to be caused by some natural pro-
cess is to be had through having experiences
oneselfofwhat followed from past occurrences
of the process. One knows best just what it
feels like to be burnt by having been burnt
oneselfin the past. But the public behaviour
of others also produces strong evidence about
their experiences. And if we have actually ob-
served others being burnt, we shall know quite
a lot about what it feels like to be burnt. Our
knowledge is however less securely based if
the observations which support our theory are
not our own, but known only through the
testimony ofothers; and that, of course, is the
most usual case. My justification for believing
216
that heroin causes death is that everyone says
that observers report (via TV programmes and
newspapers) that many who have taken large
doses of heroin have died quickly thereafter.
This evidence, though good evidence, is al-
ways open to the possibility of lying or exag-
geration; or, where description of experiences
is involved, lack of adequate vocabulary for
the purpose.
It is true that there would be less need for
natural evil to provide knowledge of the con-
sequences of our actions, if other humans in-
tentionally produced more suffering than they
do. But then God would have to have made
other humans more naturally depraved than
they are; and that would be bad. So I con-
clude this complicated discussion thus — if God
is to bring about the practical knowledge
which we need if we are to have free and effi-
cacious choice between good and bad, there
is no better way of doing it than by providing
natural evils occurring in regular ways in con-
sequence of scientific laws. Any other way of
achieving this result would be equally bad, or
not morally permissible at all.
Knowledge Provided by Animal
Suffering
The suffering which provides knowledge is not
confined to humans. The higher animals ac-
quire knowledge by normal induction and also
knowledge ofthe causes ofpain, loss of health,
and loss of life. Seeing the suffering, disease,
and death of others in certain circumstances
they learn to avoid those circumstances. Ani-
mals, and especially the lower animals, do, of
course, avoid many situations and do many
actions instinctively; but in those cases they
cannot be said to be doing the action or avoid-
ing the situation through knowledge of its
consequence. It is a good thing that an agent
seeks a goal in light of knowledge of what the
goal is and how it is attained, even ifthe agent
does not have free will. But then, it might be
objected, given that animals have no choice
how to act, there would be no disadvantage
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
in their knowledge of the consequences of
their actions being given directly by God him-
self; there is no advantage in our being at an
“epistemic distance’ from God unless we have
the free choice of ignoring him. But animals
in direct verbal contact with God would be
very different creatures from the animals of
our world. They would still have no recipe
for acquiring new beliefs; and they could tell
us what God told them (for they would need
a language in order to understand what he
told them) and that would remove our
epistemic distance from God. If animals had
direct verbal contact with God, they would
need to be in a separate world from us — but
clearly there is good in their sharing a world
with us. We can learn from them; they can
learn from us; and, as we saw earlier, animals
and humans can co-operate — often they work
for us if we feed them; their simple life and
affection gives us joy; we can care for them.
And so on. But in that case animals have to
learn in the way in which we do. It will in-
evitably seem to the reader that some pretty
wild speculation has been going on in this
chapter and especially in the last paragraph.
The speculation has indeed been wild. But
it is my imaginary opponents whom I am
allowing to speculate wildly; and then I am
pointing out that even if you allow a wildly
speculative improvement in the world in some
respect, it then turns out that there will be all
sorts of unwelcome consequences which can
only be avoided by further divine manipul-
ation which will have yet further unwelcome
consequences. The logical possibilities for
worlds are more constrained than appears at
first sight.
It is a great good that animals are not mere
digestion machines with pleasurable sensations
attached to the process; but that they strug-
gle to get food, save themselves and their off-
spring from predators and natural disasters,
seek mates over days and so on. But they can
only do these things with some knowledge of
the consequences of their actions, and this is
only to be had by experience thereof. Other
animals must suffer if some animals are to learn
to avoid suffering for themselves and their
offspring. If deer are to see how to help their
offspring being caught in fires, some fawns
have to be caught in fires for the deer to
see what happens. If gazelle are to avoid
being killed by tigers, they have at least to
have been mauled themselves or seen others
mauled. Otherwise it will all reasonably seem
a game. There won’t be any difference be-
tween playing ‘tig’ with tigers and playing
‘tig? with other gazelles. And then animals
will be deprived of the possibility of serious
and heroic actions.
The suffering of animals provides us, as well
as themselves, with much knowledge — though
since they are only somewhat, not totally like
ourselves, the knowledge which the suffering
provides is a less sure guide to what we would
suffer in certain circumstances than would the
suffering of humans; but still it is quite a good
guide. Indeed, a great deal of our knowledge
of the disasters for humans which would fol-
low some actions come from study of the ac-
tual disasters which have befallen animals. For
a long time it has been normal to discover the
effects of drugs or surgery or unusual circum-
stances on humans by deliberately subjecting
animals to those drugs or surgery or circum-
stances. Before putting men into space, we
put animals into space and saw what happened
to them. And the evils which have naturally
befallen animals provide a huge reservoir of
information for humans to acquire knowledge
of the choices open to them, a reservoir which
we have often tapped — seeing the fate of
sheep, humans have learnt of the presence of
dangerous tigers; seeing the cows sink into a
bog, they have learnt not to cross that bog,
and so on.
And as regards very long-term consequences
of changes of circumstances, environment or
climate, the story of animal evolution provides
our main information. Human history so far
is too short to provide knowledge of the very
long-term consequences of our actions; and
yet knowingly we are doing things which may
have a considerable effect on the constitution
of the atmosphere (e.g. whether there is an
217
RICHARD SWINBURNE
ozone layer), on the balance of nature
(whether there are many vertebrates on Earth
other than humans), on the climate (by our
energy consumption). And we may discover
how to make some very big changes to the
Earth and its surroundings — e.g. alter the
Earth’s magnetic field, drive the Earth nearer
to the sun or further away from it. And so on.
We need information about the long-term
effects of all these actions. There is a lot of
information to be gleaned from pre-hominid
history on all these matters — for climate, mag-
netic field, and balance of nature have changed
often over the past 300 million years and if
we learn more about its effects on animals we
shall avoid many disasters ourselves. But those
effects must include suffering, in the virtue of
the similarities of animals to ourselves. If there
were not these similarities, the information
would not show what would happen to us.
To take but one more and very strong exam-
ple — biologists are beginning to acquire the
power to cause much good or ill by inducing
various genetic mutations. Human history
does not provide the data which will give them
any knowledge of the consequences of their
actions. Their surest knowledge of those con-
sequences will come from a study of the evo-
lutionary history of the consequences in
animals of various naturally occurring muta-
tions.
In addition to these detailed bits of infor-
mation, the story of pre-human nature ‘red in
tooth and claw’ already provides one very gen-
eral bit of information crucially relevant to our
possible choices. For suppose that animals had
come into existence at the same time as hu-
mans (e.g. 4004 Bc) always in situations where
humans could save them from any suffering.
Naturally it would then seem a well-confirmed
theory that (either through act of God or na-
ture) suffering never happens to animals ex-
cept such as humans can prevent. So we would
seem not to have the opportunity to do ac-
tions which would cause suffering to present-
day animals let alone later generations of
animals of asubsequently unpreventable kind,
or the opportunity to prevent such suffering.
218
We simply would not (and rightly would not)
seriously consider the possibility that some of
our actions might have enormous and subse-
quently unpreventable long-term bad conse-
quences. As evidence of this claim of mine, I
point out that hardly anybody ever did con-
sider such matters before the nineteenth cen-
tury. It is difficult to get back into a
pre-Darwinian way of thought, but if you do
—you don’t (and rightly don’t) take seriously
the possibility of our actions having long-term
effects on nature. The story of evolution tells
us that the causation or prevention of long-
term suffering is indeed within our power;
such suffering can happen because it has hap-
pened. The story of pre-human evolution re-
veals to humans just how much the subsequent
fate of animals is in our hands — for it will
depend on the environment which we cause
for them and their genes which we may cause
to mutate.
An Intermediate Possibility
I have been arguing that God can give to hu-
mans knowledge of the consequences oftheir
actions only by telling them what he will in-
tentionally bring about, or by allowing them
to infer what natural processes will bring
about. The former route would inhibit enor-
mously the ability of humans to make a free
choice between good and evil. But if God is
to give us knowledge by the latter route of
which actions have bad consequences, natu-
ral processes must have operated in the past
to bring about bad consequences. But, an
objector will urge, could there not be quite a
different source of knowledge of the processes
at work in nature other than observation of
their past operation, a source of knowledge
less sure, perhaps, but adequate — a knowl-
edge machine, say, which would answer all
your questions about how nature worked? You
type in the words ‘Will anyone suffer if I give
him 10 g cyanide? And how will they suffer?’,
and it replies ‘He will suffer physical pain and
his wife will suffer bereavement.’ There need
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
surely be no accidental suffering from cyanide
in the past for me to know its effects in the
future if there are plenty of knowledge ma-
chines around. We would know these ma-
chines to be knowledge machines by finding
that they worked often. Ought not God to
provide humans with knowledge machines to
tell them the consequences of their actions,
rather than require them to infer these from
observations, including observations of pain
and suffering?
If there were such machines, the basic ques-
tion to be asked about them is —are they them-
selves part of the natural order (i.e., do they
themselves work as a result of the operation
of natural processes), or not? If not, if they
can answer questions about the future with-
out that ability being dependent on their de-
tailed construction and sensitivity to facts in
the present, then, by previous arguments, we
must regard them as the mouthpiece of an
all-seeing God and so regard ourselves as
swamped by him. But if they are part of the
natural order, operating via natural processes,
there might then be an easy Darwinian expla-
nation of the existence of such machines in
terms of evolutionary advantages conferred on
a race which had such machines — an explana-
tion which would satisfy those who are easily
persuaded by Darwinian explanations. Yet if
such machines were part of the natural order
of the kind we are familiar with in our world,
they would be subject to decay, and hence
fallible, able to be misunderstood and gener-
ally capable of improvement (and, if thrown
up by natural selection, they would work bet-
ter in their original environment than in a new
one). But checking up on and improving these
machines would involve getting a more di-
rect understanding of how nature worked by
observing natural processes (including their
production of suffering), and using it in the
reconstruction of the machines (which, of
course, is just what physiologists do in order
to improve the machines produced by natural
selection, which are human bodies). The less
we check up on these machines, the less sure
our knowledge of the consequences of our
actions. Yet if it is a good thing that we have
knowledge of good and evil consequences
which our actions can produce in order that
thereby we may mould the world for good or
ill, the surer our knowledge the better, for
unsure knowledge gives us much less effec-
tive control.
But, of course, the natural order might be
different from the kind with which we are fa-
miliar. It might not be subject to decay. In a
world not subject to decay, very serious
wrongdoing would have to be done actively;
we couldn’t just allow people to suffer, we’d
have to cause them to suffer. And if in conse-
quence of the knowledge machines being part
ofa natural order not subject to decay, knowl-
edge was available on tap, we would no longer
have choices between cloudy alternatives (ac-
tions which just on balance of probability
might turn out to have certain consequences),
about whose moral status we might then go
on to deceive ourselves. If we had also, as well
as true factual beliefs (about the consequences
of our actions, described in non-evaluative
terms), true moral beliefs then we would have
a stark choice between sharply defined goods
and bads — which we could not avoid by mere
negligence. And the choice would still be fairly
sharp, even with a certain amount of cloudi-
ness in our moral beliefs. Rational beings have,
as I have stressed many times, a natural incli-
nation to what they believe to be good. To
have a temptation to overcome in this situa-
tion of clear alternatives requiring active
agency to do bad, we should have to have
some powerful bad desires. Mere weakness —
laziness, partial ignorance, self-deception —
would not suffice for wrongdoing. These lat-
ter are, of course, undesirable aspects of char-
acter, but not nearly as bad as greed, hatred,
envy and pride. Humans would need to have
some pretty bad aspects of character to be able
to make serious choices in a world of knowl-
edge machines.
And the serious choices open to them would
not include working to acquire knowledge;
seeking to find out, individually and in coop-
eration — by doing experiments, conducting
2ug
RICHARD SWINBURNE
statistical studies, and founding research in-
stitutes — how nature works and so what would
be the consequences oftheir various actions.
With knowledge available on tap, humans
would be deprived of a very significant kind
of choice — of growing in knowledge or per-
sisting in ignorance.
Like so many other kinds of action inter-
mediate between two others, each with their
own advantages and disadvantages, the knowI-
edge-machine route to knowledge of conse-
quences has some of the advantages and some
of the disadvantages of each of the other routes
by which God could give us knowledge of the
consequences of our actions. The nearer the
machines are to being infallible, the more dif-
ficult wrongdoing becomes — both because it
is starkly evident that it is wrongdoing, and
also because the evident presence of God pow-
erfully deters from wrongdoing; unless we
have very bad characters. The nearer the ma-
chines are to being parts of the natural order,
the more we still need natural evil to provide
us with knowledge of the consequences of our
actions. The knowledge-machine route has no
obvious overall advantage, for the purpose of
providing us with knowledge of these conse-
quences, over the route of providing us with
evidence of past sufferings.
The existence of natural processes produc-
ing varied good and bad consequences gives
to humans who study them an enormous
range of opportunities for moulding the fu-
ture in the short or long term, by initiating,
intervening in or avoiding these processes. The
scope for long-term choice available to future
generations must not be underestimated. We
may have the choice not merely of whether to
build cities so as to avoid earthquakes, but of
whether to drive the earth nearer to the sun
or further from it, to take air and water to
Mars and live there instead, to extend the life-
span to produce new humanoid organisms in
laboratories, and so on. But rational choices
on these matters can only be made in the light
of knowledge of the consequences ofaiterna-
tive actions. And the choices will only be sig-
nificant ones if there are alternatives, both
220
good and bad. Sure knowledge can come only
from out experience or the records of the ex-
periences of humans or animals who have ex-
perienced natural disasters or naturally caused
changes of environment and constitution. If
humans are knowingly to determine the fate
of future generations through making such
choices, they can do so most surely by having
knowledge of the disasters and benefits which
have befallen past generations.
We may not know exactly when and where
the past evils occurred, but the mere knowl-
edge that suffering of a certain type occurred
to certain kinds of creatures under certain con-
ditions provides us with very good reason to
avoid actions which may produce those con-
ditions. Indeed, all past evils of which we know
provide knowledge of past events, and — more
strikingly — since all natural evils occur as a
result of predictable natural processes (there
are no kinds of natural evil which occur in a
totally random way), all such knowledge helps
to build up knowledge of the natural proc-
esses which we can utilise to produce or pre-
vent future evils. All past and present human
evils of which we know thus contribute to the
widening of human choice... .
Death
[This section forms the basis of Providence,
pp. 212-15.] While I have considered all the
bad states and the goods which they make pos-
sible, it would, I think be useful to say some-
thing about one particular phenomenon which
is often thought of as a bad state, but really is
not — it is the mere absence of a good. But it
is the absence of agood which many consider
that God in virtue of his perfect goodness
would bring about. The phenomenon is death.
It is, as such, simply the end oflife. It is there-
fore not a bad state but the end ofa good. It
may however be a bad state under certain
circumstances — e.g. if the creature dies in
pain — and I have considered its role under
these circumstances. But it is important to bear
in mind that death as such is not a bad thing,
 NATURAL EVIL AND THE POSSIBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE
and it does in fact serve several very impor-
tant good purposes, to secure which a good
God might well bring it about that life is nor-
mally mortal life.
The first good purpose of mortality is to
give agents a certain supreme power. If all
agents were immortal, there would be a cer-
tain harm (of a qualitatively different kind to
other harms) which agents could not do ei-
ther to themselves or to others — they could
not deprive of existence. However much I may
hate you or myself, I would be stuck with you
and me. And in this vital respect, human free
agents would not share the creative power of
God. In refusing them this power, a God
would refuse to trust his creatures in a crucial
respect. To let someone have a gun is, as I
commented earlier, always a mark of profound
trust. The second good purpose of mortality
is to give us the possibility of supreme self-
sacrifice and courage in the face of absolute
disaster. The ultimate sacrifice is the sacrifice
of oneself, and that would not be possible in
a world without death. (‘Greater love hath no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends,’ said Christ.) Supreme generosity
would be impossible. So, too, would cheer-
fulness and patience in the face of absolute
disaster. For in a world without death the al-
ternatives would always involve continuance
of life and presumably, too, therefore the pos-
sibility that others would rescue one from
one’s misfortunes. There would be no abso-
lute disaster to be faced with cheerfulness and
patience.
Thirdly, a world with natural death is a
world in which an agent’s own contribution
has a significance to it because it is irrevers-
ible by the agent. If I spend all my seventy
years doing harm, there is no time left for me
to undo it. But if I live for ever, then what-
ever harm I do, I can always undo it. It is good
that what people do should matter, and their
actions matter more if they have only a lim-
ited time in which to reverse them. Fourthly,
a world with birth but without natural death
would be a world in which the young would
never have a free hand. And birth is an evi-
dent good. It is good that some should have
the responsibility for the existence and growth
to maturity of others. Yet without death those
others would always be inhibited by the ex-
perience and influence of the aged — given the
obvious goodness that if the aged do live for-
ever, they continue to possess old knowledge,
acquire new knowledge, and are respected for
their knowledge.
The greatest value ofdeath, however, seems
to me to lie in a fifth consideration which is in
a way Opposite to my second one. I wrote ear-
lier of the great value which lies in agents hav-
ing the power to harm each other. Only agents
who can do this have real responsibility. Yet it
may seem, despite the arguments which I gave
earlier, unfair that creatures should be too
much subject to other agents. Clearly for the
sake of the potential sufferer, there must be a
limit to the suffering which an agent can in-
flict on another. It would, I believe that we
would all judge, be morally wrong for a very
powerful being to give limitless power to one
agent to hurt another. Giving to agents the
power to kill is giving vast power of a qualita-
tively different kind from other power: but it
involves the end of experience. It is very dif-
ferent from a power to produce endless suf-
fering. Clearly the parent analogy suggests that
it would be morally wrong to give limitless
power to cause suffering. A parent, believing
that an elder son ought to have responsibil-
ity, may give him power for good or ill over
the younger son. But a good parent will in-
tervene eventually if the younger son suffers
too much — for the sake of the younger son. A
God who did not put a limit to the amount of
suffering which a creature can suffer (for any
good cause, including that of the responsibil-
ity of agents) would not be a good God. There
need to be limits to the intensity of suffering
and to the period of suffering. A natural death
after a certain small finite number ofyears pro-
vides the limit to the period of suffering. It is
a boundary to the power of an agent over an-
other agent. For death removes agents from
that society of interdependent agents in which
it is good that they should play their part.
221
JOHN H. HICK
True, a God could make a temporal limit to
the harm which agents could do to each other
without removing them from each other’s
society. But that would involve agents being
in mutual relation with each other while be-
ing immunized from each other’s power for
good or ill — and that arrangement has its own
disadvantages in that the deep mutual inter-
dependence ofcreatures would not hold there.
So these are good reasons for God to give
us a mortal life. In what ways does death in-
volve the absence of good? That may seem
obvious — persons capable of great enjoyment
do not have it after they die. But suppose, as
is the case, that others replace them. Then
there is as much person-capacity-for-enjoy-
ment as before. It seems to me in the case of
animals (given that their death occurs with-
out pain and without causing grief to others,
and at the natural end of life), that it is equally
good if one creature lives sixty years, ov the
first creature lives thirty years and a second
creature also lives thirty years (given that the
average of good actions and experiences per
year is the same). But humans are different in
one crucial respect. They normally have
longings for immortality, and are capable of
having longings for the Beatific Vision of God
(or something which involves equally an all-
26 An Irenaean Theodicy*
John H. Hick
...I believe that we find the light that we
need in the main alternative strand of Chris-
tian thinking, which goes back to important
constructive suggestions by the early Hellen-
*From Encountering Evil: Live Options in Theodicy,
ed. Stephen T. Davis (Atlanta Ga.: John Knox Bresse
1981), pp. 39-44, 46-8. Reprinted with permission.
222
absorbing experience of the deepest reality).
Our knowledge of them suggests that animals
do not have the concept of immortality, let
alone the Beatific Vision. There is no evidence
that the animal who dies of old age has any
desire to go on living. But for most of us, and
for any who have been stirred to great reli-
gious hopes, death, if it was really the end of
existence, would inevitably be a deep non-sat-
isfaction of desire (even if all this worldly de-
sire were satisfied). So, for humans, death is
not merely the absence of a good, but a very
bad state. The argument of the last few para-
graphs shows that it is a very bad state which
makes possible some great good states. Nev-
ertheless, the badness of human death does
give God reason to intervene in this world’s
natural order, to preserve in existence in some
other part of this world agents who cease to
exist in our part (and of course Christian the-
ism claims that he has so intervened). But if
any of the advantages of a world with death
are to remain, the mutual interdependence in
this world must cease after a finite period (to
give a limit to the suffering allowed herein)
and the future existence must in no way be
foreknown for certain by agents (else there
would be no opportunity in our part of the
world for choices of great seriousness).
istic Fathers of the Church, particularly St
Irenaeus (AD 120-202). Irenaeus himself did
not develop a theodicy, but he did — together
with other Greek-speaking Christian writers
of that period, such as Clement of Alexandria
— build a framework of thought within which
a theodicy became possible which does not
depend upon the idea of the fall, and which is

consonant with modern knowledge concern-
ing the origins of the human race. This
theodicy cannot, as such, be attributed to
Irenaeus. We should rather speak of a type of
theodicy, presented in varying ways by differ-
ent subsequent thinkers (the greatest of whom
has been Friedrich Schleiermacher), of which
Irenaeus can properly be regarded as the pa-
tron saint.
The central theme out of which this
Irenaean type of theodicy has arisen is the two-
stage conception of the creation of human-
kind, first in the “image” and then in the
“likeness” of God. Re-expressing this in mod-
ern terms, the first stage was the gradual pro-
duction of homo sapiens, through the long
evolutionary process, as intelligent ethical and
religious animals. The human being is an ani-
mal, one of the varied forms of earthly life and
continuous as.such with the whole realm of
animal existence. But the human being is
uniquely intelligent, having evolved a large and
immensely complex brain. Further, the hu-
man being is ethical — that is, a gregarious as
well as an intelligent animal, able to realize
and respond to the complex demands of so-
cial life. And the human being is a religious
animal, with an innate tendency to experience
the world in terms of the presence and activ-
ity of supernatural beings and powers. This
then is early homo sapiens, the intelligent so-
cial animal capable of awareness of the divine.
But early homo sapiens is not the Adam and
Eve of Augustinian theology, living in perfect
harmony with self, with nature, and with God.
On the contrary, the life of this being must
have been a constant struggle against a hos-
tile environment, and capable of savage vio-
lence against one’s fellow human beings,
particularly outside one’s own immediate
group; and this being’s concepts of the divine
were primitive and often bloodthirsty. Thus
existence “in the image of God” was a poten-
tiality for knowledge of and relationship with
one’s Maker rather than such knowledge and
relationship as a fully realized state. In other
words, people were created as spiritually and
morally immature creatures, at the beginning
AN IRENAEAN THEODICY
of a long process of further growth and de-
velopment, which constitutes the second stage
of God’s creative work. In this second stage,
of which we are a part, the intelligent, ethical,
andreligious animal is being brought through
one’s own free responses into what Irenaeus
called the divine “likeness.” The human ani-
mal is being created into a child of God.
Irenaeus’ own terminology (ezkon, homotosis,
imago, similitudo) has no particular merit,
based as it is on a misunderstanding of the
Hebrew parallelism in Genesis 1: 26; but his
conception of a two-stage creation of the hu-
man, with perfection lying in the future rather
than in the past, is of fundamental importance.
The notion of the fall was not basic to this
picture, although it was to become basic to
the great drama of salvation depicted by St
Augustine and accepted within western Chris-
tendom, including the churches stemming
from the Reformation, until well into the nine-
teenth century. Irenaeus himself however
could not, in the historical knowledge of his
time, question the fact of the fall; though he
treated it as a relatively minor lapse, a youth-
ful error, rather than as the infinite crime and
cosmic disaster which has ruined the whole
creation. But today we can acknowledge that
there is no evidence at all of a period in the
distant past when humankind was in the ideal
state of a fully realized “child of God.” We
can accept that, so far as actual events in time
are concerned, there never was a fall from an
original righteousness and grace. If we want
to continue to use the term fall, because of its
hallowed place in the Christian tradition, we
must use it to refer to the immense gap be-
tween what we actually are and what in the
divine intention is eventually to be. But we
must not blur our awareness that the ideal state
is not something already enjoyed and lost, but
is a future and as yet unrealized goal. The re-
ality is not a perfect creation which has gone
tragically wrong, but a still continuing crea-
tive process whose completion lies in the
eschaton.
Let us now try to formulate a contempo-
rary version of the Irenaean type of theodicy,
223
JOHN H. HICK
based on this suggestion of the initial crea-
tion of humankind, not as a finitely perfect,
but as an immature creature at the beginning
of a long process of further growth and de-
velopment. We may begin by asking why one
should have been created as an imperfect and
developing creature rather than as the perfect
being whom God is presumably intending to
create? The answer, I think, consists in two
considerations which converge in their prac-
tical implications, one concerned with the
human’s relationship to God and the other
with the relationship to other human beings.
As to the first, we could have the picture of
God creating finite beings, whether angels or
persons, directly in his own presence, so that
in being conscious of that which is other than
one’s self the creature is automatically con-
scious of God, the limitless divine reality and
power, goodness and love, knowledge and
wisdom, towering above one’s self. In such a
situation the disproportion between Creator
and creatures would be so great that the lat-
ter would have no freedom in relation to God;
they would indeed not exist as independent
autonomous persons. For what freedom could
finite beings have in an immediate conscious-
ness of the presence of the one who has cre-
ated them, who knows them through and
through, who is limitlessly powerful as well as
limitlessly loving and good, and who claims
their total obedience? In order to be a per-
son, exercising some measure of genuine free-
dom, the creature must be brought into
existence, not in the immediate divine pres-
ence, but at a “distance” from God. This “dis-
tance” cannot of course be spatial; for God is
omnipresent. It must be an epistemic distance,
a distance in the cognitive dimension. And the
Irenaean hypothesis is that this “distance”
consists, in the case of humans, in their exist-
ence within and as part of aworld which func-
tions as an autonomous system and from
within which God is not overwhelmingly evi-
dent. It is a world, in Bonhoeffer’s phrase, etsi
deus non daretur, as if there were no God. Or
rather, it is religiously ambiguous, capable
both of being seen as a purely natural phe-
224
nomenon and of being seen as God’s crea-
tion and experienced as mediating his pres-
ence. In such a world one can exist as a person
over against the Creator. One has space to
exist as a finite being, a space created by the
epistemic distance from God and protected
by one’s basic cognitive freedom, one’s free-
dom to open or close oneself to the dawning
awareness of God which is experienced natu-
rally by a religious animal. This Irenaean pic-
ture corresponds, I suggest, to our actual
human situation. Emerging within the evolu-
tionary process as part of the continuum of
animal life, in a universe which functions in
accordance with its own laws and whose work-
ings can be investigated and described with-
out reference to a creator, the human being
has a genuine, even awesome, freedom in re-
lation to one’s Maker. The human being is
free to acknowledge and worship God; and is
free — particularly since the emergence of hu-
man individuality and the beginnings of criti-
cal consciousness during the first millennium
Bc — to doubt the reality of God.
Within such a situation there is the possi-
bility of the human being coming freely to
know and love one’s Maker. Indeed, if the
end-state which God is seeking to bring about
is one in which finite persons have come in
their own freedom to know and love him, this
requires creating them initially in a state which
is not that of their already knowing and lov-
ing him. For it is logically impossible to cre-
ate beings already in a state of having come
into that state by their own free choices.
The other consideration, which converges
with this in pointing to something like the
human situation as we experience it, concerns
our human moral nature. We can approach it
by asking why humans should not have been
created at this epistemic distance from God,
and yet at the same time as morally perfect
beings? That persons could have been created
morally perfect and yet free, so that they would
always in fact choose rightly, has been argued
by such critics of the free-will defense in
theodicy as Antony Flew and J. L. Mackie,
and argued against by Alvin Plantinga and

other upholders of that form of theodicy. On
the specific issue defined in the debate between
them, it appears to me that the criticism of
the freewill defense stands. It appears to me
that a perfectly good being, although formally
free to sin, would in fact never do so. If we
imagine such a being in a morally frictionless
environment, involving no stresses or temp-
tation, then we must assume that one would
exemplify the ethical equivalent of Newton’s
first law of motion, which states that a mov-
ing body will continue in uniform motion until
interfered with by some outside force. By anal-
ogy, a perfectly good being would continue
in the same moral course forever, there being
nothing in the environment to throw one off
it. But even if we suppose the morally perfect
being to exist in an imperfect world, in which
one is subject to temptations, it still follows
that, in virtue of moral perfection, one will
always overcome those temptations — as in the
case, according to orthodox Christian belief,
of Jesus Christ. It is, to be sure, logically pos-
sible, as Plantinga and others argue, that a free
being, simply as such, may at any time con-
tingently decide to sin. However, a responsi-
ble free being does not act randomly, but on
the basis of moral nature. And a free being
whose nature is wholly and unqualifiedly good
will accordingly never in fact sin.
But if God could, without logical contra-
diction, have created humans as wholly good
free beings, why did he not do so? Why was
humanity not initially created in possession of
all the virtues, instead of having to acquire them
through the long hard struggle of life as we
know it? The answer, I suggest, appeals to the
principle that virtues which have been formed
within the agent as a hard won deposit of his
own right decisions in situations of challenge
and temptation, are intrinsically more valuable
than virtues created within him ready made and
without any effort on his own part. This prin-
ciple expresses a basic value-judgment, which
cannot be established by argument but which
one can only present, in the hope that it will
be as morally plausible, and indeed compel-
ling, to others as to oneself. It is, to repeat, the
AN IRENAEAN THEODICY
judgment that a moral goodness which exists
as the agent’s initial given nature, without ever
having been chosen by him in the face of temp-
tations to the contrary, is intrinsically less valu-
able than a moral goodness which has been
built up through the agent’s own responsible
choices through time in the face of alternative
possibilities.
If, then, God’s purpose was to create finite
persons embodying the most valuable kind of
moral goodness, he would have to create them,
not as already perfect beings but rather as im-
perfect creatures who can then attain to the
more valuable kind of goodness through their
own free choices as in the course of their per-
sonal and social history new responses prompt
new insights, opening up new moral possibili-
ties, and providing a milieu in which the most
valuable kind of moral nature can be developed.
But one cannot discuss moral evil without
at the same time discussing the non-moral evil
of pain and suffering. (I propose to mean by
“pain” physical pain, including the pains of
hunger and thirst; and by “suffering” the
mental and emotional pain of loneliness, anxi-
ety, remorse, lack of love, fear, grief, envy,
etc.). For what constitutes moral evil as evil is
the fact that it causes pain and suffering. It is
impossible to conceive of an instance of moral
evil, or sin, which is not productive ofpain or
suffering to anyone at any time. But in addi-
tion to moral evil there is another source of
pain and suffering in the structure of the physi-
cal world, which produces storms, earth-
quakes, and floods and which afflicts the
human body with diseases — cholera, epilepsy,
cancer, malaria, arthritis, rickets, meningitis,
etc. — as well as with broken bones and other
outcomes ofphysical accident. It is true that a
great deal both ofpain and ofsuffering is hu-
manly caused, not only by the inhumanity of
man to man but also by the stresses of our
individual and corporate life-styles, causing
many disorders — not only lung cancer and
cirrhosis of the liver but many cases of heart
225
JOHN H. HICK
disease, stomach and other ulcers, strokes, etc.
—as well as accidents. But there remain never-
theless, in the natural world itself, permanent
causes of human pain and suffering. And we
have to ask why an unlimitedly good and
unlimitedly powerful God should have cre-
ated so dangerous a world, both as regards its
purely natural hazards of earthquake and
flood, etc., and as regards the liability of the
human body to so many ills, both psychoso-
matic and purely somatic.
The answer offered by the Irenaean type of
theodicy follows from and is indeed integrally
bound up with its account of the origin of
moral evil. We have the hypothesis of human-
kind being brought into being within the evo-
lutionary process as a spiritually and morally
immature creature, and then growing and
developing through the exercise of freedom
in this religiously ambiguous world. We can
now ask what sort of a world would consti-
tute an appropriate environment for this sec-
ond stage of creation? The development of
human personality — moral, spiritual, and in-
tellectual — is a product of challenge and re-
sponse. It does not occur in a static situation
demanding no exertion and no choices. So
far as intellectual development is concerned,
this is a well-established principle which un-
derlies the whole modern educational proc-
ess, from pre-school nurseries designed to
provide a rich and stimulating environment,
to all forms of higher education designed to
challenge the intellect. At a basic level the es-
sential part played in learning by the learner’s
own active response to environment was strik-
ingly demonstrated by the Held and Heim
experiment with kittens.! Of two litter-mate
kittens in the same artificial environment one
was free to exercise its own freedom and in-
telligence in exploring the environment, whilst
the other was suspended in a kind of “gon-
dola” which moved whenever and wherever
the free kitten moved. Thus the second kitten
had a similar succession of visual experiences
as the first, but did not exert itself or make
any choices in obtaining them. And whereas
the first kitten learned in the normal way to
226
conduct itself safely within its environment,
the second did not. With no interaction with
a challenging environment there was no de-
velopment in its behavioral patterns. And I
think we can safely say that the intellectual
development of humanity has been due to
interaction with an objective environment
functioning in accordance with its own laws,
an environment which we have had actively
to explore and to cooperate with in order to
escape its perils and exploit its benefits. In a
world devoid both of dangers to be avoided
and rewards to be won we may assume that
there would have been virtually no develop-
ment of the human intellect and imagination,
and hence of either the sciences or the arts,
and hence of human civilization or culture.
The fact of an objective world within which
one has to learn to live, on penalty of pain or
death, is also basic to the development of one’s
moral nature. For it is because the world is
one in which men and women can suffer harm
— by violence, disease, accident, starvation, etc.
— that our actions affecting one another have
moral significance. A morally wrong act is,
basically, one which harms some part of the
human community; whilst a morally right ac-
tion is, on the contrary, one which prevents
or neutralizes harm or which preserves or in-
creases human well-being. Now we can im-
agine a paradise in which no one can ever come
to any harm. It could be a world which, in-
stead of having its own fixed structure, would
be plastic to human wishes. Or it could be a
world with a fixed structure, and hence the
possibility of damage and pain, but whose
structure is suspended or adjusted by special
divine action whenever necessary to avoid
human pain. Thus, for example, in such a
miraculously pain-free world one who falls
accidentally offa high building would presum-
ably float unharmed to the ground; bullets
would become insubstantial when fired at a
human body; poisons would cease to poison;
water to drown, and so on. We can at least
begin to imagine such a world. And a good
deal of the older discussion of the problem of
evil — for example in Part XI of Hume’s Dia-

logues Concerning Natural Religion — assumed
that it must be the intention of a limitlessly
good and powerful Creator to make for hu-
man creatures a pain-free environment: so that
the very existence of pain is evidence against
the existence of God. But such an assump-
tion overlooks the fact that a world in which
there can be no pain or suffering would also
be one in which there can be no moral choices
and hence no possibility of moral growth and
development. For in a situation in which no
one can ever suffer injury or be liable to pain
or suffering there would be no distinction
between right and wrong action. No action
would be morally wrong, because no action
could have harmful consequences; and like-
wise no action would be morally right in con-
trast to wrong. Whatever the values of such a
world, it clearly could not serve a purpose of
the development of its inhabitants from self-
regarding animality to self-giving love.
Thus the hypothesis of a divine purpose in
which finite persons are created at an epistemic
distance from God, in order that they may
gradually become children of God through
their own moral and spiritual choices, requires
that their environment, instead of being a
pain-free and stress-free paradise, be broadly
the kind of world of which we find ourselves
to be a part. It requires that it be such as to
27 The Problem of Evil*
Eleonore Stump
Introduction
The problem of evil traditionally has been
understood as an apparent inconsistency in
* Brom Faith and Philosophy, 2:4 (1985), pp. 392-5,
397-8, 406-15, 417-18. Reprinted with permission.
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
provoke the theological problem of evil. For
it requires that it be an environment which
offers challenges to be met, problems to be
solved, dangers to be faced, and which accord-
ingly involves real possibilities of hardship,
disaster, failure, defeat, and misery as well as
of delight and happiness, success, triumph, and
achievement. For it is by grappling with the
real problems of a real environment, in which
a person is one form of life among many, and
which is not designed to minister exclusively
to one’s well-being, that one can develop in
intelligence and in such qualities as courage
and determination. And it is in the relation-
ships of human beings with one another, in
the context of this struggle to survive and
flourish, that they can develop the higher val-
ues of mutual love and care, of self-sacrifice
for others, and of commitment to a common
good.
fan
Notes
1 R. Held and A. Hein, “Movement-produced
stimulation in the development of visually
guided behaviour,” Journal of Comparative
and Physiological Psychology, 56 (1963),
pp. 872-6.
theistic beliefs.! Orthodox believers ofall three
major monotheisms, Judaism, Christianity,
and Islam, are committed to the truth of the
following claims about God:
(1) God is omnipotent;
(2) God is omniscient;
as |
ELEONORE STUMP
(3) God is perfectly good.
Reasonable people of all persuasions are also
committed to this claim:
(4) There is evil in the world;
and many theists in particular are bound to
maintain the truth of (4) in virtue of their
various doctrines of the afterlife or the in-
junctions of their religion against evil. The
view that (1)-(4) are logically incompat-
ible has become associated with Hume in
virtue of Philo’s position in the Dzalogues
Concerning Natural Religion, though many
other philosophers have maintained it,” includ-
ing in recent years J. L. Mackie* and H. J.
McCloskey.* As other philosophers have
pointed out, however, Philo’s view that there
is a logical inconsistency in (1)-(4) alone is
mistaken.° To show such an inconsistency, one
would need at least to demonstrate that this
claim must be true:
(5) There is no morally sufficient reason for
God to allow instances of evil.
Since Hume, there have been attempts to solve
the problem of evil by attacking or reinter-
preting one ofthe first four assumptions. Mill,
for example, suggested a radical weakening of
(1) and (2),° and according to Mill, Mansel
reinterpreted (3) in such a way as almost to
make (4) follow from it, by in effect claiming
that God’s goodness might include attributes
which we consider evil by human standards.”
But for reasons which I think are obvious,
theists have generally been unwilling to avail
themselves of such solutions; and most at-
tempts at solving the problem, especially re-
cently, have concentrated on strategies for
rejecting (5). Some of these attempted rejec-
tions of (5) make significant contributions to
our understanding of the problem, but none
of them, I think, ultimately constitutes a suc-
cessful solution of the problem. In this paper,
I will briefly review what seem to me three of
the most promising discussions of the prob-
228
lem of evil and then develop in detail a differ-
ent solution of my own by presenting and
defending a morally sufficient reason for God
to allow instances of evil.
I
Plantinga’s presentation ofthe free will defense
is a landmark in contemporary discussions of
the problem of evil. As Plantinga expounds
it,° the free will defense rests on these two
philosophical claims, which it adds to the theo-
logical assumptions (1)—(3):
(6) Human beings have free will;
and
(7) Possession of free will and use of it to
do more good than evil is a good of such
value that it outweighs all the evil in the
world.
Plantinga uses these assumptions to argue that
a morally sufficient reason for God to permit
evil is possible: the value of man’s possession
and use of free will is a possible reason for
God’s permitting moral evil, which is evil
caused by man. The value of the fallen angel’s
possession of free will is a possible reason for
God’s permitting natural evil, evil which is not
caused by human free choice but which
(Plantinga suggests) could be attributed to the
freely chosen actions of fallen angels. As long
as it is possible that there be a morally suffi-
cient reason for God to allow evil, regardless
of whether or not that possibility is actual-
ized, the existence of evil is not logically in-
compatible with the existence ofa good God.
Plantinga’s work has generated considerable
discussion, which cannot be effectively sum-
marized here.? But for my purposes perhaps
the most interesting criticism is the objection
that even if we grant Plantinga’s free will
defense everything it wants and needs, what
results does not seem to be even a candidate
for a morally sufficient reason justifying God’s

permitting instances of evil. In “The Irrel-
evance of the Free Will Defense,”! Steven
Boer has argued that nothing in the grant of
free will to creatures entails that creatures al-
ways be able successfully to inflict the harm
which they have willed. It is possible that God
allow his creatures to be free with respect to
their willing and yet prevent by natural or su-
pernatural means the suffering which their evil
will and actions aim at. Thus, for example,
God could allow Smith to will to murder Jones
and to act on that will by hiring killers to shoot
Jones, and at the same time God could warn
Jones of Smith’s intentions in time for Jones
to run away and hide until Smith’s wrath had
subsided. By warning Jones God would pre-
vent the evil of Jones’ murder without inter-
fering with Smith’s exercise offree will. Many
critics of Plantinga’s position are bothered by
the fact that they cannot seriously entertain
the notion that Plantinga’s possible sufficient
reason for evil might actually obtain. The
thought that all natural evil might be caused
by fallen angels seems to many a particularly
implausible view. This criticism does not es-
pecially worry Plantinga, however, because his
purpose was to show not what God’s reason
for allowing evil is but rather just that there
could be such a reason; and this is all he needs
to show in order to refute those who think
that the existence of God is logically incom-
patible with the existence of evil. Plantinga’s
strategy is similar in his arguments against
those who hold the weaker view that the ex-
istence of evil renders it zmprobable that God
exist.!! He does not attempt a justification for
God’s allowing evil which would diminish the
critic’s sense of the improbability of God’s
existence. Rather he argues that the critic has
not made his case. Judgments of a claim’s
probability are relative to a knower’s whole
set of beliefs. But a theist’s set of beliefs in-
cludes the belief that God exists, so that athe-
ists’ assessments of the probability of God’s
existence given the existence of evil will not
be the same as theists’. Therefore, the atheist
critic’s argument that God’s existence is im-
probable is not telling against theism.
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
The problem with Plantinga’s general strat-
egy for the defense of theism against arguments
from evil is that it leaves the presence of evil in
the actual world mysterious. Plantinga’s ten-
dency is to show the weaknesses inherent in
arguments from evil, not to provide a theodicy,
and so it yields no explanation for why we in
this world suffer from evil if our world is gov-
erned by a good God. No doubt many peo-
ple, including Plantinga, would not find this
result problematic. In fact, in a recent paper
Steven Wykstra has argued that given the lim-
itlessness of God’s intellect and the finitude of
ours, the mysteriousness ofevil in our world is
just what we might expect;!* it is reasonable
to suppose that we cannot understand why an
omniscient and omnipotent entity does what
he does. I think that there is some plausibility
in Wykstra’s thesis; and ifall efforts at theodicy
fail utterly, no doubt theists will be glad of
arguments like Wykstra’s and content with
strategies like Plantinga’s. The problem with
such arguments and strategies, to put it
crudely, is that they leave people on both sides
of the issue unsatisfied. The atheist is inclined
to claim, as William Rowe does in a recent
paper,!* that it is apparent there is 70 justify-
ing or overriding good for some evils that oc-
cur in the world. To tell such an atheist that
he hasn’t succeeded in undermining theists’
beliefs in the existence of such a good although
they don’t know what it is, or that his inability
to see such a good is just what theists would
expect, is likely to strike him as less than a pow-
erful response. As for the theist struggling with
the problem of evil, even if he entertains no
anxieties about the rationality of his theistic
belief in consequence of the existence of evil,
he may well still be weakened in his religious
belief by the consideration that the deity in
whom he is to place his trust seems to act in
ways which are unintelligible to him at best
and apparently evil at worst. So, if it is at all
possible to do so, it seems worth trying to con-
struct a more positive explanation for the com-
patibility of God and evil; and such an
explanation is in fact what we find in the work
of Swinburne and Hick....
229
ELEONORE STUMP
int
... The problem of evil is generally presented
as some sort of inconsistency in theistic be-
liefs, and (1)-(4) present the relevant theistic
assumptions. And yet mere theists are relatively
rare in the history of religion. Most people
who accept (1)-(4) are Jews or Christians or
Muslims. If we are going to claim that their
beliefs are somehow inconsistent, we need to
look at a more complete set of Jewish or Mus-
lim or Christian beliefs concerning God’s
goodness and evil in the world, not just at
that limited subset of such beliefs which are
common to all three religions, because what
appears inconsistent if we take a partial sam-
pling of beliefs may in fact look consistent
when set in the context of a more complete
set of beliefs. I do not of course mean to sug-
gest that an inconsistent set of propositions
could become consistent if we add more
propositions to it. My point is simple and
commonsensical: that the appearance of in-
consistency in a set of beliefs may arise from
our interpretation of those beliefs, and our
reinterpretation of them in light of a larger
system of beliefs to which they belong may
dispel the appearance of inconsistency. A more
promising foundation for a solution to the
problem of evil, then, might be found if we
consider a broader range of beliefs concern-
ing the relations of God to evil in the world,
which are specific to a particular monotheism.
Furthermore, attempted solutions to the
problem of evil based solely on a few theistic
assumptions common to the major
monotheisms are likely themselves to be in-
compatible with Jewish or Christian or Islamic
beliefs. Swinburne’s attempted solution, for
example, seems incompatible with traditional
Christian beliefs about heaven. On
Swinburne’s account, we are more like pets
than humans unless we have significant exer-
cise of our free will, and natural evil is neces-
sary for such a significant exercise. But there
is no natural evil in heaven and so, according
to Swinburne’s position, no significant exer-
cise of free will either. Hence, on Swinburne’s
230
account, persons in heaven are not perfected
in virtue of their translation to heaven, as
Christian doctrine has traditionally claimed,
but rather diminished in status. Thoughtful
Christians troubled by the problem of evil,
then, are not likely to be reassured by
Swinburne’s solution.
For these reasons, in what follows I will fo-
cus on one particular monotheism, namely,
Christianity; I do not know enough about
Judaism or Islam to present a discussion of
the problem of evil in the context of those
religions. In fact, my account will not deal even
with all varieties of Christian belief. Because
my-account will depend on a number of as-
sumptions, such as that man has free will, it
will present a solution to the problem of evil
applicable only to those versions of Christian-
ity which accept those assumptions. Christians
who reject a belief in free will, for example,
will also reject my attempt at a solution to the
problem of evil.
Besides (1)-(4), there are three Christian
beliefs that seem to me especially relevant to
the problem of evil. They are these:
(8) Adam fell.
(9) Natural evil entered the world as a re-
sult of Adam’s fall.
(10) After death, depending on their state
at the time of their death, either (a)
human beings go to heaven or (b) they
go to hell.'*
II
According to the Christian beliefs summarized
as (8), (9), and (10), all human beings since
Adam’s fall have been defective in their free
wills, so that they have a powerful inclination
to will what they ought not to will, to will
their own power or pleasure in preference to
greater goods. It is not possible for human
beings in that condition to go to heaven,
which consists in union with God; and hell
understood in Dantean terms is arguably the
best alternative to annihilation. A good God

will want to fix such persons, to save them
from hell and bring them to heaven; and as
the creator of these persons, God surely bears
some responsibility for fixing and saving them
if he can. How is he to do so?
It seems to me clear that he cannot fix the
defect by using his omnipotence to remove it
miraculously. The defect is a defect in free will,
and it consists in a person’s generally failing
to will what he ought to will. To remove this
defect miraculously would be to force a per-
son’s free will to be other than it is; it would
consist in causing a person to will freely what
he ought to will. But it is logically impossible
for anyone to make a person freely will some-
thing, and therefore even God in his omnipo-
tence cannot directly and miraculously remove
the defect in free will, without destroying the
very freedom of the will he wants to fix.
Someone might object here that if the de-
fect in the will is inheritable without preju-
dice to the freedom of the will, then it is also
removable without detriment to the freedom
of the will; and if it destroys freedom to have
God remove the defect, then it also destroys
freedom to have the defect inherited. This
objection, I think, is based on a mistaken pic-
ture of the inheritance of the defect. If the
traditional doctrine were that after the time
of Adam’s fall, human beings whose wills were
in a pre-fall state suddenly acquired fallen,
defective wills, then this objection would be
sound. And perhaps the use of the word “in-
heritance,” with its suggestions of one indi-
vidual suddenly receiving something from
another, invites such a picture. But in fact the
doctrine of Adam’s fall makes it clear that in
the transmission of the defect there is no
change of will on the part of post-fallen men.
What the doctrine specifies is that individuals
conceived and born after Adam’s fall have
defective wills from the very beginning oftheir
existence. There is no change of will in this
process; rather the process consists in the gen-
eration of persons whose free wills from birth
are strongly inclined to certain sorts of evil
actions. If God were to destroy such post-fall
persons and generate new ones with non-de-
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
fective wills (as I have argued he should not),
he would not be violating the free wills ofthe
new persons by so creating them any more
than he violated Adam’s free will when he cre-
ated Adam in his pre-fall state. But if God in-
tervenes to remove the defect in the wills of
post-fall persons, he brings about a change in
their wills; and this, I think, he cannot do if
their wills are to remain free.®
If God cannot by his omnipotence directly
fix the defect in free will, it seems that human
beings must fix it themselves. Self-repair is a
common feature of the natural world, but I
do not think self-repair is possible for a per-
son with post-fall free will. People, of course,
do sometimes reform their lives and change
their habits; but one necessary condition for
their doing so is that, for whatever purpose or
motive, they will something different from
what they previously willed. Analogously, to
reform the will requires willing something dif-
ferent from what one previously willed; that
is, it requires a change of will. But how to
change the will is the problem in the first place.
If we want to know whether a man himself
can fix a defect in his will, whether he himself
can somehow remove his tendency to will
what he ought not to will, it is no help to be
told that of course he can if he just wills to
change his will. We know that a man can
change his will for the better; otherwise his
will would not be free. The problem with a
defect in the will is not that there is an inabil-
ity to will what one ought to will because of
some external restraint on the will, but that
one does not and will not will what one ought
to will because the will itself is bent towards
evil. Consequently, changing the will is the
end for which we are seeking the means; if
one were willing to change one’s will by will-
ing what one ought to will, there would be
no problem of a defect in the will.’® Self-re-
pair, then, is no more a solution to the prob-
lem of a defective will than is God’s miraculous
intervention.’”
If God cannot and human beings will not
fix the defect in their wills, what possible cure
is there? Christianity suggests what seems to
231
ELEONORE STUMP
me the only remaining alternative. Let a per-
son will that God fix his defective will. In that
case, God’s alteration of the will is something
the person has freely chosen, and God can then
alter that person’s will without destroying its
freedom. It is a fact well-attested in religious
literature that people who find it next to im-
possible to will what (they believe) they ought
to will may none the less find it in themselves
to will that God alter their wills. Perhaps two
of the most famous examples are the sonnet
of John Donne in which he prays for God to
overwhelm him so that he will be chaste’® and
Augustine’s prayers that God give him conti-
nence.’? The traditional formulation of the
crucial necessary condition for a person’s be-
ing a Christian (variously interpreted by Prot-
estants and Catholics) is that he wills God to
save him from his sin; and this condition is, I
think, logically (and perhaps also psychologi-
cally) equivalent to a person’s willing that God
fix his will. Willing to have God save one from
one’s sin is willing to have God bring one to a
state in which one is free from sin, and that
state depends essentially on a will which wills
what it ought to will.
What role God plays in man’s coming to
will that God fix his will is controversial in the
history of Christian thought. Some Protestant
theologians have argued that God bears sole
responsibility for such willing; Pelagius appar-
ently argued that all the responsibility belongs
to man. The first of these positions seems to
me to have difficulties roughly analogous to
those raised above by the suggestion that God
might miraculously fix man’s will, and the dif-
ficulties in the second are like those in the
suggestion that a man himself might fix his
own will. Perhaps the correct view here too
consists in postulating a cooperative divine and
human effort. Perhaps Socrates’s way with
those he encountered can serve as a model.
When Socrates pursued a man with wit and
care and passion for the truth, that man some-
times converted to philosophy and became
Socrates’s disciple. Such a man converted
freely, so that it is false to say Socrates caused
his conversion; and yet, on the other hand, it
Zoe
would be ridiculous to say in consequence that
the man bears sole responsibility for his con-
version. The responsibility and the credit for
the conversion belong to Socrates, whose ef-
fort and ingenuity were necessary conditions
of the conversion. That they were not suffi-
cient conditions, however, and that the man
none the less freely willed his conversion is
clear from the cases of men such as Alcibiades,
whom Socrates sought but did not succeed in
converting. Without rashly trying to adjudi-
cate in a paragraph an old and complicated
controversy, I think that something along
those lines can also be said of the process by
which a man comes to will God’s help. God’s
effort on behalf of Augustine are the neces-
sary condition of Augustine’s conversion, and
the credit for his conversion belongs to God;
but God’s efforts are not a sufficient condi-
tion, and so Augustine’s free will is not im-
pugned. Or, as Anselm says with regard to
the fall of the angels, “although the good an-
gel received perseverance [in willing what he
ought to will] because God gave it, it is not
the case that the evil angel did not receive it
because God did not give it. But rather, God
did not give it because Satan did not receive
it, and he did not receive it because he was
unwilling to receive it.””°
At any rate, ifa man does will that God fix
his will or save him from his sins, then I think
that God can do so without detriment to free
will, provided that he does so only to the ex-
tent to which the man freely wills that God
do so. There is in principle no reason why a
person could not will at once that God fix the
whole defect of his will; but in general, per-
haps because of the extent of the defect in the
will, people seem to turn from their own evil
in a series of small-scale reforms. In book VIII,
chapter VII, of the Confessions, Augustine
describes himselfas praying that God give him
chastity and making the private reservation
“but not yet.” If God were immediately to
give Augustine chastity in such a case, he
would in fact be doing so against Augustine’s
will. And so, in general, God’s fixing the will
seems to be a lengthy process, in which a lit-

tle willing produces a little fixing, which in
turn promotes more willing of more fixing.
On Christian doctrine, this is the process of
sanctification, which is not finally completed
until after death when it culminates “in the
twinkling ofan eye” in the last changes which
unite the sanctified person with God.”!
The fixing of a defective free will by a per-
son’s freely willing that God fix his will is, I
think, the foundation of a Christian solution
to the problem of evil. What sort of world is
most conducive to bringing about both the
initial human willing of help and also the sub-
sequent process of sanctification? To answer
that question, we need to consider the psy-
chological state of a person who wills God’s
help. Apart from the obvious theological be-
liefs, such a person must also hold that he tends
to do what he ought not to do and does so
because he himself wills what he ought not to
will, and he must want not to be in such a
condition. He must, in other words, have both
a humbling recognition of himself as evil and
a desire for a better state. So things that con-
tribute to a person’s humbling, to his aware-
ness of his own evil, and to his unhappiness
with his present state contribute to his willing
God’s help.
I think that both moral and natural evil
make such a contribution. The unprevented
gross moral evils in the course of human his-
tory show us something about the nature of
man, and our own successful carrying out of
our no doubt smaller-scaled evil wills shows
us that we are undeniably members of the spe-
cies. Natural evil — the pain of disease, the in-
termittent and unpredictable destruction of
natural disasters, the decay of old age, the
imminence of death — takes away a person’s
satisfaction with himself. It tends to humble
him, show him his frailty, make him reflect
on the transience of temporal goods, and turn
his affections towards other-worldly things,
away from the things of this world. No amount
of moral or natural evil, of course, can guar-
antee that a man will seek God’s help. If it
could, the willing it produced would not be
free. But evil of this sort is the best hope, I
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
think, and maybe the only effective means, for
bringing men to such a state.
That natural evil and moral evil, the suc-
cessful carrying out of evil human wills, serve
to make men recognize their own evils, be-
come dissatisfied with things of this world, and
turn to God is a controversial claim; and it is
clear that a compelling argument for or against
it would be very difficult to construct. To pro-
duce such an argument we would need a rep-
resentative sample, whatever that might be,
of natural and moral evil. Then we would need
to examine that sample case by case to deter-
mine the effect of the evil in each case on the
human beings who suffered or perpetrated it.
To determine the effect we would have to
know the psychological and moral state of
these people both before and after the evil at
issue (since the effect would consist in some
alteration of a previous state); and we would
have to chart their state for the rest of their
lives after that evil because, like the effect of
carcinogens, the effect of the experience of
evil may take many years to manifest itself.
Even with the help of ateam ofpsychologists
and sociologists, then, it would be hard to
collect the data necessary to make a good ar-
gument for or against this claim. Hence, Iam
unable to present a cogent argument for one
of the main claims of this paper, not because
of the improbability of the claim but because
of the nature of the data an argument for the
claim requires; and perhaps it should just be
categorized as one more Christian belief and
added as (11) to the list of(8), (9), and (10)
as a traditionally held, not demonstrably false
Christian belief.’ Still, there is some historical
evidence for it in the fact that Christianity has
tended to flourish among the oppressed and
decline among the comfortable, and perhaps
the best evidence comes from the raising of
children. The phrase “spoiling a child” is am-
biguous in current parlance between “turn-
ing a child into a unpleasant person” and
“giving a child everything he wants,” and the
ambiguity reflects a truth about human na-
ture. The pains, the hardships, the struggles
which children encounter tend to make them
Zo
ELEONORE STUMP
better people. Of course, such experiences do
not invariably make children better; children,
like adults, are also sometimes made worse by
their troubles. But that fact would be a coun-
ter-example to the general claim about the
function of evil in the world only in case it
maintained that evil was guaranteed to make
people better; and that is something this claim
could not include and still be compatible with
Christianity as long as Christianity is commit-
ted to the view that human beings have free
will.
Someone may object here that the suffer-
ing of children is just what this attempted so-
lution to the problem of evil cannot explain.
In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky pro-
vides the most eloquent presentation this ob-
jection is likely ever to get, concluding with
Ivan’s passionate insistence (implicit in a ques-
tion addressed to Alyosha) that even if the
whole world could be saved for eternal bliss
by the torture of one innocent child, allow-
ing the torture of that child for that purpose
would be horribly wrong. I am in sympathy
with the attitude Dostoevsky has Ivan express
and in agreement with Ivan’s conclusion. The
suffering of children is in my view unques-
tionably the instance of evil most difficult for
the problem of evil, and there is something
almost indecent about any move resembling
an attempt to explain it away. The suffering
of children is a terrible thing, and to try to see
it otherwise is to betray one’s humanity. Any
attempt to solve the problem of evil must try
to provide some understanding of the suffer-
ing of children, but it must not lessen our pain
over that suffering if it is not to become some-
thing monstrous and inhumane.
With considerable diffidence, then, I want
to suggest that Christian doctrine is commit-
ted to the claim that a child’s suffering is out-
weighed by the good for the child which can
result from that suffering. This is a brave (or
foolhardy) thing to say, and the risk inherent
in it is only sharpened when one applies it to
cases in which infants suffer, for example, or
in which children die in their suffering. Per-
haps the decent thing to do here is simply to
234
sketch some considerations which may shed
light on these hard cases. To begin with, it is
important to remember that on Christian doc-
trine death is not the ultimate evil or even the
ultimate end, but rather a transition between
one form of life and another. From a Chris-
tian point of view, the thing to be avoided at
all costs is not dying, but dying badly; what
concerns the Christian about death is not that
it occurs but that the timing and mode of
death be such as to constitute the best means
of ensuring that state of soul which will bring
a person to eternal union with God. If chil-
dren who die in their suffering thereby move
from the precarious and frequently painful
existence of this world to a permanently bliss-
ful existence in the other world and if their
suffering was among part of the necessary
means to effect that change, their suffering is
justified. I am not trying to say here that the
suffering which a child or any other person
experiences is the only way in which that per-
son could be brought to God. Rather, I am
trying to avoid constructing the sort of expla-
nation for evil which requires telling the suf-
ferer that God lets him suffer just for the sake
of some abstract general good for mankind.
Perhaps it is true that such a general good —
the significant freedom ofcreated persons, for
example — is the ultimate end for the sake of
which God permits evil. It seems to me none
the less that a perfectly good entity who was
also omniscient and omnipotent must govern
the evil resulting from the misuse of that sig-
nificant freedom in such a way that the
sufferings of any particular person are out-
weighed by the good which the suffering pro-
duces for that person; otherwise, we might
justifiably expect a good God somehow to pre-
vent that particular suffering, either by inter-
vening (in one way or another) to protect the
victim, while still allowing the perpetrator his
freedom, or by curtailing freedom in some
select cases.?* And since on Christian doctrine
the ultimate good for persons is union with
God, the suffering of any person will be justi-
fied if it brings that person nearer to the ulti-
mate good in a way he could not have been

without the suffering. I think that Christian-
ity must take some such approach to the suf-
fering or death of children; and perhaps
something analogous can be said in connec-
tion with the hardest case of all, the suffering
of infants. Psychologists tell us that the first
year of a child’s life is tremendously impor-
tant in molding the personality and charac-
ter. Kor some persons the molding of the
personality produced by suffering in infancy
may be the best means of insuring a character
capable of coming to God.?4
In all these hard cases, the difficulty of for-
mulating a Christian position which does not
appear either implausible or inhuman will be
diminished if we have clearly in mind the view
of man Christianity starts with. On Christian
doctrine, all human beings are suffering from
the spiritual equivalent of a terminal disease;
they have a defect in the will which if not cor-
rected will cost them life in heaven and con-
sign them to a living death in hell. Now
suppose that we are the parents of a child with
a terminal brain disease, which includes among
its symptoms the child’s rejecting the notion
that he is sick and refusing to cooperate in
any treatments. The doctors tell us that there
are treatments which may well cure the child
completely, but they hurt and their success is
not guaranteed. Would we not choose to sub-
ject the child to the treatments, even if they
were very painful? The child’s suffering would
be a terrible thing; we would and we should
be grieved at it. But we would none the less
be glad of the treatments and hope ofa cure.
And yet this example is only a pale reflection
of what Christianity claims to be the case for
all human beings, where the loss inflicted by
the disease and the benefits of its cure are in-
finitely greater. If moral and natural evil con-
tain an essential ingredient of a possible cure,
surely the cure is worth the suffering such evil
entails.
It might seem to some people that if this is
God’s plan, it is a tragic failure because the
amount of evil in the world produces so few
cures. The vast majority of people in the world
are not Christians or theists of any kind; and
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
even among those who are Christian many die
in serious unrepented evil. But this complaint
rests on an assumption for which we have no
evidence, namely, that the majority of people
end in hell. That even an evil-doer who dies a
sudden, unexpected death may not die im-
penitent is shown vividly by Dante:
Iam Buonconte . . wounded in the throat, fly-
ing on foot and bloodying the plain [I came].
There I lost my sight and speech. I ended on
the name of Mary, and there I fell, and my flesh
remained alone... The Angel of God took me,
and he from Hell cried, “O you from Heaven,
why do you rob me? You carry off with you the
eternal part of him for one little tear which takes
him from me.”?°
As for those who live and die without the re-
ligious knowledge necessary for redemption
from evil, it is not incompatible with Chris-
tian doctrine to speculate that in the process
of their dying God acquaints them with what
they need to know and offers them a last
chance to choose.”° Such a speculation might
seem to vitiate the justification for evil which
I have been developing in this paper, because
if the whole process of redemption can be
begun and completed in a person’s dying
hour, why do we need evil in the world? But
this is a mistaken objection, because surely in
any sort of deathbed repentance the sufferings
of the dying person will have had a significant
effect on that person’s character and conse-
quently on the choices he makes on his death-
bed. So as long as some such speculation is
not incompatible with Christian doctrine, it
is not at all clear that the majority of people
end in hell. And without that assumption the
complaint that God’s plan for the use of evil
is a failure is altogether unwarranted.
Someone might also object here that this
solution to the problem of evil prohibits us
from any attempt to relieve human suffering
and in fact suggests that we ought to promote
it, as the means of man’s salvation. Such an
objection is mistaken, I think, and rests on an
invalid inference. Because God can use suf-
fering to cure an evil will, it does not follow
235
ELEONORE STUMP
that we can do so also. God can see into the
minds and hearts of human beings and deter-
mine what sort and amount of suffering is
likely to produce the best results; we cannot.
(Our inability to do so is in fact one of the
things which make it so difficult to discuss
cases of infant suffering, for example.) Fur-
thermore, God as parent creator has a right
to, and a responsibility for, painful correction
of his creatures, which we as sibling creatures
do not have. Therefore, since all human suf-
fering is prima facie evil, and since we do not
know with any high degree of probability how
much (if any) of it is likely to result in good to
any particular sufferer on any particular occa-
sion, it is reasonable for us to eliminate the
suffering as much as we can. At any rate, the
attempt to eliminate suffering is likely to be
beneficial to our characters, and passivity in
the face of others’ suffering will have no such
good effects.”
IV
The solution to the problem of evil I have
been developing will be clarified further by
being applied to an individual instance of evil.
The instance I want to consider is the Old
Testament story of Cain and Abel. For my
purposes here, this biblical story of an instance
of evil has several advantages over a descrip-
tion of an instance of evil drawn from such
sources as the newspapers. The biblical story
contains a description of God’s intervention
or lack of intervention in human history, and
it includes an account of the inner thoughts
and motivations of the principal characters.
To the extent to which Christians are com-
mitted to accepting the Bible as the revealed
word of God, to that extent they are commit-
ted to accepting this story as veridical also;
and that fact obviously contributes to the use
I want to make ofthe story. Finally, although
the story of Cain and Abel is regularly taken
by Christians as a paradigmatically moral and
religious story, suitable for the edification of
children, the incidents related in the story are
236
such that a twentieth-century atheistic philoso-
pher might have invented them as a showcase
for the problem of evil.
Cain and Abel are two brothers who bring
offerings to God. Abel’s offering is accepted,
but Cain’s is not — why, the story does not
say. In consequence, Cain is very angry at Abel.
The story suggests that acceptance or rejec-
tion of the offerings is an (at least temporary )
acceptance or rejection of the offerer; and
Cain’s anger at Abel apparently stems from
jealousy over God’s favoring Abel rather than
Cain. Now there is something double-minded
in Cain’s anger and jealousy. Either God is
right to reject Cain’s offering — because there
was something about it or about the person
who brought it which made it objectively un-
acceptable — and in that case there are no
grounds for anger; or God is wrong to reject
Cain’s offering — because it was a perfectly
good offering brought in an altogether ap-
propriate spirit — and in that case God is not
good. And although one might then still be
afraid of the consequences of incurring God’s
displeasure or resent those more favored by
God, a single-minded belief that God’s stand-
ards for accepting offerings are bad precludes
jealousy towards those who are accepted. That
Cain is angry and jealous indicates that he is
double-minded about whether God is right
to reject his offering.
Although he does reject Cain’s offering,
God does not leave Cain to himself in his dou-
ble-minded anger. He comes to him and talks
to him, asking Cain Socratic questions de-
signed to get him to recognize and resolve
his double-mindedness: “Why are you an-
gry?;” “If you do well, will you not be ac-
cepted?” And God goes on to give Cain a
warning, that he is in danger of sin. So God
apparently anticipates Cain’s attack on his
brother, and he intervenes to warn Cain.
But Cain attacks and kills his brother. Abel,
who has just been accepted by God and is
evidently righteous, suffers violent and un-
timely death. When the killing is over, God
speaks to Cain again, asking him more careful
questions designed to lead him to confess his

deed: first, “Where is Abel?,” and then after
the evasive response to that question, the
stronger question “What have you done?”
When Cain is obstinate in his evil, God pun-
ishes him by miraculously intervening in na-
ture: the ground will be barren when Cain
tulls it, and apparently only when Cain tills it.
Finally, we have the last piece of God’s care
for Cain in this story: Cain says his punish-
ment is more than he can bear, and God com-
forts him by protecting him against being
killed by other men, a danger Cain had un-
derstood to be part of his punishment.
Now consider God’s actions in this story.
In the first place, he punishes Cain for the
murder of Abel, showing thereby that he re-
gards the murder of Abel as bad and worthy
of punishment. And yet he himself allowed
the murder to take place, although obviously
he could have prevented it. Any decent per-
son who was present when Cain attacked his
brother would have made some effort to res-
cue Abel; but God, who is always present eve-
rywhere and who even seems to anticipate
Cain’s attack, does nothing for Abel. On the
other hand, consider what God does to or for
Cain. He comes to him and warns him of the
coming temptation. After the murder he re-
turns to talk to Cain again, in a way designed
to make Cain acknowledge his true state.
When he imposes punishment, he does it in a
way that seems to require a miracle. He ban-
ishes Cain from his land. And when Cain com-
plains that his punishment is too much, God
is merciful to him and guards him from being
killed by other men. In short, God interferes
in Cain’s affairs to warn him; he talks to him
earnestly to get him to see his true situation;
he performs a miracle on his behalf; he sends
him away from his own place; and he protects
him from being murdered. Clearly, any one
of these things done on Abel’s behalf would
have been enough to save him. But God does
none of these things for Ade/, the innocent,
the accepted of God; he does them instead
for Cain, a man whose offering was rejected
and who is murderously angry at his brother.
When it comes to righteous Abel, God sim-
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
ply stands by and watches him be killed. Why
has such a story been allowed to stand as part
of the canonical Scriptures?
On the solution to the problem ofevil which
I have been developing in this paper, if God is
good and has a care for his creatures, his over-
riding concern must be to insure not that they
live as long as possible or that they suffer as
little pain as possible in this life but rather that
they live in such a way as ultimately to bring
them to union with God.
Abel presents God with no problems in this
respect. He is apparently righteous at the time
of his offering; and hence that is a safe, even a
propitious, time for him to die, to make the
transition from this life to the next. Given that
he will die sometime, Abel’s death at this time
is if anything in Abel’s interest; he dies at a
time when he is accepted by God, and he en-
ters into union with God. It is true that Abel
dies prematurely and so is deprived of years of
life. But on Christian doctrine, what he loses
is years of a painful and spiritually perilous
pilgrimage through this life, and what he gains
is eternal bliss.
Cain, on the other hand, is in trouble as re-
gards both his current moral state and his pros-
pects for the next life. If God were to rescue
Abel by striking Cain with heart failure at the
outset of Cain’s attack on Abel, for example,
Cain would die in mortal sin and so would go
to hell, while righteous Abel would continue
the morally dangerous journey ofthis life only
to die later, perhaps in some less virtuous state.
There are, of course, many other ways in which
God could have stopped Cain and rescued Abel
without going so far as killing Cain. But per-
haps stopping Cain even in those other ways
would not have been good for Cain. Because
God does not step in between Cain’s willing
and the successful realization of that willing,
Cain is brought as forcefully as possible to a
recognition of the depth of the evil he willed.
And that forceful recognition is, I think, the
most powerful means of bringing Cain to an
acknowledgment of his own evil and a desire
for help, which is a necessary condition for his
salvation.
230
ELEONORE STUMP
On the solution to the problem of evil which
I have been developing here, then, God does
not rescue Abel because contrary to appear-
ances Abel is not in danger; and God’s failure
to rescue Abel, as well as all the other care for
Cain recorded in the story, constitutes the best
hope of a rescue for Cain, who is in danger,
and not just of death but of a perpetual living
death.
Vv
I think, then, that it is possible to produce a
defensible solution to the problem of evil by
relying both on the traditional theological and
philosophical assumptions in (1)-(4) and (6),
and on the specifically Christian doctrines in
(8)-(10). Like other recent attempted solu-
tions, this one also rests fundamentally on a
revised version of (7), namely, this:
(7’”) Because it is a necessary condition for un-
ion with God, the significant exercise offree will
employed by human beings in the process which
is essential for their being saved from their own
evil is of such great value that it outweighs all
the evil of the world.
(7””) constitutes a morally sufficient reason for
evil and so is a counter-example to (5), the
claim that there is no morally sufficient rea-
son for God to permit instances of evil.
In the brief exposition of this solution in
this paper, I cannot hope to have given any-
thing but a sketch and a preliminary defense
of it; to do it justice and to consider carefully
all the questions and objections it raises would
require book-length treatment. For all its com-
plexity, the story of Cain and Abel is the story
of a simple instance of evil, which is easily
dwarfed by any account of evil culled at ran-
dom from today’s newspapers; and I am un-
der no illusions that by providing an
explanation for the simple evil in the story of
Cain and Abel, I have given a sufficient and
satisfying explanation of even the common-
place evils of ghetto violence, much less the
almost unthinkable evils of Belsen or Hiro-
238
shima. What I would like to believe I have
done is to have shown that with good will
and careful attention to the details ofthe doc-
trines specific to a particular monotheism there
is hope of a successful solution to the prob-
lem of evil along the lines developed here.
Notes
1 For a review of recent literature on the
problem of evil, see Michael Peterson,
“Recent Work on the Problem of Evil,”
American Philosophical Quarterly, 20 (1983)
pp. 321-40.
2 Cf. Nelson Pike, “Hume on Evil,” The Philo-
- sophical Review, 72 (1963), pp. 180-1.
3 See “Evil and Omnipotence,” Mind, 64
(1955), pp. 200-12.
4 “God and Evil,” The Philosophical Quarterly,
10 (1960), pp. 97-114.
5 Cf, e.g., Nelson Pike, “Hume on Evil.”
6 Cf. John Stuart Mill, Three Essays on Religion
(London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1875),
pp. 176-90, 194.
7 John Stuart Mill, An Examination of Sir
William Hamilton’s Philosophy (London:
Longman’s Green and Co., 1865), ch. 7.
8 Cf. Alvin Plantinga, “The Free Will Defense,”
in Philosophy in America, ed. Max Black (Lon-
don: Allen and Unwin, 1965), pp. 204-20. A
revised version of this paper is included in God
and Other Minds (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1967) pp. 131-55. Cf. also
“Which Worlds Could God Have Created?”
Journal of Philosophy, 70 (1973), pp. 539-52.
9 Among the most interesting criticisms of
Plantinga are the following: Robert M. Adams,
“Middle Knowledge and the Problem of Evil,”
American Philosophical Quarterly, 14 (1977),
pp. 109-17; George Botterill, “Falsification
and the Existence of God. A Discussion of
Plantinga’s Free Will Defense,” Philosophical
Quarterly, 27 (1977), pp. 114-34; Robert
Burch, “Plantinga and Leibniz’s Lapse,”
Analysis, 39 (1979), pp. 24-9; Nelson Pike,
“Plantinga on Free Will and Evil,” Religious
Studies, 15 (1979), pp. 449-73; William
Rowe, “God and Other Minds,” Nous, 3
(1969), pp. 271-7; William Wainwright,
“Christian Theism and the Free Will Defense:
a Problem,” International Journal for the Phi-
losophy of Religion, 6 (1975), pp. 243-50;

William Wainwright, “Freedom and Omnipo-
tence,” Nous, 2 (1968), pp. 293-301; and
Peter Windt, “Plantinga’s Unfortunate God,”
Philosophical Studies, 24 (1973), pp. 335-42.
10 Analysis (1975), pp. 110-12.
ll See “The Probabilistic Argument from Evil,”
Philosophical Studies, 35 (1979), pp. 1-53.
12 Steven Wykstra, “Ihe Humean Obstacle to
Evidential Arguments from Suffering: On
Avoiding the Evils of Appearance,” forthcom-
ing in International Journal for the Philosophy
of Religion.
William Rowe, “The Empirical Argument
from Evil,” in Rationality, Religious Belief, and
Moral Commitment: New Essays in the Philoso-
ply ofReligion, ed. KR. Audi and W. Wainwright
(Cornell University Press, forthcoming).
14 For an example of this view in prominent
Catholic and Protestant theologians, see, e.g.,
Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Ia—Iae,
q. 87, g. 3, and John Calvin, Institutes of the
Christian Religion, bk. II, ch. xxiv, esp. sec-
tion 6.
Someone might also object that if post-fall
persons inherit a disordered will, they are not
responsible for the evil they do and so should
not be punished for it. But this objection mis-
understands the nature of the defect post-fall
persons inherit. It is not an external constraint
on the will; it is a tendency within the will to
will evil. A person with post-fall will can will
only right actions, but tends not to want to
do so. Such a person, who can will the right
action in certain circumstances but who does
not do so because he does not want to, is gen-
erally held to be responsible for what he does.
16 I do not mean to suggest that changing one’s
character is accomplished by a single act of will
of any sort, only that a particular sort of act of
will is a prerequisite for a change ofcharacter.
This very sketchy discussion suggests a solu-
tion to the sort of quarrel engaged in by Luther
and Erasmus. Even the defective will is free,
in the sense that it cam will the good; and to
this extent it seems to me that Erasmus was
right. But if this ability is not exercised be-
cause, in virtue of a defect in the will, the will
does not will the good, then for practical as dis-
tinct from theological purposes Luther was
right. Of himself, man will not do what is right;
to do so he must have external help. See Mar-
tin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, tr. J. I.
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL
Packer and A. R. Johnston (London: James
Clarke, 1957); and Erasmus, De Libero
Arlitrio, Discourse on the Freedom of the Will,
ed. and tr. Ernest F. Winter (New York, 1967).
18 “Batter my heart, three-personed God; for You
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to
mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and
bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make
me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit You, but O, to no end;
Reason, Your viceroy in me, me should de-
fend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love You, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto Your enemy.
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again;
Take me to You, imprison me, for I,
Except You enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”
19 Augustine, Confessions, tr. Edward Pusey (New
York: Macmillan, 1961), bk. viii, pp. 125, 130:
“But I wretched, most wretched, in the very
commencement of my early youth, had begged
chastity of Thee, and said, “Give me chastity
and continence, only not yet.” For I feared
lest Thou shouldest hear me soon, and soon
cure me of the disease of concupiscence, which
I wished to have satisfied, rather than extin-
guished ... [Now, however] I cast myself
down I know not how, under a certain fig tree,
giving full vent to my tears; and the floods of
mine eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice
to Thee ... I sent up these sorrowful words:
how long, how long, “tomorrow, and tomor-
row?” Why not now? Why not is there this
hour an end to my uncleanness?”
20 Anselm, The Fall of Satan, tr. lasper Hopkins
and Herbert Richardson (New York: Harper
and Row, 1967), p. 157.
21 See, for example, the articles on sanctification
in The Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, ed.
James Hastings (New York: Charles Scribner’s
Sons, 1962) and in A Theological Word Book
of the Bible, ed. Alan Richardson (New York:
Macmillan, 1950), and the article on grace in
The Catholic Encyclopedia, ed. Charles
Herbermann et al. (New York: Robert
Appleton Co., 1909).
22 That this is a claim Christians are committed
239
ELEONORE STUMP
to is clear from even a brief perusal of the Old
Testament. The Old Testament prophetic
books abound with statements such as these:
“In vain have I smitten your children; they
received no correction” (Jeremiah 2: 30); “Oh
Lord, . . . thou has stricken them, but they have
not grieved; thou has consumed them, but
they have refused to receive correction” (Jer-
emiah 5: 3); “The people turneth not unto
him that smiteth them, neither do they seek
the Lord ofhosts” (Isaiah 9: 13). Amos 4: 6—
11 isa particularly clear statement ofthis claim.
The story of the blind man in John 9: 1-38,
which culminates in the blind man’s expres-
sion of faith and worship, is an example of a
New Testament story illustrating this claim.
23 For a Biblical story showing God protecting
the victim while allowing the perpetrator the
freedom to act on his evil will, cf., e.g., Daniel
3: 8-25; a clear-cut story showing God pre-
venting suffering by curtailing the freedom of
a human agent to act on his will is harder to
find, but cf., e.g., Genesis 19: 1-11, Genesis
22: 11-12, and such stories of relief from op-
pression as Judges 6: 1 1ff.
24 The death of infants has been variously han-
dled in the history of Christian thought. It
seems to me not so much a hard case as a bor-
derline one. Like the suffering of animals, the
240
death of infants is hard to account for in large
part because we have an inadequate under-
standing of the nature of infants and animals.
Do infants have free will? Do some of the more
intelligent species of animals other than man
have free will? If they do, maybe some version
of the solution I am developing here applies
to them also. As for creatures to whom no one
would want to attribute free will, such as
worms and snails, what sort of suffering do
they undergo? Until we have a clearer account
of the nature of infants and animals, it will not
be clear what to say about the death of infants
or the suffering of animals in connection with
the problem of evil. For that reason, I leave
both out of account here.
25. Dante, Purgatorio, V. 98-107, tr. Charles Sin-
gleton (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Bresse 1973) pabile
26 For an interesting variation on such a specula-
tion, see C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New
York: Macmillan, 1946).
27 I have made no attempt in this section to dis-
cuss the connection, crucial for Christianity,
between salvation from one’s sins and the In-
carnation and Resurrection of Christ. I intend
to examine that connection in a forthcoming
paper on the Atonement.
Alternative Perspectives
28 Coercion and the Hiddenness of God*
Michael J. Murray
But if Lgo to the east, he 1s not there; if Igo to the
west I do not find him. When he ts at work in the
north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south,
I catch no glimpse of him.
Job 23: 8-9
if
The sentiments expressed by Job in the above
epigram are ones that have been expressed by
the sophisticated atheist as well as the typical
churchgoer. Most of us, in fact, have won-
dered at one time or another why it is that
God does not reveal Himselfin some dramatic
fashion if He actually exists. Yet, while this
question is widely entertained, it has received
surprisingly little attention in the philosophi-
cal literature. In addition to puzzling many
theists, the fact of divine hiddenness has
prompted some non-theists to challenge the
theist to provide some explanation for God’s
apparent silence. The problem they have raised
can be roughly stated as follows: If, as most
theists claim, beliefin God is essential to ulti-
mate human fulfillment, one would expect
that God would provide us with unambigu-
ous evidence for His existence. However, such
evidence is not forthcoming. Therefore, it is
unlikely that the theist’s God exists.
The atheist Norwood Russell Hanson
makes this case against the theist as follows in
his essay “What I Do Not Believe:”
* From American Philosophical Quarterly, 30:1
(1993), pp. 27-35. Reprinted with permission.
... “God exists” could in principle be established
for all factually — it just happens not to be, cer-
tainly not for everyone! Suppose, however, that
next Tuesday morning, just after breakfast, all
of us in this one world are knocked to our knees
by a percussive and ear-shattering thunderclap.
Snow swirls; leaves drop from the trees; the earth
heaves and buckles; buildings topple and tow-
ers tumble; the sky is ablaze with an eerie, sil-
very light. Just then, as all the people of this
world look up, the heavens open — the clouds
pull apart — revealing an unbelievably immense
and radiant-like Zeus figure, towering above us
like a hundred Everests. He frowns darkly as
lightening plays across the features of his
Michelangeloid face. He then points down — at
me! — and explains, for every man and child to
hear:
“T have had quite enough of your too-clever
logic-chopping and word-watching in matters
of theology. Be assured, N. R. Hanson, that I
most certainly do exist.”
... Please do not dismiss this as a playful, ir-
reverent Disney-old contrivance. The concep-
tual point here is that zfsuch a remarkable event
were to occur, I for one should certainly be con-
vinced that God does exist. That matter of fact
would have been settled once and for all time
... That God exists would, through this encoun-
ter, have been confirmed for me and for every-
one else in a manner every bit as direct as that
involved in any non-controversial factual claim.!
Hanson’s point, of course, is that since God
has not produced such a theophany, we not
only lack good evidence that such a God
exists, but that this heavenly silence actually
inveighs against God’s existence. . . . The chal-
241
MICHAEL J. MURRAY
lenge to the theist is to explain this heavenly
silence.
II
In order to understand the nature of the prob-
lem of divine hiddenness it is important to
ask exactly what the objector to theism finds
problematic here. The real problem, as I see
it, is the fact that the hiddenness of God seems
to be closely tied to disbelief. For most Chris-
tian theists, disbelief is a form of sin, possibly
the most damaging form. Asa result, the prob-
lem appears to reduce to the fact that God’s
self-imposed obscurity seems to be indirectly,
or possibly directly, responsible for an impor-
tant form of evil. The atheist’s challenge, then,
amounts to this: why has God established con-
ditions, or at least allowed conditions to pre-
vail, which seem to lead to the occurrence of
a significant amount of evil, especially evil of
such a grave sort? Seen in this way, the prob-
lem is similar to a number of others which fall
under the traditional problem of evil. One
might thus be led to consider, first, whether
or not the hiddenness of God might simply
be treated as a species of the problem of evil
and thus be resolved by appealing to certain
traditional theodicies regarding this problem.
What I intend to show here is that certain tra-
ditional theodicies do seem to provide some
interesting resolutions to the problem of
God’s hiddenness. I will begin in this section
with a discussion of the traditional free will
defense and show how it can be brought to
bear on this vexing problem.
Briefly, a free will theodicy claims that the
existence of free will causes, allows, or pre-
supposes the possibility of certain evils. How-
ever, there are two distinct species of free will
theodicies, both of which I will make use of
in the course of this discussion. The first type
of free will theodicy argues that one of the
consequences of endowing creatures with free
will is that these beings have the option to
choose evil over good. As a result, it is impos-
sible that God actualize a world such that there
242
are both free beings and also no possibility of
these beings undertaking evil actions. I call
theodicies of this type consequent free will
theodicies. They are “consequent” in the sense
that evil is to be accounted for in terms of
conditions that arise as a consequence of the
existence of free will in our world. It is this
sort of theodicy that is most often invoked by
theists in order to account for the existence
of moral evil in the world.
However, the type of free will theodicy I
am going to be concerned with first is some-
what different. The theodicy that is impor-
tant here argues that there are certain
antecedent conditions that must necessarily
hold or fail to hold if beings endowed with
freedom are to be able to exercise this free-
dom in a morally significant manner. For ex-
ample, Swinburne, and others, have argued
that any world which is such that free beings
can exercise their freedom in a morally sig-
nificant manner must also be a world in which
there are stable natural regularities of some
sort. If this were not the case, it is argued,
free creatures could never come to understand
that there are regular connections between
their undertakings and the consequence of
their undertakings. So, for example, if there
were no stable natural regularities, firing a gun
at another person’s head at point-blank range
may, On one occasion, give them a haircut,
whereas on another occasion it may kill them.
But it seems clear that one could not be said
to be morally responsible for their actions if
they had no way of knowing that their under-
taking, in this case firing the gun, would have
the undesirable consequence of taking another
life. As a result, free creatures must be created
in a world in which such stable connections
between undertakings and the consequences
of undertakings obtain. And it seems plausi-
ble to suppose that such a world requires a set
of stable natural regularities to insure the sta-
bility of this very connection. It is only when
we can be assured that, for example, gun-
firings result in certain predictable conse-
quences, that we can be responsible for the
outcomes of such actions.

However, the argument continues, the ex-
istence of stable natural laws may also lead to
other events which result in natural evil, for
example, hurricanes, earthquakes, and so on.
Thus, if one can argue that there is some over-
riding reason why God should create a world
with beings that are free and also able to exer-
cise that freedom in a morally significant fash-
ion, then the existence of these laws which
give rise to natural evil are justified.
This argument strategy thus contends that
certain antecedent conditions must obtain if
free creatures are to be able to exercise their
freedom in the most robust sense. And since
there is good reason for creating creatures who
can exercise their freedom in this fashion, there
is good reason‘to create the necessary ante-
cedent conditions which would aliow for such
exercising of freedom. One can then argue that
even though certain evil states of affairs might
result from these antecedent conditions ob-
taining, such is necessary if God is going to
be able to bring about the greater good of
actualizing a world in which free creatures can
exercise their freedom in a thoroughly robust
manner.
Clearly, theodicies of this sort differ from
theodicies of the consequent type in that they
argue that there are certain antecedent condi-
tions which are requisite for free beings to be
able to exercise their freedom and that such
conditions may incidentally lead to certain
other evil states of affairs. However, it is ar-
gued, the circumstances for which these an-
tecedent conditions are necessary are
sufficiently good to justify the evil which arises
as a result of their obtaining. I will refer to
this class of theodicies as antecedent free will
theodictes.
In addition to arguing that certain condi-
tions must obtain for free creatures to be able
to exercise their freedom, it can also be shown
that certain conditions must fad to obtain if
free beings are to be able to exercise their free-
dom in a morally significant manner. Specifi-
cally, it appears that one cannot act freely when
one is in the condition of compulsion by an-
other in the context of a threat. Under condi-
COERCION AND THE HIDDENNESS OF GOD
tions that I will specify below, it seems clear
that fully robust and morally significant free
will cannot be exercised by someone who is
compelled by another in the context of a
threat. Further, I will argue that if God does
not remain “hidden” to a certain extent, at
least some of the free creatures He creates
would be in the condition of being compelled
in the context of a threat and, as a result, such
creatures could not exercise their freedom in
this robust, morally significant manner.
It seems at least prima facie plausible to
claim that morally significant freedom cannot
be exercised by an individual who is being told
to perform a certain action in the context of a
significant threat, say, hand over his money
to one holding a gun to his head and threat-
ening to shoot. The threatened individual is
compelled by another in such a way that mor-
ally significant free will cannot be exercised.
This claim, however, is certainly not uncontro-
versial. Adequately defending this position
would require a separate treatment on the
nature of coercion and its relation to freedom,
a task too great given the limitations of this
essay. However, a few things need to be said
here about the relationship between a signifi-
cant threat and freedom. First ofall, I am cer-
tainly not claiming that freely willed acts are
metaphysically impossible in the context of a
significant threat. There is even no physical
impossibility involved in the case of one re-
fusing to comply with the demands of the
robber described above. But if this is so, what
is going on in cases where we are threatened?
There are at least three alternative answers.
The first possibility is that we are free in such
cases but that under the circumstances no ra-
tional person would choose to act contrary to
the demands of the threatener. We might say,
further, that as a result of the threat, our abil-
ity to rationally deliberate about alternatives
is blocked because the threatener has brought
it about that there can only be one rational
choice. If we look at the matter in this way
what is surrendered in such cases is the delib-
erative or reasoned exercise of freedom. On
this account the external threat of an inten-
243
MICHAEL J. MURRAY
tional agent has limited the rational possibili-
ties of action to just one. And in such circum-
stances, one may hold, we are not able to fully
exercise our freedom.
The second thing one might say is that we
are not free at all. It is acommon view amongst
libertarians that a free action requires that
neither metaphysically necessary truths, the
history of the world, nor the laws of nature
prevent us from choosing between more than
one option. One might hold, however, that
there are cases in which certain operative psy-
chological laws make only one alternative psy-
chologically possible. When such laws are
operative we are in a state where we cannot
view physically possible alternative courses of
action as legitimate possibilities for action for
us at that time. In such cases, these psycho-
logical laws make it the case that one psycho-
logically could not choose to fail to act in
accordance with the threatener’s demands. As
a result, in cases such as these the libertarian
might legitimately hold that we are not free
in the most fundamental sense.
Finally, one might argue that what is not
possible in these threat contexts, is free ac-
tions that are morally significant. One adopt-
ing this approach might argue that freedom
has not been lost here because the threatened
can consider the alternatives and choose what,
in that instance, is the most rational course of
action. What the threat does provide, how-
ever, are excuses for the behavior — excuses
which suffice to relieve the threatened of moral
responsibility for the action committed. Tra-
ditional Christian theists often argue that it is
not only freedom, but morally significant free-
dom which is desirable for free creatures.
Plantinga argues, for example, that the moral
significance of the free actions is important
because God desires to increase the diversity
and amount of good in His creation. One way
to accomplish this is to create free beings who
can exercise this freedom in a morally signifi-
cant manner, thus creating a world contain-
ing moral good in addition to just, say,
metaphysical goodness, the sort of goodness
that attaches to a thing’s mere existence or
244
being. If this is correct, one might argue that
praise and blame are not justified in the con-
text of significant threats because such threats
provide adequate moral excuses for the
behavior performed. Suppose that the indi-
vidual being robbed in the case described
above, call him Barney, had been sent by his
friend, Fred, to make a deposit to Fred’s sav-
ings account. On his way to drop off the de-
posit, Barney is stopped by our robber and
promptly hands over the cash. In such a case
it seems clear that we would not feel that
Barney is morally culpable for giving up the
money as we would ifhe were simply to hand
it to some passerby. The fact that there was a
significant threat provides an excuse which is
sufficient to make Barney no longer morally
culpable for an act he would have been re-
sponsible for had the significant threat not
been present. Because praise or blame are not
justifiably imputed in such cases of compul-
sion it would appear that although freedom
stmpliciter is not eliminated, the moral sig-
nificance of the action performed is.
Whichever interpretation one wishes to
place on such cases of compulsion, the fact
remains that the prospect of being in such cir-
cumstances is quite unsavory. If one thinks
that such threats make the threatened unable
to act freely, then threatening destroys free-
dom. But even if one concludes that the
threatened is still free, there is still something
defective about the activity of the threatened
in such a case. Whatever this defect might be
explains why we legislate against such coer-
cive behavior and do not allow robbers to ex-
cuse their action by claiming that they do
nothing wrong since the victim “gave his
money over freely.” For the purposes of this
essay I will not argue for any of these three
views about the relationship between threats
and freedom. Instead I will simply note that
such cases do put the threatened in an
unsavory position, one which in some way
interferes with their exercising morally signifi-
cant freedom in a fully robust manner.

Ill
There is, however, an ambiguity regarding
exactly what constitutes a “significant threat.”
Not just any threat counts as a compelling one
since, for example, one would not feel com-
pelled to hand their money over to a robber
who simply threatened to call them a dirty
word. What would be helpful is a list of nec-
essary and sufficient conditions which would
suffice to clarify exactly what constitutes a
threat significant enough to eliminate the
possibility of morally significant, rational free-
dom. Unfortunately, the subject matter here
does not allow for such precision. However,
there are certain factors which jointly deter-
mine “threat significance.” Below I will dis-
cuss these factors in an effort to provide a
clearer picture of how threats give rise to com-
pulsion and how this compulsion affects the
exercise of morally significant free will.
The three factors that are important for my
analysis are what I will call threat strength,
threat imminence, and wantonness of the threat-
ened. By threat strength I mean the degree to
which the threatened person feels the conse-
quences of the threat to be harmful to him.
By threat imminence I mean the degree to
which the threatened perceives that the threat
will inevitably follow given that the conditions
for the threatened consequences being enacted
are met. The notion of “inevitably follows” is
ambiguous here and intentionally so. Below I
will explain that this notion must be carefully
unpacked since the notion of threat immi-
nence is multi-faceted. Finally, by wantonness
of the threatened I have in mind a character-
istic of the individual threatened to disregard
personal well-being in the face of threats to
his freedom. My claim is that the degree of
compulsion is directly proportional to threat
strength and imminence and inversely propor-
tional to wantonness. I will now discuss these
conditions in more careful detail.
It should be obvious that the degree of com-
pulsion is directly proportional to the degree
of threat strength. The degree to which I feel
compelled to do an act that I would not oth-
COERCION AND THE HIDDENNESS OF GOD
erwise do (say, to give all my money to a
stranger) would be much greater if the threat-
ener held a gun to my back than if he threat-
ened to call me a dirty word if I failed to
comply with his wish.
It is more difficult to see exactly how threat
imminence relates to compulsion simply be-
cause it is less easy to characterize. By exam-
ining a few cases I think it will become clear
that the notion of the consequences ofa threat
“inevitably following” when the threatened
fails to satisfy the conditions of a threat must
be cashed out in more than one way. There
are, in fact, at least three distinct senses of
threat imminence which must be distinguished
for my purposes.
The first type of threat imminence is what I
will call probabilistic threat imminence. Con-
sider the standard robber case above in which
I am threatened with being shot if I fail to
hand over my wallet to the thief. In this case I
would consider it highly probable that the thief
would shoot me if I failed to comply with the
conditions of the threat. As a result, the
probabilistic threat imminence would be high
in this case. However, consider another case
in which certain prisoners are allowed to spend
recreation time in an enclosed prison yard.
Surrounding the yard are high barbed-wire
fences which are periodically punctuated by
guard towers. The prisoners have been told
that the guards have orders to shoot if any of
the prisoners attempt to escape. As a result
we have a case which, in important respects,
is similar to the standard robber case. Most
importantly, in both cases the threatened in-
dividuals are under a threat of the same
strength, namely, being shot ifthe conditions
of the threat are not satisfied. However, in
the prison-yard case, a prisoner might be more
tempted to attempt to escape because he
might feel that there is some significant prob-
ability that the threat would not be success-
fully carried out because, for example, the
guards might miss him at that distance, or
because they may fail to see him since they
are so busy watching the other prisoners.
Thus, in this case the degree of compulsion is
245
MICHAEL J. MURRAY
somewhat lower than in the standard robber
case because the probability that the threat will
be carried out is somewhat less even though
the threat strength is identical.
The second type of threat imminence is
what I call temporal threat imminence. With
this type of threat imminence, compulsion is
greater in those cases in which the threat will
be carried out with more temporal immediacy,
once the conditions of the threat have not
been met. To show this consider the standard
robber case once again. In such a case the tem-
poral threat imminence is high since I know
that if I fail to comply with the robber’s de-
mands I will be shot on the spot. Compare
this, however, to a case in which the robber
tells me that he has a blow gun with darts
which he will shoot at me if I fail to hand over
my money. Furthermore, the robber tells me
that these darts contain a poison which has
no antidote and will lead to my certain death
in fifty years. In the former case, compulsion
is higher because the temporal imminence of
the threat is greater. Differing degrees of tem-
poral threat imminence may also explain phe-
nomena such as the fact that some individuals
choose to eat high fat foods which they know,
in the long run, are very likely to cause, say,
fatal arteriosclerosis, while these same indi-
viduals would not ingest antifreeze, which al-
though quite sweet-tasting, is very likely to
be immediately fatal. Ingesting both types of
substances makes death likely; but ingesting
high fat foods makes death likely sometime in
the future, whereas ingesting ethylene glycol
makes death immediately likely.
Finally, there is epistemic threat imminence.
This type of imminence is also quite difficult
to characterize but it is one with which I be-
lieve that we are all familiar. It is this third
type of imminence that explains why we be-
lieve that massive advertising campaigns are
effective in reducing the incidence of smok-
ing or drinking and driving. In both of these
cases it seems that few engaging in the
behaviors really believe that it is not bad for
them; they are usually quite well aware that
they are so. Clearly, then, the purpose of such
246
advertising campaigns is not to inform the
individuals engaging in these behaviors that
they are bad for them. What then is their pur-
pose? It can only be to make the fact that these
behaviors are dangerous more epistemically
forceful. Somehow, by repeating the message
over and over we become more powerfully
aware ofjust how harmful such behaviors po-
tentially are. As a result, the more epistemically
forceful the danger is, the more likely we are
to not act in such a way. Likewise, when we
are discussing compulsion, the more
epistemically imminent a threat, the more
compelled the threatened individual will feel.
However, these two factors of strength and
imminence alone are not sufficient to explain
compulsion by another in the context of a
threat completely. This is evident when we
look again at our prison-yard case. Why, one
might wonder, do certain prisoners try to es-
cape, while others in similar circumstances do
not, even though threat strength and immi-
nence are the same for all prisoners? Assum-
ing that none of them wishes to remain in
prison, why do they not all try to escape? This
question points to the need for a third factor,
and this factor is the wantonness of the threat-
ened. Again, this factor is difficult to define
precisely. However, it does seem clear that
different individuals under the same threat and
with the same degree of threat imminence can
feel compelled to different degrees depend-
ing On a certain internal character trait which
can be described as incorrigibility or threat
indifference. This trait can be roughly charac-
terized as a feeling of indifference for one’s
well-being in cases where that well-being is
threatened should there be a refusal to sub-
mit to the terms of some restriction on one’s
freedom.
These, then, are the factors which must be
taken into account when we consider the de-
gree to which a threat prevents the exercise of
robust morally significant freedom. While it
is surely impossible to quantify these charac-
teristics in order to define exactly what con-
stitutes a threat which overwhelms freedom,
it can be said that the degree to which free-

dom is compromised is directly proportional
to threat strength and imminence and in-
versely proportional to wantonness.
IV
One feature of the major Western theistic tra-
ditions is that they seem to involve the issu-
ing of both temporal and eternal threats for
disobedience to the divine will. Passages from,
for example, the Hebrew and Christian scrip-
tures, such as the following, represent both
aspects of this threatened punishment:
A man who remains stiff-necked after many re-
bukes will suddenly be destroyed — without rem-
edy (Proverbs 29: 1)
and
But because of your stubbornness and your
unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath
against yourself
for the day of God’s wrath. (Ro-
mans 2: 5)
Asa result, those who are aware of such threats
and are convinced of their veracity are in a
state where their freedom is at risk. What this
creates, simply, is some degree of compulsion
by another in the context of the threat. Spe-
cifically, it is compulsion by God in the con-
text of a threat of both temporal and eternal
punishment. Consequently, on the picture
painted by these traditions, God has issued
threats, both temporal and eternal, which will
be carried out if one fails to submit to Him,
in action or belief, in certain ways. Here I will
focus particularly on the Christian tradition
and the notion of a threat contained therein.
Since these appear to be quite significant
threats, the theist must provide some expla-
nation for how this threat can be mitigated so
as to prevent the compromising of human free-
dom. To do this, one of the three factors of
compulsion must be mitigated in some way. I
will now look at each one to see where the
force of compulsion could be averted.
Certainly, with regard to the factor of threat
COERCION AND THE HIDDENNESS OF GOD
strength, the threat posed by the prospect of
eternal damnation is equal to the strongest
imaginable threat. One, of course, might won-
der why God does not simply eliminate the
threat of hell for disobedience and in doing
so eliminate or severely limit the threat
strength and thus the compulsion. This is an
interesting question but not one I will address
here. My goal here is to determine whether
the traditional, orthodox Christian position
can be reconciled with the fact that God does
not reveal himself in the manner Hanson
might wish. Since the existence of hell is, I
take it, a presumption of the traditional Chris-
tian view, I will take it for granted at this point.
By doing so, however, we also preclude the
possibility of mitigating compulsion by attenu-
ating threat strength.
As a result, unless one of the other two fac-
tors can be appropriately controlled, it would
seem that morally significant exercise of hu-
man free will would be precluded. What about
wantonness? It is unlikely that this factor will
provide what is required to avoid the conse-
quence of compulsion which eliminates free
will. The reason for this is that it seems likely
that the development and functioning of traits
such as wantonness is something which falls
within the domain ofthe freedom ofthe indi-
vidual. To attempt to argue for this claim in
any complete way would lead into the com-
plex psychological question of whether such
personality traits in general are acquired by
heredity, environment or elements of indi-
vidual free choice. Another area that would
need to be addressed is how we develop char-
acter traits relating to wantonness. Aristote-
lian views on the development of virtues by
the willful cultivation of habits of right-act-
ing, for example, would support the view I
hold above in my claim that wantonness is a
factor that God cannot manipulate if He de-
sires to preserve free will. As a result, my claim
is that if God were to preserve human free
will, manipulating this element of the picture
would not be an option.
This leaves us with the possibility of con-
trolling the degree of threat imminence. Let’s
247
MICHAEL J. MURRAY
begin by looking at probabilistic threat immi-
nence. This condition seems to provide little
help since, on the Christian story, it is noth-
ing less than certain that the threat will be
carried out if the conditions of the threat are
not met.
What about temporal threat imminence?
Clearly this condition has some relevance to
our case since carrying out the threat does not
follow immediately upon failure to obey the
conditions of the threat. There is no trap door
to hell that opens upon one’s first sin or willful
failure to assent to the Christian plan of re-
demption. Yet merely reducing the temporal
imminence of the threat does not appear to
be sufficient guarantee that creature’s freedom
is not compromised by divine compulsion.
Given the strength of the threat involved it
does not seem that merely delaying the carry-
ing out of the threat temporally is sufficient
to mitigate compulsion. If it were, it appears
that we should be content to say that God
could appear in the sky, @ /a Hanson, issuing
the relevant temporal and eternal threats, and
yet not have the actions of free creatures be
compelled by the issuing of such threats. Yet,
it seems that the actions of such free creatures
clearly would be compelled if they were to be
confronted by such obvious threats.
We are left then with epistemic threat im-
minence as the final factor which can be at-
tenuated if God desires to preserve the exercise
of morally significant freedom by creatures.
My claim is that the hiddenness of God is re-
quired in order for free beings to be able to
exercise their freedom in a morally significant
manner given the strength of the threat im-
plied by knowledge of the threat implicit in
the traditional Christian story. If God revealed
his existence in a more perspicuous fashion
we would be in a situation very much like the
one in the standard robbery case, i.e. strong
threat strength and strong threat imminence
such that the level of wantonness of most, if
not all, individuals would not significantly di-
minish their feeling compelled to act in ac-
cordance with the demand of the threatener.
However, if God desires that there be indi-
248
viduals with free will who can use it in mor-
ally significant ways, then He must decrease
the threat imminence of eternal and temporal
punishment and He, in fact, does so by mak-
ing the existence of the threat epistemically
ambiguous. It is this epistemic ambiguity that
we call the problem of the hiddenness of God.
This may make it clear why God does
not, say, open the sky and give a world-wide,
unambiguous proclamation of his exist-
ence. However, it does not seem to explain why
there is the particular degree of divine
hiddenness that there is. An objector may re-
ply here that God may not be able to “open
the sky” without the loss of morally significant
freedom on the part of humans; yet, must that
also mean that merely one more unit of divine
manifestation in the world would cause the fab-
ric of significant moral freedom to collapse? The
answer is no. What this argument is intended
to provide is a response to the question of why
God does not provide a grand, universal dis-
play of general revelation. But why then does
God provide the fairly low general level of rev-
elation that he does? Since God is concerned
with preserving the freedom of each individual,
the level of general revelation must be such as
not to preclude the possibility of anyone’s ex-
ercising his or her free will in a morally signifi-
cant fashion. Since threat strength is constant,
God must tailor the degree of general revela-
tion to the individual most likely to be com-
pelled by a threat, namely, the least wanton
individual. Ifthis is correct, the degree of threat
imminence, and consequently the degree of
divine manifestation in the world, must be ap-
propriately moderated. And, the degree of
moderation here is likely to be great, with the
result that the amount of unambiguous gen-
eral revelation that God can provide is likely to
be fairly minimal.
Vv
It will be helpful here to consolidate the
ground that has been covered up to this point.
What has been shown is that with respect to

the general revelation that God gives for his
existence, there are tight constraints on the
amount which can be provided, given God’s
desire to preserve the morally significant ex-
ercise of human freedom. Showing this in it-
self would alone be of quite some interest, if
indeed I have achieved it, simply because it
answers a number of theistic critics who hold
that God should “part the heavens and show
Himself.” However, the solution offered
above does not answer the whole question
with respect to the hiddenness of God because
it does not address the possibility that God
could supplement his general revelation by
individual revelation that would be such that
each individual is maximally aware of God’s
existence to the extent possible for that indi-
vidual without such revelation impugning the
possibility of the exercise of free will. If, for
example, as Calvin taught, there is a sense of
the divine, or sensus divinitatis, in each of us,
making us aware of the divine presence, why
is God not able to make up the lack of gen-
eral revelation at an individual level and
thereby avoid the difficulty of having to cater
to the least common denominator with re-
spect to wantonness?
It is this question which emphasizes the
limitations of the antecedent free will theodicy
I have chosen and shows why it is unable to
handle the entire problem of the hiddenness
of God. What this theodicy lacks, however,
can be supplemented by a consequence free
will theodicy combined with a second
theodicy, i.e. an Augustinian-style punishment
theodicy. In what remains I will explain how
such theodicies would apply in this case al-
though I will not develop them in any detail
since others have reviewed such theodicies and
their application in this context.
Let us assume that it is correct that God
does supplement general revelation through
a sensus divinitatis which provides each indi-
vidual with knowledge of God yielding a maxi-
mal threat imminence without thereby
eliminating the possibility for the morally sig-
nificant exercise of that individual’s free will.
How could one then account for the
COERCION AND THE HIDDENNESS OF GOD
hiddenness of God? The consequence free will
theodicy claims that part of the hiddenness of
God can be accounted for as a result of some
act which prevents the individual from inter-
preting this revelation properly or giving the
properly interpreted evidence the appropriate
epistemic weight. As a result, one might ar-
gue that one source of God’s hiddenness is
that free individuals can turn away from the
less ambiguous internal evidence that God has
provided for his existence. These theories are
sometimes characterized as “human-defective-
ness” approaches to the hiddenness of God.
Not only does the corruptness of human
nature contribute to the hiddenness of God,
but it also seems clear that the Jewish and
Christian traditions represent God, in some
cases, as veiling His existence and “harden-
ing” the epistemic capacity that is normally
used to understand the revelation He gives.
This hardening is usually a punishment which
results from some form of moral disobedience.
As such, this explanation for the hiddenness
of God can be subsumed under the punish-
ment theodicy which claims that some evil (in
this case, some divine hiddenness) is the re-
sult of justified punishment for sin.
The view that humans can orient themselves
in such a way as to make divine revelation less
readily understood, either by a direct act or as
a result of cultivating a sinful character, as well
as the claim that God sometimes withdraws
revelation or the ability to properly interpret
revelation, combine to give a potential solu-
tion to the problem of “individual” divine
hiddenness. These supplement the earlier ar-
gument as to why God’s general revelation is
as ambiguous as it is by showing that even if
individual revelation were originally intended
to be at its maximum, while still allowing
morally significant employment offree will, it
may still be the case that divine hardening as
punishment for sin and/or a self-induced hu-
man blindness with regard to divine revela-
tion may cause one to find divine exposure
non-compelling.
249
MARILYN McCORD ADAMS

Note

1 Norwood Russell Hanson, What I Do Not

Believe and Other Essays (New York: Humani-
ties Press, 1971), pp. 313=14-

29 Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God*

Marilyn McCord Adams

1 Introduction constitue an inconsistent premise-set. He

Over the past thirty years, analytic philoso-
phers of religion have defined ‘the problem
of evil’ in terms of the prima-facie difficulty in
consistently maintaining
(1) God exists, and is omnipotent, omnis-
cient, and perfectly good
and
(2)er Evil'exists.
In a crisp and classic article, ‘Evil and Om-
nipotence’,! J. L. Mackie emphasized that the
problem is not that (1) and (2) are logically
inconsistent by themselves, but that they to-
gether with quasi-logical rules formulating
attribute-analyses — such as
(P1) A perfectly good being would always
eliminate evil so far as it could,
(P2) There are xo limitsto what an omnipo-
tent being can do,
* Originally published in Proceedings of the Aristote-
lian Soctety, supplementary vol. 63 (1989), pp. 297—
310. Reprinted with permission.
added, of course, that the inconsistency might
be removed by substituting alternative and
perhaps more subtle analyses, but cautioned
that such replacements of (P1) and (P2) would
save ‘ordinary theism’ from his charge of posi-
tive irrationality, only if true to its ‘essential
requirements’.?
In an earlier paper, ‘Problems of Evil: More
Advice to Christian Philosophers’,* I under-
scored Mackie’s point and took it a step fur-
ther. In debates about whether the argument
from evil can establish the irrationality of reli-
gious belief, care must be taken, both by the
atheologians who deploy it and by the believ-
ers who defend against it, to ensure that the
operative attribute-analyses accurately reflect
that religion’s understanding of divine power
and goodness. It does the atheologian no
good to argue for the falsity of Christianity
on the ground that the existence of an om-
nipotent, omniscient, pleasure-maximizer is
incompossible with a world such as ours, be-
cause Christians never believed God was a
pleasure-maximizer anyway. But equally, the
truth of Christianity would be inadequately
defended by the observation that an omnipo-
tent, omniscient egoist could have created a
world with suffering creatures, because Chris-
tians insist that God loves other (created) per-
sons than Himself. The extension of ‘evil’ in
(2) is likewise important. Since Mackie and
his successors are out to show that ‘the sev-

250
 HORRENDOUS EVILS AND THE GOODNESS OF GOD
eral parts of the essential theological doctrine
are inconsistent with one another’ ,* they can
accomplish their aim only if they circumscribe
the extension of‘evil’ as their religious oppo-
nents do. By the same token, it is not enough
for Christian philosophers to explain how the
power, knowledge, and goodness of God
could coexist with some evils or other; a full
account must exhibit the compossibility of
divine perfection with evils in the amounts and
of the kinds found in the actual world (and
evaluated as such by Christian standards).
The moral of my earlier story might be sum-
marized thus: where the internal coherence
of a system of religious beliefs is at stake, suc-
cessful arguments for its inconsistency must
draw on premises (explicitly or implicitly) in-
ternal to that system or obviously acceptable
to its adherents; likewise for successful rebut-
tals or explanations of consistency. The thrust
of my argument is to push both sides of the
debate towards more detailed attention to and
subtle understanding of the religious system
in question.
As a Christian philosopher, I want to focus
in this paper on the problem for the truth of
Christianity raised by what I shall call ‘hor-
rendous’ evils. Although our world is riddled
with them, the biblical record punctuated by
them, and one of them — namely, the passion
of Christ, according to Christian belief, the
judicial murder of God by the people of God
— is memorialized by the Church on its most
solemn holiday (Good Friday) and in its cen-
tral sacrament (the Eucharist), the problem
of horrendous evils is largely skirted by stand-
ard treatments for the good reason that they
are intractable by them. After showing why, I
will draw on other Christian materials to
sketch ways of meeting this, the deepest of
religious problems.
2 Defining the Category
For present purposes, I define ‘horrendous
evils’ as ‘evils the participation in (the doing
or suffering of) which gives one reason prima
facie to doubt whether one’s life could (given
their inclusion in it) be a great good to one
on the whole’. Such reasonable doubt arises
because it is so difficult humanly to conceive
how such evils could be overcome. Borrow-
ing Chisholm’s contrast between balancing off
(which occurs when the opposing values of
mutually exclusive parts of a whole partially
or totally cancel each other out) and defeat
(which cannot occur by the mere addition to
the whole of a new part of opposing value,
but involves some ‘organic unity’ among the
values of parts and wholes, as when the posi-
tive aesthetic value of a whole painting de-
feats the ugliness of a small colour patch),°
horrendous evils seem prima facie, not only
to balance off but to engulf the positive value
of a participant’s life. Nevertheless, that very
horrendous proportion, by which they
threaten to rob a person’s life of positive mean-
ing, cries out not only to be engulfed, but to
be made meaningful through positive and
decisive defeat.
I understand this criterion to be objective,
but relative to individuals. The example of
habitual complainers, who know how to make
the worst of a good situation, shows individu-
als not to be incorrigible experts on what ills
would defeat the positive value of their lives.
Nevertheless, nature and experience endow
people with different strengths; one bears eas-
ily what crushes another. And a major con-
sideration in determining whether an
individual’s life is/has been a great good to
him/her on the whole, is invariably and ap-
propriately how it has seemed to him/her.
I offer the following list of paradigmatic
horrors: the rape of a woman and axing off of
her arms, psychophysical torture whose ulti-
mate goal is the disintegration of personality,
betrayal of one’s deepest loyalties, cannibaliz-
ing one’s own offspring, child abuse of the
sort described by Ivan Karamazov, child por-
nography, parental incest, slow death by star-
vation, participation in the Nazi death camps,
the explosion of nuclear bombs over popu-
lated areas, having to choose which of one’s
children shall live and which be executed by
251
MARILYN McCORD ADAMS
terrorists, being the accidental and/or unwit-
ting agent of the disfigurement or death of
those one loves best. I regard these as para-
digmatic, because I believe most people would
find in the doing or suffering of them prima-
facie reason to doubt the positive meaning of
their lives. Christian belief counts the cruci-
fixion of Christ another: on the one hand,
death by crucifixion seemed to defeat Jesus’
Messianic vocation; for according to Jewish
law, death by hanging from a tree made its
victim ritually accursed, definitively excluded
from the compass of God’s people, @ fortiori
disqualified from being the Messiah. On the
other hand, it represented the defeat of its
perpetrators’ leadership vocations, as those
who were to prepare the people of God for
the Messiah’s coming, killed and ritually ac-
cursed the true Messiah, according to later
theological understanding, God Himself.
3 The Impotence of Standard
Solutions
For better and worse, the by now standard
strategies for ‘solving’ the problem of evil are
powerless in the face of horrendous evils.
3.1 Seeking the Reason-Why
In his model article ‘Hume on Evil’,® Pike
takes up Mackie’s challenge, arguing that (P1)
fails to reflect ordinary moral intuitions (more
to the point, I would add, Christian beliefs),
and traces the abiding sense of trouble to the
hunch that an omnipotent, omniscient being
could have no reason compatible with perfect
goodness for permitting (bringing about)
evils, because all legitimate excuses arise from
ignorance or weakness. Solutions to the prob-
lem of evil have thus been sought in the form
of counter-examples to this latter claim, i.e.
logically possible reasons-why that would ex-
cuse even an omnipotent, omniscient God!
The putative logically possible reasons offered
have tended to be generic and global: generic
in so far as some general reason is sought to
252
cover all sorts of evils; global in so far as they
seize upon some feature of the world as a
whole. For example, philosophers have alleged
that the desire to make a world with one of
the following properties — ‘the best of all pos-
sible worlds’, ‘a world a more perfect than
which is impossible’, ‘a world exhibiting a
perfect balance of retributive justice’, a world
with as favourable a balance of (created) moral
good over moral evil as God can weakly actu-
alize’ — would constitute a reason compatible
with perfect goodness for God’s creating a
world with evils in the amounts and of the
kinds found in the actual world. Moreover,
such general reasons are presented as so pow-
erful as to do away with any need to catalogue
types of evils one by one, and examine God’s
reason for permitting each in particular.
Plantinga explicitly hopes that the problem of
horrendous evils can thus be solved without
being squarely confronted.”
3.2 The Insufficiency of Global
Defeat
A pair of distinctions is in order here: (i) be-
tween-two dimensions of divine goodness in
relation to creation — namely, ‘producer of
global goods’ and ‘goodness to’ or ‘love of
individual created persons’; and (ii) between
the overbalance/defeat of evil by good on the
global scale, and the overbalance/defeat ofevil
by good within the context of an individual
person’s life. Correspondingly, we may sepa-
rate two problems of evil parallel to the two
sorts of goodness mentioned in (i).
In effect, generic and global approaches are
directed to the first problem: they defend di-
vine goodness along the first (global) dimen-
sion by suggesting logically possible strategies
for the global defeat of evils. But establishing
God’s excellence as a producer of global goods
does not automatically solve the second prob-
lem, especially in a world containing horren-
dous evils. For God cannot be said to be good
or loving to any created persons the positive
meaning of whose lives He allows to be en-
gulfed in and/or defeated by evils — that is,
 HORRENDOUS
individuals within whose lives horrendous evils
remain undefeated. Yet, the only way
unsupplemented global and generic ap-
proaches could have to explain the latter,
would be by applying their general reasons-
why to particular cases of horrendous suffer-
ing.
Unfortunately, such an exercise fails to give
satisfaction. Suppose for the sake of argument
that horrendous evil could be included in
maximally perfect world orders; its being par-
tially constitutive of such an order would as-
sign it that generic and global positive
meaning. But would knowledge ofsuch a fact
defeat for a mother the prima-facie reason
provided by her cannibalism of her own in-
fant to wish that she had never been born?
Again, the aim of perfect retributive balance
confers meaning on evils imposed. But would
knowledge that the torturer was being tor-
tured give the victim who broke down and
turned traitor under pressure any more rea-
son to think his/her life worth while? Would
it not merely multiply reasons for the torturer
to doubt that his/her life could turn out to
be a good to him/her on the whole? Could
the truck-driver who accidentally runs over his
beloved child find consolation in the idea that
this middle-known but unintended side-effect
was part of the price God accepted for a world
with the best balance of moral good over
moral evil he could get?
Not only does the application to horrors of
such generic and global reasons for divine
permission of evils fail to solve the second
problem of evil; it makes it worse by adding
generic prima-facie reasons to doubt whether
human life would be a great good to indi-
vidual human beings in possible worlds where
such divine motives were operative. For, taken
in isolation and made to bear the weight of
the whole explanation, such reasons-why draw
a picture of divine indifference or even hostil-
ity to the human plight. Would the fact that
God permitted horrors because they were con-
stitutive means to His end of global perfec-
tion, or that He tolerated them because He
could obtain that global end anyway, make
EVILS AND THE GOODNESS OF GOD
the participant’s life more tolerable, more
worth living for him/her? Given radical hu-
manvulnerability to horrendous evils, the ease
with which humans participate in them,
whether as victim or perpetrator, would not
the thought that God visits horrors on any-
one who caused them, simply because he/she
deserves it, provide one more reason to ex-
pect human life to be a nightmare?
Those willing to split the two problems of
evil apart might adopt a divide-and-conquer
strategy, by simply denying divine goodness
along the second dimension. For example,
many Christians do not believe that God will
ensure an overwhelmingly good life to each
and every person He creates. Some say the
decisive defeat of evil with good is promised
only within the lives of the obedient, who
enter by the narrow gate. Some speculate that
the elect may be few. Many recognize that
the sufferings of this present life are as noth-
ing compared to the hell of eternal torment,
designed to defeat goodness with horrors
within the lives of the damned.
Such a road can be consistently travelled
only at the heavy toll of admitting that hu-
man life in worlds such as ours is a bad bet.
Imagine (adapting Rawls’s device) persons in
a pre-original position, considering possible
worlds containing managers of differing
power, wisdom, and character, and subjects
of varying fates. The question they are to an-
swer about each world is whether they would
willingly enter it as a human being, from be-
hind a veil of ignorance as to which position
they would occupy. Reason would, I submit,
dictate a negative verdict for worlds whose
omniscient and omnipotent manager permits
ante-mortem horrors that remain undefeated
within the context of the human participant’s
life; a fortiori, for worlds in which some or
most humans suffer eternal torment.
3.3 Inaccessible Reasons
So far, I have argued that generic and global
solutions are at best incomplete: however well
their account of divine motivating reasons
253
MARILYN McCORD ADAMS
deals with the first problem of evil, the attempt
to extend it to the second fails by making
it worse. This verdict might seem prima
facie tolerable to standard generic and global
approaches and indicative of only a minor
modification in their strategy: let the above-
mentioned generic and global reasons cover
divine permission of non-horrendous evils, and
find other reasons compatible with perfect
goodness why even an omnipotent, omniscient
God would permit horrors.
In my judgement, such an approach is hope-
less. As Plantinga® points out, where horren-
dous evils are concerned, not only do we not
know God’s actual reason for permitting
them; we cannot even conceive of any plausi-
ble candidate sort of reason consistent with
worthwhile lives for human participants in
them.
4 The How of God’s Victory
Up to now, my discussion has given the reader
cause to wonder whose side I am on anyway.
For I have insisted, with rebels like Ivan
Karamazov and John Stuart Mill, on spotlight-
ing the problem horrendous evils pose. Yet, I
have signalled my preference for a version of
Christianity that insists on both dimensions
of divine goodness, and maintains not only
(a) that God will be good enough to created
persons to make human life a good bet, but
also (4) that each created person will have a
life that is a great good to him/her on the
whole. My critique of standard approaches to
the problem of evil thus seems to reinforce
atheologian Mackie’s verdict of ‘positive irra-
tionality’ for such a religious position.
4.1 Whys Versus Hows
The inaccessibility of reasons-why seems es-
pecially decisive. For surely an all-wise and all-
powerful God, who loved each created person
enough (a) to defeat any experienced horrors
within the context of the participant’s life, and
(0) to give each created person a life that is a
254
great good to him/her on the whole, would
not permit such persons to suffer horrors for
no reason. Does not our inability even to con-
ceive of plausible candidate reasons suffice to
make belief in such a God positively irrational
in a world containing horrors? In my judge-
ment, it does not.
To be sure, motivating reasons come in sev-
eral varieties relative to our conceptual grasp:
There are (i) reasons of the sort we can read-
ily understand when we are informed of them
(e.g. the mother who permits her child to
undergo painful heart surgery because it is the
only humanly possible way to save its life).
Moreover, there are (ii) reasons we would be
cognitively, emotionally, and spiritually
equipped to grasp if only we had a larger
memory or wider attention span (analogy: I
may be able to memorize small town street
plans; memorizing the road networks of the
entire country is a task requiring more of
the same, in the way that proving Gédel’s
theorem is not). Some generic and global
approaches insinuate that divine permission
of evils has motivating reasons of this sort.
Finally there are (iii) reasons that we are
cognitively, emotionally, and/or spiritually
too immature to fathom (the way a two-year-
old child is incapable of understanding its
mother’s reasons for permitting the surgery).
I agree with Plantinga that our ignorance of
divine reasons for permitting horrendous evils
is not oftypes (i) or (ii), but of type (iii).
Nevertheless, if there are varieties of igno-
rance, there are also varieties of reassurance.
The two-year-old heart patient is convinced
of its mother’s love, not by her cognitively
inaccessible reasons, but by her intimate care
and presence through its painful experience.
The story of Job suggests something similar
is true with human participation in horren-
dous suffering: God does not give Job His
reasons-why, and implies that Job isn’t smart
enough to grasp them; rather Job is lectured
on the extent of divine power, and sees God’s
goodness face to face! Likewise, I suggest, to
exhibit the logical compossibility of both di-
mensions of divine goodness with horrendous
 HORRENDOUS EVILS AND THE GOODNESS OF GOD
suffering, it is not necessary to find logically
possible reasons why God might permit them.
It is enough to show sow God can be good
enough to created persons despite their par-
ticipation in horrors — by defeating them
within the context of the individual’s life and
by giving that individual a life that is a great
good to him/her on the whole.
4.2 What Sort of Valuables?
In my opinion, the reasonableness of Christi-
anity can be maintained in the face of horren-
dous evils only by drawing on resources of
religious value theory. For one way for God
to be good to created persons is by relating
them appropriately to relevant and great
goods. But philosophical and religious theo-
ries differ importantly on what valuables they
admit into their ontology. Some maintain that
‘what you see is what you get’, but neverthe-
less admit a wide range of valuables, from sen-
sory pleasures, the beauty of nature and
cultural artefacts, the joys of creativity, to lov-
ing personal intimacy. Others posit a tran-
scendent good (e.g. the Form of the Good in
Platonism, or God, the Supremely Valuable
Object, in Christianity). In the spirit of Ivan
Karamazov, I am convinced that the depth of
horrific evil cannot be accurately estimated
without recognizing it to be incommensurate
with any package of merely non-transcendent
goods and so unable to be balanced off, much
less defeated, thereby.
Where the internal coherence of Christi-
anity is the issue, however, it is fair to appeal
to its own store of valuables. From a Chris-
tian point of view, God is a being a greater
than which cannot be conceived, a good in-
commensurate with both created goods and
temporal evils. Likewise, the good of beatific,
face-to-face intimacy with God is simply in-
commensurate with any merely non-tran-
scendent goods or ills a person might
experience. Thus, the good of beatific face-
to-face intimacy with God would engulf (in a
sense analogous to Chisholmian balancing off)
even the horrendous evils humans experience
in this present life here below, and overcome
any prima-facie reasons the individual had to
doubt whether his/her life would or could
be worth living.
4.3 Personal Meaning, Horrors
Defeated
Engulfing personal horrors within the con-
text of the participant’s life would vouchsafe
to that individual a life that was a great good
to him/her on the whole. I am still inclined
to think it would guarantee that immeasur-
able divine goodness to any person thus ben-
efited. But there is good theological reason
for Christians to believe that God would go
further, beyond engulfment to defeat. For it
is the nature of persons to look for meaning,
both in their lives and in the world. Divine
respect for and commitment to created
personhood would drive God to make all
those sufferings which threaten to destroy the
positive meaning of a person’s life meaning-
ful through positive defeat.
How could God do it? So far as I can see,
only by integrating participation in horren-
dous evils into a person’s relationship with
God. Possible dimensions of integration are
charted by Christian soteriology. I pause here
to sketch three. (i) First, because God in Christ
participated in horrendous evil through His
passion and death, human experience ofhor-
rors can be a means of identifying with Christ,
either through sympathetic identification (in
which each person suffers his/her own pains,
but their similarity enables each to know what
it is like for the other) or through mystical
identification (in which the created person is
supposed literally to experience a share of
Christ’s pain). (ii) Julian of Norwich’s descrip-
tion of heavenly welcome suggests the possi-
ble defeat of horrendous evil through divine
gratitude. According to Julian, before the elect
have a chance to thank God for all He has
done for them, God will say, ‘Thank you for
all your suffering, the suffering of your youth.’
She says that the creature’s experience of di-
vine gratitude will bring such full and unend-
255
MARILYN McCORD ADAMS
ing joy as could not be merited by the whole
sea of human pain and suffering throughout
the ages. (iii) A third idea identifies temporal
suffering itself with a vision into the inner life
of God, and can be developed several ways.
Perhaps, contrary to medieval theology, God
is not impassible, but rather has matched ca-
pacities for joy and for suffering. Perhaps, as
the Heidelberg catechism suggests, God re-
sponds to human sin and the sufferings of
Christ with an agony beyond human concep-
tion. Alternatively, the inner life of God may
be, strictly speaking and in and of itself, be-
yond both joy and sorrow. But, just as (ac-
cording to Rudolf Otto) humans experience
divine presence now as tremendum (with deep
dread and anxiety), now as fascinans (with
ineffable attraction), so perhaps our deepest
suffering as much as our highest joys may
themselves be direct visions into the inner life
of God, imperfect but somehow less obscure
in proportion to their intensity. And ifa face-
to-face vision of God is a good for humans
incommensurate with any non-transcendent
goods or ills, so any vision of God (including
horrendous suffering) would have a good as-
pect in so far as it is a vision of God (even if it
has an evil aspect in so far as it is horrendous
suffering). For the most part, horrors are not
recognized as experiences of God (any more
than the city slicker recognizes his visual im-
age of a brown patch as a vision of Beulah the
cow in the distance). But, Christian mysticism
might claim, at least from the post-mortem
perspective of the beatific vision, such
sufferings will be seen for what they were, and
retrospectively no one will wish away any in-
timate encounters with God from his/her life-
history in this world. The created person’s
experience ofthe beatific vision together with
his/her knowledge that intimate divine pres-
ence stretched back over his/her ante-mortem
life and reached down into the depths ofhis /
her worst suffering, would provide retrospec-
tive comfort independent of comprehension
of the reasons-why akin to the two-year-old’s
assurance ofits mother’s love. Taking this third
approach, Christians would not need to com-
256
mit themselves about what in any event we
do not know: namely, whether we will (like
the two-year-old) ever grow up enough to
understand the reasons why God permits our
participation in horrendous evils. For by con-
trast with the best of earthly mothers, such
divine intimacy is an incommensurate good
and would cancel out for the creature any need
to know why.
5 Conclusion
The worst evils demand to be defeated by the
best goods. Horrendous evils can be overcome
only by the goodness of God. Relative to hu-
man nature, participation in horrendous evils
and loving intimacy with God are alike dis-
proportionate: for the former threatens to
engulf the good in an individual human life
with evil, while the latter guarantees the re-
verse engulfment of evil by good. Relative to
one another, there is also disproportion, be-
cause the good that God #s, and intimate rela-
tionship with Him, is incommensurate with
created goods and evils alike. Because intimacy
with God so outscales relations (good or bad)
with any creatures, integration into the hu-
man person’s relationship with God confers
significant meaning and positive value even
on horrendous suffering. This result coheres
with basic Christian intuition: that the pow-
ers of darkness are stronger than humans, but
they are no match for God!
Standard generic and global solutions have
for the most part tried to operate within the
territory common to believer and unbeliever,
within the confines of religion-neutral value
theory. Many discussions reflect the hope that
substitute attribute-analyses, candidate rea-
sons-why, and/or defeaters could issue out
of values shared by believers and unbelievers
alike. And some virtually make this a require-
ment on an adequate solution. Mackie knew
better how to distinguish the many charges
that may be levelled against religion. Just as
philosophers may or may not find the exist-
ence of God plausible, so they may be vari-
 HORRENDOUS
ously attracted or repelled by Christian values
of grace and redemptive sacrifice. But agree-
ment on truth-value is not necessary to con-
sensus on internal consistency. My contention
has been that it is not only legitimate, but,
given horrendous evils, necessary for Chris-
tians to dip into their richer store of valuables
to exhibit the consistency of (1) and (2). I
would go one step further: assuming the prag-
matic and/or moral (I would prefer to say,
broadly speaking, religious) importance of
believing that (one’s own) human life is worth
living, the ability of Christianity to exhibit how
this could be so despite human vulnerability
to horrendous evil, constitutes a pragmatic/
moral/religious consideration in its favour,
relative to value schemes that do not.
To me, the most troublesome weakness in
what I have said lies in the area of conceptual
under-development. The contention that God
suffered in Christ or that one person can ex-
perience another’s pain requires detailed analy-
sis and articulation in metaphysics and
philosophy of mind. I have shouldered some
of this burden elsewhere, but its full discharge
is well beyond the scope of this paper.
30 The Theology of Liberation in Africa*
Bishop Desmond Tutu
The Genesis of Liberation
Theology in Africa
I was asked toward the end oflast year to pre-
pare a paper for this conference of Third World
*From African Theology en Route: Papers from the
Pan-African Conference of Third World Theologians,
December 17-23, 1977, Accra, Ghana, ed. Kofi Appiah-
Kubi and Sergio Torres (New York: Orbis Books,
1979), pp. 162-8. Reprinted with permission.
EVILS AND THE GOODNESS OF GOD
Notes
1 J. L. Mackie, ‘Evil and Omnipotence’, Mind,
/64 (1955): repr. in Nelson Pike (ed.), God and
Evil (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall,
1964). pp. 46-60.
2 Ibid., p. 47.
3 Marilyn McCord Adams. ‘Problems of Evil:
More Advice to Christian Philosophers’, Fazth
and Philosophy (April 1988), pp. 121-43.
4 Mackie, ‘Evil and Ommpotence’, pp. 46-7
(emphasis mine).
5 Roderick Chisholm, ‘The Defeat of Good and
Evil,’ in The Problem of Evil, eds Marilyn
McCord Adams and Robert M. Adams (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1990), pp. 53-
68.
6 ‘Hume on Evil’, Philosophical Review, 72
(1963), pp. 180-97; reprinted in Pike (ed.),
God and Evil, p. 88.
7 Alvin Plantinga, ‘Self-Profile’, in James E.
Tomberlin and Peter van Inwagen (eds), Pro-
files: Alvin Plantinga (Dordrecht, Boston,
Mass., and Lancaster, Pa.: Reidel, 1985),
Door
8 Alvin Plantinga. ‘Self-Profile’, pp. 34-5.
theologians. Had I done my paper at that time,
I might have been able to write with reason-
able detachment and the objectivity much
loved by academics. But this I can no longer
do with any integrity. Why? The reason is that
I write toward the end of 1977 in Southern
Africa, in the aftermath of the death of Steve
Biko in detention. I write after the extraordi-
nary finding of the Chief Magistrate of Preto-
ria at the inquest on Steve’s death that though
he died of serious brain damage, no one was
257
BISHOP DESMOND TUTU
to blame for this death. I write in the wake of
a massive security clampdown in the Repub-
lic of South Africa when several organizations,
for example the Black People’s Convention,
the Black Parents Association, and even the
Christian Institute, have been banned and sev-
eral individuals have either been detained with-
out trial or banned — and these were
organizations and persons who were still work-
ing for a reasonably peaceful solution to the
crisis in Southern Africa. I write after the ma-
jor black newspaper in the Republic of South
Africa, The World, has been banned. I write
after the National Party, led by B.J. Vorster,
has been returned to power with a consider-
ably increased majority, and he has already
declared that there will be no significant
changes in the policies of his government. And
I write too after the security forces of Ian Smith
have recently killed over a thousand so-called
terrorists (including women and children) in
Mozambique. To write with an academic de-
tachment and objectivity might please mem-
bers of certain Senior Common Rooms, but
it would be to discredit theology as the pas-
time of those who would fiddle while their
Rome was burning.
This is the Sztz-1m-Leben of this paper, and
it gives us an opportunity to realize more
clearly the genesis and nature of liberation
theology. Liberation theology more than any
other kind of theology issues out of the cruci-
ble of human suffering and anguish. It hap-
pens because people cry out, “Oh, God, how
long?” “Oh, God, but why?” And so libera-
tion theology is in a sense really a theodicy. It
seeks to justify God and the ways of God to a
downtrodden and perplexed people so that
they can be inspired to do something about
their lot. Those who suffer so grievously have
not usually doubted that there is a God. They
have not even doubted that such a God was a
living God, a powerful God, and a God of
righteousness and goodness. It is precisely
because they have believed that their perplex-
ity has arisen: if they had not believed, there
would be no need of a theodicy. If they be-
lieved that God was neither good, nor loving,
258
nor powerful then there would be no prob-
lem. There would just be the brute fact of their
suffering forming part of the givenness of a
truly harsh reality.
The cause of bewilderment is not the tradi-
tional form of the problem of evil, i.e. “Why
is there suffering and evil in the universe of a
good God?” No, the burning question is not
“Why is there suffering?” but the more im-
mediately pressing one of “Why do we suffer
so?” “Why does suffering seem to single out
us blacks to be the victims of a racism gone
mad?” Another way of putting the same an-
guished cry is, “God, on whose side are you?”
or even more disturbingly for some people,
“God, are you black or white?”
All liberation theology stems from trying
to make sense of human suffering when those
who suffer are the victims of organized op-
pression and exploitation, when they are emas-
culated and treated as less than what they are:
human persons created in the image of the
Triune God, redeemed by the one Savior Je-
sus Christ and sanctified by the Holy Paraclete.
This is the genesis of all liberation theology
and so also of black theology, which is a the-
ology of liberation in Africa. Black theology
has occurred mainly in Southern Africa, where
blacks have had their noses rubbed in the dust
by white racism, depersonalizing them to the
extent that they have — blasphemy ofblasphe-
mies — come to doubt the reality of their own
personhood and humanity. They have often
come to believe that the denigration of their
humanity by those who oppress them is the
truth about themselves.
Black theology as a theology of liberation
has become part of the struggle of a people
for their liberation. For this reason it has usu-
ally been proscribed or, at least, regarded with
suspicion by the powers that be. It has be-
come part of the black consciousness move-
ment, which is concerned with the evangelical
aim of awakening in blacks a sense of their
intrinsic worth as children of God. In South-
ern Africa, black theology was inspired by its
North American counterpart, which existed
for so long implicitly in the Negro spirituals

that gave heart to black slaves in the heavy
days of their bondage and which became more
articulate and explicit during the civil rights
campaign. It was inspired too by the knowl-
edge that so much of Africa had thrown off
the shackles of colonialism. Liberation theol-
ogy takes very seriously the sociopolitical di-
mensions of reality as those which, to a large
extent, determine the quality not only of secu-
lar but also of religious life. Liberation theol-
ogy dismisses the dichotomy of the secular and
the sacred as thoroughly unincarnational and
irreligious.
The Nature and Style of
Liberation Theology
When the Jews were in exile in Babylon, most
of them were depressed and dejected. They
were disillusioned with their God who had
proved to be less powerful than the Babylonian
deities, since for a people to be defeated meant
in the theology of those days that their God
had been worsted by that of their foes. They
saw around them in the ziggurats and other
structures and statues impressive monuments
to the triumphant gods of Babylonian religion.
The Jews had been proved very small indeed.
At such a ghastly hour in the history of Israel
a group belonging to what is called the Priestly
School produced a magnificent hymn to crea-
tion, a paean of praise to God the Creator, in
the form of the “P” account of creation in
Genesis 1-24. It is not to devalue this splen-
did piece of theologizing to describe it as a
theological propaganda tract designed to
awaken in the exiled Jews a renewed faith in
their God as so transcendent that his mere fiat
was sufficient to bring the universe into be-
ing. In the Babylonian creation narrative,
Emma Elish, creation had to come about
through the bloody battle between Marduk
and Tiamat. But now the Jews could say, “Our
God just speaks, and things happen, so there,
ha! ha!”
This is an outstanding example of how the-
ology is done in the Bible: almost always in
THE THEOLOGY OF LIBERATION IN AFRICA
response to the needs of a specific set of cir-
cumstances. We could multiply the examples.
In the Bible theologizing never happens in a
vacuum; much less is it the creation of some-
one who sits in splendid academic isolation
and detachment. When the community was
forgetting the universalism implicit in the di-
vine promise to Abraham (Genesis 12: 1-3)
because of the zealous but necessary teach-
ings of an Ezra or a Nehemiah or the
Rechabites that Israel was a peculiar people, a
“Ruth” or a “Jonah” was written to counter-
act this rigid particularism. When Christian
Jews were agitated about whether they should
still be circumcised, then Paul had to write
“Galatians.” Most of the Bible is technically
referred to as “occasional” because it is “oc-
casioned” by particular circumstances and it
addresses those circumstances. The theology
we find in the Bible is thus an engaged, an
involved theology which is also existential (for
it is concerned with the existence of a spe-
cific, particular group of believers).
This is the biblical paradigm that liberation
theology has followed meticulously. It speaks
out of and into a specific situation, in this case,
the situation of political oppression and in-
justice, of social and economic exploitation
of a specific group of believers. It seeks to make
sense of their suffering in relation to what God
has done, is doing, and will do. The ultimate
reference point is the man Jesus who is the
Word of God par excellence. Liberation the-
ology seeks to discover what sort of God we
have to deal with and whether we can go on
believing in him with any sort of integrity.
More than most theologies, it accepts that
there can be no final theology, that all theol-
ogy is provisional and cannot lay claim to a
universal validity, for any relevant theology
must accept the scandal of its particularity,
which, after all, is the price of its relevance.
And no theology can easily transcend the limi-
tations and conditioned-ness of those who
theologize. Too many of the unseemly con-
troversies that scar the history of the church
have happened because one kind of theolo-
gizing has pretended to a finality that it could
259
BISHOP DESMOND TUTU
not have. There is no one true way of theolo-
gizing. Even in the Bible there is a rich diver-
sity of theologies, all existing cheek by jowl,
theologies that may complement one another,
though they also may be quite incompatible.
Liberation theology claims it is part of this
rich diversity; it glories in its limitations and is
prepared to leave the stage to its successors
once it feels it has fulfilled its task. There are
far too many theologies around that have out-
lived their usefulness, and we ought to be ruth-
less in getting rid of the accumulations of
centuries in our attic.
There must be different theologies since all
of us apprehend God and the things of God
differently; we express those apprehensions
differently. Theology will change with the
changing circumstances if it issues out of and
addresses a particular set of circumstances, if
it answers specific questions. Good answers
for today will be useless tomorrow because
tomorrow’s questions will be different. Of
course, we will have to learn from yesterday’s
questions and answers because in the theo-
logical enterprise it is futile and wasteful to
try to start de novo. But we should not easily
canonize the determinations of yesteryear and
so make the awful mistake of identifying the-
ology with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Theol-
ogy is temporal, the Gospel is eternal. Our
understanding of that Gospel, of that divine
revelation, will change constantly; that is what
theology is about.
The Context of Liberation
Theology
By the token of particularity, certain parts of
the biblical message will be more apt for cer-
tain situations than for others. The Gospel of
Jesus Christ is many-splendored. Who would
doubt that in hate-filled Ulster the aspect of
the Gospel that is most apt is reconciliation
for those estranged factions? For the victims
of oppression and injustice it is important for
them to hear that the God they worship is the
liberator God of the Exodus who led a rabble
260
of slaves out of bondage into glorious free-
dom.
Oppressed peoples must hear that, accord-
ing to the Bible, this God is always on the
side of the downtrodden. He is so graciously
on their side not because they are more virtu-
ous and better than their oppressors, but solely
and simply because they are oppressed; he is
that kind of aGod. So to the anguished cry,
“God, on whose side are you?” we say em-
phatically, “God is on your side,” not as some
jingoistic national deity who says “my people
right or wrong,” but as one who saves and
yet also judges those whom he saves. God is
compassionate yet the holy one who demands
that those whom he saves must also be holy.
God saves froma death-dealing situation fora
life-giving situation. Those whom God has
saved must become the servants of others, for
they are saved ultimately not for their self-ag-
grandizement or self-glorification, but so they
may bring others to a saving knowledge of
God.
Ultimately God saves the oppressed for the
sake of their oppressors. It has often sounded
like so much sloganeering to say that oppres-
sion and injustice dehumanize both the vic-
tims and the perpetrators of the unjust system
and that liberation theology is concerned as
much for the liberation of the oppressors as
of the oppressed. But who can doubt that this
must be true when Jimmy Kruger, the South
African Minister of Justice and of Police, could
say of the death of Steve Biko: “It leaves me
cold.” What has happened to the humanity
of a person who can say something so callous
about the death of a fellow human being?
God in Liberation Theology
Liberation theology has underscored that God
is concerned for the liberation of oppressed
victims; hence its stress on the Exodus-libera-
tion biblical themes. But this is not the only
aspect of the biblical and Christian teaching
that is crucial in liberation theology.
To the victims of a system of rampant in-

justice it is equally important to realize that
God is also the God of power, not only
the God who will lead them to freedom. He
is a God in charge in his universe. He is not
impotent despite all appearances to the con-
trary, despite the fact that evil and injustice
seem to be on the ascendant. He is Lord, the
all-ruler of the book of Daniel and the Rev-
elation of St John the Divine. Nothing that
happens can ever catch him off guard. He is
not like the gods of the prophets of Baalwhom
Elijah mocked so cruelly. He has not fallen
asleep, or gone on a journey, or turned aside
to relieve himselfso that our cries rise into an
empty void; our cries do not fall on deaf or
unheeding ears. No, our God has heard and
seen our affliction and has come down to de-
liver us. And he is strong to save. Our people
here in Southern Africa need to hear this.
Yes, after the events I referred to at the be-
ginning of this paper, our people were stunned
into a despair and helplessness, and it is of the
utmost importance for liberation theology to
declare loud and clear that God is a God of
hope. “Comfort, comfort my people, says your
God. Speak tenderly to her.” Yes, the church
must uphold the faith and hope of God’s peo-
ple in these dark days when there seems to be
little reason for hope.
Liberation theology also depicts God as a
God of compassion. Surely God can’t remain
aloof and untouched by our suffering as some
Aristotelian unmoved mover. The Bible as-
sures us that God is really like a nursing mother
in his tender concern for his people who suf-
fer. He longs after us, even when we are way-
ward, waiting for our return like the father of
the prodigal waits for the return of his son.
He is like a mother hen who would collect
her young under the shadow of her wings,
and in Jesus Christ he weeps over a beloved
city. Yes, God weeps with and for us, because
our God suffers the exquisite pain of a dying
God.
Those who would scorn liberation theol-
ogy often think that its adherents are naive in
the extreme because they think that a change
for the better in political and economic cir-
THE THEOLOGY OF LIBERATION IN AFRICA
cumstances will necessarily usher in the golden
age. This is a misreading of liberation theol-
ogy. Liberation theologians have too much
evidence that the removal of one oppressor
often means replacement by another; yester-
day’s victim quite rapidly becomes today’s
dictator. Liberation theologians know only too
well the recalcitrance of human nature and so
accept the traditional doctrines of the fall and
original sin, but they also know that God has
provided the remedy in Jesus Christ.
The Challenge of Liberation
Theology
Liberation theology is no mere intellectual
exercise, no mere cerebral enterprise, for it
deals with matters of life and death for those
on whose behalf it is being done. Liberation
theology must enable the victims of oppres-
sion to assert their God-given personhood and
humanity and must help exorcize from them
the awful sense of self-hatred and self-disgust
which are the ghastly consequences of oppres-
sion. Then these victims will not cry out for
the flesh pots of their days of bondage when
they stand face to face with the demanding
responsibilities of their freedom. Liberation
theology must help them enter into their glo-
rious heritage as the children of God who
made them free for freedom.
Liberation theology challenges those whom
it addresses not to be consumed by hatred,
self-pity, and bitterness, for these are as dehu-
manizing as the oppression that caused them.
While calling them to freedom, the Gospel of
Jesus Christ also calls to limitless forgiveness,
not as a spineless acceptance of suffering but
as participation in the divine economy of sal-
vation. This is when the oppressed turn the
tables; it is when they make up what is lacking
in the sufferings of Christ.
Liberation theology exposes itself to criti-
cal scrutiny, but it must not be judged by some
arbitrary, a priori criteria of an imagined in-
tellectual respectability. Liberation theology
would wish to be numbered among other the-
261
BISHOP DESMOND TUTU
ologies that have found acceptance in the rich
Christian heritage. Yet we who do liberation
theology believe we are engaged in something
too urgent to have to wait for the approba-
tion of the West or ofthose who would blindly
follow western standards of acceptability and
play western games using western rules. No,
liberation theology must be judged by
whether it is biblical, by whether it is consist-
ent with the Gospel of Jesus Christ, by whether
it is guilty of self-contradiction, and by
whether it works. If it fails the test according
to these criteria then it deserves to be con-
demned roundly for it will be offering God’s
suffering people palliatives rather than effec-
tive remedies.
Liberation theology becomes part of apeo-
ple’s struggle for liberation; it tries to help vic-
tims of oppression to assert their humanity and
so look the other chap in the eye and speak
face to face without shuffling their feet and
apologizing for their black existence.
Those who speak about justice and sharing
the resources of the earth more equitably are
often accused by certain “religious” persons
of being political and exhorted to pray about
these things. We who do liberation theology
believe such exhortation to be arrogant in the
extreme for it presumes that we have not first
262
prayed. We contend that we too have had a
real encounter with Jesus Christ in prayer,
meditation, Bible study, and the sacraments,
and that the imperatives of this encounter
constrain us to speak and to act as we do. It is
not our politics but our faith that inspires us.
Liberation theology challenges other the-
ologies to examine whether they are biblical
in the sense in which liberation theology has
been shown to be biblical. Other theologies
are challenged to become more truly
incarnational by being concerned for the
whole person, body and soul. They are called
upon to glory in their built-in obsolescence,
not to cry out for a permanence and a univer-
sal validity that properly belong only to the
Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Liberation theology challenges churches
everywhere to be true to their calling to exer-
cise a prophetic ministry in speaking up for
the dumb, the voiceless, for those too weak
to speak up for themselves, to oppose oppres-
sion, injustice, corruption, and evil wherever
these may be found. This could be a call to
martyrdom, but if God be for us who can be
against us?
Let God arise and let his enemies be scat-
tered.
 PAKT FOUR

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Olea SON ORE GOES
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Introduction

Evidentialism
31 The Ethics of Belief
WILLIAM CLIFFORD
32 Itis Wrong, Everywhere, Always, and for Anyone, to
Believe Anything upon Insufficient Evidence
PETER VAN INWAGEN

Religious Belief as Basic

33 Warranted Beliefin God
ALVIN PLANTINGA

Pascal’s Wager
34 From Pensées
BLAISE PASCAL
35 The Recombinant DNA Debate: a Difficulty for Pascalian-
Style Wagering
STEPHEN P. STICH
36 A Central Theistic Argument
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
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Introduction
After having examined the arguments for and
against God’s existence in the previous two
Parts, many readers will find themselves in one
of three epistemic positions:
(1) one will find the arguments (or at least
one of the arguments) for God’s exist-
ence decisive (because it succeeds as a
proofor provides evidence which over-
whelms any contrary evidence);
(2) one will find the arguments (or at least
one of the arguments) against God’s ex-
istence decisive (because it succeeds as a
proof or provides evidence which over-
whelms any contrary evidence); or
(3) one will find that the arguments do not
give enough evidence to move us one
way or the other (because they are all
bad or because there are roughly equally
strong arguments on both sides).
The Readings in this Part address the ques-
tion of what one can reasonably believe in each
of these three cases. For the most part, one
might think that it is clear what those in each
position should believe. Those in (1) should
believe that God exists, those in (2) should
disbelieve in God’s existence, and those in
position (3) should simply withhold belief. On
this view, the relationship of reason to reli-
gious belief might be described in the way
William Clifford does in the first essay.
Clifford defends a position known as
“evidentialism.” According to the evidentalist,
it is irrational to hold any belief unless we have
“sufficient evidence” for it. Unless we govern
our beliefs in this way, Clifford argues, we will
not only end up holding beliefs that might
lead to others being harmed, we will also make
ourselves into credulous people who hold
beliefs indiscriminately and thus irrationally.
Peter van Inwagen claims that if we accept
the evidentialist requirement for rational be-
lief, then it seems that we will be required to
reject any belief which does not have enough
evidence in its favor to convince all reason-
able, sound-minded people who consider that
evidence. But if we were to adopt this require-
ment, we will render irrational all sorts of be-
liefs about which apparently reasonable and
well-informed people disagree. So, for exam-
ple, accepting this principle would, it appears,
require that we give up at least all of our philo-
sophical and political beliefs. But this seems
to be a high price to pay. One could, on the
other hand, argue that religious belief should
be subject to a higher standard so that omly zt,
and not philosophical and political beliefs,
should be held to the evidentialist’s standard.
But it is hard to see why it is not simply arbi-
trary to hold religious beliefs to such a
uniquely high standard. As a result, we need
to surrender the strong evidentialist position
or admit that it places a heavy burden on our
beliefs across the board.
If van Inwagen’s essay convinces us that the
evidentialist standard is an unreasonably high
one, we might wonder whether the person
described in position (3) above might still rea-
sonably believe in God, even in the absence
of compelling arguments in favor of God’s
existence. But how, we might ask, could it be
reasonable to hold beliefs, religious or other-
wise, without compelling arguments for those
beliefs? We might think of the next essay, by
Alvin Plantinga, as providing an answer to this
question.
In other works, Plantinga has pointed out
that we have two different kinds of justified
beliefs: basic and non-basic. Basic beliefs are
those which do not require arguments or evi-
dence (as we normally understand those
terms) in their favor in order for them to be
rationally accepted. Other beliefs, however, are
non-basic and these, as you might expect, do
require evidence or argument if they are to be
265
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
rationally accepted. A juror’s belief that a de-
fendant is guilty would count as a non-basic
belief and would thus require evidence if the
juror was to hold the belief justifiably. But
many other beliefs, such as the belief that there
is a computer in front of me, are not like this.
My belief in the computer’s existence is not
based on any argument (in fact, I can’t con-
struct a good argument for the existence of
the computer even when I am led to pause
and seek for one). Instead, I simply find my-
self having an experience of a certain sort, an
experience which immediately leads to my
forming the belief “there is a computer in front
of me.” Since most of us form a great many
of our beliefs in just this way, and we think
that doing so is rational and justified, we must
admit that there are some beliefs we hold ra-
tionally, but for which we lack argument or
evidence. Still, we have something which leads
us to these beliefs, even if it is not evidence
and argument. That is, something “grounds”
my belief, and in the case of my believing that
there is a computer in front of me, it is my
sensory (in this case, visual) experience of the
computer which grounds this belief.
In the essay contained here, Plantinga ar-
gues that the religious believer can rationally
and justifiably hold his or her religious belief
as a basic belief. If there are “grounds” for
religious belief, as Plantinga claims there are
here (and as Alston claims there are in his
essay at Reading 18 — though notice that Plan-
tinga distinguishes his view from Alston’s),
then it looks as if the religious believer can
hold to religious belief justifiably, even if he
or she is in position (3) above.
It is worth noting two further points about
the essay by Plantinga. First, if one adopts his
view, it may be justifiable to hold religious
beliefs even if one is in position (2). The rea-
son is that one might take the grounds favoring
the religious beliefs as having more epistemic
weight than the argument or evidence against
God’s existence. To see this, consider the fol-
lowing illustration. The police, let’s imagine,
have overwhelming evidence that I commit-
ted a burglary (I was near the scene, I had
266
strong motive, maybe some of the stolen
goods are found in my house, an eyewitness
identifies me as the one leaving the house with
the stolen items, etc.). This, we might think,
counts as very powerful evidence for any rea-
sonable person that I committed the crime.
None the less, J might still justifiably believe
that I did not commit it if I quite clearly re-
member being out of the city that day. In this
case my basic belief, grounded in my memory,
has sufficient weight for me to negate the force
of the other “evidence.” The grounds of reli-
gious belief that Plantinga appeals to here
might likewise be sufficiently powerful for the
believer to overcome even powerful evidence
against the existence of God (such as some
think is provided by the existence of evil).
Second, Plantinga’s position provides a
framework for thinking about the relationship
of “faith and reason” for the ordinary religious
believer. Since most religious believers lack
sophisticated arguments and evidence in favor
of theistic belief, religious belief would be
largely unjustified if, for example, evidentialism
were true. If, however, Plantinga’s view is
correct, even religious believers who are not
aware of arguments or evidence in favor of
religious belief might still be able to hold their
beliefs justifiably, since it is these “grounds”
which make their belief justified.
In the final section we turn to examine a
different strategy one might adopt in think-
ing about the relationship of reason to reli-
gious belief. The seventeenth-century French
philosopher and mathematician Blaise Pascal
had a number of friends who, like many Pa-
risians of his time, spent a great deal of their
recreational time in gambling parlors. Pascal
sought to assist his friends in their betting
endeavors by doing some seminal work in
probability theory and game theory. One of
the things Pascal realized in the course of this
work was that it is reasonable to adopt certain
beliefs even when the evidence against your
beliefisstronger than the evidence in favor of
it. For example, if I have the opportunity to
buy two lottery tickets, each costing a dollar,
one of which pays 1 million dollars but which

has only a 1 in 100 chance of being a winner,
the other of which pays 5 dollars but has a 1
in 5 chance of winning, the reasonable thing
for me to do would be to purchase the poten-
tial million dollar winner. The reason is that,
even though my chances of winning are lower,
laying my bets this way will maximize my gain
in the long run. Thus, it is more reasonable
for me to believe and act as if the potential
million dollar ticket will win, even though
there is greater evidence that another ticket
will be the winner. In other words, Pascal ar-
gues that it is at least sometimes rational to
consider “pragmatic” issues when deciding
what to believe.
Pascal, in his famous “wager,” attempts to
argue that the same standards of rationality
apply in the case of religious belief. Even if
the probability of theism is no higher (and
maybe even lower) than that of atheism, the
“payoff” if theism is true is so vastly higher
that the rational course of action is to believe
in God.
In a brief selection, Stephen Stich argues
against this wager by arguing that adopting
such pragmatic strategies would lead us, for
example, to avoid doing any scientific experi-
ments which had even the smallest chance of
yielding catastrophic results. Even ifthese ex-
periments present a vanishingly small chance
of yielding such results, this would make many
of these experiments irrational according to
Pascal’s line of reasoning, and this is clearly
an improper conclusion. We can apply this
result more generally, and thus to Pascal’s
wager, arguing that the reasoning employed
in the wager likewise fails when the probabili-
ties in favor of one of the alternatives, in this
case theism, are very, very low.
In the final selection, George Schlesinger
provides a defense of Pascal’s wager against
some of the most powerful criticisms raised
against it. The first is that such an argument
seems inappropriate, especially in a religious
context, since the fundamental motivations
involved are self-interested and self-serving.
Second is the “many gods” objection which
claims that since many contenders for our al-
INTRODUCTION TO PART FOUR
legiance promise infinite rewards, the wager
would recommend that we adopt a number
of incompatible religious beliefs. The third
objection is that since there is some small prob-
ability that I will come to believe in God with-
out trying, and that such belief would still yield
infinite reward, wager-style reasoning could
be seen as recommending that I simply ig-
nore religious beliefs and go about my busi-
ness. Schlesinger argues that each of these
criticisms can be defeated and that the wager
is thus successful.
Further Reading
For further discussions of evidentialism and
the relation of evidence to the rationality of
religious belief, the following sources are es-
pecially worth consulting:
Delaney, C. F. (ed.) Rationality and Religious
Belief (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1978).
Hoitenga, D., From Plato to Plantinga: an
Introduction to Reformed Epistemology
(Albany, N.Y.: SUNY Press, 1983).
Plantinga, Alvin, Warranted Christian Belief
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, forth-
coming).
——,, and Nicholas Wolterstorff (eds), Faith
and Rationality (Notre Dame, Ind.: Uni-
versity of Notre Dame Press, 1983).
Swinburne, Richard, Faith and Reason (Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, 1981).
Zagzebski, Linda, Rational Faith: Catholic
Responses to Reformed Epistemology (Notre
Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame
Press, 1993).
For further reading on Pascal’s wager, the fol-
lowing sources are especially worth con-
sulting: Jordan, Jeff, Gambling on God:
Essays on Pascal’s Wager (Lanham, Md.:
Rowman and Littlefield, 1994).
Lycan, William, and George Schlesinger, “You
Bet Your Life: Pascal’s Wager Defended,”
in Reason and Responsibility, 7th edn, ed.
Joel Feinberg (Belmont, Calif.:
Wadsworth, 1989).
267
 PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS

Morris, Thomas V., “Pascalian Wagering,” Schlesinger, George, New Perspectives on Old-
Anselmian Explorations (Notre Dame, time Religion (Oxford: Oxford University
Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, Rress9SS).
1989).

268
Evidentialism
31 The Ethics of Belief*
William Clifford
The Duty of Inquiry
A shipowner was about to send to sea an emi-
grant ship. He knew that she was old, and
not over-well built at the first; that she had
seen many seas and climes, and often had
needed repairs. Doubts had been suggested
to him that possibly she was not seaworthy.
These doubts preyed upon his mind and made
him unhappy; he thought that perhaps he
ought to have her thoroughly overhauled and
refitted, even though this should put him to
great expense. Before the ship sailed, however,
he succeeded in overcoming these melancholy
reflections. He said to himself that she had
gone safely through so many voyages and
weathered so many storms that it was idle to
suppose she would not come safely home from
this trip also. He would put his trust in Provi-
dence, which could hardly fail to protect all
these unhappy families that were leaving their
fatherland to seek for better times elsewhere.
He would dismiss from his mind all
ungenerous suspicions about the honesty of
builders and contractors. In such ways he ac-
quired a sincere and comfortable conviction
that his vessel was thoroughly safe and sea-
worthy; he watched her departure with a light
heart, and benevolent wishes for the success
of the exiles in their strange new home that
was to be; and he got his insurance money
* From William Kingdon Clifford, Lectures and Essays
(New York: Macmillan, 1901), pp. 163-76.
when she went down in mid-ocean and told
no tales.
What shall we say of him? Surely this, that
he was verily guilty ofthe death of those men.
It is admitted that he did sincerely believe in
the soundness ofhis ship; but the sincerity of
his conviction can in no wise help him, be-
cause he had no right to believe on such evidence
as was before him He had acquired his belief
not by honestly earning it in patient investi-
gation, but by stifling his doubts. And al-
though in the end he may have felt so sure
about it that he could not think otherwise,
yet inasmuch as he had knowingly and will-
ingly worked himself into that frame of mind,
he must be held responsible for it.
Let us alter the case a little, and suppose
that the ship was not unsound after all; that
she made her voyage safely, and many others
after it. Will that diminish the guilt of her
owner? Not one jot. When an action is once
done, it is right or wrong for ever; no acci-
dental failure of its good or evil fruits can pos-
sibly alter that. The man would not have been
innocent, he would only have been not found
out. The question of right or wrong has to do
with the origin ofhis belief, not the matter of
it; not what it was, but how he got it; not
whether it turned out to be true or false, but
whether he had a right to believe on such evi-
dence as was before him.
There was once an island in which some of
the inhabitants professed a religion teaching
neither the doctrine oforiginal sin nor that of
eternal punishment. A suspicion got abroad
269
WILLIAM CLIFFORD
that the professors of this religion had made
use of unfair means to get their doctrines
taught to children. They were accused of
wresting the laws of their country in such a
way as to remove children from the care of
their natural and legal guardians; and even of
stealing them away and keeping them con-
cealed from their friends and relations. A cer-
tain number of men formed themselves into a
society for the purpose of agitating the public
about this matter. They published grave ac-
cusations against individual citizens of the
highest position and character, and did all in
their power to injure these citizens in the ex-
ercise of their professions. So great was the
noise they made that a Commission was ap-
pointed to investigate the facts; but after the
Commission had carefully inquired into all the
evidence that could be got, it appeared that
the accused were innocent. Not only had they
been accused on insufficient evidence, but the
evidence of their innocence was such as the
agitators might easily have obtained, if they
had attempted a fair inquiry. After these dis-
closures the inhabitants of that country looked
upon the members of the agitating society,
not only as persons whose judgement was to
be distrusted, but also as no longer to be
counted honourable men. For although they
had sincerely and conscientiously believed in
the charges they had made, yet they had no
right to believe on such evidence as was before
them. Their sincere convictions, instead of
being honestly earned by patient inquiring,
were stolen by listening to the voice of preju-
dice and passion.
Let us vary this case also, and suppose, other
things remaining as before, that a still more
accurate investigation proved the accused to
have been really guilty. Would this make any
difference in the guilt of the accusers? Clearly
not; the question is not whether their belief
was true or false, but whether they entertained
it on wrong grounds. They would no doubt
say, ‘Now you see that we were right after all;
next time perhaps you will believe us.’ And
they might be believed, but they would not
thereby become honourable men. They would
270
not be innocent, they would only be not found
out. Every one of them, if he chose to exam-
ine himself in foro conscientiae, would know
that he had acquired and nourished a belief,
when he had no right to believe on such evi-
dence as was before him; and therein he would
know that he had done a wrong thing.
It may be said, however, that in both of
these supposed cases it is not the belief which
is judged to be wrong, but the action follow-
ing upon it. The shipowner might say, ‘I am
perfectly certain that my ship is sound, but
still I feel it my duty to have her examined,
before trusting the lives of so many people to
her.’ And it might be said to the agitator,
‘However convinced you were of the justice
of your cause and the truth of your convic-
tions, you ought not to have made a public
attack upon any man’s character until you had
examined the evidence on both sides with the
utmost patience and care.’
In the first place, let us admit that, so far as
it goes, this view of the case is right and nec-
essary; right, because even when a man’s be-
lief is so fixed that he cannot think otherwise,
he still has a choice in regard to the action
suggested by it, and so cannot escape the duty
of investigating on the ground of the strength
of his convictions; and necessary, because
those who are not yet capable of controlling
their feelings and thoughts must have a plain
rule dealing with overt acts.
But this being premised as necessary, it be-
comes clear that it is not sufficient, and that
our previous judgment is required to supple-
ment it. For it is not possible so to sever the
belief from the action it suggests as to con-
demn the one without condemning the other.
No man holding a strong belief on one side
of aquestion, or even wishing to hold a belief
on one side, can investigate it with such fair-
ness and completeness as if he were really in
doubt and unbiased; so that the existence ofa
belief not founded on fair inquiry unfits a man
for the performance of this necessary duty.
Nor is that truly a belief at all which has not
some influence upon the actions of him who
holds it. He who truly believes that which

prompts him to an action has looked upon
the action to lust after it, he has committed it
already in his heart. Ifa belief is not realized
immediately in open deeds, it is stored up for
the guidance ofthe future. It goes to make a
part of that aggregate of beliefs which is the
link between sensation and action at every
moment of all our lives, and which is so or-
ganized and compacted together that no part
of it can be isolated from the rest, but every
new addition modifies the structure of the
whole. No real belief, however trifling and
fragmentary it may seem, is ever truly insig-
nificant; it prepares us to receive more of its
like, confirms those which resembled it be-
fore, and weakens others; and so gradually it
lays a stealthy train in our inmost thoughts,
which may some day explode into overt ac-
tion, and leave its stamp upon our character
for ever.
And no one man’s belief is in any case a
private matter which concerns himself alone.
Our lives are guided by that general concep-
tion of the course of things which has been
created by society for social purposes. Our
words, our phrases, our forms and processes
and modes of thought, are common property,
fashioned and perfected from age to age; an
heirloom which every succeeding generation
inherits as a precious deposit and a sacred trust
to be handed on to the next one, not un-
changed but enlarged and purified, with some
clear marks ofits proper handiwork. Into this,
for good or ill, is woven every belief of every
man who has speech of his fellows. An awful
privilege, and an awful responsibility, that we
should help to create the world in which pos-
terity will live.
In the two supposed cases which have been
considered, it has been judged wrong to be-
lieve on insufficient evidence, or to nourish
belief by suppressing doubts and avoiding in-
vestigation. The reason of this judgement is
not far to seek: it is that in both these cases
the belief held by one man was of great im-
portance to other men. But forasmuch as no
belief held by one man, however seemingly
trivial the belief, and however obscure the
THE ETHICS OF BELIEF
believer, is ever actually insignificant or with-
out its effect on the fate of mankind we have
no choice but to extend our judgement to all
cases of belief whatever. Belief, that sacred
faculty which prompts the decisions of our
will, and knits into harmonious working all
the compacted energies of our being, is ours
not for ourselves, but for humanity. It is rightly
used on truths which have been established
by long experience and waiting toil, and which
have stood in the fierce light of free and fear-
less questioning. Then it helps to bind men
together, and to strengthen and direct their
common action. It is desecrated when given
to unproved and unquestioned statements, for
the solace and private pleasure of the believer;
to add a tinsel splendour to the plain straight
road of our life and display a bright mirage
beyond it; or even to drown the common sor-
rows of our kind by a self-deception which
allows them not only to cast down, but also
to degrade us. Whoso would deserve well of
his fellows in this matter will guard the purity
of his belief with a very fanaticism of jealous
care, lest at any time it should rest on an un-
worthy object, and catch a stain which can
never be wiped away.
It is not only the leader of men, statesman,
philosopher, or poet, that owes this bounden
duty to mankind. Every rustic who delivers in
the village alehouse his slow, infrequent sen-
tences, may help to kill or keep alive the fatal
superstitions which clog his race. Every hard-
worked wife of an artisan may transmit to her
children beliefs which shall knit society to-
gether, or rend it in pieces. No simplicity of
mind, no obscurity of station, can escape the
universal duty of questioning all that we be-
lieve.
It is true that this duty is a hard one, and
the doubt which comes out of it is often a
very bitter thing. It leaves us bare and power-
less where we thought that we were safe and
strong. To know all about anything is to know
how to deal with it under all circumstances.
We feel much happier and more secure when
we think we know precisely what to do, no
matter what happens, than when we have lost
271
WILLIAM CLIFFORD
our way and do not know where to turn. And
ifwehave supposed ourselves to know all about
anything, and to be capable of doing what is
fit in regard to it, we naturally do not like to
find that we are really ignorant and powerless,
that we have to begin again at the beginning,
and try to learn what the thing is and how it is
to be dealt with — if indeed anything can be
learnt about it. It is the sense of power attached
to a sense of knowledge that makes men desir-
ous of believing, and afraid of doubting.
This sense of power is the highest and best
of pleasures when the belief on which it is
founded is a true belief, and has been fairly
earned by investigation. For then we may justly
feel that it is common property, and holds
good for others as well as for ourselves. Then
we may be glad, not that J have learned se-
crets by which I am safer and stronger, but
that we men have got mastery over more of
the world; and we shall be strong, not for
ourselves, but in the name of Man and in his
strength. But if the belief has been accepted
on insufficient evidence, the pleasure is a sto-
len one. Not only does it deceive ourselves by
giving us a sense of power which we do not
really possess, but it is sinful, because it is sto-
len in defiance of our duty to mankind. That
duty is to guard ourselves from such beliefs as
from a pestilence, which may shortly master
our own body and then spread to the rest of
the town. What would be thought of one who,
for the sake of a sweet fruit, should deliber-
ately run the risk of bringing a plague upon
his family and his neighbours?
And, as in other such cases, it is not the risk
only which has to be considered; for a bad
action is always bad at the time when it is done,
no matter what happens afterwards. Every
time we let ourselves believe for unworthy
reasons, we weaken our powers of self-con-
trol, of doubting, ofjudicially and fairly weigh-
ing evidence. We all suffer severely enough
from the maintenance and support of false
beliefs and the fatally wrong actions which they
lead to, and the evil born when one such be-
lief is entertained is great and wide. But a
greater and wider evil arises when the credu-
AYE
lous character is maintained and supported,
when a habit of believing for unworthy rea-
sons is fostered and made permanent. If I steal
money from any person, there may be no harm
done by the mere transfer of possession; he
may not feel the loss, or it may prevent him
from using the money badly. But I cannot help
doing this great wrong towards Man, that I
make myself dishonest. What hurts society is
not that it should lose its property, but that it
should become a den of thieves; for then it
must cease to be society. This is why we ought
not to do evil that good may come; for at any
rate this great evil has come, that we have done
evil and are made wicked thereby. In like man-
ner, if Ilet myself believe anything on insuffi-
cient evidence, there may be no great harm
done by the mere belief; it may be true after
all, or I may never have occasion to exhibit it
in outward acts. But I cannot help doing this
great wrong towards Man, that I make myself
credulous. The danger to society is not merely
that it should believe wrong things, though
that is great enough; but that it should be-
come credulous, and lose the habit of testing
things and inquiring into them; for then it
must sink back into savagery.
The harm which is done by credulity in a
man is not confined to the fostering ofa credu-
lous character in others, and consequent sup-
port of false beliefs. Habitual want of care
about what I believe leads to habitual want of
care in others about the truth of what is told
to me. Men speak the truth to one another
when each reveres the truth in his own mind
and in the other’s mind; but how shall my
friend revere the truth in my mind when I
myself am careless about it, when I believe
things because I want to believe them, and
because they are comforting and pleasant? Will
he not learn to cry, ‘Peace,’ to me, when there
is no peace? By such a course I shall surround
myself with a thick atmosphere of falsehood
and fraud, and in that I must live. It may mat-
ter little to me, in my cloud-castle of sweet
illusions and darling lies; but it matters much
to Man that I have made my neighbours ready
to deceive. The credulous man is father to the
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
liar and the cheat; he lives in the bosom of
this his family, and it is no marvel if he should
become even as they are. So closely are our
duties knit together, that whoso shall keep the
whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is
guilty of all.
To sum up: it is wrong always, everywhere,
and for any one, to believe anything upon in-
sufficient evidence.
If a man, holding a belief which he was
taught in childhood or persuaded of after-
wards, keeps down and pushes away any
doubts which arise about it in his mind, pur-
posely avoids the reading of books and the
company of men that call in question or dis-
cuss it, and regards as impious those questions
which cannot easily be asked without disturb-
ing it — the life of that man is one long sin
against mankind.
If this judgement seems harsh when applied
to those simple souls who have never known
better, who have been brought up from the
cradle with a horror of doubt, and taught that
their eternal welfare depends on what they
believe, then it leads to the very serious ques-
tion, Who hath made Israel to sin?
It may be permitted me to fortify this judge-
ment with the sentence of Milton:
32 It is Wrong, Everywhere, Always, and for Anyone,
to Believe Anything upon Insufficient Evidence*
Peter van Inwagen
My title is a famous sentence from W. K.
Clifford’s celebrated lecture, “The Ethics of
Belief.” What I want to do is not so much to
* From Faith, Freedom, and Rationality: Philosophy of
Religion Today, ed. Jeff Jordan and Daniel Howard-
Snyder (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1996), pp.
137-53. Reprinted with permission.
A man may be a heretic in the truth; and if he
believe things only because his pastor says so,
or the assembly so determine, without know-
ing other reason, though his belief be true, yet
the very truth he holds becomes his heresy.
(Areopagitica)
And with this famous aphorism of
Coleridge:
He who begins by loving Christianity better than
Truth, will proceed by loving his own sect or
Church better than Christianity, and end in loy-
ing himself better than all. (Azds to Reflection)
Inquiry into the evidence of a doctrine is
not to be made once for all, and then taken as
finally settled. It is never lawful to stifle a
doubt; for either it can be honestly answered
by means of the inquiry already made, or else
it proves that the inquiry was not complete.
‘But,’ says one, ‘I am a busy man; I have no
time for the long course of study which would
be necessary to make me in any degree a com-
petent judge of certain question, or even able
to understand the nature of the arguments.’
Then he should have no time to believe.
challenge (or to vindicate) the principle this
sentence expresses as to examine what the
consequences of attempting consistently to
apply it in our lives would be. Various phi-
losophers have attempted something that
might be described in these words, and have
argued that a strict adherence to the terms of
the principle would lead to a chain of requests
273
PETER VAN INWAGEN
for further evidence that would terminate only
in such presumably unanswerable questions
as “What evidence have you for supposing that
your sensory apparatus is reliable?,” or “Yes,
but what considerations can you adduce in
support of the hypothesis that the future w7/l
resemble the past?”; and they have drawn the
conclusion that anyone who accepts such
propositions as that one’s sensory apparatus
is reliable or that the future will resemble the
past must do so in defiance of the principle.
You will be relieved to learn that an investiga-
tion along these lines is not on the program
tonight. I am not going to raise the question
whether a strict adherence to the principle
would land us in the one of those very ab-
stract sorts of epistemological predicaments
exemplified by uncertainty about the reliabil-
ity of sense perception or induction. I shall be
looking at consequences of accepting the prin-
ciple that are much more concrete much closer
to our concerns as epistemically responsible
citizens — citizens not only of the body politic
but of the community of philosophers.
I shall, as I say, be concerned with Clifford’s
sentence and the lecture that it epitomizes.
But I am going to make my way to this topic
by a rather winding path. Please bear with me
for a bit.
I begin my indirect approach to Clifford’s
sentence by stating a fact about philosophy.
Philosophers do not agree about anything to
speak of. That is, it is not very usual for agree-
ment among philosophers on any important
philosophical issue to be describable as being,
in a quite unambiguous sense, common. Oh,
this philosopher may agree with that philoso-
pher on many philosophical points; for that
matter, if this philosopher is a former student
of that philosopher, they may even agree on
all philosophical points. But you don’t find
universal or near-universal agreement about
very many important theses or arguments in
philosophy. Indeed, it would be hard to find
an important philosophical thesis that, say, 95
percent of, say, American analytical philoso-
phers born between 1930 and 1950 agreed
about in, say, 1987.
274
And why not? How can it be that equally
intelligent and well-trained philosophers can
disagree about the freedom of the will or
nominalism or the covering-law model of sci-
entific explanation when each is aware of all
of the arguments and distinctions and other
relevant considerations that the others are
aware of? How — and now I will drop a broad
hint about where I am going — how can we
philosophers possibly regard ourselves as jus-
tified in believing much of anything of philo-
sophical significance in this embarrassing
circumstance? How can I believe (as I do) that
free will is incompatible with determinism or
that unrealized possibilities are not physical
objects or that human beings are not four-
dimensional things extended in time as well
as in space, when David Lewis — a philoso-
pher of truly formidable intelligence and in-
sight and ability — rejects these things I believe
and is already aware of and understands per-
fectly every argument that I could produce in
their defense?
Well, I do believe these things, and I be-
lieve that Iam justified in believing them. And
I am confident that I am right. But how can I
take these positions? I don’t know. That is
itselfaphilosophical question, and I have no
firm opinion about its correct answer. I sup-
pose my best guess is that I enjoy some sort
of philosophical insight (I mean in relation to
these three particular theses) that, for all his
merits, is somehow denied to Lewis. And this
would have to be an insight that is incommu-
nicable — at least J don’t know how to com-
municate it — for I have done all I can to
communicate it to Lewis, and he has under-
stood perfectly everything I have said, and he
has not come to share my conclusions. But
maybe my best guess is wrong. I’m confident
about only one thing in this area: the ques-
tion must have some good answer. For not
only do my beliefs about these questions seem
to me to be undeniably true, but (quite inde-
pendent of any consideration of which theses
it is that seem to me to be true), I don’t want
to be forced into a position in which I can’t
see my way clear to accepting any philosophi-
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
cal thesis of any consequence. Let us call this
unattractive position “philosophical
skepticism.” (Note that I am not using this
phrase in its usual sense of “comprehensive
and general skepticism based on philosophi-
cal argument.” Note also that philosophical
skepticism is not a thesis — if it were, it’s hard
to see how it could be accepted without prag-
matic contradiction — but a state: philosophi-
cal skeptics are people who can’t see their way
clear to being nominalists or realists, dualists
or monists, ordinary-language philosophers or
phenomenologists; people, in short, who are
aware of many philosophical options but take
none of them, people who have listened to
many philosophical debates but have never
once declared a winner.) I think that any phi-
losopher who does not wish to be a philo-
sophical skeptic — I know of no philosopher
who is a philosophical skeptic — must agree
with me that this question has some good
answer: whatever the reason, it must be pos-
sible for one to be justified in accepting a
philosophical thesis when there are philoso-
phers who, by a// objective and external crite-
ria, are at least equally well qualified to
pronounce on that thesis and who reject it.
Will someone say that philosophical theses
are theses of a very special sort, and that phi-
losophy is therefore a special case? That ad-
equacy of evidential support is much more
easily achieved in respect of philosophical
propositions than in respect of geological or
medical or historical propositions? Perhaps
because nothing really hangs on philosophi-
cal questions, and a false or unjustified philo-
sophical opinion is therefore harmless? Or
because philosophy is in some sense not about
matters of empirical fact? As to the first of these
two suggestions, I think it is false that noth-
ing hangs on philosophical questions. What
people have believed about the philosophical
theses advanced by — for example — Plato,
Locke, and Marx has had profound effects on
history. I don’t know what the world would
be like if everyone who ever encountered phi-
losophy immediately became, and thereafter
remained, a philosophical skeptic, but I’m
willing to bet it would be a vastly different
world. (In any case, I certainly hope this sug-
gestion is false. I'd hate to have to defend my
own field of study against a charge of adher-
ing to loose epistemic standards by arguing
that it’s all right to adopt loose epistemic
standards in philosophy because philosophy
is detached from life to such a degree that
philosophical mistakes can’t do any harm.) In
a more general, theoretical way, Clifford has
argued, and with some plausibility, that it is
in principle impossible to claim on behalf of
any subject-matter whatever — on the ground
that mistaken beliefs about the things of which
that subject-matter treats are harmless — ex-
emption from the strict epistemic standards
to which, say, geological, medical, and his-
torical beliefs are properly held. He argues,
[That is not] truly a belief at all which has not
some influence upon the actions of him who
holds it. He who truly believes that which
prompts him to an action has looked upon the
action to lust after it, he has committed it al-
ready in his heart. Ifa beliefisnot realized im-
mediately in open deeds, it is stored up for the
guidance of the future. It goes to make a part of
that aggregate of beliefs which is the link be-
tween sensation and action at every moment of
all our lives, and which is so organized and com-
pacted together that no part of it can be iso-
lated from the rest, but every new addition
modifies the structure of the whole. No real
belief, however trifling and fragmentary it may
seem, is ever truly insignificant; it prepares us to
receive more of its like, confirms those which
resembled it before, and weakens others; and
so gradually it lays a stealthy train in our inmost
thoughts, which may some day explode into
overt action, and leave its stamp upon our char-
acter forever. . . And no one man’s beliefis in
any case a private matter which concerns him-
self alone .. . no belief held by one man, how-
ever seemingly trivial the belief, and however
obscure the believer, is actually insignificant or
without its effect on the fate of mankind.
Whether or not you find this general, theo-
retical argument convincing, it does in any case
seem quite impossible to maintain, given the
275
PETER VAN INWAGEN
actual history of the relation between philoso-
phy and our social life, that it makes no real
difference what people believe about philo-
sophical questions.
The second suggestion — that philosophy is
“different” (and that philosophers may there-
fore properly, in their professional work, ob-
serve looser epistemic standards than
geologists or physicians observe in theirs) be-
cause it’s not about matters of empirical fact
— is trickier. Its premise is not that it doesn’t
make any difference what people believe about
philosophical questions; it’s rather that the
world would look exactly the same whether
any given philosophical thesis were true or
false. I think that that’s a dubious assertion. If
the declarative sentences that philosophers
characteristically write and speak in their pro-
fessional capacity are meaningful at all, then
many of them express propositions that are
necessary truths or necessary falsehoods, and
it’s at least a very doubtful assertion that the
world would look the same if some necessary
truth were a falsehood or if some necessary
falsehood were a truth. (Would anyone argue
that mathematicians may properly hold them-
selves to looser epistemic standards than ge-
ologists because the world would look the
same whether or not there was a greatest
prime?) And even if it were true that philoso-
phy was, in no sense of this versatile word,
“about” matters of empirical fact, one might
well raise the question why this should lend
any support to the suggestion that philoso-
phers were entitled to looser epistemic stand-
ards than geologists or physiologists, given
that philosophical beliefs actually do have im-
portant effects on the behavior of those who
hold them. Rather than address the issues that
these speculations raise, however, I will sim-
ply change the subject.
Let us consider politics.
Almost everyone will admit that it makes a
difference what people believe about politics
~— Iam using the word in its broadest possible
sense — and it would be absurd to say that
propositions like “Capital punishment is an
ineffective deterrent” or “Nations that do not
276
maintain a strong military capability actually
increase the risk of war” are not about mat-
ters of empirical fact. And yet people disagree
about these propositions (and scores of oth-
ers of equal importance), and their disagree-
ments about them bear a disquieting
resemblance to the disagreements of philoso-
phers about nominalism and free will and the
covering-law model. That is, their disagree-
ments are matters of interminable debate, and
impressive authorities can be found on both
sides of many of the interminable debates.
It is important to realize that this feature of
philosophy and politics is not a universal fea-
ture of human discourse. It is clear, for exam-
ple, that someone who believes in astrology
believes in something that is simply indefen-
sible. It would be hard to find a philosopher —
I hope this is true — who believed that every
philosopher who disagreed with his or her
position on nominalism held a position that
was indefensible in the same way that a belief
in astrology was indefensible. It might be
easier to find someone who held the corre-
sponding position about disputed and impor-
tant political questions. I suspect there really
are people who think that those who disagree
with them about the deterrent effect of capi-
tal punishment or the probable consequences
of unilateral disarmament are not only mis-
taken but hold beliefs that are indefensible in
the way that a belief in astrology is indefensi-
ble. I can only say that I regard this attitude
as ludicrous. On each side of many intermi-
nably debated political questions — it is not
necessary to my argument to say a//— one can
find well-informed (indeed, immensely
learned) and highly intelligent men and
women who adhere to the very highest intel-
lectual standards. And this is simply not the
case with debates about astrology. In fact, it
is hardly possible to suppose that there could
be a very interesting debate about the truth-
values of the claims made by astrologers.
Everyone who is intellectually honest will
admit this, will admit that there are intermi-
nable political debates with highly intelligent
and well-informed people on both sides. And
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
yet few will react to this state of affairs by be-
coming political skeptics, by declining to have
any political beliefs that are disputed by highly
intelligent and well-informed people. But how
can this rejection of political skepticism be
defended? How can responsible political think-
ers believe that the Syndicalist Party is the last,
best hope for Ruritania when they know full
well that there are well-informed (even im-
mensely learned) and highly intelligent peo-
ple who argue vehemently — all the while
adhering to the highest intellectual standards
— that a Syndicalist government would be the
ruin of Ruritania? Do the friends of Syndical-
ism claim to see gaps in the arguments oftheir
opponents, “faets” that they have cited that
are not really facts, real facts that they have
chosen not to mention, a hidden agenda be-
hind their opposition to Syndicalism? No
doubt they do. Nevertheless, if they are intel-
ligent and intellectually honest, they will be
aware that if these claims were made in public
debate, the opponents of Syndicalism would
probably be able to muster a very respectable
rebuttal. The friends of Syndicalism will per-
haps be confident that they could effectively
meet the points raised in this rebuttal, but, if
they are intelligent and intellectually honest,
they will be aware . . . and so, for all practical
purposes, ad infinitum.
I ask again, what could it be that justifies us
in rejecting political skepticism? How can I
believe that my political beliefs are justified
when these beliefs are rejected by people
whose qualifications for engaging in political
discourse are as impressive as David Lewis’s
qualifications for engaging in philosophical
discourse? These people are aware of (at least)
all the evidence and all the arguments that I
am aware of, and they are (at least) as good at
evaluating evidence and arguments as I. How,
then, can I maintain that the evidence and
arguments I can adduce in support of my be-
liefs actually justify these beliefs? If this evi-
dence and these arguments are capable ofthat,
then why aren’t they capable of convincing
these other people that these beliefs are cor-
rect? Well, as with philosophy, I am inclined
to think that I must enjoy some sort of in-
communicable insight that the others, for all
their merits, lack. I am inclined to think that
“the evidence and arguments I can adduce in
support of my beliefs” do not constitute the
totality of my justification for these beliefs. But
all that I am willing to say for sure is that some-
thing justifies me in rejecting political
skepticism, or at least that it is possible that
something does: that it is not a necessary truth
that one is not justified in holding a political
belief that is controverted by intelligent and
well-informed political thinkers.
I have now accomplished one ofthe things
I wanted to do in this chapter. I have raised
the question how it is possible to avoid philo-
sophical and political skepticism. In the re-
mainder of this chapter, I am going to turn to
questions about religious belief. My point in
raising the questions I have raised about phi-
losophy and politics was primarily to set the
stage for comparing religious beliefs with
philosophical and political beliefs. But I think
that the questions I have so far raised are in-
teresting in their own right. Even if everything
I say in the remainder of the chapter is wrong,
even if my comparisons of philosophical and
political beliefs with religious beliefs turn out
to be entirely wide of the mark, the interest
of the questions I have raised so far will re-
main. How can we philosophers, when we
consider the matter carefully, avoid the un-
comfortable suspicion that the following
words of Clifford might apply to us: “Every
one of them, if he chose to examine himself
in foro conscientiae, would know that he had
acquired and nourished a belief, when he had
no right to believe on such evidence as was
before him; and therein he would know that
he had done a wrong thing.”?
Now as to religion: is religion different from
philosophy and politics in the respects we have
been discussing? Should religious beliefs per-
haps be held to a stricter evidential standard
than philosophical and political beliefs? Or, if
they are to be held to the same standard, do
typical religious beliefs fare worse under this
standard than typical philosophical or politi-
277
PETER VAN INWAGEN
cal beliefs? It is an extremely popular position
that religion is different. Or, at least, it must
be that many antireligious philosophers and
other writers hostile to religious belief hold
this position, for it seems to be presupposed
by almost every aspect of their approach to
the subject of religious belief. And yet this
position seems never to have been explicitly
formulated, much less argued for. Let us call
it the Difference Thesis. An explicit formula-
tion of the Difference Thesis is a tricky mat-
ter. I tentatively suggest that it be formulated
disjunctively: Either religious beliefs should
be held to a stricter epistemic standard than
beliefs of certain other types — ofwhich philo-
sophical and political beliefs are the paradigms
— or, if they are to be held to the same
epistemic standard as other beliefs, they typi-
cally fare worse under this standard than typi-
cal beliefs of most other types, including
philosophical and political beliefs. I use this
disjunctive formulation because, while I think
I see some sort of difference thesis at work in
much of the hostile writing on the epistemic
status of religious belief, the work of this the-
sis is generally accomplished at a subliminal
jevel and it is hard to get a clear view of it. I
suspect that some of the writers I have alluded
to are thinking in terms of one of the disjuncts
and some in terms of the other.
A good example of the Difference Thesis at
work is provided by Clifford’s lecture. One of
the most interesting facts about “The Ethics
of Belief” is that nowhere in it is religious be-
lief explicitly discussed. There are, to be sure,
a few glancing references to religion in the
lecture, but the fact that they are references
to religion, while it doubtless has its polemi-
cal function, is never essential to the point that
Clifford professes to be making. Clifford’s
shipowner, for example, comes to his dishon-
est belief partly because he puts his trust in
Providence, but Clifford could have made the
same philosophical point if he had made the
shipowner come to his dishonest belief be-
cause he had put his trust in his brother-in-
law. Clifford’s other main illustrative case is
built round an actual Victorian scandal (de-
278
scribed in coyly abstract terms: “There was
once a certain island in which . . .”) involving
religious persecution. But he could have made
the same philosophical point if he had de-
scribed a case of purely secular persecution,
such as those that attended the investigations
of Senator McCarthy; his illustration turned
simply on the unwillingness of zealous agita-
tors, convinced that the right was on their side,
to examine certain matters of public record
and to obtain easily available testimony. In
both of Clifford’s illustrative cases, there is a
proposition that is dishonestly accepted, ac-
cepted without sufficient attention to the avail-
able evidence. In neither case is it a religious
or theological proposition. And at no point
does Clifford come right out and say that his
arguments have any special connection with
religious beliefs. It would, however, be disin-
genuous in the extreme to say that “The Eth-
ics ofBelief” is simply about the ethics of belief
in general and is no more directed at religious
belief than at any other kind of belief. “Eve-
ryone knows,” as the phrase goes, that
Cliftord’s target is religious belief. (Certainly
the editors of anthologies know this. “The
Ethics of Belief” appears in just about every
anthology devoted to the philosophy of reli-
gion. It has never appeared in an anthology
devoted to epistemology. I know ofonly one
case in which anyone writing on general epis-
temological questions has mentioned
Clifford’s lecture, and that is a very brief foot-
note in Chisholm’s Perceiving, in the chapter
entitled “The Ethics of Belief.” In that note,
Chisholm simply says that he holds a weaker
thesis about the ethics of belief than Clifford’s.
Given that he had borrowed Clifford’s title
for his chapter-title, I suppose that that was
the least he could have done.) The real thesis
of Clifford’s lecture, its subtext as our friends
in the literature departments say, is that reli-
gious beliefs — belief in God, belief in an af-
terlife, belief in the central historical claims of
Judaism or Christianity or Islam — are always
or almost always held in ways that violate the
famous ethico-epistemic principle whose quo-
tation-name is my title: It is wrong always,
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
everywhere, and for anyone, to believe any-
thing upon insufficient evidence. If, moreo-
ver, he is of the opinion that beliefs in any
other general category are always or almost
always (or typically or rather often) held in
ways that violate his principle, this is certainly
not apparent.
This conviction that Clifford’s specific tar-
get is religious belief is no knee-jerk reaction
of overly sensitive religious believers or of
antireligious polemicists eager to find yet an-
other stick to beat churchgoers with. If the
conviction is not supported by his argument,
in the strictest sense of the word, it is well
grounded in his rhetoric. For one thing, the
lecture abounds in biblical quotations and
echoes, which is not a usual feature of
Clifford’s prose. For another, there are the
inessential religious elements in both of his
illustrative examples. Much more importantly,
however, there are two passing allusions to
religious belief, which, although they go by
rather quickly, are nevertheless writ in letters
that he who runs may read. First, one of the
dishonest comforts provided by certain beliefs
that are not apportioned to evidence is said to
be this: they “add a tinsel splendor to the plain
straight road of our life and display a bright
mirage beyond it.” Secondly, when Clifford
raises the question whether it is fair to blame
people for holding beliefs that are not sup-
ported by evidence if they hold these beliefs
as a result of their having been trained from
childhood not to raise questions of evidence
in certain areas, he refers to these unfortunates
as “those simple souls ... who have been
brought up from the cradle with a horror of
doubt, and taught that their eternal welfare
depends on what they believe.”
Let us call Clifford’s principle — “It is wrong
always, everywhere, and for anyone ...” —
Clifford’s Principle, which seems an appropri-
ate enough name for it. I should note that
there seems to be another principle that
Clifford seems sometimes to be appealing to
and which he neither articulates nor distin-
guishes clearly from Clifford’s Principle. Call
it Clifford’s Other Principle. It is something
very much like this: “It is wrong always, eve-
rywhere, and for anyone to ignore evidence
that is relevant to his beliefs, or to dismiss rel-
evant evidence in a facile way.” Clifford’s
Other Principle is obviously not Clifford’s
Principle. It is very doubtful whether some-
one who satisfied the requirements of
Clifford’s Principle would necessarily satisfy
the requirements of Clifford’s Other Princi-
ple (it could be argued that it would be possi-
ble to have evidence that justified one’s
accepting a certain proposition even though
one had deliberately chosen not to examine
certain other evidence that was relevant to the
question whether to accept that proposition)
and it is pretty certain that someone who sat-
isfied the requirements of Clifford’s Other
Principle would not necessarily satisfy the re-
quirements of Clifford’s Principle. I suspect
that Clifford tended to conflate the two princi-
ples because of a combination of his
antireligious agenda with an underlying as-
sumption that the evidence, such as it is, that
people have for their religious beliefs is inad-
equate because it is incomplete, and incom-
plete because these believers have declined to
examine certain evidence relevant to their be-
liefs, owing to a subconscious realization that
examination of this evidence would deprive
even them of the power to continue to hold
their cherished beliefs. However this may be,
having distinguished Clifford’s Other Princi-
ple from Clifford’s Principle, I am not going
to discuss it further, beyond pointing out that
there does not seem to be any reason to sup-
pose, whatever Clifford may have thought,
that those who hold religious beliefs are any
more likely to be in violation of Clifford’s
Other Principle than those who hold philo-
sophical or political beliefs. We all know that
there are a lot of people who have violated
Clifford’s Other Principle at one point or an-
other in the course of arriving at their politi-
cal beliefs and a few who have not. As to
philosophy, well, I’m sure that violations of
Clifford’s Other Principle are quite rare among
professional philosophers. No doubt there
are a few cases, however. One might cite, for
279
PETER VAN INWAGEN
example, a recent review of a book by John
Searle, in which the author of the review (Dan
Dennett) accuses Searle of gross violations of
Clifford’s Other Principle in his (Searle’s) de-
scriptions of current theories in the philoso-
phy of mind. If Dennett’s charge is not just,
then it is plausible to suppose that /e is in vio-
lation of Clifford’s Other Principle. So it can
happen, even among us. But let us, as the
French say, return to our sheep, prominent
among which is Clifford’s Principle — Clifford’s
Principle proper, that is, and not Clifford’s
Other Principle.
It is interesting to note that Clifford’s Prin-
ciple is almost never mentioned by writers
subsequent to Clifford except in hostile ex-
aminations of religious belief, and that the
antireligious writers who mention it never
apply it to anything but religious beliefs. (With
the exception of illustrative examples — like
Clifford’s example of the irresponsible ship-
owner — that are introduced in the course of
explaining its content and arguing for it.) It is
this that provides the primary evidence for my
contention that many antireligious philoso-
phers and other writers against religion tac-
itly accept the Difference Thesis: the fact that
they apply Clifford’s Principle only to religious
beliefs is best explained by the assumption that
they accept the Difference Thesis. The cases
of Marxism and Freudianism are instructive
examples of what I am talking about. It is easy
to point to philosophers who believe that
Marxism and Freudianism are nonsense: ab-
surd parodies ofscientific theories that get the
real world wildly wrong. Presumably these
philosophers do not believe that Marxism and
Freudianism were adequately supported by the
evidence that was available to Marx and Freud
— or that they are adequately supported by the
evidence that is available to any of the latter-
day adherents of Marxism and Freudianism.
But never once has any writer charged that
Marx or Freud blotted his epistemic escutch-
eon by failing to apportion beliefto evidence.
I challenge anyone to find me a passage (other
than an illustrative passage of the type I have
mentioned) in which any devotee ofClifford’s
280
Principle has applied it to anything but reli-
gious belief. And yet practically all philoso-
phers — the literature will immediately
demonstrate this to the most casual inquirer
— subscribe to theses an obvious logical con-
sequence of which is that the world abounds
in gross violations of Clifford’s Principle that
have nothing to do with religion.
An explanation of the widespread tacit ac-
ceptance of the Difference Thesis among those
who appeal to Clifford’s Principle in their at-
tacks on religious belief is not far to seek. If
Clifford’s Principle were generally applied in
philosophy (or in politics or history or even
insmany parts of the natural sciences), it would
have to be applied practically everywhere. If
its use became general, we'd all be constantly
shoving it in one another’s faces. And there
would be no comfortable reply open to most
of the recipients of a charge of violating
Clifford’s Principle. Use every man after his
desert, and who shall scape whipping? If, for
example, I am an archaeologist who believes
that an artifact found in a neolithic tomb was
a religious object used in a fertility rite, and if
my rival, Professor Graves — a professor, ac-
cording to the German aphorism, is someone
who thinks otherwise — believes that it was
used to wind flax, how can I suppose that my
belief is supported by the evidence? If my evi-
dence really supports my belief, why doesn’t
it convert Professor Graves, who is as aware
of it as Iam, to my position? This example, of
course, is made up. But let me mention a real
and not entirely dissimilar example that I re-
cently came across in a review (by Malcolm
W. Browne) of several books about the
Neanderthals in the New York Times Book
Review (July 4, 1993, p. 1). The review in-
cludes the following quotation from the re-
cent book The Neandertals by Erik Trinkhaus
and Pat Shipman. The authors are discussing
a debate between two people called Stringer
and Wolpoff, who are leading experts on the
Neanderthals. “What is uncanny — and dis-
heartening — is the way in which each side can
muster the fossil record into seemingly con-
vincing and yet utterly different syntheses of
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
the course of human evolution. Reading their
review papers side by side gives the reader a
distinct feeling of having awakened in a Kafka
novel.” Assuming that this description of the
use Stringer and Wolpoff make of their evi-
dence is accurate, can it really be that their
beliefs are adequately supported by this evi-
dence? Will someone say that Stringer and
Woipoff are scientists, and that scientists do
not really Jelzeve the theories they put forward,
but rather bear to them some more tentative
sort of doxastic relation? “Regard as the best
hypothesis currently available,” or some such
tentative attitude as that? Well, that is certainly
not the way the author of the review sees the
debate. Stringer, one ofthe parties in the de-
bate, has written his own book, also discussed
in the review, of which the reviewer says, “Jn
Search of the Neanderthals is built around
Mr Stringer’s underlying (and highly contro-
versial) belief that the Neanderthals were an
evolutionary dead end, that they simply faded
away after a long and unsuccessful com-
petition with their contemporaries, the direct
ancestors of modern man.” (That the Nean-
derthals were an evolutionary dead end is, by
the way, the proposition that was at issue in
the debate between Stringer and Wolpoff that
was said to give the reader the feeling of hav-
ing awakened in a novel by Kafka.) Later in
the review, summarizing the book of another
expert on human origins, the reviewer says,
“Tn another section of the book, Mr Schwartz
defends his belief that modern human beings
are more closely related to orangutans than
to either chimpanzees or gorillas.” It is hard
to see how to avoid the conclusion that it is
very common for scientists gua scientists to
have beliefs that are vehemently rejected by
other equally intelligent scientists who pos-
sess the same scientific qualifications and the
same evidence. Even in the more austere and
abstract parts of science, even in high-energy
physics, the current queen of the sciences,
where there is some real plausibility in the
thesis that investigators typically hold some
more tentative attitude than belief toward the
content of the controversial theories they
champion, it is possible to find clear examples
of this. To find them, one need only direct
one’s attention away from the content of the
theories to the judgments that physicists make
about the theories, their judgments about such
matters as the usefulness of the theories, their
“physical interest,” and their prospects. A
former colleague at Syracuse University, an
internationally recognized quantum-gravity
theorist, has told me, using a simple declara-
tive sentence that contained no hedges what-
ever, that superstring theory would come to
nothing. Many prominent physicists (Sheldon
Glashow, for example) agree. They really de-
lieve this. And many prominent physicists
(such as Steven Weinberg and Edward Witten)
vehemently disagree. They really believe that
superstring theory has provided the framework
within which the development of fundamen-
tal physics will take place for a century.
But let us leave the sciences and return to
our central examples, philosophy and politics.
If we applied Clifford’s Principle generally,
we’d all have to become skeptics or agnostics
as regards most philosophical and political
questions — or we’d have to find some rea-
sonable answer to the challenge, “In what
sense can the evidence you have adduced sup-
port or justify your belief when there are many
authorities as competent as you who regard
this evidence as unconvincing?” But no an-
swer to this challenge is evident, and religion
seems to be the only area of human life in
which very many people are willing to be ag-
nostics about the answers to very many ques-
tions. (When I say “very many people,” I mean
very many people like us: people who write
books. It is, of course, false that a very high
proportion of the world population consists
of people who are willing to be agnostics about
religious questions. )
It might, however, be objected that what I
have been representing as obvious considera-
tions are obvious only on a certain concep-
tion of the nature of evidence. Perhaps the
Difference Thesis is defensible because the
evidence that some people have for their philo-
sophical and political (and archaeological and
281
PETER VAN INWAGEN
historical ...) beliefs consists partly of the
deliverances of that incommunicable “insight”
that I speculated about earlier. This objection
would seem to be consistent with everything
said in “The Ethics of Belief,” for Clifford
nowhere tells his readers what evidence is. If
“evidence” is evidence in the courtroom or
laboratory sense (photographs, transcripts of
sworn statements, the pronouncements of
expert witnesses, records of meter readings —
even arguments, provided that an argument
is understood as simply a publicly available
piece of text, and that anyone who has read
and understood the appropriate piece of text
thereby “has” the evidence that the argument
is said to constitute), then “the evidence”
pretty clearly does not support our philosophi-
cal and political beliefs. Let such evidence be
eked out with logical inference and private
sense experience and the memory of sense
experience (my private experience and my
memories, as opposed to my testimony about
my experience and memories, cannot be en-
tered as evidence in a court of law or pub-
lished in Physical Review Letters, but they can
be part of my evidence for my beliefs — or so
the epistemologists tell us) and it still seems
to be true that “the evidence” does not sup-
port our philosophical and political beliefs. It
is not that evidence in this sense is necessarily
impotent: it can support — I hope — many life-
and-death courtroom judgments and such
scientific theses as that the continents are in
motion. But it does not seem to be sufficient
to justify most of our philosophical and po-
litical beliefs, or our philosophical and politi-
cal beliefs, surely, would be far more uniform
than they are. (Socrates told Euthyphro that
people do not dispute about matters that can
be settled by measurement or calculation. This
is certainly false, but there is nevertheless an
important grain of truth in it. There is indis-
putably significantly greater uniformity of
opinion about matters that can be settled by
measurement and calculation than there is
about the nature of justice and the other mat-
ters that interested Socrates.) If “evidence”
must be of the courtroom-and-laboratory sort,
282
how can the Difference Thesis be defended?
If, however, “evidence” can include “in-
sight” or some other incommunicable element
—my private experience and my memories are
not necessarily incommunicable — it may be
that some of the philosophical and political
beliefs of certain people are justified by the
evidence available to them. (This, as I have
said, is the view I find most attractive, or least
unattractive.) But if evidence is understood
in this way, how can anyone be confident that
some of the religious beliefs of some people
are not justified by the evidence available to
them? (I say some people; and that is prob-
ably all that anyone would be willing to grant
in the cases of philosophy and politics. Is there
anyone who believes that it makes sense to
talk of philosophical beliefs being justified and
who also thinks that the philosophical beliefs
of both Carnap and Heidegger were justified?
Is there anyone who holds the corresponding
thesis about the political beliefs of both Henry
Kissinger and the late Kim II-Sung?) If evi-
dence can include incommunicable elements,
how can anyone be confident that all religious
believers are in violation of Clifford’s Princi-
ple? If “evidence” can include the incommu-
nicable, how can the Difference Thesis be
defended?
What I have said so far amounts to a po-
lemic against what I perceive as a widespread
double standard in writings about the rela-
tion of religious belief to evidence and argu-
ment. This double standard consists in setting
religious beliefatest it could not possibly pass,
and in studiously ignoring the fact that very
few of our beliefs on any subject could possi-
bly pass this test.
Let me summarize this polemic by setting
out some Socratic questions; a complex, in
fact, of alternative lines of Socratic question-
ing laid out in a sort of flowchart.
Either you accept Clifford’s Principle or not.
If not, game ends. If so, either you think that
religious belief stands convicted of some
epistemic impropriety under Clifford’s Prin-
ciple or not. If not, game ends. If so, do you
think that other important categories of be-
 IT IS WRONG TO BELIEVE UPON INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE
lief stand convicted of similar epistemic im-
propriety under Clifford’s Principle —
preeminently philosophical and political be-
lief? If you do, are you a skeptic as regards
these categories of belief, a philosophical and
political skeptic (and, in all probability, a
skeptic in many other areas)? If not, why not?
If you do think that the only important cat-
egory of belief that stands convicted of
epistemic impropriety under Clifford’s Prin-
ciple is religious belief— that is, if you accept
the Difference Thesis — how will you defend
this position? Do you accept my disjunctive
formulation of the Difference Thesis: “Either
religious beliefs should be held to a stricter
epistemic standard than beliefs of certain other
types — of which philosophical and political
beliefs are the paradigms — or, if they are to
be held to the same epistemic standard as other
beliefs, they typically fare worse under this
standard than typical beliefs of most other
types, including philosophical and political
beliefs”? If not, how would you formulate the
Difference Thesis (and how would you de-
fend the thesis you have formulated)? If you
do accept my disjunctive formulation of the
Difference Thesis, which of the disjuncts do
you accept? And what is your defense of that
disjunct? In formulating your defense, be sure
to explain how you understand evidence. Does
“evidence” consist entirely of objects that can
be publicly examined (photographs and
pointer readings), or that can, at least for
purposes of setting out descriptions of the
evidence available for a certain thesis, be ad-
equately described in public language (sens-
ations and memories, perhaps)? Or may what
is called “evidence” be, or be somehow con-
tained in or accessible to the subject in the
form of, incommunicable states of mind of
the kind I have rather vaguely called “insight?”
If the former, and if you have chosen to say
that a single standard of evidence is appropri-
ate to both religious beliefs (on the one hand)
and philosophical and political beliefs (on the
other), and if you have decided that religious
beliefs fare worse under this one standard than
philosophical and political beliefs — well, how
can you suppose that philosophical and po-
litical beliefs ave supported by that sort of evi-
dence, public evidence, to any significant
degree? If the evidence available to you pro-
vides adequate support for, say, your adher-
ence to a certain brand of functionalism, and
if it is evidence of this straightforward public
sort, then it is no doubt readily available to
most philosophers who have paid the same
careful attention to questions in the philoso-
phy of mind that you have. But then why
aren’t most of these philosophers functional-
ists of your particular stripe? (Why, some re-
spectable philosophers of mind aren’t even
functionalists at all, shocking as that may seem
to some of us.) Wouldn’t the possession and
careful consideration of adequate, really ad-
equate, evidence for a proposition induce be-
lief in that proposition? Or, if evidence that
provided adequate support for a philosophi-
cal proposition was readily available through-
out a sizable population of careful, qualified
philosophers, wouldn’t this fact at least induce
a significant uniformity of opinion as regards
that proposition among those philosophers?
If you take the other option as to the na-
ture of evidence, if you grant that evidence
may include incommunicable insight, can you
be sure, have you any particular reason to sup-
pose, that it is false that there are religious
believers who have “insight” that lends the
same sort of support to their religious beliefs
that the incommunicable insight that justifies
your disagreement with Kripke or Quine or
Davidson or Dummett or Putnam lends to
your beliefs?
This is the end of my Socratic flowchart. I
will close with an attempt to forestall two pos-
sible misinterpretations. First, I have not chal-
lenged Clifford’s Principle, or not unless to
point out that most of us would find it awk-
ward to live by a certain principle is to chal-
lenge it. Clifford’s Principle could be correct
as far as anything I have said goes. Secondly, I
have not argued that religious beliefs — any
religious beliefs of anyone’s — are justified or
enjoy any particular warrant or positive
epistemic status or whatever your own favorite
283
PETER VAN INWAGEN
jargon is. (For that matter, I have not argued
that philosophical and political beliefs — any
philosophical or political beliefs of anyone’s —
are justified or enjoy any particular warrant or
positive epistemic status. I have recorded my
personal conviction that some philosophical
and political beliefs are justified, but I have
not argued for this conclusion. I do not mind
— just for the sake of literary symmetry — re-
cording my persona! conviction that some re-
ligious beliefs are justified, but that they are is
not a part of my thesis.)
There is one important question that bears
on the epistemic propriety of religious belief
that I have not even touched on: whether
some or all religious beliefs may go clean con-
trary to the available evidence — as many would
say the beliefin a loving and all-powerful de-
ity goes clean contrary to the plain evidence
284
of everyone’s senses. To discuss this question
was not my project. My project has been to
raise certain points about the relevance of
Clifford’s Principle to the problem of the
epistemic propriety of religious belief. These
are different questions: it suffices to point out
that the philosopher who argues that some
religious belief — or some belief of any sort —
should be rejected because it goes contrary to
some body of evidence is not appealing to
Clifford’s Principle. If what I have said is cor-
rect, then philosophers who wish to mount
some sort of evidential or epistemic attack on
religious belief (or, more likely, not on reli-
gious belief in general, but on particular reli-
gious beliefs) should set Clifford’s Principle
aside and argue that religious belief (or this
or that religious belief) is refuted by the evi-
dence they present.
Religious Belief as Basic
33 Warranted Belief in God*
Alvin Plantinga
To know in a general and confused way that God
exists 1s implanted in us by nature.
. St Thomas Aquinas
... for since the creation of the world Gods invis-
ible qualities — his eternal power and divine na-
ture — have been clearly seen, being understood
from what has been made.
St Paul
The de jure challenge to Christian (or theis-
tic) belief... is the claim that such belief is,
irrational or unreasonable or unjustifiable or
in some other way properly subject to invidi-
ous epistemic criticism; it contrasts with the
de facto challenge, according to which the
beliefin question is false. Put just like that,
the de jure rebuke is pretty vague and gen-
eral; we can’t do much by way of evaluating
the proposed complaint without achieving a
clearer and more specific formulation of it...
This complaint is really the claim that Chris-
tian and other theistic belief is tvrational in
the sense that it originates in cognitive mal-
function (Marx) or in cognitive proper func-
tion that is aimed at something other than the
truth (Freud) — comfort, perhaps, or the abil-
ity to soldier on in this appalling world in
which we find ourselves. To put it another
way, the claim is that such belief doesn’t origi-
nate in the proper function of cognitive facul-
ties successfully aimed at producing true
* From Alvin Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief
(forthcoming). Reprinted with permission.
beliefs. To put it in still another way, the
charge is that theistic and Christian belief /acks
warrant.
By way of response, in this chapter I shall
first offer a model — a model based on a claim
made jointly by Thomas Aquinas and John
Calvin — for a way in which theistic belief could
have warrant... .
1 The A/C Model
A Models
I say I propose in this chapter to give a model
of theistic beliefs having warrant; but what
sort of animal is a model, and what would it
be good for? There are models of many dif-
ferent kinds: model airplanes, artists’? models,
models in the sense of exemplars, models of a
modern major general. There is also the logi-
cian’s sense of model in which, for example,
any consistent first order theory has a model
in the natural numbers. . . . My use of the term
here is more abstract than the first and more
concrete than the second. The rough idea is
this: to give a model of a proposition or state
of affairs Sis to show how it could be that S is
indeed true or actual. The model itself will be
another proposition (or state of affairs), one
such that it is clear (1) that it is possible, and
(2) that if it is tre, then so is the target propo-
sition. From these two, of course, it follows
that the target proposition is possible. In this
chapter I shall give a model of theistic belief’s
285
ALVIN PLANTINGA
having warrant: the A/C. (“Aquinas/Calvin” )
model nc
I claim four things for this model. First, it
is possible, and thus shows that it is possible
that theistic and Christian belief have warrant.
But the sense of possibility here isn’t just
broadly logical possibility — after all, such ob-
vious falsehoods as the population of China ts
less than 1,000 are possible in that sense — but
something much stronger. I claim that this
model is epistemically possible: it is consistent
with what we know, where “what we know”
is what all (or most) of the participants in the
discussion agree upon.
Second, and related to the first assertion, I
claim that there aren’t any cogent objections
to the model. i.e. to the proposition that the
model is in fact true or actual. More exactly,
there are no cogent objections of a philosophic
or scientific kind (or indeed any other kind)
to the model that are not also cogent objec-
tions to theism or Christian belief. Another
way to put it: any cogent objection to the
model’s truth will also have to be a cogent
objection to the truth of theistic or Christian
belief. I shall go on to argue that if Christian
beliefisindeed true, then the model in ques-
tion or one very like it is also true. If Iam
successful, therefore, the upshot will be that
there is no viable de jure (as opposed to de
facto) challenge either to theistic or Christian
belief. There is no sensible challenge to the
rationality or rational justification or warrant
of Christian belief that is not also a challenge
to its truth. That is, there is no de jure chal-
lenge that is independent of a de facto chal-
lenge. And that means that a particularly
popular way of criticizing Christian belief —
to be found in the evidentialist objection [and|
in many versions of the argument from evil
and in still other objections — is not viable.
This is the sort of challenge that goes like this:
“T don’t know whether Christian (or theistic)
beliefistrue — how could I know a thing like
that? But I do know that it is irrational, or
rationally unacceptable or unjustified or with-
Out warrant (or in some other way
epistemically challenged).” If my argument is
286
right, no objection of this sort has any force.
Third, I believe that the model I shall
present is not just possible and beyond philo-
sophical challenge, but also true, or at least
verisimilitudinous, close to the truth. I don’t
claim to show that it is true however. That is
because the A/C model [presented here]
entails the truth of theism and the extended
A/C [presented in later chapters] the truth
of classical Christianity. To show that these
models are in fact true, therefore, would also
be to show that theism and Christianity are
true; and I don’t know how to do something
one could sensibly call “showing” that either
of these zs true. I believe there are a large
number (at least a couple dozen) good argu-
ments for the existence of God; none, how-
ever, can really be thought of as a showing or
demonstration. As for classical Christianity,
there is even less prospect of demonstrating
its truth. . . Of course, this is nothing against
either their truth or their warrant; very little
of what we believe can be “demonstrated” or
“shown.”
Fourth, there is a whole range of models
for the warrant of Christian belief, all differ-
ent but similar to the A/C and extended A/
C model. (In claiming that the models I
present are close to the truth, what I am claim-
ing is that they belong to that range.) Thus, if
classical Christian belief is indeed true, then
one of these models is very likely also true.
Alternatively, for one who thinks Christian
belief true, one or more of these models (or
their disjunction) is a good way in which to
conceive the warrant of Christian belief.
B_ Presentation of the Model
Thomas Aquinas and John Calvin concur on
the claim that there is a kind of natural knowl-
edge of God (and anything on which Calvin
and Aquinas are in accord is something to which
we had better pay careful attention). Here I
want to propose a model based on Calvin’s ver-
sion of the suggestion, not because I think
Calvin should be the cynosure of all eyes theo-
logical, but because he presents an interesting

development of the particular thought in ques-
tion. (Here, as in several other areas, we can
usefully see Calvin’s suggestion as a kind of
meditation on and development of a theme
suggested by Aquinas.) According to the lat-
ter, “To know that God exists in a general and
confused way is implanted in us by nature. . . .”!
In the opening chapters of the Institutes of the
Christian Religion? Calvin concurs: there is a
sort of natural knowledge of God. Calvin ex-
pands this theme into a suggestion as to the
way in which beliefs about God can have war-
rant; he has a suggestion as to the nature of the
faculty or mech-anism whereby we acquire true
beliefs about God. His idea here can also be
seen as a development of what the apostle Paul
says in Romans 1:
For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven
against all ungodliness and wickedness of men
who by their wickedness suppress the truth. For
what can be known about God is plain to them,
because God has shown it to them. Ever since
the creation of the world his invisible nature,
namely, his eternal power and deity, has been
clearly perceived in the things that have been
made. So they are without excuse. (Romans
1: 18-20)
For our purposes, Calvin’s basic claim is that
there is a sort of instinct, a natural human ten-
dency, a disposition, a nisus to form beliefs
about God under a variety of conditions and
in a variety of situations. Thus in his commen-
tary on the above passage:
By saying, that God has made it manifest, he
means, that man was created to be a spectator
of this formed world, and that eyes were given
him, that he might, by looking on so beautiful
a picture, be led up to the Author himself.
In the Institutes he develops this thought:
There is within the human mind, and indeed by
natural instinct, an awareness of divinity. This
we take to be beyond controversy. To prevent
anyone from taking refuge in the pretense of
ignorance, God himself has implanted in all men
a certain understanding of his divine majesty.
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
... Since, therefore, men one and all perceive
that there is a God and that he is their maker,
they are condemned by their own testimony
because they have failed to honor him and to
consecrate their lives to his will ... there is, as
the eminent pagan says, no nation so barbarous,
no people so savage, that they have not a deep
seated conviction that there isa God. . . There-
fore, since from the beginning of the world there
has been no region, no city, in short, no house-
hold, that could do without religion, there lies
in this a tacit confession of a sense of deity in-
scribed in the hearts of all. (1, iii, 1, p. 44. The
“eminent pagan” is Cicero.)
Calvin goes on to claim that many rejections
of God, or attempts to do without him, are
really further testimonies to this natural incli-
nation:
Men of sound judgment will always be sure that
a sense ofdivinity which can never be effaced is
engraved upon men’s minds. Indeed, the per-
versity of the impious, who though they strug-
gle furiously are unable to extricate themselves
from the fear of God, is abundant testimony that
this conviction, namely that there is some God,
is naturally inborn in all, and is fixed deep within,
as it were in the very marrow ... From this we
conclude that it is not a doctrine that must first
be learned in school, but one of which each of
us is master from his mother’s womb and which
nature itself permits no one to forget, although
many strive with every nerve to thisend. (1,
iii, 3, p. 46)
Separated from the extravagance of expres-
sion that sometimes characterizes Calvin, the
basic idea, I think, is that there is a kind of
faculty or a cognitive mechanism, what Calvin
calls a “sensus divinitatis” or sense of divinity,
which in a wide variety of circumstances pro-
duces in us beliefs about God. These circum-
stances, we might say, trigger the disposition
to form the beliefs in question; they form the
occasion on which those beliefs arise. Under
these circumstances we develop or form the-
istic beliefs — or rather, these beliefs are formed
in us; in the typical case we don’t consciously
choose to have those beliefs. Instead, we find
287
ALVIN PLANTINGA
ourselves with them, just as we find ourselves
with perceptual and memory beliefs. (You
don’t and can’t simply decide to have this be-
lief, thereby acquiring it.) These passages sug-
gest that awareness of God is natural,
widespread, and not easy to forget, ignore, or
destroy. Seventy years of determined but un-
successful Marxist efforts to uproot Christi-
anity in the former Soviet Union tend to
confirm Calvin’s claim.
Second, it also sounds as if Calvin thinks
knowledge of God is innate, and hence such
that one has it from the time one is born,
“from his mother’s womb.” But I don’t think
Calvin really means to endorse either of these
suggestions. The capacity for such knowledge
is indeed innate, just as is the capacity for ar-
ithmetical knowledge. But of course it doesn’t
follow that we know elementary arithmetic
from our mother’s womb; it takes a little ma-
turity. And my guess is Calvin thinks the same
with respect to this knowledge of God; what
one has from one’s mother’s womb is not this
knowledge of God, but a capacity for it. What-
ever Calvin thinks, however, it’s our model;
and according to the model the development
of the sensus divinitatis requires a certain ma-
turity (although it is indeed sometimes mani-
fested by very young children).
The sensus divinitatisis a disposition or set
of dispositions to form theistic beliefs in vari-
ous circumstances, in response to the sorts of
conditions or stimuli that trigger the working
of this sense of divinity. Calvin thinks in par-
ticular of some of nature’s grand spectacles.
Like Kant, he was especially impressed, in this
connection, by the marvelous compages of the
starry heavens above:
Even the common folk and the most untutored,
who have been taught only by the aid of the
eyes, cannot be unaware of the excellence of
divine art, for it reveals itself in this innumer-
able and yet distinct and well-ordered variety of
the heavenly host. It is, accordingly, clear that
there is no one to whom the Lord does not
abundantly show his wisdom. (I, v, 2, p. 53)
You see the blazing glory of the heavens from
288
a mountain side at 13,000 feet; you think
about those unimaginable distances; you find
yourself filled with awe and wonder, and you
form the belief that God must indeed be great
to have created this magnificent heavenly host.
But it isn’t only the variety of the heavenly
host that catches his eye here:
Lest anyone, then, be excluded from access to
happiness, he not only sowed in men’s minds
that seed of religion of which we have spoken,
but revealed himself and daily discloses himself
in the whole workmanship of the universe. As a
consequence, men cannot open their eyes with-
out being compelled to see him. ... But upon
- his individual works he has engraved unmistak-
able marks of his glory ... wherever you cast
your eyes, there is no spot in the universe
wherein you cannot discern at least some sparks
of his glory. (I, v, i, p. 52)
Calvin’s idea is that the working of the sen-
sus divinitatis is triggered or occasioned by a
wide variety of circumstances, including in
particular some of the glories of nature: the
marvelous, impressive beauty of the night sky;
the timeless crash and roar of the surf that
resonates deep within us; the majestic gran-
deur of the mountains (the North Cascades,
say, as viewed from Whatcom Pass); the an-
cient, brooding presence of the Australian
outback; the roar of a great waterfall. But it
isn’t only grandeur and majesty that counts;
he would say the same for the subtle play of
sunlight on a field in spring, or the dainty,
articulate beauty of a tiny flower, or aspen
leaves shimmering and dancing in the breeze,
or.... “There is no spot in the universe,” he
says, “wherein you cannot discern at least some
sparks of his glory.” Calvin could have added
other sorts of circumstances: there is some-
thing like a awareness of divine disapproval
upon having done what is wrong, or cheap,
and something like a perception ofdivine for-
giveness upon confession and repentance.
People in grave danger instinctively turn to
the Lord, asking for succor and support, hav-
ing formed the belief that he can hear and
help if he sees fit. (They say there are no athe-

ists in foxholes.) On a beautiful spring morn-
ing (the birds singing, heaven and earth alight
and alive with the glory, the air fresh and cool,
the treetops gleaming in the sun) a spontane-
ous hymn of thanks to the Lord — thanks for
your circumstances and your very existence —
may arise in your soul. According to the
model, therefore, there are many circum-
stances, and circumstances of many different
kinds, that call forth or occasion theistic be-
lief. Here the sensus divinitatis resembles other
belief-producing faculties or mechanisms. If
we wish to think in terms of the overworked
functional analogy, we can think of the sensus
divinitatis too as an input-output device: it
takes the circumstances mentioned above as
input and issues as output theistic beliefs, be-
liefs about God. ...
(1) Basicality According to the A/C model,
this natural knowledge of God is not arrived
at by inference or argument (for example, the
famous theistic proof of natural theology) but
in a much more immediate way. The deliver-
ances of the semsus divinitatis are not quick
and sotto voce inferences from the circum-
stances that trigger its operation. It isn’t that
one beholds the night sky, notes that it is
grand, and concludes that there must be such
a person as God: an argument like that would
be ridiculously weak. It isn’t that one notes
some feature of the Australian outback — that
it is ancient and brooding, for example — and
draws the conclusion that God exists. It is
rather that upon the perception of the night
sky or the mountain vista or the tiny flower
these beliefs just arise within us. They are oc-
casioned by the circumstances; they are not
conclusions from them. The heavens declare
the glory of God and the skies proclaim the
work of his and but not by way of serving as
premises for an argument. Awareness of guilt
may lead me to God; but it is not that in this
awareness I have the material for a quick the-
istic argument: I am guilty, so there must be
a God. This argument isn’t nearly as silly as it
looks; but when the operation of the sensus
divinitatis is triggered by perception of my
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
guilt, it doesn’t work by way of an argument.
I don’t take my guilt as evidence for the exist-
ence of God, or for the proposition that he is
displeased with me. It is rather that in that
circumstance — the circumstance of my clearly
seeing my guilt — I simply find myself with
the belief that God is disapproving or disap-
pointed.
In this regard the sensus divinitatis resem-
bles perception, memory and a priori belief.
Consider the first. I look out into the back-
yard; I see that the coral tiger lilies are in
bloom. I don’t note that Iam being appeared
to acertain complicated way (that my experi-
ence is of acertain complicated character) and
then make an argument from my being ap-
peared to in that way to the conclusion that
in fact there are coral tiger lilies in bloom
there. (The whole history of modern philoso-
phy up to Hume and Reid shows that such
an argument would be wholly inconclusive. )
It is rather that upon being appeared to in
that way (and given my previous training),
the belief that the coral tiger lilies are in bloom
spontaneously arises in me. This belief will
ordinarily be basic, in the sense that it is not
accepted on the evidential basis of other
propositions. The same goes for memory. You
ask me what I had for breakfast; I think for a
moment and then remember: pancakes with
blueberries. I don’t argue from the fact that
it seems to me that I remember having pan-
cakes for breakfast to the conclusion that in
fact I did; rather, you ask me what I had for
breakfast and the answer simply comes to
mind. Or consider a priori belief. I don’t in-
fer from other things that, e.g., modus ponens
is a valid form of argument: I just see that it is
so and in fact must be so. All of these, we
might say, are starting points for thoughts.
But (on the model) the same goes for the
sense of divinity. It isn’t a matter of making a
quick and dirty inference from the grandeur
of the mountains or the beauty of the flower
or the sun on the treetops to the existence of
God; instead a belief about God spontane-
ously arises in those circumstances, the cir-
cumstances that trigger the operation of the
289
ALVIN PLANTINGA
sense ofdivinity. This beliefis another of those
starting points for thought; it too is basic in
the sense that the beliefs in question are not
accepted on the evidential basis of other be-
liefs.
eal
(5) Perceptual or Experiential Knowledge
Suppose something like the A/C model is in
fact correct: knowledge of God ordinarily
comes not through inference from other
things one believes, but from a sensus
divinitatis, characterized as above. Would it
follow that our knowledge of God comes by
way of perception? That is, would it follow that
the warrant enjoyed by theistic belief is per-
ceptual warrant? Not necessarily. This is not
because there is any real question about the
possibility or indeed the actuality of percep-
tion of God. I believe William Alston has
shown that if indeed there is such a person as
God, there could certainly be perception of
him, and indeed is perception of him. Alston’s
powerful discussion shows that the usual ob-
jections to perception of God (no independ-
ent way of checking, disagreement as to what
God is like, differences from sense perception,
apparent relativity to the theological beliefs
of the alleged perceiver, and so on) have very
little to be said for them.+*
Of course it isn’t wholly clear just what per-
ception #s (there is as much dispute about that
as about any other philosophical topic); con-
ceivably the way to think of perception strictly
so-called is such that it essentially involves
specifically sensuous imagery. This imagery
need not be of the sort that goes with our
sense perception; other kinds are certainly
possible. (Perhaps sensuous imagery goes with
the bat’s echolocation, a kind of imagery
wholly foreign to us.) But sensuous imagery
of some kind may be necessary for perception;
and perhaps it is also required that this im-
agery plays a certain specific (and hard to
specify) causal role in the genesis of the can-
didates for perceptual beliefin question.
What Alston thinks of as putative percep-
290
tion of God, however, often appears not to
involve sensuous imagery. If so, then strictly
speaking there wouldn’t be perception of God,
but what Alston’s discussion would then show
is that (given the existence of God) there could
certainly be and probably is something very
like perception of God (something that is
epistemically on all fours with perception in
that it, like the latter, can be a source of war-
rant). This something, therefore, can prop-
erly be called “perception” in an analogically
extended sense of that term. To the believer,
the presence of God is often palpable. A sur-
prising number of people report that at one
time or another, they fee/ the presence of God,
or at any rate it seems to them that they feel
the presence of God — where the “feeling”
also doesn’t seem to go by way of sensuous
imagery. Many others report hearing God
speak to them. And of course among these
cases, cases where it seems right or nearly right
to speak of perceiving God (feeling his pres-
ence, perhaps hearing his voice), there is great
variation. There are the shattering, over-
whelming sorts of experiences had by Paul
(then “Saul”) on the road to Damascus, and
reported by mystics and other masters of the
interior life. In these cases there may be vivid
sensuous imagery of more than one kind. But
there is also a sort of awareness of God where
it seems right to say one feels his presence,
but where there is little or none of the sort of
sensuous imagery that typically goes with per-
ception; it is more like a nonsensuous impres-
sion ofabrooding presence. And (apparently)
there are all sorts of examples between these
two extremes... .
Well, even ifthis sort of knowledge of God
isn’t perceptual, can we at any rate say that it
is by way of religious experience? Can we say
that the warrant it gets comes from experi-
ence? The first thing to see is that this term
“religious experience” is construed in a thou-
sand different ways; it is used to cover a vast
and confusing variety of cases; the question
as it stands is multiply ambiguous; in fact we
are probably better off boycotting the term.®
But perhaps we can say at least the following.

The operation of the sensus divinitatis will al-
ways involve the presence of experience of
some kind or other, even if sensuous imagery
isn’t always present. Sometimes there is sen-
suous imagery; sometimes there is something
like feeling the presence of God, where there
seems to be no sensuous imagery present, but
perhaps something (necessarily hard to de-
scribe) /zke it; often there is also the sort of
experience that goes with being frightened,
feeling grateful, foolish, angry, pleased, and
the like. A common component is a sort of
awe, a sense of the numinous; a sense of be-
ing in the presence of a being of overwhelm-
ing majesty and greatness. None of these are
inevitably connected with the operation of the
sensus divinitatis, although perhaps no occa-
sion of its operation fails to display one or
another of these varieties of experience. But
there is another sort of experience that is al-
ways present in the operation of the sensus
divinitatis. ... This is the sort of experience
one has when entertaining any proposition one
believes. Entertaining, e.g., the proposition 3
+2 =5 or Mount Everest is higher than Mount
Blanc feels different from entertaining one you
think is clearly false - 3 + 2 = 6, for example,
or Mount Blanc ts higher than Mount Everest.
The first two feel natural, right, acceptable;
the second two feel objectionable, wrong,
eminently rejectable.. . . Isay, this experience
is always connected with operations of the sen-
sus divinitatis, because always connected with
the formation or sustenance of any belief.
So all of these varieties of experience can be
found in the operation of the sensus divimitats,
doxastic experience accompanies any beliefs
formed by its operation, as it does the forma-
tion of any other belief. But, back to our ques-
}tion: shall we therefore say that knowledge
by way of the sensus divinitatis comes by way
of religious experience, that it is experiential
knowledge? Shall we say that (on the model)
the warrant it has comes from experience? I
don’t propose to answer the question. An
answer would involve a long and essentially
‘irrelevant effort to answer another question:
|“What does it mean to say that the warrant of
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
a belief comes from, or comes by way of ex-
perience, religious or otherwise?” This is an
interesting question, and a tough question
(doxastic experience always accompanies the
formation of a priori belief and scraps of sen-
suous imagery typically accompany it; does the
warrant of a priori belief therefore come from
experience?).But we don’t need an answer to
that question for our purposes. We can be sat-
isfied with an account of how (on the model)
the sensus divinitatis does in fact work; given
that account, the answer to the question
whether this is by way of experience is unim-
portant and optional.
(6) Sin and natural knowledge of God
Finally, according to the A/C model this natu-
ral knowledge of God has been compromised,
weakened, reduced, smothered, overlaid, or
impeded by sin and its consequences. . . . Due
to one cause or another, the faculty itself may
be diseased and thus partly or wholly disabled.
There is such a thing as cognitive disease; there
is blindness, deafness, inability to tell right
from wrong, insanity; and there are analogues
of these conditions with respect to the opera-
tion of the sensus divinitatis. According to
Marx and Marxists, of course, it is belief in
God that is a result of cognitive disease, of
dysfunction. In an etymological sense, Marx
thinks, the believer is insane. A milder, more
conciliatory way to put it is that the believer,
from those perspectives, is irrational; there is
a failure of rational faculties to work as they
should. But here the A/C model stands Freud
and Marx on their heads; according to the
model, it is really the unbeliever who displays
epistemic malfunction; failing to believe in
God is a result of some kind of dysfunction of
the sensus divinitatis.
And here we should note that the notion
of warrant can be usefully generalized. So far
we have thought of warrant as a property or
characteristic of beliefs; the basic idea is that a
belief enjoys warrant when it is formed by
properly functioning cognitive faculties in a
congenial epistemic environment according to
a design plan successfully aimed at truth —
291
ALVIN PLANTINGA
which includes, we should note, the avoid-
ance of error. But withholdings, failures to
believe, can also be dictated by a design plan
successfully aimed at truth and the avoidance
of error. You have conflicting evidence for the
proposition that there is intelligent life in other
parts of the universe: some of those you trust
say yes, some say no, and some say there is
little evidence either way. You therefore with-
hold that belief, believing neither that there
is nor that there isn’t life elsewhere in the
universe. Your friends with the rocky marriage
tell you conflicting stories about the latest
quarrel: by virtue of past experience in similar
situations you have learned to believe neither
story without further corroboration. Your
young son asks you how high the highest
mountain in Antarctica is; you have a dim
impression of having heard that it is in the
neighborhood at 16,000 feet, but don’t re-
ally know; you form no belief on the subject.
In all of these cases withholding is what the
design plan dictates. Thus withholding dis-
plays a sort of analogue of warrant: it, too,
can in certain circumstances, be dictated by
the proper function of cognitive faculties op-
erating in a congenial epistemic environment
according to a design plan successfully aimed
at truth and the avoidance of error.
On the other hand, if you call and ask what
I am doing at the moment and I don’t form
the belief that I am sitting at my computer
trying to work on my book, there is some-
thing wrong with my noetic establishment. I
am introduced to someone at a party; although
I have no reason to do so, I withhold the be-
lief that what I see before me is a person,
motivated by nothing more than the broadly
logical possibility that what I see is really an
extraordinarily clever hologram with sound
effects attached. I read Bertrand Russell and
see that it is possible (in the broadly logical
sense) and compatible with appearances that
the world popped into existence just five min-
utes ago, complete with all those apparent
memories, crumbling mountains, and dusty
books; as a result I withhold the belief that I
am more than five minutes old. In these cases,
292
my failure to believe is a sign, not of exem-
plary epistemic caution, but of cognitive mal-
function; these withholdings /ack the analogue
of warrant. Of course I might, in a frenzy due
to philosophical error, come to the conclu-
sion that in some way I ought not to believe
in other people; I might come to the conclu-
sion that such belief is unjustified, somehow;
and I might try not to believe in other peo-
ple. I might even succeed for brief periods in
my study. But it is exceedingly hard to main-
tain this attitude, as is demonstrated by the
famous lady who dropped Bertrand Russell a
postcard in which she wrote something like
“T agree entirely with you that solipsism is the
correct and most reasonable position: so why
aren’t there more of us solipsists?” As Hume
notoriously noted, it is exceedingly hard to
maintain this attitude for long, or outside your
sway. The fact is that someone who consist-
ently believes that she is the only person in
the universe is suffering from a serious mental
disorder, and the same is true for the person
who is merely agnostic about the existence of
other persons.
We could put the same point by saying that
some withholdings are rational and some ir-
rational. An important sense of the term “ra-
tional, . . . is one in which a belief is rational if
it is produced by rational faculties function-
ing properly. But of course the same can be
said for withholdings: they can be produced
by rational faculties functioning properly, as
in the first three examples, above, but also by
rational faculties functioning improperly, as
in the next three examples. According to the
model, the same thing can happen with re-
spect to belief in God. Failure to believe can
be due to a sort of blindness or deafness, to
improper function of the sensus divinitatis. On
the present model, such failure to believe in
irrational and such withholdings lack the ana-
logue if warrant. It doesn’t follow that it is
unjustified — if it is due solely to cognitive
malfunction, then there is no dereliction of
epistemic duty — but it is none the less irra-
tional. Contrary to a sort of ethos induced by
classical foundationalism, it is not the case that

the way to demonstrate rationality is to be-
lieve as little as possible; withholding, failure
to believe, agnosticism, is not always, from the
point ofview ofrationality, the safest and best
path. In some contexts it is instead a sign of
serious irrationality.
According to the present model, then, the
sensus divinitatis has been damaged and cor-
rupted by sin. But further, ... the sensus
divinitatis is partly healed and restored to
proper function by faith and the concomitant
work ofthe Holy Spirit in one’s heart. So the
model as so far outlined is incomplete... . But
even if incomplete, the model as so far out-
lined will suffice for present purposes. For it
shows us a sufficiently detailed way in which a
properly functioning sensus divinitatis can pro-
duce theistic belief which is (1) taken in the
basic way, and (2) so taken, can indeed have
warrant, and warrant sufficient for knowledge.
2 Is Belief in God Warrant-
Basic?
A If False, Probably Not
... Freud doesn’t really argue that theistic
belief has no warrant if taken in the basic
way: he seems to assume that such belief is
false, and then infers in rather quick and casual
fashion that it is produced by wish fulfillment
and hence doesn’t have warrant. But here (de-
spite the appearance of carelessness) perhaps
Freud’s instincts are right: I shall argue that if
theistic belief is false, but taken in the basic
way, then it probably has no warrant. First, as
we saw above, no false belief has warrant suf-
ficient for knowledge; therefore if theistic be-
lief is false, it doesn’t have that degree of
warrant. But couldn’t it none the less have at
least some warrant? There are at least two rea-
sons for thinking not. First, when does a false
belief have warrant? Typically, in a case where
the faculty that produces the belief is working
at the limit of its capability. You see a moun-
tain goat on a distant crag, and think you see
that it has horns; as a matter of fact it is just
too far away for you to see clearly that it
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
doesn’t have horns. You are a particle physi-
cist and mistakenly believe that a certain suba-
tomic model is close to the truth: working as
you are at the outer limits of the cognitive
domain for which our faculties are designed,
your belief is false but not without warrant.
But ifthere is no such person as God, then of
course there is no such thing as a sensus
divinitatis; and what truth-aimed faculty
would be such that it is working at the limit
of its ability in producing the belief that there
7s such a person as God, if that latter belief is
false? It is exceedingly hard to think of decent
candidates. Further, if your faculties are func-
tioning properly, and are not impeded by de-
sire for fame, ambition, lust, and the like, then
if they are working at the limit of their capa-
bility, you will ordinarily not believe the
proposition in question with great firmness —
you will not believe it with anything like the
degree of firmness often displayed by theistic
belief. Thus you won’t be sure that you see
horns on that goat: you will instead think to
yourself: “Well it /ooks as if it has horns, but
it’s too far away to be sure.” You won’t insist
that your physical model is correct; if you be-
lieve it is, it will be with a certain tentative-
ness. These considerations suggest that if
theistic belief is false, it is not produced by
cognitive processes successfully aimed at the
truth, and hence does not have warrant.
There is another and more important con-
sideration. We can approach it indirectly as
follows. A belief has warrant only if the cog-
nitive process that produces it is successfully
aimed at the truth; that is, only if there is a
high objective probability that a belief pro-
duced by this process is true (given that the
process is functioning properly in the sort of
epistemic environment for which it is de-
signed). Now from the fact that a beliefis false,
it doesn’t follow that it is not produced by a
process or faculty successfully aimed at truth.
It could be that on a given occasion a process
issues a false belief even though there is a sub-
stantial objective probability that any belief it
produces will be true (given the satisfaction
of the other conditions of warrant). For ex-
293
ALVIN PLANTINGA
ample, a reliable barometer may give a false
reading, due to an unusual and improbable
confluence of circumstances. Physicists tell us
that it is possible (though extremely unlikely)
that for just a moment, all the air molecules
in the room should congregate in the upper
northwest corner of the room. Suppose this
happens; at that moment the air pressure in
the vicinity of the barometer in the lower
southeast corner of the room is zero; the ba-
rometer, however, still registers 29.72, because
there hasn’t been a long enough time for it to
react to the change. The fact that it issues a
false reading under these circumstances
doesn’t mean it is not a reliable instrument.
Similarly for a cognitive process: there might
in fact be a high probability that a belief it
produces is true, despite the fact that on a
given occasion (even though the other con-
ditions of warrant are satisfied) it issues a false
belief. Couldn’t something similar hold for
the processes that produce belief in God?
Might it not be that belief in God is produced
by cognitive processes successfully aimed at
the truth, even if that belief is as a matter of
fact false?
I think not. A proposition is objectively
probable, with respect to some condition C,
only if that proposition is true in most of the
nearby possible worlds. But now consider the
process that produces theistic belief: if it is
successfully aimed at truth, then in most of
the nearby possible worlds it produces a true
belief. Assuming that in those nearby possi-
ble worlds it produces the same belief as it
does in fact — i.e., belief in God — it follows
that in most of the nearby possible worlds that
belief is in fact true; in most of the nearby
possible worlds there is such a person as God.
But that can’t be, if the fact is there is no such
person as God. For if in fact (in the actual
world) there is no such person as God, then a
world in which there 7s such a person — an
omniscient, omnipotent, wholly good person
who has created the world — would be enor-
mously, unimaginably different from the ac-
tual world, and enormously dissimilar from
it. So if there is no such person as God, it is
294
probably not the case that the process that
produces theistic belief produces a true belief
in most of the nearby possible worlds. There-
fore it is unlikely that belief in God is pro-
duced by a process that is functioning properly
in a congenial epistemic environment accord-
ing to a design plan successfully aimed at the
production of true belief. So if theistic belief
is false, it probably has no warrant. So Freud
is right: if theistic belief is false then it is at the
least very likely that it has little or no warrant.
B_ If True, Probably So
On the other hand, if theistic belief, is true,
then it seems likely that it does have warrant.
For if it is true, then there is indeed such a
person as God, a person who has created us
in his image (so that we resemble him, among
other things, in having the capacity for knowl-
edge), who loves us, and who desires that we
know and love him, and who is such that it is
our end and good to know and love him. But
if these things are so, then he would of course
intend that we be able to be aware of his pres-
ence, and to know something about him. And
if that is so, the natural thing to think is that
he created us in such a way that we would
come to hold such true beliefs as that there is
such a person as God, that he is our creator,
that we owe him obedience and worship, that
he is worthy of worship, that he loves us, and
so on. And if thatis so, then the natural thing
to think is that the cognitive processes that
do indeed produce belief in God, are aimed
by their designer at producing that belief. But
then the belief in question will be produced
by cognitive faculties functioning properly
according to a design plan successfully aimed
at truth: it will therefore have warrant. Again,
this isn’t certain; the argument is not deduc-
tively valid. It is abstractly possible, I suppose,
that God has created us with a certain faculty
f for knowing Him; for one reason or another,
f always malfunctions, and some other fac-
ulty f’ created to produce some other beliefs,
often malfunctions in such a way that 7t pro-
duces belief in God. Then our belief in God

wouldn’t have warrant, despite the fact that it
is true. (This would be something like a sort
of complex and peculiar theological Gettier
problem.) And the abstract character of this
possibility is perhaps strengthened when we
think of the fact that human beings, accord-
ing to Christian belief, have fallen into sin,
which has noetic effects as well as effects of
other sorts. Nevertheless, the epistemically
more probable thing, at least so far as I can
see, is that ifin fact theism is true, then theis-
tic belief has warrant.
Suppose we try to take a deeper look. How
could we make sense of the idea that theism is
true but belief in God doesn’t have warrant?
We’d have to suppose (1) what there is such
a person as God, who has created us in his
image, and has created us in such a way that
our chief end and good is knowledge of him,
and (2) that beliefin God, i.e. our belief in
God, human belief in God, has no warrant: is
not produced by cognitive processes success-
fully aimed at giving us true beliefs about God,
functioning properly in a congenial epistemic
environment. That is, we’d have to think that
belief in God is produced by cognitive proc-
esses that either (1) are not functioning prop-
erly (due to disease or impedance) or (2) are
not aimed at producing true beliefs about
God, or (3) are so aimed, but not successfully
aimed, or (4) the cognitive environment is
uncongenial, not one for which our faculties
are designed. But with respect to (4), we are
supposing God has created us; there seems
no reason at all to think our epistemic envi-
ronment not the one for which he created us.
(We have no reason, for example, to think that
our ancestors originated on some other planet
and made a long, hazardous journey to Earth.)
With respect to (3), since, by hypothesis, the-
istic beliefistrue, it seems that if it zs aimed at
the truth, it is successfully aimed at the truth.
That leaves us with (1) and (2). Given that
God would certainly want us to be able to
know him, the chances are excellent that he
would create us with faculties enabling us to
do just that. So the natural thing to think is
that those faculties that produce theistic be-
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
lief were indeed designed to produce that sort
of belief, and are functioning properly in so
doing. Of course it is possible, in the broadly
logical’ sense, that the faculties designed to
produce theistic belief don’t work for one rea-
son or another, and some other faculties not
aimed at producing theistic belief malfunction,
thus producing it. The same, I suppose, is
abstractly possible with respect to perception:
the original faculties whereby we knew our
environment began to malfunction, and by
some serendipitous happenstance other facul-
ties, began to malfunction in just such a way
as to produce our perceptual beliefs. Possible,
but not likely. This is an abstract possibility,
but not much more. And suppose, improb-
ably, that something like this did happen with
the original sensus divinitatis. it stopped work-
ing (perhaps as a result of sin) and some other
faculty began to malfunction and leapt into
the breach, by serendipitous happenstance
producing the very sorts of beliefs the origi-
nal sensus divimitatis did: then it would seem
likely that God has adopted this other way of
working as our design plan, so that theistic
belief does indeed have warrant, but via a sort
ofcircuitous route. The conclusion to draw, I
think, is that the epistemic probability of the-
istic beliefs being warranted, given that the-
ism is true, is very high.°®
3 The De Jure Question is not
Independent of the De Facto
Question
And here, we see, are the ontological or meta-
physical or ultimately religious roots of the
question as to the rationality or warrant or
lack thereof for beliefin God. What you prop-
erly take to be rational, at least in the sense of
warranted, depends upon what sort of meta-
physical and religious stance you adopt. It
depends upon what kind of beings you think
human beings are, and what sorts of beliefs
you think their noetic faculties will produce
when they are functioning properly, and which
of their faculties or cognitive mechanisms are
295
ALVIN PLANTINGA
aimed at the truth. Your view as to what sort
of creature a human being is will determine
or at any rate heavily influence your views as
to whether theistic beliefiswarranted or not
warranted, rational or irrational for human be-
ings. And so the dispute as to whether theis-
tic beliefis rational (warranted) can’t be settled
just by attending to epistemological consid-
erations; it is at bottom not merely an episte-
mological dispute, but an ontological or
theological dispute.
You may think humankind is created by
God in the image of God — and created both
with a natural tendency to see God’s hand in
the world about us, and with a natural ten-
dency to recognize that we have indeed been
created and are beholden to our creator, ow-
ing him worship and allegiance. Then of
course you will not think of belief in God as
in the typical case a manifestation of any kind
of intellectual defect. Nor will you think it is a
manifestation of a belief-producing power or
mechanism that is not aimed at the truth. It is
instead a cognitive mechanism whereby we are
put in touch with part of reality — indeed by
far the most important part of reality. It is in
this regard like a deliverance of sense percep-
tion, or memory, or reason, the faculty respon-
sible for a priori knowledge. On the other
hand, you may think we human beings are
the product of blind evolutionary forces; you
may think there is no God, and that we are
part of a Godless universe. Then perhaps you
will be inclined to accept the sort of view ac-
cording to which beliefin God is an illusion
of some sort, properly traced to wishful think-
ing or some other cognitive mechanism not
aimed at the truth (Freud) or to a sort of dis-
ease or dysfunction on the part of the indi-
vidual or society (Marx).
And this dependence of the question of
warrant or rationality on the truth or false-
hood of theism leads to a very interesting con-
clusion. If the warrant enjoyed by belief in
God is related in this way to the truth of that
belief, then the question whether theistic be-
lief has warrantis not after all independent of
the question whether theistic belief is true. So
296
the de jure question we finally found is not,
after all, really independent of the de facto
question; to answer the former we must an-
swer the latter. This is important: what it shows
is that a successful atheological objection will
have to be to the truth of theism, not to its
rationality, or justification, or intellectual re-
spectability, or rational justification, or what-
ever. The atheologian who wishes to attack
theistic belief will have to restrict herself to
objections like the argument from evil, or the
claim that theism is incoherent, or the idea
that in some other way there is strong evi-
dence against theistic belief. She can’t any
longer adopt the following stance: “Well, I
certainly don’t know whether theistic belief is
true — who could know a thing like that? -
but I do know this: it is irrational, or unjusti-
fied, or not rationally justified, or contrary to
reason or intellectually irresponsible or. There
really isn’t a sensible de jure question or criti-
cism that is independent of the de facto ques-
tion. There aren’t any de jure criticisms that
are sensible when conjoined with the truth of
theistic belief; all of them either fail right from
the start (as with the claim that it is unjusti-
fied to accept theistic belief) or else really pre-
suppose that theism is false. This fact by itself
invalidates an enormous amount ofrecent and
contemporary atheology; for much of that
atheology is devoted to de jure complaints that
are allegedly independent ofthe de facto ques-
tion. But if my argument so far is right, there
aren’t any sensible complaints of that sort.
(More modestly, none have been so far pro-
posed; it is always possible, I suppose, that
someone will come up with one.)
Notes
1 Summa Theologiael.q.2a.1,ad 1. In Summa
Contra Gentiles Aquinas adds that “There is a
certain general and confused knowledge of
God, which is in almost all men .. .’ (bk If
ch. 38).
2 Tr. Ford Lewis Battles and ed. John T. McNeill
(Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960). Page
references to the Institutes are to this edition.

3 Commentaries on the Epistle of Paul the Apos-
tle to the Romans, volume x1x of Calvin’s Com-
mentartes (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House,
1979; originally printed for the Calvin Trans-
lation Society of Edinburgh, Scotland), p. 70.
Perceiving God: The Epistemology of Religious
Experience (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University
WARRANTED BELIEF IN GOD
Press, 1991), ch.1, 2, 5, and 6. (Hereafter
SIRE)”
Alston issues a similar warning (PG, p. 34).
Here we must also suppose, in accord with
the conclusion of part IV of this book, that it
is not the case that those who believe in God
for the most part have defeaters for that belief.
297
Pascal’s Wager
34 From Pensées*
Blaise Pascal
But we know of his existence through faith.
In glory we will know his nature.
Now I have already shown that we can cer-
tainly know the existence of something with-
out knowing its nature.
Let us now speak according to natural lights.
If there is a God, he is infinitely beyond
our comprehension, since, having neither parts
nor limits, he bears no relation to ourselves.
We are therefore incapable of knowing either
what he is, or if he is. That being so, who will
dare to undertake a resolution of this ques-
tion? It cannot be us, who bear no relation-
ship to him.
Who will then blame the Christians for
being unable to provide a rational basis for
their belief, they who profess a religion for
which they cannot provide a rational basis?
They declare that it is a folly, stultitiam (I
Corinthians I: 18) in laying it before the world:
and then you complain that they do not prove
it! Ifthey did prove it, they would not be keep-
ing their word. It is by the lack of proof that
they do not lack sense. ‘Yes, but although that
excuses those who offer their religion as it is,
and that takes away the blame from them of
producing it without a rational basis, it does
not excuse those who accept it.’
Let us therefore examine this point, and say:
God is, or is not. But towards which side will
we lean? Reason cannot decide anything.
* From Blaise Pascal, Pensées and Other Writings, tr.
Honor Levi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995),
pp. 153-6. Reprinted with permission.
298
There is an infinite chaos separating us. At the
far end of this infinite distance a game is be-
ing played and the coin will come down heads
or tails. How will you wager? Reason cannot
make you choose one way or the other, rea-
son cannot make you defend either of the two
choices.
So do not accuse those who have made a
choice of being wrong, for you know noth-
ing about it! ‘No, but I will blame them not
for having made this choice, but for having
made any choice. For, though the one who
chooses heads and the other one are equally
wrong, they are both wrong. The right thing
is not to wager at all.’
Yes, but you have to wager. It is not up to
you, you are already committed. Which then
will you choose? Let us see. Since you have to
choose, let us see which interests you the least.
You have two things to lose: the truth and
the good, and two things to stake: your rea-
son and will, your knowledge and beatitude;
and your nature has two things to avoid: er-
ror and wretchedness. Your reason is not hurt
more by choosing one rather than the other,
since you do have to make the choice. That is
one point disposed of. But your beatitude?
Let us weigh up the gain and the loss by call-
ing heads that God exists. Let us assess the
two cases: if you win, you win everything; if
you lose, you lose nothing. Wager that he
exists then, without hesitating! “This is won-
derful. Yes, I must wager. But perhaps I am
betting too much.’ Let us see. Since there is
an equal chance of gain and loss, if you won

only two lives instead of one, you could still
put on a bet. But if there were three lives to
win, you would have to play (since you must
necessarily play), and you would be unwise,
once forced to play, not to chance your life to
win three in a game where there is an equal
chance oflosing and winning. But there is an
eternity oflife and happiness. And that being
so, even though there were an infinite number
of chances of which only one were in your
favour, you would still be right to wager one
in order to win two, and you would be acting
wrongly, since you are obliged to play, by re-
fusing to stake one life against three in a game
where out of an infinite number of chances
there is one in your favour, if there were an
infinitely happy infinity oflife to be won. But
here there is an infinitely happy infinity of life
to be won, one chance of winning against a
finite number of chances of losing, and what
you are staking is finite. That removes all
choice: wherever there is infinity and where
there is no infinity of chances of losing against
one of winning, there is no scope for waver-
ing, you have to chance everything. And thus,
as you are forced to gamble, you have to have
discarded reason if you cling on to your life,
rather than risk it for the infinite prize which
is just as likely to happen as the loss of noth-
ingness.
For it is no good saying that it is uncertain
if you will win, that it is certain you are taking
a risk, and that the infinite distance between
the CERTAINTY of what you are risking and the
UNCERTAINTY of whether you win makes the
finite good of what you are certainly risking
equal to the uncertainty of the infinite. It does
not work like that. Every gambler takes a cer-
tain risk for an uncertain gain; nevertheless he
certainly risks the finite uncertainty in order
to win a finite gain, without sinning against
reason. There is no infinite distance between
this certainty of what is being risked and the
uncertainty of what might be gained: that is
untrue. There is, indeed, an infinite distance
between the certainty of winning and the cer-
tainty of losing. But the uncertainty of win-
ning is proportional to the certainty of the risk,
FROM PENSEES
according to the chances of winning or los-
ing. And hence, if there are as many chances
on one side as on the other, the odds are even,
and then the certainty of what you risk is equal
to the uncertainty of winning. It is very far
from being infinitely distant from it. So our
argument is infinitely strong, when the finite
is at stake in a game where there are equal
chances of winning and losing, and the infi-
nite is to be won.
That is conclusive, and, if human beings are
capable of understanding any truth at all, this
is the one.
‘I confess it, I admit it, but even so... Is
there no way of seeing underneath the cards?’
‘Yes, Scripture and the rest, etc.’ ‘Yes, but my
hands are tied and I cannot speak a word. I
am being forced to wager and I am not free,
they will not let me go. And I am made in
such a way that I cannot believe. So what do
you want me to do?’ “That is true. But at least
realize that your inability to believe, since rea-
son urges you to do so and yet you cannot,
arises from your passions. So concentrate not
on convincing yourself by increasing the
number of proofs of God but on diminishing
your passions. You want to find faith and you
do not know the way? You want to cure your-
self of unbelief and you ask for the remedies?
Learn from those who have been bound like
you, and who now wager all they have. They
are people who know the road you want to
follow and have been cured of the affliction
of which you want to be cured. Follow the
way by which they began: by behaving just as
if they believed, taking holy water, having
masses said, etc. That will make you believe
quite naturally, and according to your animal
reactions.’ ‘But that is what I am afraid of.’
‘Why? What do you have to lose? In order to
show you that this is where it leads, it is be-
cause it diminishes the passions, which are your
great stumbling-blocks, etc.
‘How these words carry me away, send me
into raptures,’ etc. If these words please you
and seem worthwhile, you should know that
they are spoken by a man who knelt both be-
fore and afterwards to beg this infinite and
299
STEPHEN P. STICH
indivisible Being, to whom he submits the
whole of himself, that you should also submit
yourself, for your own good and for his glory,
and that strength might thereby be reconciled
with this lowliness.
End of this discourse.
But what harm will come to you from tak-
ing this course? You will be faithful, honest,
humble, grateful, doing good, a sincere and
true friend. It is, of course, true; you will not
35 The Recombinant DNA Debate: a Difficulty for
Pascalian-Style Wagering*
Stephen P. Stich
In the argument I want to examine the par-
ticular moral judgment being defended is that
there should be a total ban on recombinant
DNA research. The argument beings with the
observation that even in so-called low-risk
recombinant DNA experiments there is at least
a possibility of catastrophic consequences. We
are, after all, dealing with a relatively new and
unexplored technology. Thus it is at least pos-
sible that a bacterial culture whose genetic
makeup has been altered in the course of a
recombinant DNA experiment may exhibit
completely unexpected pathogenic character-
istics. Indeed, it is not impossible that we could
find ourselves confronted with a killer strain
of, say, E. cola and, worse, a strain against which
humans can marshal no natural defense. Now
if this is possible — if we cannot say with assur-
ance that the probability of it happening is
zero — then, the argument continues, all
recombinant DNA research should be halted.
For the negative utility of the imagined catas-
* From Stephen P. Stich, “The Recombinant DNA
Debate,” first published in Philosophy and Public
Affairs, 7 (1978). Reprinted with permission.
300
take part in corrupt pleasure, in glory, in the
pleasures of high living. But will you not have
others?
I tell you that you will win thereby in this
life, and that at every step you take along this
path, you will see so much certainty of win-
ning and so negligible a risk, that you will re-
alize in the end that you have wagered on
something certain and infinite, for which you
have paid nothing.
trophe is so enormous, resulting as it would
in the destruction of our society and perhaps
even of our species, that no work which could
possibly lead to this result would be worth
the risk.
The argument just sketched, which might
be called the “doomsday scenario” argument,
begins with a premise which no informed per-
son would be inclined to deny. It is indeed
possible that even a low-risk recombinant DNA
experiment might lead to totally catastrophic
results. No ironclad guarantee can be offered
that this will not happen. And while the prob-
ability of such an unanticipated catastrophe is
surely not large, there is no serious argument
that the probability is zero. Still, I think the
argument is a sophistry. To go from the unde-
niable premise that recombinant DNA research
might possibly result in unthinkable catastro-
phe to the conclusion that such research should
be banned requires a moral principle stating
that a// endeavors that might possibly result in
such a catastrophe should be prohibited. Once
the principle has been stated, it is hard to be-
lieve that anyone would take it at all seriously.
For the principle entails that, along with

recombinant DNA research, almost all scien-
tific research and many other commonplace
activities having little to do with science should
be prohibited. It is, after all, at least logically
possible that the next new compound synthe-
sized in an ongoing chemical research program
will turn out to be an uncontainable carcino-
gen many orders of magnitude more danger-
ous than aerosol plutonium. And, to vary the
example, there is a non-zero probability that
experiments in artificial pollination will produce
a weed that will, a decade from now, ruin the
world’s food grain harvest.’
I cannot resist noting that the principle in-
voked in the doomsday scenario argument is
not new. Pascal used an entirely parallel argu-
ment to show that it is in our own best inter-
ests to believe in God. For though the
probability of God’s existence may be very low,
if He none the less should happen to exist, the
disutility that would accrue to the disbeliever
would be catastrophic — an eternity in hell. But,
as introductory philosophy students should al]
know, Pascal’s argument only looks persuasive
if we take our options to be just two: Christi-
anity or atheism. A third possibility is beliefin
a jealous non-Christian God who will see to
our damnation ifand only if we are Christians.
The probability of such a deity existing is again
very small, but non-zero. So Pascal’s argument
is of no help in deciding whether or not to
accept Christianity. For we may be damned if
we do and damned if we don’t.
THE RECOMBINANT DNA DEBATE
I mention Pascal’s difficulty because there
is a direct parallel in the doomsday scenario
argument against recombinant DNA research.
Just asthere is a non-zero probability that un-
foreseen consequences of recombinant DNA
research will lead to disaster, so there is a non-
zero probability that unforeseen consequences
of failing to pursue the research will lead to
disaster. There may, for example, come a time
when, because of natural or man-induced cli-
matic change, the capacity to alter quickly the
genetic constitution of agricultural plants will
be necessary to forestall catastrophic famine.
And if we fail to pursue recombinant DNA
research now, our lack of knowledge in the
future may have consequences as dire as any
foreseen in the doomsday scenario argu-
ment...
Note
1 Unfortunately, the doomsday scenario argu-
ment is mot a straw man conjured only by those
who would refute it. Consider, for example, the
remarks of Anthony Mazzocchi, spokesman for
the Oil, Chemical and Atomic Workers Inter-
national Union, reported in Sczence News, March
19, 1977, p. 181: “When scientists argue over
safe or unsafe, we ought to be very prudent. . . .
If critics are correct and the Andromeda scen-
ario has even the smallest possibility of occurring,
we must assume it will occur on the basis of our
experience” (emphasis added).
301
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
a ——
36 A Central Theistic Argument*
a
George N. Schlesinger
Introduction
Pascal’s wager is as a rule more easily appreci-
ated than any other argument in support of
religious belief. After all, the locution (which
represents the essential structure of the wager),
“T have nothing to lose and everything to gain
by doing such and such,” is a common one
and readily understood by everybody.
At the same time the wager has been the
target of a number of objections. I propose
here to deal with three of these; two are widely
known, whereas the third is of very recent
origin. Finaliy, I also point out that the grav-
est objection to the wager requires a reply that
is based on an argument indispensable in the
context of nearly all other theistic proofs.
Hence, that argument (of which three differ-
ent versions are considered in sections 6 and
7) may well be regarded as the most central
theistic argument.
The first objection has no great logical
force but carries considerable psychological
weight. It is unique in so far that it contends
not so much that the wager violates the rules
of sound thinking and is therefore invalid but
rather that it is repugnant, and in a religious
context, it is especially unseemly. The sec-
ond objection contends that even if the ar-
gument were logically impeccable it would
lead nowhere. The last one, surprisingly
enough, claims that it is overly effective, so
much so that it should not at all matter what
an individual does or fails to do, because he
or she is by virtue of the wager in a maximally
*From Gambling on God: Essays on Pascal’s Wager,
ed. Jeff Jordan (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield,
1994), pp. 83-99, Reprinted with permission.
302
advantageous position anyway with regard to
eternal salvation.
The Wager and Greed
It is common knowledge that many well-
intentioned individuals reject the wager for
reasons that do not require much philosophi-
cal sophistication. They find it mercenary.
They believe it appeals to the scheming, cal-
culating self and are thus repelled by it. With-
out delving deep into theological issues, it has
seemed to many that applying betting rules,
relevant to moneymaking ventures, to a sup-
posedly infinitely more exalted subject to lure
skeptics by appealing to their grasping instincts
offends religious proprieties.
People have found absurd the very notion
that there may be any comparison between
the seeker of atranscendent goal in life and a
patron ofagambling house. We need not as-
sume that greed as such is held generally in
our highly acquisitive society in intense con-
tempt. In the present context, however, it
appears to offend the very spirit of what one
is supposed to pursue. The essence of religion
is generally perceived as the conviction that
all profane, self-seeking ambitions are incom-
patible with the quest for piety. The religious
seeker is not one to be mired in self-indul-
gent pursuits but passionately devotes oneself
to much nobler and more ultimate concerns.
Now of course Pascal was quite explicit in
saying that the skeptic’s wagering on God is
no more than a first step, and those who take
no further steps will have achieved nothing.
However, his advice to the wagerer is to start
behaving as one would if one actually believed,

because Pascal believed that such conduct is
likely to lead to a truly dedicated life in the
service of God. By starting to observe the ritu-
als of religion, associating with pious persons,
and studying the sacred literature, individuals
are likely to transform their sentiments and
feelings and eventually acquire genuine belief.
Yet Pascal’s reply has failed to satisfy many
of his critics. If grasping is incompatible with
the spirit of religion, then it is not to be used
as a vehicle with which to reach any destina-
tion. Noble ends are debased when pursued
by ignoble means.
Pascal’s supporters at this stage are usually
inclined to offer distinctions between means
that do not and means that do justify their
end. I believe a more important point should
be made: we are free to assume that no objec-
tive is ever hallowed enough that it should be
impermissible to reach it by anything but im-
peccable means.
First, a relatively simple point about the
offensiveness of greed. Suppose there is a per-
son of an extraordinarily high income who
gives away almost all his money to charity,
retaining only what is necessary for bare ex-
istence. Furthermore, this individual does not
seek the gratitude of the beneficiaries of these
donations nor the admiration of the commu-
nity. In fact, this person always makes every
possible effort to ensure that no one should
be aware of these humanitarian activities. De-
spite all this, it is conceivable that he could be
charged with selfishness and greed: he is surely
aware of his almost unparalleled, heroic, moral
accomplishments. Evidently therefore he is a
highly greedy individual; what he apparently
craves is not material possessions nor the pres-
tige accorded for outstanding philanthropy
but the ability to relish the knowledge that he
has outdone practically everyone in his con-
tempt for stinginess, in his indifference for
fame and praise, and the ability to enjoy the
deep satisfaction of having been able to reach
the pinnacle of otherdirectedness and the
heights of noble magnanimity free of the
slightest taint of petty self-regard.
Clearly, if we were to take this line, then
A CENTRAL THEISTIC ARGUMENT
we would be forced to conclude that every
act which fulfills some wish is greedy and self-
ish and no freely willed act would ever be free
of sin. Thus, the sensible thing to say is that
the pursuit of a quest is deplorable when it
brings harm either to others or to oneself in
the sense that it debases the questing indi-
vidual (which Pascal calls “poisonous pleas-
ures”) who could instead strive for more
refined, higher order, life-enhancing pleasures.
Now the pleasure that Pascal holds up be-
fore his “calculating clients” is of the most
exalted kind, one that is simply inaccessible
to an individual who has not spent life pas-
sionately serving the Master of the Universe
and thereby developing and perfecting one’s
soul, without which one lacks the capacity to
partake in the transmundane bliss available to
the select few. Only the suitably groomed soul,
when released from its earthly fetters, will bask
in the radiance of the Divine presence and
delight in the adoring communion with a lov-
ing God. If craving for such an end is a mani-
festation of greed, then it is the manifestation
ofa noble greed that is to be acclaimed. There-
fore, only if one were to assume that the ulti-
mate reward of the righteous is the satisfaction
of some cruder yearnings could one charge a
follower of Pascal with trying to enkindle our
unseemly mercenary motives.
Practice and Belief
However, a more important point needs to
be made as well. The essence of true religion
is not the intellectual assent to a set of propo-
sitions nor is it the verbal profession of cer-
tain beliefs. It is a full commitment and
devotion, having one’s heart and soul virtu-
ally consumed by a deep reverence and love
of God. Maimonides wrote:
What is the proper love of God? It is the love of
the Lord with a great and very strong love so
that one’s soul shall be tied to the love of the
Lord, and one should be continually enraptured
by it, like a lovesick individual.!
303
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
The immediate question one is bound to ask
is, how does one achieve such a state of mind?
Belief might be obtained through compelling
arguments, or credible evidence, but surely
exaltation or love is not an epistemic univer-
sal and cannot be planted into one’s heart by
the methodological rules of knowledge acqui-
sition.
A very brief answer has been hinted at by
the sagacious Hillel, who, as the famous story
goes, was approached by someone demand-
ing to be taught the whole Law while stand-
ing on one foot. Hillel agreed and informed
the man that the single sentence, “Whatever
is hateful to you do not do it to your fellow-
human,” contains the essence ofall there is to
be learned.” Hillel’s fascinating precis of the
Law raises many problems. One of them is in
Leviticus 19:18: it says, “You all love your fel-
low-human as yourself.” Why did he believe
it necessary to change the wording of the
Scriptures? This particular question may have
a simple answer, namely, Hillel realized that
one cannot be commanded to have certain
sentiments; I could be ordered to act or to
refrain from acting in a certain way but not to
love someone I happen to dislike. Thus, to
reach the stage that the Scripture prescribes
where one actually loves other human beings,
we have to begin with the kind of behavior
that is always associated with such a sentiment,
that is, our practical conduct toward our fel-
low humans should be like that toward our
own self: never actually do anything injurious
to their interests. Desirable behavior is as-
sumed to generate eventually desirable feel-
ings.
Hillel’s insight should be applied in the
context of one’s relation to God as well. The
twelfth-century poet-philosopher Judah
Halevi was quite explicit on this point, “Man
can reach God only by doing His commands”
(Cuzari, 2.46). Good thoughts, on their own,
are too fleeting and insubstantial, and physi-
cal acts are concrete; when one has trained
oneself to act in accordance with the dictates
of religion and actual behavior closely resem-
bles the behavior of those who possess truly
304
deep religious sentiments, then one has pro-
vided oneself with the proper grounds on
which fervent love for the Divine may grow.
The theory behind this view may be compared
with what today is called “behavior modifica-
tion.” This kind of therapy is based on the
belief that it is possible to induce feelings of
aversion to what is harmful and a natural de-
sire for what is beneficial through adopting
certain patterns of behavior. On the more ex-
treme version of this view (as held by Halevi),
it is not merely possible but essential to begin
one’s journey toward authentic theism by
looking on the practices mandated by religion
as the proper first step toward genuine piety.
On this view, the wagerer who starts out sat-
isfying the demands of faith before having
acquired actual belief is not merely doing what
is calculating and mercenary nor even that
which is merely commendable but is engaged
in what is absolutely indispensable for reach-
ing the noble objective that is sought.
Are There Infinitely Many
Equally Viable Hypotheses?
The second, oft-repeated objection is a rela-
tively powerful, clearly articulated objection,
known as the “many-gods objection.” Pascal
has been charged with making the unwar-
ranted assumption that the problem facing the
agnostic is confined to the question of which
of two options to choose. In reality, however,
in addition to the God ofthe theist, there are
any number of other possible ones as well.
How is the wagerer to assess the relative ben-
efits associated with betting on Osiris, Baal,
Dagon, Zeus, or Blodenwedd? Pascal provides
no argument to guide us to the right deity,
worshiping whom one is most likely to secure
oneself eternal salvation.
Before attempting to advance any reply, I
should point out that though the objection
is, as already mentioned, a serious one, we find
in the literature several versions, depicting a
far more threatening portrayal ofthe difficulty
than it is in reality. Richard Gale, for exam-

ple, sees the following devastating conse-
quences of the many-gods objection:
... from the fact that it is logically possible that
God exists it does not follow that the product of
the probability of his existence and an infinite
number is infinite. In a fair lottery with a
denumerable infinity of tickets, for each ticket it
is true that it is logically possible that it will win,
but the probability of its doing so is infinitesimal
and the product of an infinitesimal and an infi-
nite number is itself infinitesimal. Thus the ex-
pected gain of buying a ticket is not infinite but
infinitesimal. There is at least a denumerable in-
finity of logically possible deities ... and thus
betting on any one of them the expected gain is
zero according to this argument.
The opponents of the wager have had the
tendency to magnify the gravity of the prob-
lem by overcalculating the number of alter-
natives available for the religious seeker and
hence depicting Pascal’s counsel as quite hope-
lessly arbitrary. For example, J. L. Mackie, who
lists a number of possible deities that seem to
have escaped Pascal’s notice, also mentions,
... that there might be a god who looked with
more favor on honest doubters or atheists who,
in Hume’s words, proportioned their belief to
the evidence, than on mercenary manipulators
of their own understanding. Indeed, this would
follow from the ascription to God of moral
goodness in any sense we can understand.*
Also fairly often heard is the argument that
among the infinitely many possible deities, we
must not overlook one who grants eternal re-
ward to those who firmly deny the existence
of a theistic God and punishes all those who
believe in him.
Richard Gale goes even further, suggesting
that
there is the logically possible deity who rewards
with infinite felicity all and only those who be-
lieve in him and step on only one sidewalk crack
in the course of their life, as well as the two-
crack deity, the three-crack deity, and so on ad
infinitum.°
A CENTRAL THEISTIC ARGUMENT
There are several lines one may adopt to meet
this kind of objection. One may be based on
the realization that Pascal is addressing indi-
viduals who, though they may be hardened
in their disbelief, do have a notion of what
genuine religion is about. In other words,
though they deny its truth, they acknowledge
its meaningfulness and understand that it is
based on a highly optimistic view of human
potential and of the sublime possible level of
existence it postulates. It is a necessary pre-
supposition of the wager that one understands
that the notion of “genuine religion” is con-
ceptually associated with a number of other
exalted notions, and those people whom Pas-
cal addresses are to be assumed to have a ba-
sic grasp of the sublime concerns of its devout
practitioners. Divine worship in an authentic
sense (as distinct from a pagan sense, where
one is trying to propitiate the supernatural
powers on whose whims one’s fate depends)
is in no way to be likened to a commercial
transaction. Whatever the probability of the
existence of an afterlife worth seeking with all
one’s might is, it is certainly not to be viewed
as a place to which one may be admitted after
one has paid the amount demanded by its
Divine Proprietor. “The service of God is not
intended for God’s perfection; it is intended
for our own perfection,” says Maimonides. On
this view, an individual who has devoted his
or her life to Divine service has nurtured and
refined his or her soul, rendering it capable of
receiving and finding felicity in the celestial
radiance available for those prepared to ab-
sorb it. In brief, the wagerer is supposed to
appreciate that in the context of theism, highly
involved systems of theologies have been de-
veloped over the centuries, theologies that
have an internal coherence and consist of many
propositions with an appeal to the intellect as
well as to the nobler, human sentiments.
Nothing of this sort exists in the context
of, say, the sidewalk deity. It is difficult to
conceive a reason why one should come to
love such a being or why one should desire to
be in its proximity. Ofcourse, one might claim
that without any rhyme or reason it capri-
305
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
ciously rewards those who obey its arbitrary
demands. Still, a Pascalian would insist that
because a good portion of theistic belief is in
harmony with natural, noble aspirations and
is embedded in highly developed theology, it
has to be ascribed a considerably higher prob-
ability than those with little appeal to the hu-
man mind and heart.
Thus, we are permitted to assert the fol-
lowing: if we were to agree that different dei-
ties have different probabilities, then even if
there are infinitely many candidates for the
office of the Master of the Universe, it does
not follow that each has zero probability. One
may, if one wants to, ascribe a finite value to
the probability of the existence of each one of
them and yet obtain a sum total of all these
(which is the value of the probability of the
infinite disjunction of “Zeus exists OR Baal
exists OR etc.”), an amount that does not
exceed one. This should be the case if the vari-
ous finite probabilities are members of a con-
vergent series, for instance, the sum of the
series 4+ %4+ %+... never actually reaches
one. This should be sufficient to lay to rest
Gale’s fear that if “there is at least a denumer-
able infinity of logically possible deities ...
[then] betting on any one of them the ex-
pected gain is zero.”
The Criterion for Betting When
the Expected Utilities Are
Infinite
I submit a crucial point, one that is contrary
to what numerous philosophers hold, namely,
that when each possible outcome carries an
infinite expected value, it is rational to bet on
the outcome most probable to occur. Are
there solid grounds for my hypothesis? Let
me first point out that grounds are provided
for this view by common sense (which in it-
self would not be sufficient to establish my
point). Anyone wishing to verify this experi-
mentally may consider the following two cases,
A and B:
306
A = Of the billions of people alive at the present
moment, one and only one is going to enjoy
eternal salvation, whereas the rest vanish into
nothingness after completing their lives upon
this earth. A truly randomizing device is going
to determine the identity of the single lucky in-
dividual.
B = Of the billions of people alive at the present
moment, one and only one is going to vanish
into nothingness after completing one’s exist-
ence upon this planet; the rest are going to en-
joy eternal salvation. A truly randomizing device
is going to determine the identity of the one
unlucky individual.
Now, without offering preliminary explana-
tions, ask any number of individuals (and you
may include among them some mathemati-
cians) which case they would prefer to obtain?
If my experience is reliable to any degree, rarely
if ever does anybody argue: although if B is
true then I am a billion times more likely to
be among the blessed, this is quite irrelevant;
the expected utilities are equal and therefore
it makes no difference which is true.
Now let us look at a truly compelling argu-
ment. In cases where the mathematical expec-
tations are infinite, the criterion for choosing
the outcome to bet on is its probability. In all
betting situations the sum I am charged to
participate I am charged with certainty,
whereas the prize I may receive is uncertain.
Fairness demands that I be compensated
through being charged less than the value of
the prize and proportionately so, that is, the
lower the probability of winning, the less I
should be charged. Thus, it is obvious that
the same set of rules cannot apply in case the
prize is infinite, as in other cases. Justice can-
not demand that the cost for being permitted
to bet should equal the expected utilities, be-
cause then the fair cost should be infinite. But
that is absurd: why should I definitely pay an
infinite amount for a less than certain chance
of winning back the same amount? It is evi-
dent therefore that the situation demands that
a different principle must be guiding a wa-
gerer faced with the problem of which of the

various outcomes — each associated with infi-
nite utilities — to choose. Because neither ex-
pected utilities nor the magnitude ofthe prize
can serve as one’s criterion, by elimination it
should be reasonable to be guided by the value
of the probability: wager on the outcome that
is most likely to materialize.
Deities with Different Degrees of
Plausibility
Let us consider a number of possible solutions
to the many-gods problem. First, it is reason-
able that a scrupulously just deity who ensures
that each person’s celestial reward is in direct
proportion to the amount of energy and time
invested throughout one’s earthly life to the
refinement of one’s soul so as to increase its
susceptibility to that reward, is considerably
more probable than a fancy-bred capricious
power whose awards are not in any obvious
way related to earning, meriting, or the en-
hanced quality of the receptivity or atonement
of the worshipper. Thus, we regard it at least
fairly plausible that a deity may exist who does
not hand out compensation or reimbursement
for the trouble his adherents have gone
through in serving him but who is so exalted
that it seems reasonable to assume that the
highest form of felicity is to center one’s life
around him. The most important task is to
do everything in one’s power to adjust and
attune one’s soul so that it has the capacity of
fully resonating with the celestial radiance in
which it will be submerged. A mere century
or two ago theists did not recoil from using
such locutions and were unembarrassed by
what today may strike some as inflated gran-
diloquence. Thus we find the eighteenth-
century poet and theologian M. H. Luzatto
making (in his widely studied Mesilat
Yesharim) the brief statement, because he re-
garded the matter too obvious to require
elaboration, “Man came into the world only
to achieve nearness to God.” Surely such a
view is bound to permeate every act and every
thought of its adherent; it is part of an inclu-
A CENTRAL THEISTIC ARGUMENT
sive outlook on life and belongs to an exten-
sive system of interconnected propositions.
Furthermore, in the context of the sublime
god of the theist, many found it not unrea-
sonable to view life’s many trials and tribula-
tions as instruments of soul-making or in any
case as Means to an end that may surpass our
understanding. On the other hand, when re-
ferring to deities devoid of the various glori-
ous Divine attributes, it seems more natural
to speak like Gloucester: “As flies to wanton
boys, are we to the gods/They kill us for their
sport.”
Thus, the hypothesis is that “a God of faith-
fulness and without iniquity [one who is] just
and right ...” (Deuteronomy 31: 4), who
therefore can be a source of emulation and
inspiration and whose attributes altogether
resonate with our nobler sentiments, makes a
great deal of sense and it is therefore reason-
able to ascribe a higher probability to his ex-
istence than to an unprincipled, arbitrarily
acting, wanton god. And if this is conceded,
then it should also seem sensible to hold that
the greater those sublime properties, the
greater the likelihood the one exemplifying
them exists. Hence, the being greater than
which is inconceivable, who possesses them
to a maximum degree, is to be regarded more
probable than any other deity.
Simplicity
The Cambridge statistician H. Jeffreys has
shown in the 1920s that whenever we have a
finite set of experimental results there are in-
definitely many hypotheses that satisfy each
result. The only way to select the hypothesis
to be adopted is by following the principle of
simplicity: of all the equally well-confirmed
hypotheses, select the one that is simpler than
all the others. It is crucial to realize that Jeffreys
does not refer to the simplicity of structure of
the systems involved or the simplicity of use
and so on; he refers solely to descriptive sim-
plicity and says that among the various expres-
sions that represent the law, we are to adopt
307
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
the one consisting of the minimal number of
terms. It is also worth noting that Jeffreys’ is
not a prescriptive but a descriptive principle:
scientists have followed it for hundreds of years
without explicitly being aware of it, simply
because it has never been articulated before
that of the indefinitely many alternative hy-
potheses present in all cases.
Many people willingly concede that the
rules of rational reasoning are invariant with
subject matter. Consequently, after Pascal has
convinced us that we should wager on some
supernatural power, we are confronted with
the problem of which of the many possible
such powers to adopt. In the absence of any
facts to assist us, it stands to reason that we
should have to use Jeftreys’ principle. It is fairly
easy to see that the theistic hypothesis is the
simplest in the sense specified by Jeffreys.
It is the simplest because it is the only hy-
pothesis that may be expressed with the use
of a single predicate: to describe the God of
the theist all that is needed is that he is an
absolutely perfect being. By contrast, a state-
ment positing the existence of any deity less
than absolutely perfect will be relatively com-
plex. For example, though there is a large body
of ancient Greek literature concerning Zeus,
there are still many aspects of Zeus’s charac-
ter that remain unknown to us. We know for
instance that he was sometimes asleep, but we
have no idea how many hours of sleep he
needed and what effect sleeplessness had on
him. We also know that he ate and drank, but
not how much or whether he occasionally
overgorged himself or how long he could go
without any food at all, and so on.
The Principle of Sufficient
Reason
Finally, I should advance an argument based
on the principle of sufficient reason why the
wagerer should go for the being greater than
which is not conceivable. Before doing so, I
believe it is necessary to defend the principle
because many contemporary philosophers
308
deny its validity. J. L. Mackie was speaking
for a large number of adherents of empiricism
when he said, “There is no sufficient reason
to regard the principle of sufficient reason to
be valid.”° Levelheaded empiricists are not
supposed to subscribe to a priori principles.
For this reason, the majority of contemporary
writers strongly object to ascribing equal prob-
abilities on the basis of principle of indiffer-
ence, which is no more than a variation on
the principle of sufficient reason (PSR).
It seems to me that these objections are
based on a serious misconception. They are
mostly based on the refusal to acknowledge
that “experience is mute” and that it is neces-
sary to assume some unconfirmed principles
before we are able to surmise what it tells us.
As a matter of fact, no empirically confirmed
statement can be found anywhere that did not
rely on the PSR. The following illustrate the
wide range of its application.
(1) It is universally held that there is, for
instance, overwhelming inductive evidence
that the melting point of gold is 1,604 de-
grees Celsius. It is common knowledge, how-
ever, that it is illegitimate to argue inductively
from biased sample classes. Thus, the ques-
tion arises why do physicists feel entitled to
maintain that 1,064 degrees Celsius is likely
to remain the melting point of gold when all
their evidence is based on a biased sample class:
all the samples of gold hitherto melted oc-
curred in a universe in which the density of
matter (which keeps decreasing) was higher,
the scaling factor (which is constantly increas-
ing) was lower, and the velocity of the uni-
verse’s expansion (which according to some
cosmologists keeps decreasing all the time) was
higher than at this crucial moment.
The answer is not that we have no grounds
on which to assume that these changes are
relevant to the melting point of any metal. In
the past, serious biases turned out to be fac-
tors we never suspected before of having rel-
evance: all swans were thought to be white,
and the fact that the sample class on which
this conclusion was based included only non-
Australian swans had not occurred to anyone

to be of concern. The presumed law that mat-
ter cannot be destroyed was based on the fail-
ure of every conceivable attempt to do so; you
may break, grind, melt, boil and evaporate,
or burn to ashes any lump of matter without
succeeding to alter the amount in which it
continues to exist. The fact that no relevant
observations have been made under exceed-
ingly large pressures and temperatures, the
kind of which prevail at the center of the sun
where matter does diminish through part of
it transforming into energy, did not seem to
constitute a source of worry. Indeed, at the
pre-twentieth-century knowledge of what
processes take place on the subatomic level,
there was no reason why one should suspect
that pressure and temperature had relevance
to the issue of the conservation of matter.
Similarly, our knowledge of physics may be
still too deficient for us to be able to see why
the scaling factor of the universe should in-
fluence the melting point of anything.
The correct answer has to be that we are
aware of the possibility of having arrived at
our conclusion through the use of a biased
sample class, and consequently there are two
lines of action available to us. One is to make
no predictions at all. This, of course, would
imply the complete paralysis of the scientific
enterprise, which we should want to resist if
at all possible. The alternative is to make use
of the principle of sufficient reason. In the
particular context of the melting point of gold,
we then proceed in the following manner: in
the past the melting point of gold has always
been observed to be 1,064 degrees Celsius.
In the future it may be different. However,
there is no good reason to believe that the
melting point will be higher than it will be
lower or vice versa. Thus, as long as not proven
otherwise, we make the unique prediction that
it will be neither higher nor lower but will
continue to remain the same as in the past.
(2) It was mentioned before that when-
ever we have a finite set of experimental re-
sults there are indefinitely many hypotheses
that satisfy each result and that the accepted
practice is to select the hypothesis to be
A CENTRAL THEISTIC ARGUMENT
adopted by following the principle of simplic-
ity: of all the equally well-confirmed hypoth-
eses, select the one that is simpler than all the
others. What justification is there for this rule?
One isthe PSR. Should we suggest that some
alternative hypotheses be adopted it will im-
mediately be asked: what reason is there to
make this particular choice? Why not select a
simpler or a more complicated hypothesis?
However, the simplest hypothesis has an edge
over all others. It is unique. It is the only one
in connection with which it is not possible to
ask why not choose a simpler hypothesis. We
thus justify our selection on the basis of the
chosen hypothesis having a significant feature
no other hypothesis has. The most complex
hypothesis would also have such a feature ex-
cept that it does not exist (just as the largest
integer does not exist).
(3) A strong illustration of how compel-
ling the PSR is is the fact that even mathemati-
cians have found it useful as a principle of
plausible reasoning. L. C. Larson in his highly
influential book poses the problem: of all the
rectangles which can be inscribed in a given
circle, which has greatest area? Larson suggests,
The principle of insufficient reason leads to sus-
pect the rectangle of maximum area that can be
inscribed in a circle is a square.
He then goes on to give a rigorous proof of
his conjecture without regarding it as neces-
sary to elaborate how precisely the principle
led him to it. It is reasonable to assume that
what Larson had in mind was that if it were
suggested that the sought-after rectangle was
one with length x and width x + m then of
course the rectangle with length « + m and
width x must also have the maximum area.
And if there are indeed two rectangles with
maximum area, then, of course, there are in-
finitely many couples that might possibly be
the ones we are after. There is, however, one
rectangle that is unique in the sense that it
has no counterpart: the rectangle with equal
length and width. It “stands to reason” that
this is the privileged figure we are after.
309
GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
(4) Some 2,400 years ago Democritus
argued,
that there are infinite worlds, hypothesizing that
the void is infinite; for why would this part of
the void be filled by a world, but that part not?
So, if there is a world in one part of the void,
then also in all the void. So, since the void is
infinite, the worlds will be infinite too.
Democritus’s hypothesis would warrant de-
tailed study; here I can point out only first of
all that his “worlds,” unlike what we mean
when referring to various possible worlds, are
not necessarily causally separated from one
another and also that he thought of the ac-
tual world as having tiny size as compared with
what we believe it to be. Yet his hypothesis
may be said to have survived to this very day
in the form of the far-reaching cosmological
principle. It asserts that the universe is the same
(i.e. the distribution of galaxies, stars, and
planets) everywhere in space (apart from ir-
regularities ofa local nature), or that the uni-
verse is homogeneous.
The reasoning behind Democritus’s hy-
pothesis is once more based on the PSR. Sup-
pose it were suggested that there exist some
finite number » worlds. We would be at loss
to offer a reason why it was not a number less
or greater than 7. However, if 7 is infinite then
a unique reason can be given why it is not
larger than m.
This last example is of special significance
as it shows that the PSR, which is customarily
associated with the name of Leibniz, who in-
deed applied it to numerous issues, was known
and made use of two thousand years before
him. It provides therefore further evidence of
the universal appeal of the PSR and its central
role in all our conceptual schemes.
Suppose someone subscribed to a religion
that was based on the belief that the deity
governing the universe was very benevolent
but not absolutely so, possessing merely 95
percent of full benevolence. (It is not impor-
tant for our purposes to describe how we com-
pute the numerical degree of benevolence.)
We might then ask an adherent of this reli-
310
gion: why not ascribe to your deity 96 per-
cent or 94 percent benevolence? No reason-
able answer seems available. On the other
hand, the theist, when faced with a similar
inquiry, might appeal to the PSR. If one set-
tles for any number, like 95 percent, no sufhi-
cient reason seems to be available: why not
have more or why not have less. However, a
reason may be offered for 100 percent benevo-
lence: it is of aunique magnitude, as it is im-
possible to have more. Suppose someone were
to ask: but by the same principle you might as
well ascribe 0 percent benevolence and explain
your doing so by saying that having less than
it is impossible? To this, as mentioned before,
the theist reply would be that such a being is
not a fit deity to worship, and thus one is to
ascribe considerably lower probability to its
existence.
Why Wager at All?
We are now in the position to reply to an in-
genious objection raised by Antony Duff. Duff
points out that the wager works regardless how
small the probability, as long as its value is
not zero, and that one is going to be the re-
cipient of infinite salvation. If so, he argues, it
is quite superfluous that I should follow Pas-
cal’s advice and begin acting religiously and
make every effort to acquire faith, because,
. . suppose I take no steps to make it more likely
that I will come to believe in God. There must
be some probability, however small, that I will
nonetheless come to believe in Him . . . and that
probability is enough to generate an infinite
expected value for my actions.’
Now we have at least two answers to Duff's
objection. The briefer answer is to recall the
idea advanced previously that it is untenable
to maintain that because of the infinitude of
the reward it makes no difference how prob-
able is its acquisition. We are instead to as-
sume that it is important to try and increase
the probability of obtaining the prospective
prize.

The second answer would be based on the
principle that a rational wagerer will always
want to bet on the outcome associated with
the highest expected utilities. But is it possi-
ble to gain anything more than infinite salva-
tion? The answer is, in an appropriate sense,
yes! An infinitely long string, for example, may
be increased in width, or in mass per unit
length, and so on. Similarly, eternal life, which
of course is infinitely long and cannot be in-
creased in length, may vary in the degree of
its depth, intensity, exquisiteness, and so on,
during every moment for the eternal duration
of that felicitous state. Once we are prepared
to entertain the possibility of an afterlife, we
are likely to find it reasonable to go along with
the traditional view that the magnificence of
posthumous reward varies directly with the
quality and the portion of the time at one’s
disposal as well as the magnitude of the exer-
tion invested in acts of piety.
It should also be recalled that as soon as an
individual embarks on the road that offers the
best chance to lead to the acquisition of genu-
ine religious faith, one is already set on the
path of the righteous and is already engaged
in the service of God. Clearly, therefore, one
who acts upon Pascal’s call at once, rather than
waiting for the not entirely improbable inspi-
ration to light unassisted upon him at some
later time, places oneselfin a far more favorable
position with respect to the amount of time
spent on the purification of one’s soul. Thus,
even if we conceded that in the context of
eternal salvation the value of probability plays
no role, the individual following Duffs ad-
vice would engage in a conduct associated with
a prize of lower quality and thus with lower
expected utilities.
A Common Feature to Almost
All Theistic Argument
One of the most commonly cited theistic
proofs is the Argument from Design. It is
based on the wonders of nature we see around
us that are unlikely to be, or perhaps unthink-
A CENTRAL THEISTIC ARGUMENT
able that they should be, the results of blind
forces. Now even if we regard the argument
absolutely compelling, it establishes at most —
as was pointed out by Hume — that there ex-
ists a ereator who is many hundreds times
more powerful and intelligent than ourselves.
But such a creator’s power and intelligence
may still fall infinitely short of Omnipotence
and Omniscience. About benevolence the ar-
gument says even less, and the same goes for
Omnipresence or Immutability.
Another famous argument is the
Cosmological Argument. It shares all the
weaknesses just mentioned in connection with
the Argument from Design. Indeed, it should
be obvious that all other arguments in sup-
port of theism (with the exception of the
Ontological Argument, of which only a few
would claim to have achieved full clarity) face
the many gods objection.
Thus, an individual making use of any of
numerous known arguments for the existence
of God can get no further than to conclude
that there exists some supernatural power and
intelligence behind the material universe. That
individual is thus facing the need to choose
among the various candidates who may fulfill
this function.
It seems reasonable to conjecture that what-
ever is deemed the best justification for the
theist’s choice in one context is also likely to
be so in other contexts as well. Therefore, the
most acceptable reply to the many-gods ob-
jection may well be regarded as an argument
of wide application and thus of central im-
portance in the context of theistic arguments
in general.
One of the striking features ofPascal’s wager
is surely the fact that the most often cited
stumbling block it runs into has been the
many-gods objection, whereas in the context
of theistic arguments, I venture to suggest that
this may be read as an indication of the unique
strength of the wager. The reason why the
many-gods objection has been raised less fre-
quently in the context of the wager was be-
cause skeptics felt able to clip the wings of a
putative argument at the very initial stages,
cay)
 GEORGE N. SCHLESINGER
before it could get off the ground and thus
prevent even the conclusion that some super-
natural being is to be assumed.
Thus, the Argument from Design is nipped
in the bud by insisting that the universe does
not exhibit any signs of design; the
Cosmological Argument has been cut short
because of its alleged, unwarranted, basic as-
sumption that there can be no uncaused con-
tingent particulars. On the other hand, it
seems that no serious defect could be discov-
ered in Pascal’s wager before it reached the
relatively advanced stage of establishing the
reasonableness of assuming the existence of
some transmundane force.
312
Notes
1 Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Teshuvah, x.
Shabbat, 31b.
On the Nature and Existence of God (Cam-
bridge, 1991), p. 350.
The Miracle of Theism (Oxford, 1982), p. 203.
Gale, On the Nature and Existence of God,
p. 350.
“Three Steps Toward Absolutism,” Space,
Time and Causality, ed. R. Swinburne
(Dordrecht, 1981), p. 6.
“Pascal’s Wager and Infinite Utilities,” Analy-
sts, 46 (1986), p. 107.
 PART FIVE

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Introduction

Miracles
37 Of Miracles
Davip HuME
38 From A Dialogue Concerning Heresies
THomas More
39 Miracles and (Christian) Theism
J. A. Cover

Prayer
40 Petitionary Prayer
ELEONORE STUMP

Soul
41 The Future of the Soul
RICHARD SWINBURNE
42 From Neurophilosophy: Toward a Unified Science ofthe
Mind-Brain
PATRICIA SMITH CHURCHLAND
43 Materialism and Survival
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN

Revelation
44 Are We Entitled?
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTOREE
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Introduction
In this Part we turn from considering the ques-
tion oftheistic belief generally in order to ex-
amine specific religious beliefs and practices.
Even if theistic belief generally is justifiable,
one might think that belief in miracles or
prayer is, for example, still not philosophically
in order. The Readings in this Part will take
up such issues.
Traditional versions of theism have held
without exception that God can and does oc-
casionally intervene directly in the affairs of
the universe. The miraculous interventions are
usually regarded as entailing violations of natu-
ral laws. The reason is straightforward (though
as we will see below, not obviously correct): if
the event in question was determined to hap-
pen by some prior state of the world and the
laws of nature, then is no reason to regard it
as divine “intervention.” Thus, if an event
occurs as a result of divine intervention, it must
mean that the event’s occurrence cannot be
explained in terms of the laws of nature, and
that the event is thereby a violation of these
laws.
In the most famous essay on the topic of
miracles, the eighteenth-century Scottish phi-
losopher David Hume argues that even if mira-
cles were to occur it would never be rational
for us to believe that they did. To see why
Hume thinks this, consider a case in which I
witness (or am told by a witness) of an event
which violates a law of nature. I must decide
whether to believe that a miracle did occur
and that a law was thus violated, or not. What
evidence is there on either side? In favor of
the law being (always, unexceptionably) true,
I have the weight of all my experiences of na-
ture following a uniform course. In favor of
the claim that a violation occurred, I have at
best one observation (or one bit of testimony).
Which evidence is stronger? Clearly the weight
of all my prior experience. Thus, since believ-
ing in miracles would always require rejecting
the weight of all my experience in order to
favor one experience (or bit of testimony), it
is always more rational to reject the claim that
I (or someone else) actually witnesses a mira-
cle. Thus, on Hume’s view, it is never rational
for me to believe that an event I witness (or
about which I am told) is a violation ofa law
of nature. Thus, it is never rational for me to
believe that a miracle has occurred.
In the following selection from Thomas
More, we see that the criticisms of Hume have
been to some extent anticipated. More exam-
ines the question of whether or not it is, in
fact, unreasonable to believe that some event
we witness (or are told of) actually occurred
when such as event runs contrary to the weight
of our experience. He argues that it would
not always be unreasonable to believe against
“the weight of experience” since we would
otherwise cut ourselves off from a vast array
of new knowledge. So, to adapt one of his
examples, someone raised in a remote part of
Africa might come to believe that all human
beings are dark-skinned. If this person were
then told by a friend who has traveled abroad
that not all human beings are dark-skinned,
he would be obliged to dismiss the testimony
simply because it ran contrary to his own (less
extensive) experience. Likewise, if he himself
were to come upon a light-skinned person he
would, according to this policy, be obliged to
believe that his own senses were, in that case,
deceiving him. Any principle, however, which
leads us to indiscriminately reject new infor-
mation in this way is surely unacceptable.
In the final essay on miracles, Jan Cover
examines the challenges to belief in miracles
raised by Hume and other recent critics. Ac-
cording to Cover’s initial characterization, a
miracle is an event which violates a law of na-
ture and which is caused by God either di-
rectly or through some divine agency. Thus
to establish that an event is a genuine miracle
slha)
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
one must show that the event (a) violates a
law, and (b) is caused by God directly or
through some divine agency. There are, how-
ever, principled reasons for thinking that we
will never be able reasonably to affirm that an
event ever satisfies conditions (a) or (b).
With respect to condition (a), Cover raises
two difficulties. First, following Hume, one
might think that the weight of our empirical
evidence favoring the truth of a law should
always lead us to reject the belief that some
event has violated that law (whether we wit-
ness the event ourselves or are told about such
an event by others). Cover calls this first ob-
jection, the “Human Objection.” Second, one
might think that even if we can confidently
hold that some event 7s a violation of some-
thing we believe to be a law of nature, the
most reasonable conclusion to draw is not that
the event is actually a miracle, but merely that
we are mistaken about what the laws of nature
actually ave. Thus apparent miracles are most
reasonably understood the way scientists
might understand any other event that does
not seem to fit into the laws of nature as cur-
rently understood: not as miracles, but as evi-
dence that our beliefs about the laws are in
error. Cover calls this the “Wrong Laws Ob-
jection.”
Further, even if these objections can be
overcome, questions still arise concerning con-
dition (b). The problem here is that even if
we are entitled to believe that an event is a
genuine violation of a law of nature, we still
cannot straightforwardly conclude that the
explanation for the “anomalous” event is su-
pernatural. For all we know, such an event
might be a brute event having no explanation
at all. Cover calls this the “Non-Miraculous
Anomaly Objection.”
Cover’s responses to these three objections
are careful and nuanced (and further rely on
some of his discussion of the metaphysics of
natural laws) and thus cannot be adequately
summarized in a paragraph. The basic out-
lines of his responses are as follows. Concern-
ing the Humean Objection, Cover argues that
(1) indirect evidence may bolster our confi-
316
dence that an (at least apparent) violation has
occurred, since such indirect evidence may
lead us to conclude that a miracle having oc-
curred is the best explanation for the whole
range of data available to me (data which in-
clude, but are not exhausted by, my witness-
ing, or being told of, the purportedly
miraculous event), and (2) (following More)
the Humean principle of belief will lead us to
deny (unreasonably) that any event occurs
which we have not seen to occur in the past.
Thus, the Humean Objection is to be rejected.
Concerning the Wrong Laws Objection,
Cover argues that (1) believers and skeptics
alike must judge whether or not it is more
reasonable, in a given case, to believe that an
event is explicable by the laws of nature, and
that (2) assessing the alternatives may not lead
to a uniquely rational conclusion. If an event
cannot, after long scrutiny, be explained in
terms of the laws of nature, it is always open
to the skeptic to hold that our current knowl-
edge of the laws of nature is deeply flawed,
but that significant future revisions will suc-
cessfully account for the event. Finally, Cover
responds to the Non-Miraculous Anomaly
Objection by holding that whether an anomaly
is best regarded as having a supernatural cause
will surely depend on how we assess the weight
of indirect evidence. To take one example, the
parting of the Red Sea might be an anomaly,
but whether or not we should think the
anomaly is to be explained by a supernatural
cause depends on how one assesses the rea-
sonableness of the two competing hypotheses:
(1) that the anomalous event has a supernatu-
ral cause, and (ii) that the event is merely an
anomalous coincidence.
Cover thus draws two central conclusions.
First, there is no good argument that the be-
liever is irrational to believe in miracles. But,
second, there is also no rationally compelling
reason for a skeptic concerning miracles to
believe that any purported miracle is incon-
trovertible evidence for the existence of a su-
pernatural cause.
In the next selection we turn to the topic
of petitionary prayer. Many religious traditions

believe that it is good (and even obligatory)
that believers petition God for the things that
they want and need. And these traditions also
hold that God, at least sometimes, answers
these prayers by providing the things which
are requested. There is, however, something
deeply puzzling about this for the theist. If
God is really all-powerful, all-knowing, and
all-good, then God would want to provide us
with whatever it is objectively good for us to
have, and would want to keep from us what-
ever is objectively bad. This means, of course,
that if the believer petitioned for something
good, God would have already intended to
give it. If the believer petitioned for some-
thing bad, God would not provide it anyway.
Thus, it looks as if the practice of petitionary
prayer is a farce; petitionary prayer does not
and could not influence what God provides.
Eleonore Stump argues that this line of rea-
soning is mistaken. Stump claims that simply
providing creatures with the things that are
good for them without petition on the crea-
ture’s part can have powerful negative effects.
To prevent these effects, God institutes the
practice of petitionary prayer. This practice is
acceptable, even for a perfectly good being,
as long as the goods that result from making
provision depend on petition outweigh the
goods that would have resulted from making
provision unconditionally. What outweighing
goods does Stump think arise from petition-
ary prayer? In short, she argues that it pre-
vents God’s overwhelming or spoiling the
creature, and thus damaging the relationship
between God and that creature.
The next section contains three essays on
the topic of immortality. According to most
theistic traditions, human beings consist of a
physical body and an immaterial soul. Accord-
ing to this position, known as “dualism,” the
soul, at death, is separated from the body and
continues to enjoy conscious mental life.
Given the dualist theory, there is nothing
especially troubling about the concept of
immortality. In this century, however, philoso-
phers and scientists have become much more
skeptical about dualism. Advances in neuro-
INTRODUCTION TO PART FIVE
science and psychobiology have convinced
many that if there is an immaterial soul at all,
its ability to function is tied to the function of
a corresponding brain. We can call this mid-
dle-of-the-road position “brain-essential du-
alism.” Adopting brain-essential dualism
might seem to jeopardize any hope of immor-
tality for the obvious reason that the brain dies
and decomposes. In the first Reading in this
section, Richard Swinburne discusses the
possibility of immortality if brain-essential
dualism is true. Can the brain later be “re-
constructed” so that the soul can return to
functioning? Swinburne argues that this is at
least possible, though its actual occurrence
would depend on whether or not souls are
actually reincarnated or joined to resurrected
bodies.
Most philosophers these days, it is fair to
say, reject dualism in any form. In the next
brief selection, Patricia Churchland offers the
central reasons why many believe that human
beings are merely physical (we might call those
who think this way “physicalists”). First,
physicalists point out, it is difficult to see how
immaterial souls can even possibly interact
with material bodies. Second, introducing
souls seems to provide a radical break between
human beings and animals which we cannot
account for on standard evolutionary models
of human development. Finally, there seems
to be no explanatory advantage in dualism
since facts which are puzzling for the materi-
alist are no less mysterious when we shuttle
them off to the equally mysterious soul.
If the critique of dualism is successful, then
even accounts such as Swinburne’s cannot
provide us with a satisfactory model for im-
mortality. One might wonder, then, if there
is any hope of defending immortality if physi-
calism is true. Some philosophers have argued
that this is possible, at least for religious tradi-
tions which include a belief in resurrection.
In the final essay of this section, Dean Zim-
merman defends a physicalist-resurrectionist
account of immortality against the most
powerful recent criticism against it. Many
philosophers have held that for the same
317
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
physical body to exist through time, the state
of the body at a given time must be (at least
partially) caused by the state of that body at
previous times. So, if abody dies and is com-
pletely destroyed (all of its atoms being scat-
tered), it seems impossible for that very body
to be resurrected since the required causal
connection between earlier and later stages will
have been severed. In response, Zimmerman
argues that we can construct a model of res-
urrection according to which there isa causal
connection between the body at the moment
before death and the body at the moment of
resurrection, though doing this would require
a certain sort of miraculous intervention im-
mediately before death.
Finally, we turn to the topic of divine rev-
elation. Nicholas Wolterstorffin the selection
presented here focuses not on the question of
whether or not the religious believer is enti-
tled to hold that some particular religious
writing or other is an authoritative divine rev-
elation. Instead, Wolterstorff starts with what
we might think of as the more fundamental
question of whether or not someone is enti-
tled to think that they have been the recipient
ofa particular revelation from God. This ques-
tion is more fundamental since many religious
texts which claim to be authoritative began
with writers who believed that they were re-
cipients of particular divine revelations, rev-
elations which they then recorded.
Wolterstorff argues that question about
whether or not we are justified in holding any
belief, are always “situated,” that is, their an-
swers depend on the kind of belief in ques-
tion and the particular circumstances in which
it was formed. He then turns to examine a
case in which a certain Christian woman be-
lieves that she has been the recipient of a di-
vine revelation. Was the woman entitled to
this belief? Wolterstorff concludes that as long
as (a) the woman is entitled to hold her
“basic framework of Christian belief” and (b)
the content of the purported revelation has
“acceptable content,” then the woman is en-
titled to believe that she was the recipient ofa
divine revelation.
318
Further Reading
For further readings on the topics discussed
in Part Five, the following sources are espe-
cially worth consulting.
Miracles
Basinger, David, and Randall Basinger,
Philosophy and Miracle: the Contemporary
Debate (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen
Press, 1986).
Flew, Antony, “Miracles,” in Encyclopedia of
Philosophy, ed. Paul Edwards (New York:
Macmillan, 1966).
Lewis, C. S., Miracles (London: Fontana,
1960).
Rowe, William, Philosophy of Religion
(Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth, 1978), ch. 9.
Swinburne, Richard, The Concept of a Miracle
(London: Macmillan, 1970).
Prayer
Basinger, David, “Petitionary Prayer: a Re-
sponse to Murray and Meyers,” Religious
Studies, 31 (December 1995), pp. 475-84.
——, “God Does Not Respond to Prayer,”
in Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of
Religion, ed. Michael Peterson (New York:
Blackwell Publishers, 1999).
Gellman, Jerome, “In Defense of Petitionary
Prayer,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy
(forthcoming).
Hoffman, Joshua, “On Petitionary Prayer,”
Faith and Philosophy, 2 (1985), pp. 21-42.
Murray, Michael, and Kurt Meyers, “Ask and
It will be Given to You,” Religious Studies,
30 (1994), pp. 311-30.
Murray, Michael, “God Does Respond to
Prayer,” in Contemporary Debates in Phi-
losophy of Religion, ed. Michael Peterson
(New York: Blackwell Publishers, 1999),
Terence Penelhum, Religion and Rationality
(New York: Random House, 1971), ch.
20);
Soul and Immortality
Badham, Paul, Christian Beliefs About Immor-
tality (London: Macmillan, 1976).

—., and Linda Badham, Immortality or Ex-
tinction? (London: Macmillan, 1982).
Edwards, Paul (ed.), Immortality (New York:
Macmillan, 1992).
Geach, Peter, God and the Soul (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1969).
Hick, John, Death and Eternal Life (New
York: Harper and Row, 1976).
Lamont, Corliss, The Illusion of Immortality
(New York: Philosophical Library, 1965).
Lewis, H. D., Persons and Life After Death
(London: Macmillan, 1978).
Penelhum, Terence, Immortality (Belmont,
Calif.: Wadsworth, 1973).
——., Survival and Disembodied Existence
(London: Routledge and Kegan Paul,
1970).
Philips, D. Z., Death and Immortality (New
York: Macmillan, 1970).
INTRODUCTION TO PART FIVE
Revelation
Abraham, William J., Divine Revelation and
the Limits of Historical Criticism (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1982).
Davis, Stephen T., The Debate About the Bi-
ble: Inerrancy v. Infallibility (Philadelphia:
Westminster, 1977).
Evans, C. Stephen, The Historical Christ and
the Jesus of Faith (New York: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1996).
Mavrodes, George, Revelation and Religious
Belief (Philadelphia: Temple University
Press, 1988).
Swinburne, Richard, Revelation: From Meta-
phor to Analogy (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1992).
319
Miracles
37 Of Miracles*
David Hume
Part I
There is, in Dr Tillotson’s writings, an argu-
ment against the real presence,’ which is as
concise, and elegant, and strong as any argu-
ment can possibly be supposed against a doc-
trine so little worthy of a serious refutation. It
is acknowledged on all hands, says that learned
prelate, that the authority, either of the scrip-
ture or of tradition, is founded merely in the
testimony of the apostles, who were eye-wit-
nesses to those miracles of our Saviour by
which he proved his divine mission. Our evi-
dence, then, for the truth of the Christian
religion is less than the evidence for the truth
of our senses; because, even in the first au-
thors of our religion, it was no greater; and it
is evident it must diminish in passing from
them to their disciples; nor can any one rest
such confidence in their testimony, as in the
immediate object of his senses. But a weaker
evidence can never destroy a stronger; and
therefore, were the doctrine of the real pres-
ence ever so clearly revealed in scripture, it
were directly contrary to the rules of just rea-
soning to give our assent to it. It contradicts
sense, though both the scripture and tradi-
tion on which it is supposed to be built carry
not such evidence with them as sense, when
they are considered merely as external evi-
dences, and are not brought home to every
* From David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human
Understanding, ed. Eric Steinberg, section 10
(Indianapolis: Hackett, 1977), pp. 72-90.
320
one’s breast by the immediate operation of
the Holy Spirit.
Nothing is so convenient as a decisive
argument of this kind, which must at least
silence the most arrogant bigotry and super-
stition, and free us from their impertinent
solicitations. I flatter myself that I have dis-
covered an argument of a like nature, which,
if just, will, with the wise and learned, be an
everlasting check to all kinds of superstitious
delusion, and consequently will be useful as
long as the world endures. For so long, I pre-
sume, will the accounts of miracles and prodi-
gies be found in all history, sacred and profane.
Though experience be our only guide in
reasoning concerning matters of fact, it must
be acknowledged that this guide is not alto-
gether infallible, but in some cases is apt to
lead us into errors. One who in our climate
should expect better weather in any week of
June than in one of December, would reason
justly, and conformably to experience; but it
is certain that he may happen, in the event, to
find himself mistaken. However, we may ob-
serve that, in such a case, he would have no
cause to complain of experience, because it
commonly informs us beforehand of the un-
certainty, by that contrariety of events, which
we may learn from a diligent observation. All
effects follow not with like certainty from their
supposed causes. Some events are found, in
all countries and all ages, to have been con-
stantly conjoined together. Other are found
to have been more variable, and sometimes
to disappoint our expectations; so that, in our
reasonings concerning matter offact, there are

all imaginable degrees of assurance, from the
highest certainty to the lowest species of moral
evidence.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his be-
lief to the evidence. In such conclusions as
are founded on an infallible experience, he
expects the event with the last degree of as-
surance, and regards his past experience as a
full proofof the future existence of that event.
In other cases, he proceeds with more cau-
tion: He weighs the opposite experiments; he
considers which side is supported by the
greater number of experiments; to that side
he inclines, with doubt and hesitation; and
when at last he fixes his judgement, the evi-
dence exceeds not what we properly call prob-
ability. All probability, then, supposes an
opposition of experiments and observations,
where the one side is found to overbalance
the other, and to produce a degree of evidence,
proportioned to the superiority. A hundred
instances or experiments on one side, and fifty
on another, afford a doubtful expectation of
any event; though a hundred uniform experi-
ments, with only one that is contradictory,
reasonably beget a pretty strong degree ofas-
surance. In all cases, we must balance the op-
posite experiments, where they are opposite,
and deduct the smaller number from the
greater, in order to know the exact force of
the superior evidence.
To apply these principles to a particular in-
stance; we may observe, that there is no spe-
cies of reasoning more common, more useful,
and even necessary to human life than that
which is derived from the testimony of men,
and the reports of eye-witnesses and specta-
tors. This species of reasoning, perhaps, one
may deny to be founded on the relation of
cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a
word. It will be sufficient to observe that our
assurance in any argument of this kind is de-
rived from no other principle than our obser-
vation of the veracity of human testimony, and
of the usual conformity of facts to the reports
of witnesses. It being a general maxim that
no objects have any discoverable connexion
together, and that all the inferences which we
OF MIRACLES
can draw from one to another are founded
merely on our experience of their constant and
regular conjunction; it is evident, that we
ought not to make an exception to this maxim
in favour of human testimony, whose con-
nexion with any event seems, in itself, as little
necessary as any other. Were not the memory
tenacious to a certain degree; had not men
commonly an inclination to truth and a prin-
ciple of probity; were they not sensible to
shame, when detected in a falsehood: were
not these, I say, discovered by expertence to
be qualities, inherent in human nature, we
should never repose the least confidence in
human testimony. A man delirious, or noted
for falsehood and villainy, has no manner of
authority with us.
And as the evidence derived from witnesses
and human testimony is founded on past ex-
perience, so it varies with the experience, and
is regarded either as a proof or a probability,
according as the conjunction between any
particular kind of report and any kind of ob-
ject has been found to be constant or vari-
able. There are a number ofcircumstances to
be taken into consideration in all judgements
of this kind; and the ultimate standard, by
which we determine all disputes that may arise
concerning them, is always derived from ex-
perience and observation. Where this experi-
ence is not entirely uniform on any side, it is
attended with an unavoidable contrariety in
our judgements, and with the same opposi-
tion and mutual destruction of argument as
in every other kind of evidence. We frequently
hesitate concerning the reports of others. We
balance the opposite circumstances, which
cause any doubt or uncertainty; and when we
discover a superiority on any side, we incline
to it, but still with a diminution of assurance,
in proportion to the force of its antagonist.
This contrariety of evidence, in the present
case, may be derived from several different
causes; from the opposition of contrary testi-
mony, from the character or number of the
witnesses, from the manner of their deliver-
ing their testimony, or from the union of all
these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion
321
DAVID HUME
concerning any matter of fact, when the wit-
nesses contradict each other; when they are
but few, or of a doubtful character; when they
have an interest in what they affirm; when they
deliver their testimony with hesitation, or on
the contrary, with too violent asseverations.
There are many other particulars of the same
kind, which may diminish or destroy the force
of any argument derived from human testi-
mony.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which
the testimony endeavours to establish, partakes
of the extraordinary and the marvellous; in that
case, the evidence resulting from the testimony
admits of a diminution, greater or less, in pro-
portion as the fact is more or less unusual.
The reason why we place any credit in wit-
nesses and historians is not derived from any
connexion, which we perceive a priori, between
testimony and reality, but because we are ac-
customed to find a conformity between them.
But when the fact attested is such a one as has
seldom fallen under our observation, here is a
contest of two opposite experiences; of which
the one destroys the other, as far as its force
goes, and the superior can only operate on
the mind by the force which remains. The very
same principle of experience, which gives us a
certain degree of assurance in the testimony
of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another
degree of assurance against the fact which they
endeavour to establish, from which contradic-
tion there necessarily arises a counterpoise, and
mutual destruction of belief and authority.
I should not believe such a story were it told
me by Cato was a proverbial saying in Rome,
even during the lifetime of that philosophical
patriot.’ The incredibility of a fact, it was al-
lowed, might invalidate so great an author-
ity.
The Indian prince who refused to believe
the first relations concerning the effects of
frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required
very strong testimony to engage his assent to
facts that arose from a state of nature with
which he was unacquainted, and which bore
so little analogy to those events of which he
had had constant and uniform experience.
322
Though they were not contrary to his experi-
ence, they were not conformable to it.
But in order to increase the probability
against the testimony ofwitnesses, let us sup-
pose that the fact which they affirm, instead
of being only marvellous, is really miraculous;
and suppose also that the testimony, consid-
ered apart and in itself, amounts to an entire
proof; in that case, there is proof against proof,
of which the strongest must prevail, but still
with a diminution of its force in proportion
to that of its antagonist.
A miracle is a violation of the laws of na-
ture; and as a firm and unalterable experience
has established these laws, the proof against a
miracle, from the very nature ofthe fact, is as
entire as any argument from experience can
possibly be imagined. Why is it more than
probable that all men must die; that lead can-
not, of itself, remain suspended in the air; that
fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by
water; unless it be that these events are found
agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is
required a violation of these laws, or in other
words a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is
esteemed a miracle if it ever happen in the
common course of nature. It is no miracle that
a man, seemingly in good health, should die
on a sudden: because such a kind of death,
though more unusual than any other, has yet
been frequently observed to happen. But it is
a miracle that a dead man should come to life,
because that has never been observed, in any
age or country. There must, therefore, be a
uniform experience against every miraculous
event, otherwise the event would not merit
that appellation. And as an uniform experi-
ence amounts to a proof, there is here a direct
and full proof; from the nature of the fact,
against the existence of any miracle; nor can
such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle ren-
dered credible, but by an opposite proof,
which is superior.
The plain consequence is (and it is a gen-
eral maxim worthy of our attention), ‘That
no testimony is sufficient to establish a mira-
cle, unless the testimony be of such a kind
that its falsehood would be more miraculous

than the fact which it endeavours to establish:
and even in that case there is a mutual de-
struction of arguments, and the superior only
gives us an assurance suitable to that degree
of force, which remains, after deducting the
inferior.’ When any one tells me that he saw a
dead man restored to life, I immediately con-
sider with myself, whether it be more prob-
able that this person should either deceive or
be deceived, or that the fact which he relates
should really have happened. I weigh the one
miracle against the other; and according to
the superiority which I discover, I pronounce
my decision, and always reject the greater
miracle. If the falsehood of his testimony
would be more miraculous than the event
which he relates; then, and not till then, can
he pretend to command my belief or opin-
ion.
Part II
In the foregoing reasoning we have supposed
that the testimony, upon which a miracle is
founded, may possibly amount to an entire
proof, and that the falsehood of that testimony
would be a real prodigy: But it is easy to show,
that we have been a great deal too liberal in
our concession, and that there never was a
miraculous event established on so full an evi-
dence.
For first, there is not to be found, in all
history, any miracle attested by a sufficient
number of men, of such unquestioned good-
sense, education, and learning as to secure us
against all delusion in themselves; of such
undoubted integrity as to place them beyond
all suspicion of any design to deceive others;
of such credit and reputation in the eyes of
mankind as to have a great deal to lose in case
of their being detected in any falsehood; and
at the same time attesting facts, performed in
such a public manner and in so celebrated a
part of the world, as to render the detection
unavoidable: All which circumstances are req-
uisite to give us a full assurance in the testi-
mony of men.
OF MIRACLES
Secondly. We may observe in human nature
a principle, which, ifstrictly examined, will be
found to diminish extremely the assurance
which we might, from human testimony, have
in any kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which
we commonly conduct ourselves in our sea-
sonings, is that the objects of which we have
no experience resemble those of which we
have; that what we have found to be most
usual is always most probable; and that where
there is an opposition of arguments, we ought
to give the preference to such as are founded
on the greatest number of past observations.
But though, in proceeding by this rule, we
readily reject any fact which is unusual and
incredible in an ordinary degree; yet in ad-
vancing farther, the mind observes not always
the same rule; but when anything is affirmed
utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the
more readily admits of such a fact, upon ac-
count of that very circumstance which ought
to destroy all its authority. The passion of sur-
prise and wonder arising from miracles, being
an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible ten-
dency towards the belief of those events from
which it is derived. And this goes so far that
even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure
immediately, nor can believe those miraculous
events of which they are informed, yet love to
partake of the satisfaction at second-hand or
by rebound, and place a pride and delight in
exciting the admiration ofothers.
With what greediness are the miraculous
accounts of travellers received, their descrip-
tions of sea and land monsters, their relations
of wonderful adventures, strange men, and
uncouth manners? But if the spirit of religion
join itself to the love of wonder, there is an
end of common sense; and human testimony,
in these circumstances, loses all pretensions
to authority. A religionist may be an enthusi-
ast, and imagine he sees what has no reality.
He may know his narrative to be false, and
yet persevere in it, with the best intentions in
the world, for the sake of promoting so holy a
cause. Or even where this delusion has not
place, vanity, excited by so strong a tempta-
tion, operates on him more powerfully than
323
DAVID HUME
on the rest of mankind in any other circum-
stances; and self-interest with equal force. His
auditors may not have, and commonly have
not, sufficient judgement to canvass his evi-
dence: what judgement they have, they re-
nounce by principle, in these sublime and
mysterious subjects: or if they were ever so
willing to employ it, passion and a heated
imagination disturb the regularity of its op-
erations. Their credulity increases his impu-
dence: and his impudence overpowers their
credulity.
Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves
little room for reason or reflection; but ad-
dressing itself entirely to the fancy or the af-
fections, captivates the willing hearers, and
subdues their understanding. Happily, this
pitch it seldom attains. But what a Tully or a
Demosthenes could scarcely effect over a Ro-
man or Athenian audience, every Capuchin,
every itinerant or stationary teacher can per-
form over the generality of mankind, and ina
higher degree, by touching such gross and
vulgar passions.
The many instances of forged miracles, and
prophecies, and supernatural events, which in
all ages have either been detected by contrary
evidence, or which detect themselves by their
absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong pro-
pensity of mankind to the extraordinary and
the marvellous, and ought reasonably to be-
get a suspicion against all relations of this kind.
This is our natural way of thinking, even with
regard to the most common and most cred-
ible events. For instance: There is no kind of
report which rises so easily, and spreads so
quickly, especially in country places and pro-
vincial towns, as those concerning marriages;
insomuch that two young persons of equal
condition never see each other twice, but the
whole neighbourhood immediately join them
together. The pleasure of telling a piece of
news so interesting, of propagating it, and of
being the first reporters of it, spreads the in-
telligence. And this is so well known that no
man of sense gives attention to these reports
till he find them confirmed by some greater
evidence. Do not the same passions, and oth-
324
ers still stronger, incline the generality of man-
kind to believe and report, with the greatest
vehemence and assurance, all religious mira-
cles?
Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption
against all supernatural and miraculous rela-
tions, that they are observed chiefly to abound
among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if
a civilized people has ever given admission to
any of them, that people will be found to have
received them from ignorant and barbarous
ancestors, who transmitted them with that
inviolable sanction and authority, which al-
ways attend received opinions. When we pe-
ruse the first histories of all nations, we are
apt to imagine ourselves transported into some
new world, where the whole frame of nature
is disjointed, and every element performs its
operations in a different manner from what it
does at present. Battles, revolutions, pesti-
lence, famine, and death are never the effect
of those natural causes which we experience.
Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgments quite
obscure the few natural events that are inter-
mingled with them. But as the former grow
thinner every page, in proportion as we ad-
vance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon
learn that there is nothing mysterious or su-
pernatural in the case, but that all proceeds
from the usual propensity of mankind towards
the marvellous, and that, though this inclina-
tion may at intervals receive a check from sense
and learning, it can never be thoroughly ex-
tirpated from human nature.
It ts strange, a judicious reader is apt to say,
upon the perusal of these wonderful histori-
ans, that such prodigious events never happen
in our days. But it is nothing strange, I hope,
that men should lie in all ages. You must surely
have seen instances enough ofthat frailty. You
have yourself heard many such marvellous re-
lations started, which, being treated with scorn
by all the wise and judicious, have at last been
abandoned even by the vulgar. Be assured that
those renowned lies, which have spread and
flourished to such a monstrous height, arose
from like beginnings; but being sown in a
more proper soil, shot up at last into prodi-

gies almost equal to those which they relate.
It was a wise policy in that false prophet,
Alexander, who, though now forgotten, was
once so famous, to lay the first scene of his
impostures in Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian
tell us,* the people were extremely ignorant
and stupid, and ready to swallow even the
grossest delusion. People at a distance, who
are weak enough to think the matter at all
worth enquiry, have no opportunity ofreceiv-
ing better information. The stories come mag-
nified to them by a hundred circumstances.
Fools are industrious in propagating the im-
posture; while the wise and learned are con-
tented, in general, to deride its absurdity,
without informing themselves of the particu-
lar facts by which it may be distinctly refuted.
And thus the impostor-above-mentioned was
enabled to proceed, from his ignorant
Paphlagonians, to the enlisting of votaries,
even among the Grecian philosophers and
men of the most eminent rank and distinc-
tion in Rome. Nay, could engage the atten-
tion of that sage emperor Marcus Aurelius; so
far as to make him trust the success of a mili-
tary expedition to his delusive prophecies.
The advantages are so great of starting an
imposture among an ignorant people that,
even though the delusion should be too gross
to impose on the generality of them (which,
though seldom, is sometimes the case), it has
a much better chance for succeeding in re-
mote countries than if the first scene had been
laid in a city renowned for arts and knowl-
edge. The most ignorant and barbarous of
these barbarians carry the report abroad. None
of their countrymen have a large correspond-
ence, or sufficient credit and authority to con-
tradict and beat down the delusion. Men’s
inclination to the marvellous has full oppor-
tunity to display itself. And thus a story which
is universally exploded in the place where it
was first started, shall pass for certain at a thou-
sand miles distance. But had Alexander fixed
his residence at Athens, the philosophers of
that renowned mart of learning had immedi-
ately spread, throughout the whole Roman
empire their sense of the matter; which, be-
OF MIRACLES
ing supported by so great authority, and dis-
played by all the force of reason and eloquence,
had entirely opened the eyes of mankind. It is
true; Lucian, passing by chance through
Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of perform-
ing this good office. But, though much to be
wished, it does not always happen that every
Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to ex-
pose and detect his impostures.
I may add as a fourth reason which dimin-
ishes the authority of prodigies, that there is
no testimony for any, even those which have
not been expressly detected, that is not op-
posed by an infinite number of witnesses; so
that not only the miracle destroys the credit
of testimony, but the testimony destroys it-
self. To make this the better understood, let
us consider that, in matters of religion, what-
ever is different is contrary; and that it is im-
possible the religions of ancient Rome, of
Turkey, of Siam, and of China should, all of
them, be established on any solid foundation.
Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have
been wrought in any of these religions (and
all of them abound in miracles), as its direct
scope is to establish the particular system to
which it is attributed, so has it the same force,
though more indirectly, to overthrow every
other system. In destroying a rival system, it
likewise destroys the credit of those miracles
on which that system was established; so that
all the prodigies of different religions are to
be regarded as contrary facts, and the evi-
dences of these prodigies, whether weak or
strong, as opposite to each other. According
to this method of reasoning, when we believe
any miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we
have for our warrant the testimony of a few
barbarous Arabians: And on the other hand,
we are to regard the authority of Titus Livius,
Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short, of all the au-
thors and witnesses, Grecian, Chinese, and
Roman Catholic, who have related any mira-
cle in their particular religion; I say, we are to
regard their testimony in the same light as if
they had mentioned that Mahometan mira-
cle, and had in express terms contradicted it
with the same certainty as they have for the
325
DAVID HUME
miracle they relate. This argument may ap-
pear over subtile and refined; but is not in re-
ality different from the reasoning of a judge,
who supposes that the credit of two witnesses,
maintaining a crime against any one, is de-
stroyed by the testimony of two others, who
affirm him to have been two hundred leagues
distant at the same instant when the crime is
said to have been committed.
One of the best attested miracles in all pro-
fane history is that which Tacitus reports of
Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexan-
dria by means of his spittle, and a lame man
by the mere touch of his foot, in obedience
to a vision of the god Serapis, who had en-
joined them to have recourse to the Emperor
for these miraculous cures. The story may be
seen in that fine historian;* where every cir-
cumstance seems to add weight to the testi-
mony, and might be displayed at large with
all the force of argument and eloquence, if
any one were now concerned to enforce the
evidence of that exploded and idolatrous su-
perstition. The gravity, solidity, age, and pro-
bity of so great an emperor who through the
whole course ofhis life conversed in a familiar
manner with his friends and courtiers, and
never affected those extraordinary airs of di-
vinity assumed by Alexander and Demetrius.
The historian, a contemporary writer, noted
for candour and veracity, and withal the great-
est and most penetrating genius, perhaps, of
all antiquity; and so free from any tendency
to credulity that he even lies under the con-
trary imputation of atheism and profaneness:
the persons, from whose authority he related
the miracle, of established character for judge-
ment and veracity, as we may well presume,
eye-witnesses of the fact, and confirming their
testimony after the Flavian family was de-
spoiled ofthe empire and could no longer give
any reward as the price of a lie. Utrumaue,
qui interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, post-
quam nullum mendacio pretium.> To which
if we add the public nature of the facts as re-
lated, it will appear that no evidence can well
be supposed stronger for so gross and so
palpable a falsehood.
326
There is also a memorable story related by
Cardinal de Retz,° which may well deserve our
consideration. When that intriguing politician
fled into Spain to avoid the persecution of his
enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the
capital of Arragon, where he was shown, in
the cathedral, a man who had served seven
years as a door-keeper, and was well known
to every body in town, that had ever paid his
devotions at that church. He had been seen,
for so long a time, wanting a leg, but recov-
ered that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon
the stump; and the cardinal assures us that he
saw him with two legs. This miracle was
vouched by all the canons of the church; and
the whole company in town were appealed to
for a confirmation of the fact; whom the car-
dinal found by their zealous devotion to be
thorough believers of the miracle. Here the
relater was also contemporary to the supposed
prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine char-
acter, as well as of great genius; the miracle of
so singular a nature as could scarcely admit of
a counterfeit, and the witnesses very numer-
ous and all of them, in a manner, spectators
of the fact to which they gave their testimony.
And what adds mightily to the force of the
evidence, and may double our surprise on this
occasion, is that the cardinal himself, who re-
lates the story, seems not to give any credit to
it, and consequently cannot be suspected of
any concurrence in the holy fraud. He con-
sidered justly that it was not requisite, in or-
der to reject a fact of this nature, to be able
accurately to disprove the testimony, and to
trace its falsehood through all the circum-
stances of knavery and credulity which pro-
duced it. He knew that, as this was commonly
altogether impossible at any small distance of
time and place, so was it extremely difficult,
even where one was immediately present, by
reason ofthe bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and
roguery ofa great part of mankind. He there-
fore concluded, like a just reasoner, that such
an evidence carried falsehood upon the very
face of it, and that a miracle, supported by
any human testimony, was more properly a
subject of derision than of argument.

There surely never was a greater number of
miracles ascribed to one person, than those
which were lately said to have been wrought
in France upon the tomb of Abbé Paris, the
famous Jansenist, with whose sanctity the peo-
ple were so long deluded. The curing of the
sick, giving hearing to the deaf, and sight to
the blind, were every where talked of as the
usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But what
is more extraordinary; many of the miracles
were immediately proved upon the spot, be-
fore judges of unquestioned integrity, attested
by witnesses of credit and distinction, in a
learned age, and on the most eminent theatre
that is now in the world. Nor is this all: a rela-
tion of them was published and dispersed every
where; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned
body, supported by the civil magistrate and
determined enemies to those opinions, in
whose favour the miracles were said to have
been wrought, ever able distinctly to refute
or detect them. Where shall we find such a
number of circumstances agreeing to the cor-
roboration of one fact? And what have we to
oppose to such a cloud of witnesses, but the
absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of
the events which they relate? And this surely,
in the eyes of all reasonable people, will alone
be regarded as a sufficient refutation.
Is the consequence just, because some hu-
man testimony has the utmost force and au-
thority in some cases, when it relates the battle
of Philippi or Pharsalia for instance; that there-
fore all kinds of testimony must in all cases
have equal force and authority? Suppose that
the Caesarean and Pompeian factions had,
each of them, claimed the victory in these
battles, and that the historians of each party
had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their
own side; how could mankind, at this distance,
have been able to determine between them?
The contrariety is equally strong between the
miracles related by Herodotus or Plutarch, and
those delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any
monkish historian.
The wise lend a very academic faith to every
report which favours the passion of the re-
porter; whether it magnifies his country, his
OF MIRACLES
family, or himself, or in any other way strikes
in with his natural inclinations and propensi-
ties. But what greater temptation than to ap-
pear a missionary, a prophet, an ambassador
fronyheaven? Who would not encounter many
dangers and difficulties in order to attain so
sublime a character? Or if, by the help of van-
ity and a heated imagination, a man has first
made a convert of himself, and entered seri-
ously into the delusion; who ever scruples to
make use of pious frauds in support of so holy
and meritorious a cause?
The smallest spark may here kindle into the
greatest flame; because the materials are al-
ways prepared for it. The avidum genus
auricularum, the gazing populace, receive
greedily, without examination, whatever
soothes superstition and promotes wonder.
How many stories of this nature have, in
all ages, been detected and exploded in their
infancy? How many more have been celeb-
rated for a time, and have afterwards sunk into
neglect and oblivion? Where such reports,
therefore, fly about, the solution of the
phenomenon is obvious; and we judge in con-
formity to regular experience and observation
when we account for it by the known and
natural principles of credulity and delusion.
And shall we, rather than have a recourse to
so natural a solution, allow of a miraculous
violation of the most established laws of na-
ture?
I need not mention the difficulty of detect-
ing a falsehood in any private or even public
history, at the place where it is said to hap-
pen; much more when the scene is removed
to ever so small a distance. Even a court of
judicature, with all the authority, accuracy, and
judgement which they can employ, find them-
selves often at a loss to distinguish between
truth and falsehood in the most recent actions.
But the matter never comes to any issue if
trusted to the common method of altercation
and debate and flying rumours, especially
when men’s passions have taken part on ei-
ther side.
In the infancy of new religions, the wise and
learned commonly esteem the matter too in-
327
DAVID HUME
considerable to deserve their attention or re-
gard. And when afterwards they would will-
ingly detect the cheat, in order to undeceive
the deluded multitude, the season is now past,
and the records and witnesses which might
clear up the matter have perished beyond re-
covery.
No means of detection remain but those
which must be drawn from the very testimony
itself of the reporters: and these, though al-
ways sufficient with the judicious and know-
ing, are commonly too fine to fall under the
comprehension of the vulgar.
Upon the whole, then, it appears that no
testimony for any kind of miracle has ever
amounted to a probability, much less to a
proof; and that, even supposing it amounted
to a proof, it would be opposed by another
proof, derived from the very nature ofthe fact
which it would endeavour to establish. It is
experience only which gives authority to hu-
man testimony; and it is the same experience
which assures us of the laws of nature. When,
therefore, these two kinds of experience are
contrary, we have nothing to do but subtract
the one from the other, and embrace an opin-
ion, either on one side or the other, with that
assurance which arises from the reminder. But
according to the principle here explained, this
substraction, with regard to all popular reli-
gions, amounts to an entire annihilation; and
therefore we may establish it as a maxim that
no human testimony can have such force as
to prove a miracle, and make it a just founda-
tion for any such system of religion.
I beg the limitations here made may be re-
marked, when I say that a miracle can never
be proved, so as to be the foundation of a
system of religion. For I own that otherwise
there may possibly be miracles, or violations
of the usual course of nature, of such a kind
as to admit of proof from human testimony;
though perhaps it will be impossible to find
any such in all the records of history. Thus,
suppose, all authors, in all languages agree that
from the first of January 1600 there was a to-
tal darkness over the whole earth for eight
days: Suppose that the tradition of this ex-
328
traordinary event is still strong and lively
among the people: That all travellers, who
return from foreign countries, bring us ac-
counts of the same tradition, without the least
variation or contradiction. It is evident that
our present philosophers, instead of doubt-
ing the fact, ought to receive it as certain,
and ought to search for the causes whence it
might be derived. The decay, corruption, and
dissolution of nature, is an event rendered
probable by so many analogies, that any
phenomenon which seems to have a tendency
towards that catastrophe comes within the
reach of human testimony, if that testimony
be very extensive and uniform.
But suppose that all the historians who treat
of England should agree that, on the first of
January 1600, Queen Elizabeth died; that
both before and after her death she was seen
by her physicians and the whole court, as is
usual with persons of her rank; that her suc-
cessor was acknowledged and proclaimed by
the parliament; and that, after being interred
a month, she again appeared, resumed the
throne, and governed England for three years.
I must confess that I should be surprised at
the concurrence of so many odd circum-
stances, but should not have the least inclina-
tion to believe so miraculous an event. I should
not doubt of her pretended death, and of those
other public circumstances that followed it: I
should only assert it to have been pretended,
and that it neither was, nor possibly could be
real. You would in vain object to me the diffi-
culty, and almost impossibility of deceiving
the world in an affair of such consequence;
the wisdom and solid judgement of that re-
nowned queen; with the little or no advan-
tage which she could reap from so poor an
artifice: all this might astonish me; but I would
still reply that the knavery and folly of men
are such common phenomena, that I should
rather believe the most extraordinary events
to arise from their concurrence, than admit
of so signal a violation of the laws of nature.
But should this miracle be ascribed to any
new system of religion; men in all ages have
been so much imposed on by ridiculous sto-

ries of that kind, that this very circumstance
would be a full proof of a cheat, and suffi-
cient, with all men ofsense, not only to make
them reject the fact, but even reject it with-
out farther examination. Though the Being
to whom the miracle is ascribed be, in this
case, Almighty, it does not upon that account
become a whit more probable; since it is im-
possible for us to know the attributes or ac-
tions of such a Being, otherwise than from
the experience which we have of his produc-
tions in the usual course of nature. This still
reduces us to past observation, and obliges us
to compare the instances of the violation of
truth in the testimony of men, with those of
the violation of the laws of nature by mira-
cles, in order to judge which of them is most
likely and probable. As the violations of truth
are more common in the testimony concern-
ing religious miracles than in that concerning
any other matter of fact, this must diminish
very much the authority of the former testi-
mony, and make us form a general resolution
never to lend any attention to it, with what-
ever specious pretence it may be covered.
Lord Bacon seems to have embraced the
same principles of reasoning. “We ought,’ says
he, ‘to make a collection or particular history
of all monsters and prodigious births or pro-
ductions, and in a word of every thing new,
rare, and extraordinary in nature. But this must
be done with the most severe scrutiny, lest we
depart from truth. Above all, every relation
must be considered as suspicious which de-
pends in any degree upon religion, as the
prodigies of Livy: And no less so, every thing
that is to be found in the writers of natural
magic or alchimy, or such authors who seem,
all of them, to have an unconquerable appe-
tite for falsehood and fable.’*
I am the better pleased with the method of
reasoning here delivered, as I think it may serve
to confound those dangerous friends or dis-
guised enemies to the Christian Religion, who
have undertaken to defend it by the princi-
ples of human reason. Our most holy religion
is founded on Faith, not on reason; and it is a
sure method of exposing it to put it to such a
OF MIRACLES
trial as it is by no means fitted to endure. To
make this more evident, let us examine those
miracles related in scripture; and not to lose
ourselves in too wide a field, let us confine
ourselves to such as we find in the Pentateuch,
which we shall examine according to the prin-
ciples of these pretended Christians, not as the
word or testimony of God himself, but as the
production of amere human writer and his-
torian. Here then we are first to consider a
book, presented to us by a barbarous and ig-
norant people, written in an age when they
were still more barbarous, and in all probabil-
ity long after the facts which it relates, cor-
roborated by no concurring testimony, and
resembling those fabulous accounts which
every nation gives ofits origin. Upon reading
this book, we find it full of prodigies and mira-
cles. It gives an account ofa state of the world
and of human nature entirely different from
the present: of our fall from that state: of the
age of man, extended to near a thousand years:
of the destruction of the world by a deluge:
of the arbitrary choice of one people, as the
favourites of heaven, and that people the coun-
trymen of the author: of their deliverance from
bondage by prodigies the most astonishing
imaginable. I desire any one to lay his hand
upon his heart, and after a serious considera-
tion declare whether he thinks that the false-
hood of such a book, supported by such a
testimony, would be more extraordinary and
miraculous than all the miracles it relates;
which is, however, necessary to make it be
received, according to the measures of prob-
ability above established.
What we have said of miracles may be ap-
plied, without any variation, to prophecies;
and indeed all prophecies are real miracles, and
as such only can be admitted as proofs of any
revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity of
human nature to foretell future events, it
would be absurd to employ any prophecy as
an argument for a divine mission or authority
from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may
conclude, that the Christian Religion not only
was at first attended with miracles, but even
at this day cannot be believed by any reason-
329
THOMAS MORE
able person without one. Mere reason is in-
sufficient to convince us of its veracity: and
whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it is
conscious of a continued miracle in his own
person, which subverts all the principles of his
understanding, and gives him a determination
to believe what is most contrary to custom
and experience.
Notes
1 [The presence of the body and blood of Christ
in the bread and wine of the Eucharist. |
2 Plutarch, in vita Catonis Min. 19 [Life of Calo
(the Younger)J.
3 [In Alexander, the False Prophet, the Greek
author Lucian (born c. 120) relates how Alex-
ander of Abonoteichos was hailed as an oracle
38 From A Dialogue Concerning Herestes*
Thomas More
... Well, I said, ... when they [the heretics]
say that they never saw any of these miracles
themselves and therefore the miracles are no
proofto them, since they never saw them and
hence are not bound to believe them, they
seem to be either: (1) very negligent if they
do not make any inquiries at all when they are
in doubt about the truth of such a weighty
matter, or (2) if they have made diligent in-
quiries, then they will necessarily have heard
so many miracles recounted in speech and
writing by very good and credible persons that
they seem to be unreasonably suspicious if they
take to be sheer lies what so many trustwor-
thy or probably trustworthy men report. If
these men [i.e., the heretics |were judges, few
*From Thomas More, A Dialogue Concerning
Heresies, ch. 6, tr. Clarence Miller.
330
because of a hoax perpetrated on the people
of Paphlagonia, whereby he made it appear
that the god Asclepius was being born in the
form of a serpent from a goose’s egg.]
4 Hist. Bk. IV, chap 81 Suetonius gives nearly
the same account im vita Vesp.
5. [Of each event, those who were present, even
now keep speaking, though they get no re-
ward for lying.|
6 [Cardinal de Retz (1613-79), a French po-
litical leader. His Mémoires (1717) provide
insight into the court life of his time.]
7 [Literally, ‘a gossip hungry race’; this is an
adaptation or misquotation of Humanum ge-
nus est avidum nimus auricularum: ‘the hu-
man race is too gossip-hungry’ (Lucretius, De
Rerum Natura, iv. 594).]
8 Nov. Org. lib, ii. aph. 29.
matters would be settled by their deliberations,
or at the very least the plaintiff would have a
very hard time if they would believe nothing
except what was proved, and consider noth-
ing proved unless they saw it themselves.
Thus everyone may consider himself uncer-
tain of his own father if he will not believe
anyone, since the entire proof about it relies
upon one woman, and upon a person who,
though she knows the truth best, has the best
reason to lie if the paternity is wrong. Let us
then relegate certainty about the identifies of
fathers to our wives’ mysteries. And if we be-
lieve nothing except what we ourselves see,
who can consider himself sure of his own
mother, for it is possible that he was exchanged
in the cradle, and a rich man’s nurse might
exchange her own child for her master’s, and
keep her master’s for herself, in order to make

her own child a gentleman at little expense.
And this would not be a difficult matter, if
the mother has no earmark of her own child.
Sir, said your friend, [the young man], if I
should answer them [the heretics] in this way
and by these examples prove to them that rea-
son binds them to believe such miracles as were
reported because many credible men recount
them, since otherwise we should believe noth-
ing except what we see ourselves and then the
whole world would be full of confusion and
no judgments could be made except about
things done in the judge’s sight, I am afraid I
would give them very little satisfaction. For
they would soon reply that the examples are
not relevant. But just as it is reasonable for
me to believe honorable men in all such mat-
ters as can be true and about which I see no
reason for them to lie, so too it would be un-
reasonable to believe men, however many they
may be and no matter how credible they seem,
in cases where reason and nature (either of
which is more credible by itself than all of
them) show me clearly that their story is un-
true, as it must be if the matter is impossible,
as it is in all these miracles. And in such cases,
even though I cannot see what they can gain
by doing so, yet, since I see well enough that
their story could not be true, I must see very
well that it is not true. And therefore I must
necessarily know that if they can gain nothing
by lying, they are not lying our of greed but
simply because they find pleasure in doing so.
Certainly, I said, this is a very witty reply.
And to tell the truth, at the stage we have
reached in the discussion of miracles, it is not
far off the mark. But since this matter is im-
portant and a great many things depend on
it, we will not dismiss it so briefly but will take
one or two more steps in resolving it. And
first I will say to them [the heretics] that it
would be difficult for them, and not a very
sure method, to believe that every man is ly-
ing who tells them a story as true that nature
and reason seem to show them is false and
impossible. For in this way they will err and
clearly deceive themselves in many matters;
and sometimes, while they are certain of the
FROM A DIALOGUE CONCERNING HERESIES
wrong opinion, if they would try to win the
argument by laying bets, their confidence in
nature and reason would cause them to lose
everything they bet on them. If there were a
man in India who had never been outside his
own country and had never seen any white
man or woman in his whole life, since he sees
innumerable people are black, he might think
that it is against the nature of man to be white.
Now if nature seems to show him that this is
so and if he should therefore believe that the
whole world is lying if they tell him the con-
trary, who would be in the wrong, the one
who believes in his reason and nature or those
who, against his notion of reason and nature,
tell him what is actually the truth?
Your friend [the young man] answered that
reason and nature did not tell the Indian that
all men are black, but the Indian believed so
against reason and nature because nothing
induced him to believe it except that he saw
no white person, which was no good reason.
And if he had any learning he might perceive
by nature that heat makes his country black,
and for the same reason the cold of other
countries must make the people white.
Well, I said, and yet the Indian reaches his
conclusion by a syllogism and by reasoning
almost technically identical to the argument
by which you prove that man is reasonable by
nature. What other evidence did you collect
that led you first to perceive it except that this
man is reasonable, and this man, and this man,
and this man, and so forth for everyone you
see. Using the examples of those whom you
know and presuming from them that no per-
son is otherwise, you conclude that every man
is endowed with reason. And the Indian thinks
that his argument is more certain than yours.
For he never saw anyone except black people,
whereas you see that many men are fools. As
for the fact that he hears from others that there
are white men elsewhere, this does not serve
your purpose if you believe no witness against
what your reason and experience show you.
And whereas you say that if the Indian had
learning, he should perceive that it is not
against nature but rather consonant with na-
331
THOMAS MORE
ture that some other men in other countries
should be white, even though his countrymen
are black, so too perhaps if those whose side
you support had some learning (as they do
not), they would perceive quite well that rea-
son demands they should give credence to
credible persons who tell them about things
that seem very distinctly against reason because
they are distinctly above reason — and about
this we have more to perceive in our later dis-
cussion before we finish with the matter in
hand. But in the meantime, to show you fur-
ther what necessity there is to believe other
men about things not only unknown but also
seemingly impossible, the Indian that we speak
of cannot know by any learning the course of
the sun which enables him to perceive the
cause of his blackness, unless he does so
through astronomy, and who can learn that
science if he will not believe anything that
seems to him impossible? Or who would not
think it impossible, if experience had not
proved it, that the whole earth hangs in the
air and men walk foot facing foot and ships
sail bottom facing bottom — a thing so strange
and seemingly so far against nature and rea-
son that Lactantius, a very wise and learned
man, in the work he wrote entitled Divine In-
stitutes considers it impossible and never ceased
laughing at the philosophers for affirming that
point, which nevertheless has now been found
to be true by the experience of those who have
sailed around the world in less than two years.
Who would have thought it possible that glass
is made of fern roots? Now if those who think
that according to reason such a thing is impos-
sible and who have never seen it done do not
believe anyone who tells them about it, though
that does not put their souls in any danger,
still their knowledge is much diminished and
they persist unreasonably in their error by re-
fusing to believe the truth.
It is not yet fifty years ago since the first
man (as far as men have heard) came to Lon-
don who ever parted the gilt from the silver,
reducing the silver to dust with a very clear
liquid. It went to such lengths that when the
refiners and goldsmiths of London first heard
SIV
about it, they were not at all amazed at it but
rather laughed at it as an impossible lie. And
if they had continued to persist in that belief,
they would still to this day have lacked the
whole technique.
Yet I will not deny that a man may be too
credulous in his beliefs and be led by such
examples to believe too much. A good fellow
and friend of mine, talking recently about this
matter of marvels and miracles and intending
as a joke to make me believe as true some-
thing that could never be, first brought up
what great force fire has when it makes it pos-
sible for two pieces of iron to be joined and
stick together, and with the help of the ham-
mer makes both of them one — which no ham-
mering could do without the fire. Since I daily
see this process I assented. They he went on
to say something even more marvelous, that
fire will make iron run like silver or lead and
be molded. I told him that I had never seen
this but that I thought it to be true because
he said he had seen it. Soon after this he
wanted me to believe that he had seen a piece
of silver two or three inches in circumference
and less than a foot long drawn by hand
through small holes drilled in an iron slab until
it was reduced to a circumference of no more
than half an inch and drawn out to I don’t
know how many yards. And when I heard him
say that he saw this himself, then I knew very
well that he was joking.
Indeed, sir, said your friend [the young
man|, it was high time to part ways with him
when he came to that.
Well, I said, what if I should tell you now
that I have seen the same thing?
Honestly, he said jokingly, I would have
plenty of time to believe it when I had seen it,
and in the meantime I could not prevent you
from saying whatever you please in your own
house, but I would think that you were hu-
morously inclined to make a fool of me.
Well, I said, what if besides me there were
ten or twenty honorable men who told you
the same story and said they had all seen it
done themselves?
Honestly, he said, since I have been sent

here to believe you, I would on that point
believe you alone as much as all of them.
Well, I said, you mean you would believe
us all alike. But then what would you say if
one or two of them would say even more?
Indeed, he said, then I would believe them
all the less.
What if they should show you, I said, that
they have seen that the piece of silver was
gilded over and that when the same piece was
continuously drawn through the holes, the
gilding was not rubbed off but extended in
length together with the silver so that the
whole length of many yards was gilded from
the gilding of the first piece, which was not a
foot long?
Surely, sir, I would say that those two who
wanted to tell me so much more were not so
clever in upholding.a lie as was the pilgrim’s
companion, when the pilgrim told at York that
he had recently seen in London a bird that
covered all of Paul’s Churchyard with its
wings. When the companion got to York on
the next day he said that he didn’t see that
bird, though he heard much talk about it, but
he saw in Paul’s Churchyard an egg so large
that ten men could hardly move it with le-
vers. This fellow could keep up the game with
a proper extension. But it is no proper way to
uphold a lie to diminish your credence by af-
firming the first lie and adding a more outra-
geous lie to it.
Well, I said then, I have perceived that if
ten should tell you so, you would not believe
them.
No, he said, not if twenty should.
What if ahundred men who seemed good
and credible should tell you? I said.
If they were ten thousand, he said, they
would have used up all their credibility with
me if they should tell me that they saw some-
thing that I myself know is impossible accord-
ing to nature and reason. For when I know it
could not be done, I know very well that they
are all lying, no matter how many there are
who say they saw it done.
Well, I said, since I see very well
that you
would not believe a whole town on this point,
FROM A DIALOGUE CONCERNING HERESIES
you have silenced me so that I dare not be
bold enough to tell you that I have seen it
myself. But surely, if witnesses would have
served me, I think I might have brought you
a great many good men who would say and
also swear that they have seen it themselves.
But, as it is, tomorrow I will perhaps get me a
couple of witnesses, neither of whom (I know
very well) you will not mistrust.
Who are they? he said, for it would be hard
to find anyone whom I could trust more than
yourself; whatever I have said in jest, I hon-
estly could not help believing you about what-
ever you should tell me in good earnest from
your own knowledge. But .. . master you or-
dinarily look so serious when you are joking
that many times men suspect you are joking
when you intend to be serious.
Honestly, I said, I intend to be serious now,
and yet, however much you dare trust me, if
you will go with me I shall, as I said, provide
a couple of witnesses, any one of which you
will believe better than two of me, for they
are close friends of yours and you have been
better acquainted with them and they are such,
as I dare say for them, as are not often accus-
tomed to lying.
I beg you, he said, who are they?
Indeed, I said, your own two eyes, for if
you agree, I will bring you where you shall
see it, no further away than right here in Lon-
don. And as for drawing out iron and brass to
such lengths, you will see it done in almost
twenty shops in one street.
Indeed, sir, these witnesses will surely not
lie, as the poor man said about the priest, if I
may be so familiar as to tell you a merry tale
in passing.
A merry tale, I said, comes never amiss to
me.
A poor man, he said, had found a priest
overly familiar with his wife, and because the
poorman spread it abroad and could not prove
it, the priest sued him for defamation before
the bishop’s official. There the poor man,
upon pain of excommunication, was com-
manded [by the bishop] that on Sunday at
high mass in his parish church he should stand
333
J. A. COVER
up and say “Mouth, you are a liar.” Where-
upon, to fulfill his penance, he was set up ina
pew so that the people might gape at him and
hear what he said. And there, having re-
counted what he had reported about the
priest, he set his hands on his mouth and said
“Mouth, mouth, you are a liar.” And right
after that he set his hand upon his eyes and
said “But eyes, eyes, by heaven, you are not
liars at all.” And so, sir, indeed, if you bring
me those witnesses, they will tell no lies at all.
However, sir, even if this is true, as I hon-
estly believe and am sure that it is, still I am
not any more bound by reason to believe those
who want to tell me about a miracle. For
though this thing is incredible to anyone who
hears it and strange and marvelous to anyone
who sees it, still it is something that can be
done. But whoever tells me about a miracle,
tells me something that cannot be done.
I showed you this example, [rejoins More |
to remind you that in being too reluctant to
believe things that seem and appear impossi-
ble according to reason and nature when they
are reported by credible witnesses who have
no reason to lie, there is as much danger of
error as in being too willing to believe. And,
furthermore, I have proved to you that if you
believe no one about such things as cannot
39 Miracles and (Christian) Theism
J. A. Cover
1 Introduction
Many theists — perhaps most traditional the-
ists who approach the Sacred texts in anything
like an orthodox way — find “believing in mir-
acles” a fairly natural thing to do.! Christians,
for example, regard belief in miracles to be
part and parcel of embracing the Christian
334
be, then it must follow that you ought to be-
lieve no one about many things that can be,
for it is all one to you whether they can be or
cannot be if it seems to you that they cannot
be. And, truly, you cannot tell whether they
can be or cannot be, unless they are two such
things as imply contradiction, such as for one
and the same thing in one and the same part
to be both black and white at the same time.
For otherwise many things will seem to you
such as all reason will resist and nature will by
no means admit. And yet they will be done
well enough and will be common and ordi-
nary enough in some other place. But now,
since your whole recourse consists in this, that
if you are told about a miracle you may with
reason believe that all men lie because reason
and nature, which are more to be believed than
all of them, tell you that what they say is wrong
because what they describe as a miracle can-
not be done, I have showed you that nature
and reason show you that many things can-
not be done which are in fact done — so much
so that when you see them done you may quite
well take them to be miracles, for reason and
nature cannot show you by what natural or-
der and cause it could be done but rather you
will still see reason stand quite against it, as in
the drawing of silver or iron.
Faith, echoing St Paul’s judgment that the
bodily resurrection of Christ is an unnegoti-
able part ofit(I Corinthians 15: 17). But while
Christians may find believing in miracles a
pretty natural thing to do, many others will
express a good deal more skepticism about
them. Leaving aside issues about the histor-
ical reliability of the biblical record, many have

claimed that belief in miracles is simply ir-
rational, or more severely that miracles are
impossible. Here the believer may well con-
fess to being at a loss to understand such an
attitude: what exactly is the source of such
skeptical doubts about miracles, and what
could motivate the claim that “believing in
miracles is irrational” or that “miracles are
impossible?” Indeed, by the reckoning of some
believers, miracles look to offer a veritable
argument for God’s existence, or at very least
serve as good evidence for it: miracles (they
might say) point to God in just the way that
any effect points to its cause.
The argument ofcourse can’t run so quickly
as all that. Miracles point to God only if there
are miracles. While the existence of miracles
is pretty much what is to be expected by some-
one believing in the God of traditional the-
ism or the divinity of Christ more specifically,
the atheist or agnostic — who does not believe
there exists any such God or divine person —
can scarcely be supposed to share that expec-
tation. If any “argument from miracles” is to
earn its way into a proper dialogue between
the believer and the skeptic, the grounds upon
which particular events may be judged to be
miracles must, it seems, be independent of the
belief that God exists. Both the believer and
skeptic alike, then — should any dialogue be
forthcoming — will know what conditions
would be met if one were to be rationally jus-
tified in believing that some event is a mira-
cle. But one cannot evaluate the justification
for believing that some event is a miracle un-
less one knows what a miracle 7s—what con-
ditions an event must satisfy if it is to count as
miraculous. The believer and skeptic alike,
then, will know what a miracle is (or would
be, were there any).
Historically, the potential role of miracles
in discussing Christian evidences — a second-
ary concern ofthis paper — has served as a use-
ful context in which believers and skeptics of
intellectual good will have joined the dialogue
on miracles. Indeed, the question of miracles
has found a place in the philosophical reflec-
tions of thinking Christians and skeptics from
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
St Augustine down to the present day. The
foundation for all such reflections rests on the
two central philosophical questions about
miracles just encountered. What are miracles?
(That is the metaphysical question.) On what
grounds would one be rationally warranted in
believing that there are miracles? (That is the
epistemological question.) These questions are
our main concern in what follows, along with
important subsidiary ones.
2 Violations of Law and
Evidence for Miracles
Christians have long believed that, among the
set of all events that occur is a special subset
of events that are miraculous. What distin-
guishes these special, miraculous events — if
any there be — from the preponderance of oth-
ers?
A What ts a Miracle? Getting
Started on the Metaphysical Question
The deployment of “miracle” in common us-
age has come to permit such expressions as
“her recovery was a miracle” or “it was a mira-
cle that he wasn’t seriously injured.” Descrip-
tions of this sort typically highlight the
remarkable, unexpected nature of the event.
Unbelievers and Christians alike admit that in
a universe as complex and complicated as ours,
there will arise remarkable and unexpected
occurrences: those with welcome conse-
quences may invite this loose description of
“miracle” without any implication ofreligious
significance or divine intervention. Where for
many believers such usage will underscore the
providential character of an event, serving
perhaps to confirm one’s faith, the event in
question (the astounding recovery or amaz-
ing lack of injury) might still be viewed as
admitting of some explanation in terms of
natural causes — however complicated, how-
ever elusive. Such welcome but remarkable
events, no less than an unexpected tragedy or
unfortunate freak of nature, may have their
S30
J. A. COVER
place in a divine economy, an economy that
God in His wisdom and power could have
woven into the fabric of nature itself.
So not all providential events are miracles.
Consider what would seem to be a clear case.
A man of seeming good health suddenly takes
seriously ill. Despite the prayers of his sisters,
he soon thereafter ceases breathing, his heart
stops, and he dies. He is buried in an earthen
grave. Four days later, as the body begins to
manifest signs of decay, a religious figure of
devoted following arrives at the graveside. He
weeps, but then declares with a loud voice,
“Lazarus, come forth.” The man emerges
whole and living from the earthen grave.
Supposing (as believers do) that such an
event occurs, what sort ofspecial event is this?
On the standard conception, an event is a
miracle only if it is contrary to the natural or-
der. To say that an event is “contrary to the
natural order” is simply to say that it is an ex-
ception to the regular order of natural occur-
rences. Dead people do not, in the natural
course of events, come back to life. In the
words of David Hume, the eighteenth-cen-
tury skeptic and outspoken opponent of mira-
cles, “a miracle is a violation of the laws of
nature.”? On this standard conception, the
notion of a miracle (and any evidential weight
believers might view them as having) implies
a contrast with that to which the miraculous
is said to be an exception. Were the course of
nature altogether random and lawless — were
the world such that sometimes dead people
remained dead, sometimes they did not, and
it was anybody’s guess how any particular case
would turn out — we should have no concept
ofan exception or violation at all, and no event
could serve as evidence ofdivine intervention.
If being a violation of at least one law of
nature is a necessary condition for an event’s
being a miracle, it is scarcely sufficient. An
event is a miracle, presumably, only if it is
caused directly by God. Perhaps this is too
strong, if it leaves no room for allowing (say)
that Peter’s healing the lame man (Acts 3: 1-
9) counts as the performance ofa miracle. And
yet there may be risks in the direction of weak-
336
ening this second condition too much; for if
we say that an event is a miracle only if it has a
supernatural cause, shall we allow that Satan
can perform miracles? Let us say that an event
is a miracle only if it is caused by God either
directly or through some divine agency, leav-
ing others to settle the more finely-sliced de-
tails of theological propriety.
So we have at least two conditions that must
be met in order for an event to count as a
miracle, on the standard conception. An event
eis a miracle only if (1) é violates at least one
law of nature, and (2) é is caused by God
either directly or through some divine agency.’
B_ Problems for Miracles: Getting
Started on the Epistemological
Question
Conditions (1) and (2) serve as our working
definition of “miracle,” on the standard
construal. Of course defining something — e.g.
“dog,” “extra-terrestrial” — doesn’t get the
thing (or things) into existence. The skeptic
doubts that there ave any miracles, any events
satisfying our defining conditions (1) and (2).
Believers think otherwise. Suppose, then, that
the believer is confronted with (or is other-
wise considering, perhaps in the form of his-
torical testimony or an eyewitness report)
some event which she takes to be a miracle.
Two questions clearly need answering: (a) Is
the event a violation of a law ofnature (i.e. is
it what we'll call an anomalous event)?* and
(b) Is the event caused by God? That is, with
our standard conception ofa miraculous event
in hand, a miracle will have to meet the
Anomalous Event condition (AE) and the
Divine Cause condition (DC). An event eis a
miracle only if
(AE) € is an anomalous event, and
(DC) e is caused by God either directly or
through some divine agency.
In the Introduction we encountered a con-
cern of many theists to better understand the
skeptical attitude of unbelievers. Let’s set aside

for now the most severe skeptical attitude,
according to which miracles are impossible.
And let’s hang on to our context of dialogue
between the believer and the skeptic — our
secondary concern to evaluate the prospects
for any “argument from miracles” to the ex-
istence of God. Even ifthe skeptic grants that
miracles are metaphysically possible, there may
yet be epistemological challenges to believ-
ing rationally that miracles are actual. To be-
gin, notice that according to the divine cause
condition (DC), there can be no miracles un-
less God exists. Thus we can imagine one ob-
jecting that “there cannot be miracles which
are evidence for God’s existence, because ac-
cepting a description of an event as a miracle
commits a man to acceptiing] the existence
of God.”> Our definition itself looks to beg
the question against the unbelieving skeptic
about miracles.
But surely we can define “miracle” in a way
that — should any occur — entails the existence
of God, without begging the question in favor
of theism generally or Christianity in partic-
ular. What is at issue between the believer and
unbelieving skeptic, presumably, isn’t whether
miracles are good evidence for theism or Chris-
tianity, but whether there is good evidence for
miracles. And traditionally, it is precisely (AE)
— the existence of what we are calling an
anomalous event — that is offered as evidence
for (DC) — the existence of a divine cause.
What the above objection teaches us, if it
teaches us anything, is a lesson already encoun-
tered: if the believer should like to argue from
miracles to the existence ofa divine being, then
it must be possible for the skeptic to recog-
nize evidence for, and form a warranted be-
lief about, the truth of (AE) without requiring
prior evidence for, or warranted belief about,
(DC). The skeptic will need unbiased — we
might say “theistically neutral” — grounds for
claiming that some event is anomalous.
If there is no special problem with adopt-
ing the divine cause condition (DC) in our
working definition, the deployment of the
anomalous event condition (AE) confronts a
more serious challenge from the moderate
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
skeptic. The challenge is twofold, directed at
the roles (AE) plays in two distinct tasks for
the believer in dialogue with the skeptic. One
task is giving reasons for judging that an
anomalous event has indeed occurred; another
taskis showing that such an anomalous event
points to a divine cause, and so is genuinely
miraculous. That is, given some candidate-
event ¢, we confront two questions: first, Is
(AE) indeed true? and second, Does the truth
of (AE) establish the truth of (DC)? More
carefully:
(1) Are there theistically neutral grounds
on which to justify the belief that (AE)
is true?
(II): Does the truth of (AE) serve as
theistically neutral evidence for believ-
ing that (DC) is true?
If the dialogue with the skeptic is to progress
ina direction favoring the believer, then these
central questions must each receive the an-
swer “yes.”
From the vast literature on miracles, one can
distill three basic objections that skeptics might
raise in attempting to explain why we are not
(ever) able to answer “yes” to our two central
questions above. The first two argue that we
can never expect an affirmative answer to the
first question. The latter argues that we can-
not get an affirmative answer for the second
question. In the remainder ofthis section, we’ll
present the objections themselves. Evaluating
them is the task of sections 3 and 4, wherein
the metaphysics and epistemology of miracles
can be taken up in more detail.
(1) The Humean Objection In his famous
essay “Of Miracles,” David Hume argues that
it is never reasonable to believe that a miracu-
lous violation of law has occurred.°® His argu-
ment begins with a reminder of how we do in
fact seem to justify our belief that something
counts as a law of nature: observing that two
kinds of objects or events repeatedly and regu-
larly occur together (unsuspended objects and
falling, say, or deaths and irreversible decay)
337
J. A. COVER
counts as very strong evidence that “All Fs
are Gs” is a genuine law (of gravity, or of irre-
versible biological decay). Indeed the constant
and repeated concurrence of such events
amounts to what Hume would call a “proof”
of the law: there being no a priori method of
discovering laws of nature, the observed uni-
form and regular behavior of objects and
events provides the strongest evidence one
could possibly have for judging some gener-
alization of the form “All Fs are Gs” to be a
law of nature. What, then, should the rational
person believe if confronted with testimony
for an alleged miraculous rising from the dead
(say) — an eyewitness report of even the strong-
est credentials amounting to its own “proof?”
We must weigh evidence against evidence,
proof against proof. And here the evidence
for it being true that all Fs are Gs must inevi-
tably outweigh the evidence for it being true
that there is an F that is mot a G; for against
the testimony of our witness stands the entire
host of repeated experiences to the contrary,
of regular and constant conjunction of Fs and
Gs. Since “the wise man always proportions
his belief to the evidence,” and since the tes-
timonial evidence for a miracle can never out-
weigh the repeated observational evidence for
a law of nature, no evidence will ever com-
mand rational assent to the truth of a reported
miracle. In short, one is never justified in be-
lieving that (AE) is true for some event. The
answer to our Question (I) is “no.” That is
Hume’s Objection.
(2) The Wrong Laws Objection Suppose that
— on grounds as yet forthcoming — Hume’s
argument is rejected, and that one could be
rationally warranted in judging a law of na-
ture to be violated. And suppose now that a
candidate for such a case is in fact offered, i.e.
that we are justified in believing some distinct-
ive and unexpected event ¢ to have occurred.
Shall we claim that the anomalous event con-
dition (AE) is true and that some law of na-
ture L is violated? Well, even if we are
confronted with such evidence that e¢violates
some accepted law of nature, the skeptic will
338
encourage us to see that the most plausible
conclusion to draw — or anyway, an equally
good conclusion to draw from the evidence —
is mot that a law of nature is violated, but rather
that the generalization L thought to be a law
of nature is nota law of nature after all. Again,
there is no a priori mechanism for identifying
the correct laws of nature; hence there is no a
priori route to the conclusion that some event
e has violated a law of nature. And since the
mechanism scientists do employ in proposing
certain generalizations as laws is a broadly
empirical one, it must remain open to theore-
ticians and practitioners of science to recog-
nize evidence against proposed laws when it
arises, evidence of the need for some new, al-
ternative law (or laws) L*. Just as science it-
self works in part by rejecting supposed laws
when the evidence no longer fits them, so the
skeptic will argue that this unexpected event
e — the supposed miracle — is simply good
evidence that we have not correctly under-
stood the relevant laws of nature. Indeed, if
we had properly latched on to the true laws
of nature, we should no longer judge the
actual event e¢ as contrary to them. Nothing
that actually happens is contrary to the truth.
So if the man was really dead and did in fact
come to life, then surely there is something
about the remarkable and complex biology of
human organisms we have yet to learn. Of
course, one who is antecedently disposed to
anticipate supernatural intrusions into the
natural order — one already inclined to see re-
markable events like ¢ as divine interventions
— will more readily judge events of that re-
markable kind to be genuinely anomalous vio-
lations of law. But the conditions for judging
an event as genuinely anomalous must (recall)
be independent of such dispositions, such in-
clinations: the evidence is to be theistically
neutral. So the skeptic is under no epistemic
obligation to do otherwise than regard an un-
expected, heretofore unobserved event pre-
cisely as any empirical scientist would: ¢ is
at best evidence for the need to reconsider
our present understanding of the powers in
nature and the laws governing them. Once

again, we cannot conclude that (AE) is true; as
before, the answer to our central Question (I)
is “no.” That is the Wrong Laws Objection.
(3) The Non-Miraculous Anomaly
Objection Suppose that — on grounds yet
unspecified — the anomalous event condition
(AE) zsacknowledged to be true. That is, sup-
pose we are justified in believing ¢ to violate
some law of nature L, and so may answer “yes”
to Question (I). From the existence of such
an anomalous event, can we infer the exist-
ence of a divine cause? Not at all straighta-
way. From the truth of (AE) we can infer the
truth of (DC) omly if there could be no anoma-
lous events lacking a divine cause. But since,
for all we know, some events are anomalous
precisely because they are radically spontane-
ous or otherwise uncaused events, there may
be anomalous events that are not miracles.”
Such events would be non-miraculous anoma-
lies. Clearly an event’s lacking a natural cause
does not entail its having a supernatural cause.
If non-miraculous anomalous events are thus
possible, and ifthere is no theistically neutral
reason for saying “it’s more likely that ¢ has a
supernatural cause than that ¢is radically spon-
taneous (random) or otherwise uncaused,”
then the evidential value of ¢ emerges to be
practically nil. A man rose from the dead. So?
So it scarcely follows that God did it. Here
again, if one already believed that God exists
and took oneself to have some knowledge of
the nature and plans of God, then one might
well have grounds for believing that ¢ is due
to God. But independently of such theistically-
motivated dispositions for belief, the skeptic
is without good reasons for judging the
anomalous event ¢ to be evidence for the ex-
istence and activity of a divine being. Since
(DC) cannot be thereby reckoned true, the
answer to our Question (II) is “no.” That is
the Non-Miraculous Anomaly Objection.
Here then are three significant challenges —
to the rationality of believing in miracles gen-
erally, and in particular to the believer who
would engage skeptics in arguing that mir-
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
acles have evidential value for theistic belief.
In turning now to assess these objections, let’s
begin with the Humean Objection. Doing so
will lead us pretty quickly to rethinking the
metaphysical question about what miracles
are. /
3 Miracles and Laws: the
Metaphysical Question
Reconsidered
A Hume’s Oljection
There are three things to point out about
Hume’s challenge: the last of them will offer
us a chance to think more clearly about the
nature of miracles and laws.
First, Hume’s objection looks to suppose
that the only evidence one might have for a
miracle is the testimony of someone’s claim
to direct observation. But there may be — in-
deed, typically will be — evidence of another,
indirect sort; and such indirect evidence may
well be strong enough to warrant positing the
existence of a genuinely anomalous event as
its best explanation. Consider first a simple
case by way of illustration. Imagine that a good
friend and family man, Jones (as he is inevita-
bly called), is found dead on his bedroom
floor. Here is a surprising event that we ache
to have explained. Suppose someone tells us
and the authorities that they saw Jones com-
mit suicide. No detective worth his salt would
stop with evidence of that sort, and call it a
day. After all, the witness might be lying, or
deluded, or have poor eyesight. Rather, the
detective will seek out indirect evidence —
Jones’s own fingerprints on a gun lying
nearby, a suicide note on the table, a host of
antidepressant drugs in the medicine cabinet,
and so on. Where the direct testimony of our
witness might prove insufficient, further indi-
rect evidence might prove overwhelming: in-
deed, the hypothesis that Jones committed
suicide might well explain all the other, in-
direct evidence much better than any alter-
native hypothesis (murder in a bungled
robbery attempt, say). Now consider the case
339
J. A. COVER
of putative miracles. Here too, quite apart from
the direct testimony of a witness, there may
well be many other such bits of indirect evi-
dence that are best explained by the hypoth-
esis that an anomalous event did indeed occur,
and which might well be far stronger than the
direct evidence. Thus, in addition to direct test-
imony for the claim that Christ arose (“I saw
him in the Garden and he spoke to me!”) would
be the empty tomb itselfand the burial clothes,
the despondency of the Christ’s followers sud-
denly giving way to great cheer and deep faith,
and so on. Surely these things need explain-
ing; and it may emerge that such bits of in-
direct evidence are much better explained by
Christ’s actual resurrection than by any com-
peting hypothesis, and that such evidence is
even stronger than the testimony of our wit-
ness. Hume’s objection is one about the weight
of evidence, and he has said nothing whatso-
ever about adding the weight of indirect evi-
dence for a genuinely anomalous event.
Second, Hume’s Objection appears on re-
flection to be much too strong. The evidence
of past experience for some regularity of
nature (all Fs are Gs) will, on his account, al-
ways be weightier than new contrary evidence
for a violation. But if that were true as a gen-
eral principle, it would entail that it is never
rational to believe — on the basis of direct test-
imony or any other evidence — that an event
having never before occurred, or having a very
low likelihood of occurring based on past ex-
perience, has in fact occurred. Yet surely it és
possible to have good evidence for believing
that something highly improbable (relative to
past experience) has in fact occurred. Other-
wise, it should be impossible to have good
evidence that (say) our best current estim-
ation for some law of nature now has new
good evidence counting against it. Indeed,
were Hume’s Objection against miracles taken
seriously, its partner objection — the Wrong
Laws Objection — could never even arise: one
could never have good reasons for saying (as
scientists clearly sometimes must) that sup-
posed scientific laws need to be revised on the
basis of new, contrary evidence. Hume seems
340
to think that the invariable experience of past
occurrences must always win out, and that one
could never have good grounds to revise laws
in the way scientists actually do. And that,
clearly, is much too strong. Hume has vastly
overestimated the weight of past experience.
Third, some philosophers have worried that,
in the context of arguing that the weight of
“uniform experience” for some law always
trumps the weight of testimony for its viol-
ation, Hume has begged the question — 1.e.
has helped himself to something (namely the
uniformity of experience) that can be known
only if it were already known that no anoma-
lous event to the contrary has ever been expe-
rienced.’ The force of this charge against
Hume rests on reading him as claiming not
simply that an individual’s experience of past
occurrences is uniform and regular, but rather
that all past occurrences have been uniform
and regular, in accordance with laws. Although
this is not the most charitable reading of
Hume, it does point to what seems clearly
beneath the surface of what Hume says about
miracles and their relation to laws of nature —
namely, an extreme skepticism about the pos-
sibility of miracles. Miracles, on the standard
conception, are violations of at least one law
of nature. But for Hume, laws of nature are
simply true statements of the uniform and
regular behavior of natural objects and events.
Were there no such uniform and regular
behavior ofthe natural objects and events, we
should have no grounds for calling those state-
ments /awsat all. Hence, our grounds for call-
ing them laws are precisely our grounds for
denying any event is miraculous.
Thus arises a more severe (we might still
reckon it Humean) challenge to miracles:
given the standard definition that miracles vio-
late a law of nature, there are no miracles,
because they are impossible. More explicitly:
A law of nature is a true universal generaliz-
ation of the form “All Fs are Gs” or “All so-
and-sos do such-and-such.” This is the stand-
ard account of a law of nature. Hence, anything
that is a genuine law ofnature has no exceptions,

no counterinstances: if it really zs a law of na-
ture that all Fs are Gs, then there cannot be an
F that is not a G. Buta miracle is by definition a
violation of a law of nature. Thus: if(i) nothing
could be a law of nature unless it is unviolated,
and (ii) no event could be a miracle unless it
violates a law of nature, then no event could be
a miracle. Miracles are impossible.’
This argument — we might call it the “impos-
sibility argument” — is valid. What should the
believer make of it?
B_ Re-evaluating the Standard
Construal of Miracles as Violations
of Law
An unnegotiable part of orthodox theistic
belief is that miracles are actual, hence possi-
ble. The believer thus has two options for re-
sponding to the impossibility argument,
corresponding to its two main premises — that
(i) nothing could be a law ofnature unless it
is unviolated, and that (ii) no event could be
a miracle unless it violates a law of nature. That
is, the believer must judge the impossibility
argument to be unsound, claiming either that
laws of nature can be violated, or that mira-
cles are not violations of the laws of nature
but are in some other way anomalous. Let’s
examine briefly the first of these options.
Among the most central considerations rec-
ommending that miracles be construed as vio-
lations of laws of nature is the following pair
of intuitions, shared by many believers and
unbelievers alike: (a) miracles, if any there be,
are fundamentally divine interventions into the
causal order of nature; and (b) the concept of
causation is fundamentally a concept of lawlike
regularity. Together, these recommend what
we’ve been calling the standard conception
of a miracle. Suppose now that one believed
miracles are possible and yet wished to retain
the standard conception of a miracle, insist-
ing that a miraculous event, if it occurred,
would violate some law of nature L. In this
case one shall have to deny premise (i) of the
impossibility argument, and say that some-
thing could be a law of nature even if it had
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
exceptions. While such laws would of course
admit of no natural exception — it being the
job of laws to mark off such exceptions as (let
us say) physically impossible — the laws may
yet admit of supernatural exception. Suppos-
ing as we do that the laws of nature are not
logically necessary, it is within precisely this
gap between what is physically possible and
what is logically possible that miracles would
be expected to fall. This being so, the believer
may suggest that whatever lawful order God
at creation set into place, the resulting physi-
cal impossibility of a man’s rising from the
dead tells not at all against such an event re-
maining logically possible for God to bring
about by direct causal intervention in nature.
Such an intervention, yielding a singular
anomalous event, would not amount to any
new regularity of nature — no new, conflict-
ing law serving to replace those set in place at
creation. Such natural laws as there are, in-
cluding any that a divine intervention may
have violated, remain in place as laws by which
the natural order is governed. Were there any,
miracles would be — rather as one should ex-
pect — events about which the predictions
based on natural laws are simply in error.!°
This account of miracles is not without its
difficulties. Most obvious among them, surely,
is the strain of having to say that some-
thing could be a law of nature despite being
false. All else being equal, one would like an
account of miracles and their relation to natu-
ral laws that avoids speaking of false laws of
nature. Other difficulties arise as consequences
of the requirement that miracles are non-
repeatable singularities. The requirement is
apparently crucial: were there any recurring
connection in the world between Fs and non-
Gs — between dead men and revived men —
we should no longer have grounds for judg-
ing Lto bea law of nature at all, to which ¢ is
a miraculous counterinstance. In order to pre-
serve L as a genuine law and ¢ as genuinely
anomalous, many philosophers (Smart and
Swinburne notably among them) have thus
insisted that miracles must be non-repeatable.
Here we clearly have an additional, newly-
341
J. A. COVER
proposed necessary condition for an event’s
counting as a miracle; and just as clearly it is
not something either the believer or unbeliever
need accept. First, it is quite obscure how ex-
actly we are to understand this notion of an
unrepeatable singularity. If an event is re-
garded as a spatio-temporal particular — an
individual thing’s having a certain property at
a particular place at a particular time — then
no event is repeatable. The event of Lazarus’s
coming to life at place p at time ¢ cannot be
repeated. If on the other hand an event is re-
garded as an instance of some general descrip-
tion, then most events (including, say, the
rising of a person every time Christ says
“Arise”) are repeatable. But suppose the de-
sired notion of non-repeatability can be ren-
dered intelligible. We should nevertheless ask
(second): What is to prevent an all-powerful
lawgiver from performing a certain sort of
miracle with some regularity, or at least with
some frequency? Whether God intervenes in
a certain way with regularity or frequency is,
surely, His own business.!?
C An Alternative Construal:
Causal Laws and Miracles as Non-
Violations
One cannot help but wonder if there isn’t a
more satisfactory account of miracles and laws
of nature that will avoid the impossibility ar-
gument. A second option for rescuing the
possibility of miracles, noted earlier, would
part company from the standard construal of
miracles by denying premise (ii) of the argu-
ment, that miracles are violations of law. What
are the prospects for taking this route?
Recall again the two basic intuitions, shared
by many believers and unbelievers alike, that
motivate the standard picture of miracles and
their relation to natural laws: (a) miracles, if
any there be, are fundamentally divine inter-
ventions into the causal order of nature; and
(b) the concept of causation is fundamentally
a concept of lawlike regularity among events,
expressed in generalizations of the form “All
Fs are Gs.” Those might have seemed innocu-
342
ous enough. Especially the first: for purposes
of dialogue, the believer and the skeptic can
surely agree that item (a) forms part of the
definition of a miracle — that miracles are or
would be brought about by God in a super-
natural way, from outside of nature. The rub
comes in accepting (b), and with it the idea
that something could be a genuine law of the
form “All Fs are Gs” even if it is falsified by
some miraculous F that isw’t a G. And it is
important to see that accepting (a) doesn’t in
any way require one to accept (b) — doesn’t
commit one to accepting the Humean view
that causality is fundamentally a matter of
lawlike regularity among events. The theistic
proponent of the standard construal has en-
couraged us to see that the natural order es-
tablished at creation does nothing to exclude
God’s power of bringing it about that some F
is not-G. Fair enough. Why not view this as
an invitation to grant that the causal powers
enjoyed by God permit His bringing about
occurrences that cannot be caused by the natu-
ral forces operative in created objects left to
themselves? That is — now following two
Christian philosophers of a bygone era — we
can say with St Thomas Aquinas and G. W.
Leibniz that miracles are occurrences which
are beyond the natural causal powers of any
created thing to bring about:!* the natural
forces operative in a human body dead for four
days cannot cause that body to rise anew in
living health. What God can cause is some-
thing the powers operative in the body itself
cannot cause.
This non-Humean view of causation as fun-
damentally an intrinsic power to bring about
or make happen — powers that objects possess
or lack in virtue of the kinds of objects they
are — isn’t merely an alternative to Hume’s
intuition (b) above. It highlights an impor-
tant weakness in granting too quickly the
simple Humean picture of laws themselves.
According to intuition (b), causation is fun-
damentally a concept of regularity or lawlike
universal generalization. But clearly not all
universal generalizations are laws of nature. It
may well be that as a matter of empirical ob-

servation of fact, all dogs born at sea are
labradors; but this accidentally true generali-
zation hardly supports the predictive and ex-
planatory status that we believe genuine laws
to possess — one licensing an inference to (say)
“if my beagle were to have pups at sea, they
would be labrador retrievers.” Some gener-
alizations are weak, expressing that all Fs are
Gs and nothing more than that; but the genu-
inely lawful generalizations are stronger, ex-
pressing something closer to “All Fs have to
be Gs.” Crucially, then: how is the original
Humean account to secure this character of
laws as expressing a kind of necessity that mere
accidental regularities lack?
Perhaps it can be captured by regarding laws
of nature as having some sort of prescriptive
necessity, rather like that of legal statutes: in
this way, perhaps we’d be able to construe laws
as having the form “Necessarily, all Fs are Gs,”
while nevertheless allowing them (like legal
statutes) to be violated and to not entail that
all Fs are Gs.'* Perhaps. But it isn’t at all clear
how recognizing some kind of necessity in the
generalization can weaken the generalization
itself, so that it permits Fs that aren’t Gs.
Moreover, it is unclear how the prescriptive
force of an imperative or command (“No driv-
ing over 55 mph”) can have the descriptive
content that we take laws of nature to in fact
have: laws not only prescribe how the natural
world must go but describe how the natural
world is (“All metals are conductors”). We
might hope to retain this intuition that laws
of nature are rather like divine injunctions, but
still think of laws as both descriptive and pre-
scriptive — by construing them as “expressions
of a faithful God’s free governance of the
world,” i.e. as stipulations of how God does
and would act (bring about a G) in this or
that particular circumstance (when there’s an
F).!* But this threatens to make God the im-
mediate causal source of all occurrences,
“natural” and “unnatural” (miraculous) alike.
If we should like to regard miracles as genu-
ine interventions by God into the natural causal
order, don’t we do better to recognize, as we
did above, a natural causal efficacy within cre-
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
ated objects? On this non-Humean proposal,
we would be well-placed to insist that what
distinguishes some regularity as a genuine law
of nature is that it be one expressing what
occurrences the natural causal powers of ob-
jects must and cannot give rise to. In the
course of nature, dead human bodies must
suffer decay, and beagles cannot have labrador
pups. The “must” and “cannot” here express
what we earlier described as physically neces-
sary and physically impossible — a “must” and
“cannot” that, however strong, isn’t so strong
as to threaten the causal powers of God should
He will to intervene.
By a stroke of good luck, this brief excur-
sion into the metaphysics of causality and laws
has welcome payoffs. First, if not all regulari-
ties are laws of nature, then the believer faces
no special threat from repeated or regular
miracles: laws of nature, expressing causally
necessary connections between kinds of
events, may not exhaust all the regularities
there are. Moreover, if (on our non-Humean
construal) laws are those generalizations ex-
pressing what occurrences the natural causal
powers in objects must and cannot give rise
to, then we now have very plausible motiv-
ation for viewing the scope of laws of nature
to be implicitly restricted in just this way —
restricted, that is, to occurrences in which only
natural causal powers are operative. Laws of
nature are about the natural causal goings on
in the created world. This being so, it remains
open to claim that events not caused by the
operation of natural powers in created objects
do nothing to threaten the truth of natural
causal laws. That threat, recall, was the diffi-
culty with accepting (b) above. We now see
that believing in events having supernatural
causes needn’t saddle one with believing that
there are false laws of nature, laws having ex-
ceptions. Miracles are so to speak “gaps” in
nature, occurrences having causes on which
laws of nature are simply silent. The laws are
true, and simply don’t speak to events caused
by divine intervention. (Laws of nature are,
after all, laws of nature, not supernature:
miracles can be supra natura without being
343
J. A. COVER
contra natura.) In short, then, miracles are
anomalous ~ i.e. non-nomological or non-
lawlike — not because they violate laws of
nature, but rather because the laws of nature
don’t speak to their causal origins at all. Laws
can be silent without being false.
D> Naturalism and Miracles
The Christian theist, hoping to defend the
rationality of believing in miracles and inquire
into their evidential status for theistic belief
generally, can avoid the impossibility argu-
ment by denying its Humean assumptions.
That is genuine progress in the dialogue with
the skeptic. A final bit of progress can be made
by turning to the following important objec-
tion, which represents the most common mis-
giving about miracles from the contemporary
world-view of non-believers. “Whatever else
they are (or would be), miracles are (would
be) occurrences in the natural world having a
supernatural cause. But surely, whatever caus-
ally explains an occurrence in the natural world
must itself be part of the natural world. Indeed,
to causally explain the occurrence of some
event ¢ in the natural world is just to show
that ¢ is in accordance with some causal law
of nature. Thus every event in the natural world
has a natural causal explanation. Statements
of natural law are universal generalizations
applying to all events, and so any commit-
ment to the truth of laws of nature (as above)
entails that miracles cannot occur.”
The weakness of this challenge — call it the
challenge of Naturalism, after the prevalent
world-view from which it emerges — is the as-
sertion of Naturalism itself. Need one believe
it? Unless one were already committed to the
impossibility of supernatural causes, there
seems to be little reason for insisting that the
natural world must be a “closed system,” that
every event in nature is necessarily such that
there is some prior natural event that, together
with the laws of nature, causally explains its
occurrence. For all the naturalist’s devotion
to it, Naturalism is a philosophical hypoth-
esis, not an argument. Far from leaning on a
344
proposition that must be acknowledged as true
by any rational person reflecting on it, the
objection from Naturalism against this new
construal of miracles would seem to be little
more than special pleading.
One can imagine the following rejoinder
from the naturalist: “Well, what’s sauce for
the goose is sauce for the gander. Unless the
believer were already committed to the exist-
ence of supernatural causes, there seems little
reason for denying the Naturalist thesis — the
thesis that every event in nature is necessarily
such that there is some prior natural event
which, together with the laws of nature, caus-
ally explains its occurrence. Let us remain
theistically neutral, and set putative actions of
God aside. Why think there are any ‘gaps’ in
nature, any events on which the causal laws of
nature get no grip via prior natural events?”
Notice first that this reply misses its target.
The believer is aiming here to articulate a co-
herent account of miracles as possible, in re-
ply to the severe skeptical argument for their
impossibility. So the central question isn’t
whether we have good reasons for claiming
that Naturalism is false, but rather whether
there are good reasons for claiming that Natu-
ralism is true. The believer’s point is that
Naturalism isn’t something any rational per-
son is constrained to believe, and conclude
that miracles are possible. In urging the non-
violation construal of miracles as possible, the
believer needn’t at this stage provide good
reasons for believing that Naturalism is false
(and conclude that miracles are actual).'*
Sull, it would be nice to have something
positive from the believer by way of rejecting
the naturalist position. Shy of rejecting it
merely to safeguard their belief in miracles,
are there any plausible reasons for denying
that every event in nature is such that some
prior natural event, together with the laws of
nature, causally explains its occurrence?
Perhaps so. Consider those events we call
free actions of human creatures (agents), ac-
tions for which we are morally responsible
because we could have done otherwise than
perform them. Many philosophers have rea-

soned as follows. Laws of nature do express
necessary connections between kinds of
events. But if a// events in the natural world
are subject to these laws, then every event —
human actions among them - is causally ne-
cessitated by past events together with the laws
of nature. Since we are not in control of the
past or the laws of nature, it would not be
within our power to do otherwise than we do.
(Should it turn out that the laws of nature are
irreducibly probabilistic and some or all events
are by nature unavoidably chancy or random,
then here too it would not be genuinely up
to us what action was performed). But since
we are free agents — since it sometimes 7s up
to us what action we perform — it must follow
that not all human actions are causally neces-
sitated by past events together with the laws
of nature. Notice, then: in performing a free
action, we do not violate any law of nature.
Rather, free actions represent “gaps,” events
on which the laws ofnature get no grip in the
sense just described. For in the case of some
particular volition (willing or deciding to raise
one’s hand, say), it is not a prior event caus-
ing the volition in accordance with laws of
nature, but rather the person herself, a free
agent exercising a power to bring that deci-
sion about (rather than some other). That is
what we mean when we say that “she decided
to perform the action,” and what we imply
when claiming that “she is morally respons-
ible for doing it.” So once again, while it re-
mains the case that laws of nature are true,
and express causally necessary connections
between events, the occurrence of events hav-
ing free agents as their cause must, on this
agent-causal theory of freedom, recommend
against the claim that every event in nature is
necessarily such that some prior natural event
plus the laws of nature causally explains its
occurrence. Having earlier denied that all
regularities express causal connections, we can
here deny as well that all causal connections
instantiate a regularity — deny, that is, that (b)
the concept of causation is at bottom a con-
cept of lawlike regularity.
Many philosophers have reasoned in that
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
way.!° If this agent-causal theory of freedom
is coherent, then miracles on the non-stand-
ard, non-violation construal of them are thus
possible. Indeed, one might see in agent-causal
freedom a useful model for the nature of
miraculous divine intervention. Just as we as
free agents are causally responsible for some
events whose occurrence cannot be predicted
by a complete description of the past together
with the true laws of nature, so God is agent-
causally responsible for miraculous events
meeting the same description.
4 Miracles and Evidence: the
Epistemological Question
Reconsidered
Or so the believer in miracles might well claim.
But a coherent story about the world needn’t
be a true story: wide is the gate to coherence,
and narrow the way to truth. If the severe
skeptical challenge to the possibility of mir-
acles is, at long last, well enough behind us,
there remain skeptical challenges to the actu-
ality of miracles. Two such challenges are still
on board. According to the Wrong Laws Ob-
jection, any candidate e for an anomalous event
— one which the laws of nature together with
prior natural events cannot explain — is at best
evidence that we’ve gotten the laws of nature
wrong. According to the Non-Miraculous
Anomaly Objection, even if that remarkable
event zsanomalous and falls outside the scope
of the true laws of nature, it can succeed in
pointing to divine cause only if non-miracu-
lous anomalies are impossible. Both of these
objections are directed at the truth of the mira-
cle claims of theism generally and Christian-
ity in particular.
How deeply do these objections cut against
the rationality of believing in miracles, and
against the historically influential project of
many believers to offer the moderate skeptic
an “argument from miracles” in defense of
theism?
345
J. A. COVER
A Wrong Laws, Non-Miraculous
Anomalies, and Theistic Evidences
The second of these questions provides a use-
ful point of entry for answering the first. In
approaching this second question, it will help
to reflect briefly on how difficult it is to show
that some theory is true. Recall again our
working “definition” of a miracle: ¢ is a
miracle only if
(AE) eis an anomalous event, and
(DC) e is caused by God either directly or
through some divine agency.
And recall again our two central questions:
given some remarkable event e,
(I) Are there theistically neutral grounds
on which to justify the belief that (AE)
is true?
(II)... Does: the-truth,of (AE) serve as
theistically neutral evidence for believ-
ing that (DC) is true?
The obstacles confronting anyone aiming to
show that there are events having divine causes
are no different in kind from those confront-
ing any other effort to establish the truth of
some philosophical theory — say, that there
are events having free human creatures as
causes. A skeptic about agent-causation may
grant the coherence of such a theory without
cowering in the face of so-called “evidence
from free actions,” opting instead for some
alternative theory about the relation of hu-
man action to natural laws. No human action
all on its own counts as (we might say) free-
dom-theoretically neutral evidence for the
truth of agent-causation. Likewise the unbe-
lieving skeptic can, while granting the logical
posstbility of genuinely anomalous events, fairly
persist in a view of the physical world accord-
ing to which all events are causally explained
in terms of prior events together with the laws
of nature. Such a person, far from recoiling in
the face of “evidence from unexpected
events,” will have open to him alternatives
346
entailing that miracles are not actual. The
naturalist will recommend what many see as
the hallmark ofaproper scientific methodol-
ogy — expanding and revising our account of
nature and the laws governing occurrences
within it, in the face of new and contrary ob-
servations. The point is that putative “evi-
dence” will always be evaluated relative to
prior beliefs or background theory.’” And so
whatever “evidence from remarkable events”
one might offer in favor of ebeing a genuine
gap in nature on which the laws get no grip,
the skeptic’s commitment to a thorough-
going Naturalism will permit an alternative
construal on which such an event counts not
at allas evidence for the existence of genuine
anomalies — for events lacking causal explana-
tion in terms of prior events plus the laws of
nature. Since no event all of its own counts as
purely neutral grounds for believing that it
falsifies a law of nature, what we earlier called
the Wrong Laws Objection is always available:
in that case, our central question (I) will be
answered “no.” Moreover, even ifthe skeptic
were, for whatever reasons, to become con-
vinced that some remarkable event in fact has
no cause in prior natural events, it remains a
further option to insist that whatever is caused
to occur is caused by prior natural events. The
anomalous event in question, having no cause
in prior events, would thus be intrinsically
spontaneous or uncaused, and such a skeptic
would conclude that, however it may seem to
us to be, miracles are not something our world
enjoys (seeming to be a miracle scarcely entail-
ing 15a miracle). Since events having no cause
in prior events don’t by themselves serve as
theistically neutral evidence for believing that
some event is the upshot of a divine cause,
what we earlier called the Non-Miraculous
Anomaly Objection is always available. In that
case, our central question (II) will be answered
snos
In short, there is no forcing one to accept
the occurrence of miracles.
But of course, there is no forcing anyone to
believe anything. The real question is what it
is most reasonable to believe. How reason-

able is the Wrong Laws Objection? That will
depend upon the details — different cases of
putative anomalies bringing with them differ-
ent details. Avoiding too many details, sup-
pose that we grant the familiar demand for
theistically neutral evidence. It may yet emerge
in the case of some putative anomaly that our
remarkable event ¢ proves so stubbornly recal-
citrant to explanation by any remotely plaus-
ible gerrymandering of existing scientific laws,
that one goes further in preserving the unity
of science by admiting ¢ as miraculous than
one could possibly go by revamping the well-
earned claims ofnatural science to rescue ¢ as
a lawfully-caused event. W. V. O. Quine has
likened theories or world-views to coherent
“webs of belief,” which we confirm to the
extent that its predictable consequences are
in fact observed,and refute to the extent that
we observe phenomena contrary to its pre-
dictions. Disconfirming evidence isn’t a
wholesale refutation of the entire lot, of
course: it refutes only those bits of our theory
or world-view contributing to the false pre-
diction, and it is those bits that need adjust-
ing. And not all adjustments are created equal.
Says Quine, we rescind what seems “least cru-
cial to our overall theory. We heed a maxi-
mum of minimal mutilation. . . . The ultimate
objective is so to choose the revision as to
maximize future success in prediction. .. .”'8
In the case of genuinely recalcitrant evidence
such as a genuine anomaly, it may emerge that
one minimizes mutilation, and maximizes fu-
ture success in prediction, by preserving the
larger bulk of one’s theory and its laws while
jettisoning the peripheral assumption of Natu-
ralism. (Theists can do science. Newton did,
like many theists before and after him.)
The naturalist does of course believe that
every event must be causally explainable in
terms ofprior natural events together with the
laws of nature; but is it reasonable that this
article of faith should trump the successful laws
of biological science? That question is not eas-
ily answered. For a thoroughgoing naturalist,
the anomaly may shake their confidence in the
established laws of science, but not their be-
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
lief that every event has natural cause. Yet to
many, it would — all things considered — seem
far more reasonable to retain the existing can-
ons ofbiology, and to infer that the phenom-
enon is genuinely anomalous and that
Naturalism is false.
One can’t help but wish for a clearer way of
deciding, on purely neutral grounds, when one
stance is more reasonable than another. Which
of the two stances, prior to any other consid-
erations or details, is 7” its own right objec-
tively more reasonable, more likely to be true
— the idea of Naturalism, or the idea of events
having no natural causes?
It is far from clear that there is a good an-
swer to this question, a “right” answer that
anyone who is rational would be obliged to
accept.
Something similar arises in connection with
the Non-Miraculous Anomaly Objection.
Here too the believer might make progress
without arriving at anything like a proof —and
then, despite the progress, still confront re-
sidual worries about what is most reasonable
to believe. Suppose it were granted that some
remarkable event ¢ is genuinely anomalous.
Such an anomalous event points to God (i.e.
is genuinely miraculous) only if it has a divine
cause. But as the Non-Miraculous Anomaly
Objection is keen to remind us, one can prove
that our anomalous event ¢ has a divine cause
only if one can provide some proof against ¢’s
having no cause at all. And this simply cannot
be proven. The event could be anomalous pre-
cisely because it is a spontaneous, uncaused
event. Lacking any route from anomalous-
event premise (AE) to divine-cause conclu-
sion (DC), the believer is unable to answer
“ves” to our central question (II).
The initial progress comes in noting this
weakness of the objection: it presumes that
the only available argumentative route to a
conclusion — the only way of supporting some
claim as reasonable to believe — is a deductive
one, in the form of a genuine proof. The be-
liever will remind us that, even if there is 2o
deductive route from (AE) to (DC), it hardly
follows that there is 0 route whatever from
347
J. A. COVER
(AE) to (DC) - no way at all in which an
anomaly can serve as rational grounds or good
evidence for believing that it has a divine cause.
Much of legal and scientific reasoning takes
the form of an abductive (non-deductive) “in-
ference to the best explanation.” When as-
tronomers came to realize that the orbit of
Uranus exhibited unexpected deviations from
their best calculations of what it should be,
their best explanation — the only reasonable
explanation, given everything else known
about the solar system — was that there must
exist a gravitational force exerted by some
theretofore unknown (and as yet undiscov-
ered) heavenly body, affecting the orbit of
Uranus. That reasonable belief led to the search
for, and eventual discovery of, the planet we
call Neptune. In this case, as in a vast range of
others like it, while one lacks anything like a
deductive proof, one nevertheless has good
evidence grounding the inference to what best
explains it. It is of course possible that (unlike
all other planets) there is simply no gravita-
tional explanation for the orbit of Uranus. But
surely it is far and away more reasonable, given
the evidence, to believe that some other gravi-
tational body exists.
In the same way, while a positive “argu-
ment from miracles” may not be available to
enlist some remarkable event ¢ as proof of the
existence of God, it may nevertheless be more
reasonable to claim that é has a divine cause
than to claim that ¢is spontaneous, inexplica-
ble, uncaused. The occurrence of some re-
markable event that is inexplicable in terms of
past events and the laws of nature is perhaps
good evidence that it was caused by some-
thing outside nature. Indeed many people
would claim that the idea of an event being
altogether uncaused, having no causal expla-
nation whatsoever, is simply unreasonable.
Fair enough. Many people would claim that.
Would they be right? The residual worry con-
cerns how one could show, or plausibly de-
fend, this claim that the idea of an uncaused
event is an unreasonable one. Indeed, how
would one go about showing or defending
even the weaker claim — that uncaused events
348
are less reasonable than divinely caused events?
While many do find themselves quite natu-
rally believing this weaker claim, the skeptic
may find himself quite naturally believing oth-
erwise: to the skeptic, it seems more reason-
able to accept the existence of an uncaused
event than to accept the existence of an invis-
ible divine cause. Which view, i” its own right,
all on its own, is objectively more rational,
more likely to be true?
Once again, it is far from clear that there is
a good answer to this question, a “right” an-
swer that anyone who is rational would be
obliged to accept.
B_ The Rationality of Belvef in
Miracles
Yet perhaps this residual challenge from Non-
Miraculous Anomalies isn’t so worrisome as
all that. As before, different cases bring with
them different details. Mightn’t there be cases
presenting us with evidence — quite beyond
the anomalous event itself — for its having a
divine cause? You can have evidence for my
causing some occurrence if you see me bring
it about. That sort of evidence won’t be avail-
able in the case of an invisible God. But sup-
pose that you know me and my inner character
well—well enough to know that if you call me
on the phone and ask that I send you $50,
then you will receive the money from me.
Should you ask me for money, receiving it is
evidence that I sent it. Had you not asked,
you almost certainly wouldn’t have found an
envelope with money taped to your front
door: surely the best explanation for the mon-
ey’s appearing on your door is that I put it
there. Elijah knew the inner character of the
God of Abraham and Isaac well enough: he
asked God to consume the bullock and stones
and wood and water on Mount Carmel, and
fire came down from a cloudless sky to con-
sume the altar. That, surely, is evidence of
God’s causing the fire. In this case at least,
isn’t it more reasonable to suppose that fire
from a cloudless sky was caused by God, and
less reasonable to suppose it was uncaused?

It certainly seems so. The skeptic will of
course wonder if the story of Elijah is even
true. For better or worse, one has rather fewer
examples of candidate miracles, nowadays,
earning a spot in the respectable broadcasts
of CNN, to present the skeptic. It 7s worth
remembering that the believer in miracles,
hoping to offer the skeptic an “argument from
miracles” in defense of theism, needs an event
to offer up for discussion that the skeptic will
accept as a candidate. Moreover, the skeptic
will remind us that 4e doesn’t know the inner
character of any God well enough to call pu-
tative cases of asking and receiving evidence
of a divine cause. The evidence, recall, was to
be unbiased, theistically neutral.
What about this demand for theistically
neutral evidence, and its relevance to the ra-
tionality of believing in miracles?
Approached frony the historical dialogue
in which believers have sought to deploy
miracles in support of theism, the project of
Christian evidences is best conceived as de-
fending the rationality of the Christian faith,
not as proving it. There is no convincing proof
for Naturalism, but it is not thereby irrational
to believe; there is no argument for theism
that every rational person must accept, but it
isn’t thereby irrational to believe. If the chal-
lenges from Wrong Laws and Non-Miracu-
lous Anomalies to some extent diminish one’s
confidence that questions (I) and (II) can
readily earn the affirmative answers required
by a positive “argument from miracles” to
divine agency, they tell rather little against the
rationality of believing in miracles. Some final
reflections on this point will allow us to re-
consider the two worries most recently en-
countered — about the difficulty of judging
one view to be objectively more reasonable
or likely than another, and about the demand
for theistically neutral evidence.
The believer needn’t suppose that the
rationality of the Christian faith stands or falls
with the success or failure of positive argu-
ments proving the existence of God. Likewise,
the theist needn’t suppose that the rationality
of believing in miracles stands or falls with the
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
success or failure of an argument showing that
some event is indeed anomalous and has a
divine cause. Consider the first of these analo-
gous claims. The central task of the historical
project of “giving evidences” is one of defend-
ing the rationality of the Christian faith against
the charge that (in the first instance) believ-
ing in God is unwarranted or somehow ille-
gitimate — that in light of the evidence,
accepting theism is irrational or otherwise
epistemically deficient. But now what evidence
is that, and what exactly makes believing the-
ism in light of it irrational? Many skeptics will
say that theistic belief is not rational simply
because it is not very likely true, because it
does not command a suitably high degree of
rational assent — in short because it is not very
highly probable or likely given other beliefs.
Yet surely a good deal rides on (i) what those
other beliefs are, and (ii) the prior likelihood
or probability one assigns to them. Consider
first item (ii): relative to what assignments of
prior probability to these other beliefs are we
assessing the likelihood of theism? If our re-
cent reflections (and the history of intellect-
ual thought) have taught us anything, they
have taught us that few if any beliefs of deep
consequence wear an obvious and intrinsic
probability on their sleeves. Considered on
their own, which view is intrinsically more
reasonable, more likely, more probable — that
all events are caused, or that some are
uncaused? Naturalism, or theism? There is no
good answer to these questions, no reason to
think there are any such intrinsic probabili-
ties attaching to such beliefs. This returns us
immediately to (i): what are these other be-
liefs relative to which theism is said to enjoy
only a low probability? No doubt theism is
highly improbable relative to naturalism, but
the believer is scarcely obliged to judge the
rationality of theism against the “evidence”
of naturalism.
Is the believer rational in accepting theism?
Well, the likelihood of theism will depend on
the antecedent probabilities assigned to other
of his or her beliefs. Among these may be
— why not? — the deliverances of religious
349
J. A. COVER
experience, and/or a traditional argument for
the existence of God, and/or an acquired faith
via general revelation. If the believer is in pos-
session of no outweighing reason for doubt-
ing the deliverances of one or another of these
sources of belief, their prior probabilities for
that person will be sufficiently high to count
for them as evidence for believing in theism.
Theism may for all that (for all one can show)
turn out to be false, but the believer will not
be irrational in accepting it.
So then, back to miracles. If the rationality
of holding theistic beliefs does not stand or
fall with the success or failure of positive ar-
guments for the existence of an all-powerful,
all-knowing and perfectly benevolent personal
being, neither does the rationality of believ-
ing in miracles stand or fall with positive ar-
guments for the existence of causal “gaps”
due to divine intervention. Imagine a renewed
Humean Objection, directed against our non-
standard conception of a miracle. “Vast
stretches of experience have shown that natu-
ral events can be explained in terms of laws of
nature. The weight of evidence for it being
true that all events are causally explainable in
terms of laws of nature, is invariably greater
than the weight of evidence for it being true
that some event has no lawful explanation.
The rational person, weighing evidence
against evidence, likelihood against likelihood,
must always withhold assent to the truth of a
reported miracle. The improbability that laws
of nature have gaps is always extremely high,
and so the probability that there are miracles is
always extremely low.” Now we’ve learned al-
ready that past experience cannot show that
laws of nature have no gaps. So the real ques-
tion is this: must the believer agree that the
improbability of a law of nature being silent
(getting no grip, having a gap) is always ex-
tremely high? There is no obvious and intrin-
sic probability attaching to the naturalist claim
that laws of nature have no gaps, that nature
never encounters outside intervention. Is the
believer irrational in accepting the occurrence
of miracles? Well here too, the likelihood of
gaps in nature, of instances where laws are
350
silent, will for the believer depend on the an-
tecedent probabilities assigned to other of his
or her beliefs. Among these may be — why
not? — the deliverances of religious experience,
and/or arguments for the existence of God,
and/or an acquired faith via general revela-
tion. If the believer is in possession of good
reasons for accepting (no outweighing rea-
sons for rejecting) the deliverances of one or
another of these sources of belief, their prior
probabilities for that person may be suffi-
ciently high to count as grounds for believ-
ing that gaps in nature — cases of laws being
silent — are not particularly improbable at all.
Indeed, the contents of these prior beliefs may
be rich enough to invite the expectation of
divine intervention.!? True enough: if what is
counted as grounds for a person’s believing
some claim is to be assessed relative to
likelihoods enjoyed by prior beliefs or back-
ground theory, then an unbeliever — sharing
no such beliefs as those deliverances of reli-
gious experience and natural theology and
faith might provide — may well lack sufficient
grounds for believing that violations of law
are not improbable. But the believer needn’t
be in that position. And the believer who
isn’t in that position, who aims to defend
the rationality of believing in miracles, needn’t
assume the posture of “adopting” it by
obliging the familiar demand for “theistically
neutral evidence.”?°
Notes
1 Where now “believing in miracles” is believ-
ing that miracles actually have occurred, as the
Sacred texts on a traditional reading of them
would imply — not necessarily that miracles are
commonplace and identifiable occurrences,
nowadays or ever. Our narrowed focus on
Christian theism in what follows is pretty much
arbitrary: we might have narrowed our sights
toward any of the Judeo-Christian religions.
2 David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human
Understanding, 3rd edn, ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge
and P. H. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1975), p. 114. From the same paragraph:
“It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in

good health, should die on a sudden... . But
itis a miracle that a dead man should come to
life. ...” We’ll encounter presently Hume’s
reason for claiming that one should never be-
lieve such accounts as the Lazarus story.
Thus David Hume’s “accurate definition” in-
cludes both conditions: a miracle is “a trans-
gression ofa law of nature by a particular
volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of
some invisible agent” (Enguiry(1975), p. 115,
n.l).
“Anomalous” literally means “non-lawful.”
The most obvious way for an event to be
anomalous is for it to violate a law of nature.
Whether it is the oly way shall be taken up in
Section 3(C).
Apparently one needn’t imagine this objection:
the quoted misgiving is offered in ch. 1 of
Richard Swinburne’s The Concept of Miracles
(London: Macmillan, 1970), as grounds for
taking seriously the claim that such a defini-
tion of “miracle” “.. . seems to place a restric-
tion on the use of the term not justified in
general by practice.”
The essay “Of Miracles” comprises section X
of Hume’s Enquiry (1975, pp. 109-31); see
Reading 36 in this present volume. While
Hume’s argument against miracles in the En-
quiry of 1748, sketched here, became famous
even in Hume’s day and remains so, its main
thrust seems to have been anticipated in a
much less well-known text of Thomas More
(1478-1535), “A Dialogue Concerning Her-
esies” (see Reading 37 in this volume).
Alternatively, for all we know the event was
caused — but by Satan, say. That (recall) is an
issue we’ve set aside.
“ ..it is a miracle, that a dead man should
come to life; because that has never been ob-
served in any age or country. There must,
therefore, be a uniform experience against
every miraculous event, otherwise the event
would not merit that appellation. And as a
uniform experience amounts to a proof, there
is here a direct and full proof, from the nature
of the fact, against the existence of any mir-
acley. se (David Hume [1975)5'p. lls), ins
passage, and the worry just noted, are discussed
by Antony Flew (who is otherwise sympathetic
with Hume) in his Hume's Theory of Belief
(London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961),
pp. 217ff.
MIRACLES AND (CHRISTIAN) THEISM
9 Representatives of this line of argument can
be found in Nicholas Everitt, “The Impos-
sibility of Miracles,” Religious Studies, 23
(1987), pp. 347-9 and in Alastair McKinnon,
““Miracle’ and ‘Paradox’,” American Philo-
sophical Quarterly, 4 (1967), pp. 308-14.
10 On this notion that miracles are singular (non-
regular) violations of laws of nature left other-
wise intact as genuine laws, see Ninian Smart,
Philosophers and Religious Truth (London:
SCM Press, 1964), ch. 2 and Richard
Swinburne, The Concept of Miracle, ch. 3.
ll G. W. Leibniz writes in a letter of 1687 to
Antoine Arnauld that “[I]t seems to me that
the concept of a miracle does not consist of
rarity. ... I believe that God can make gen-
eral rules for himself in respect even of mir-
acles; for example, if God decided to bestow
his grace immediately or to carry out another
action of that kind every time a certain cir-
cumstance occurred, this action would never-
theless be a miracle, albeit an ordinary one.”
12 See Aquinas’s Summa Contra Gentiles III,
102, and Leibniz’s claim (in his Fifth Letter of
the Correspondence with Clarke) that mir-
acles are events that “exceed the powers of
creatures” (§ 118) and are “inexplicable by
the powers of creatures” (§ 122).
Is This proposal is offered by George Mavrodes
in his “Miracles and the Laws of Nature,” Faith
and Philosophy, 2 (1985), pp. 333-46. The
misgiving to follow is due to Joshua Hoffman’s
“Comments on ‘Miracles and the Laws of
Nature’,” at pp. 347-52.
14 This proposal is offered by Del Ratzsch in his
“Nomo(theo)logical Necessity,” Fazth and
Philosophy, 4 (1987), pp. 383-401. The mis-
giving to follow (with “all occurrences” being
qualified by “except human free actions”) is
acknowledged by Ratzsch (p. 400).
15 Nor is it clear that the believer will at any stage
need antecedently good arguments against
Naturalism in order to be warranted in believ-
ing that miracles are actual. That will emerge
in section 4 below.
16 Many, but by no means all. On what might
be called the “causal indeterminist” view of
freedom, a person’s reasons cause their vol-
itional choices, but indeterministically (see
Robert Kane, The Significance of Free Will
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996)). On
what might be called a “simple indeterminist
I
J. A. COVER
view,” there need be no cause at all of an
agent’s volitions: a free action nevertheless
admits of non-causal reasons explanation, in
terms of the contents of an agent’s intentions
to perform it (see Carl Ginet, “Reasons Ex-
planation of Actions: an Incompatibilist Ac-
count,” in James E. Tomberlin (ed.),
Philosophical Perspectives 3: Philosophy of Mind
and Action Theory (Atascadero, Calif.:
Ridgeview, 1989)).
17 Caution: the point isn’t to deny that there is a
fact of the matter, for any propositions P and
Q, as to whether probability of Q alone is
higher or lower than the probability of Q given
(on the evidence of) P. The point is rather that
if the rational credibility of some belief for a
person, or strength of that person’s warrant
for believing, comes in degrees, then we may
speak of aproposition’s raising or lowering the
degree of rational credibility or warrant for a
person relative to other beliefs the person has
(alternatively, is warranted in having). Call the
intended relation of “raising the degree of
credibility or warrant” R. P could then stand
in R to Q for Jones, given other beliefs A and
B that Jones holds, yet fail to stand in R to Q
352
for Smith, given other beliefs C and D that
Smith holds.
18 W. V. O. Quine, Pursuit of Truth (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1990),
pp. 14-15.
19 Suppose an eyewitness reports the occurrence
ofaputative miracle ¢. On any reasonable un-
derstanding of probability, the conditional
probability P(e/7) that e occurs given the re-
port 7 is bound to be higher than the bare
unconditional probability P(e) of e alone. The
Humean objector might be claiming that,
however much the report 7 will inevitably raise
the probability of it’s being true that e oc-
curred, 7 can never raise it sufficiently high to
warrant belief, given that the prior probability
P(e) of e’s having occurred is so very low to
begin with. But by whose reckoningis that prior
probability so very low to begin with?
20 I am grateful to Eleonore Stump and especi-
ally Michael Murray, for comments on an
earlier, shorter paper from which this is drawn.
I am also indebted to my colleagues Mike
Bergmann (a believer) and Martin Curd (a
skeptic) for talking with me at length about
miracles: both are, I’m sure, perfectly rational.
Prayer
40 Petitionary Prayer*
Eleonore Stump
Ordinary Christian believers of every period
have in general taken prayer to be fundamen-
tally a request made of God for something
specific believed to be good by the one pray-
ing. The technical name for such prayer is
“impetration;” L am going to refer to it by
the more familiar designation “petitionary
prayer.” There are, of course, many impor-
tant kinds of prayer which are not requests;
for example, most of what is sometimes called
“the higher sort of prayer” — praise, adora-
tion, thanksgiving — does not consist in re-
quests and is not included under petitionary
prayer. But basic, common petitionary prayer
poses problems that do not arise in connec-
tion with the more contemplative varieties of
prayer, and it is petitionary prayer with its spe-
cial problems that I want to examine in this
paper.
Of those problems, the one that has per-
haps been most discussed in the recent litera-
ture is the connection between petitionary
prayer and miracles. For instance, if one be-
lieves in divine response to petitionary prayer,
is one thereby committed to a beliefin mira-
cles? But as much as possible I want to avoid
this issue (and several others involving peti-
tionary prayer’) in order to concentrate on just
one problem. It is, I think, the problem stem-
ming from petitionary prayer which has most
often occurred to ordinary Christian believ-
ers from the Patristic period to the present.
*From American Philosophical Quarterly, 16:2
(1979), pp. 81-91. Reprinted with permission.
Discussion of it can be found, for example, in
Origen’s third-century treatise on prayer,’ in
various writings of Aquinas,* and, very re-
cently, in a book by Keith Ward.*
Put roughly and succinctly, the problem
comes to this: is a belief in the efficacy and
usefulness of petitionary prayer consistent with
a belief in an omniscient, omnipotent, per-
fectly good God? It is, therefore, a problem
only on certain assumptions drawn from an
ordinary, orthodox, traditional view of God
and of petitionary prayer. If one thinks, for
example, as D. Z. Philipps does,* that all “real”
petitionary prayer is reducible to the petition
“Thy will be done,” then the problem I want
to discuss evaporates. And ifone thinks of God
as the unknowable, non-denumerable, ulti-
mate reality, which is not an entity at all, as
Keith Ward does,® the problem I am inter-
ested in does not even arise. The cases which
concern me in this paper are those in which
someone praying a petitionary prayer makes a
specific request freely (at least in his own view)
of an omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly good
God, conceived of in the traditional ortho-
dox way. I am specifying that the prayers are
made freely because I want to discuss this
problem on the assumption that man has free
will and that not everything is predetermined.
I am making this assumption, first because I
want to examine the problem on the assump-
tion that man has free will and Christian be-
lievers, and I think their understanding ofthe
problem typically includes the assumption that
man has free will, and secondly because adopt-
sos
ELEONORE STUMP
ing the opposite view enormously complicates
the attempt to understand and justify petition-
ary prayer. If all things are predetermined —
and worse, if they are all predetermined by
the omnipotent and omniscient God to whom
one is praying — it is much harder to conceive
of a satisfactory justification for petitionary
prayer. One consequence of my making this
assumption is that I will not be drawing on
important traditional Protestant accounts of
prayer such as those given by Calvin and
Luther, for instance, since while they may be
thoughtful, interesting accounts, they assume
God’s complete determination of everything.
I think that I can most effectively and plau-
sibly show the problem which interests me by
presenting a sketchy analysis of the Lord’s
Prayer. It is a prayer attributed to Christ him-
self, who is supposed to have produced it just
for the purpose of teaching his disciples how
they ought to pray. So it is an example of
prayer which orthodox Christians accept as a
paradigm, and it is, furthermore, a clear in-
stance of petitionary prayer. Consequently, it
is a particulariy good example for my purposes.
In what follows, I want to make clear, I am
not concerned either to take account of con-
temporary Biblical exegesis or to contribute
to it. Iwant simply to have a look at the prayer
—in fact, at only half the prayer — as it is heard
and prayed by ordinary twentieth-century
Christians.
As the prayer is given in Luke 11, it con-
tains seven requests. The last four have to do
with the personal needs of those praying, but
the first three are requests of a broader sort.
The first, “Hallowed be thy name,” is com-
monly taken as a request that God’s name be
regarded as holy.” Iam not sure what it means
to regard God’s name as holy, and I want to
avoid worries about the notion ofhaving atti-
tudes towards God’s name. All the same, I
think something of the following sort is a sen-
sible interpretation of the request. The com-
mon Biblical notion ofholiness has at its root
a sense of strong separateness.® And it may be
that to regard God’s name as holy is only to
react to it very differently from the way in
354
which one reacts to any other name — and that
could happen because it seems specially pre-
cious or also (for example) because it seems
specially feared. On this understanding of the
request, it would be fulfilled if everyone (or
almost everyone) took a strongly emotional
and respectful attitude towards God’s name.
But it may be that this is too complicated as
an interpretation of the request, and that to
regard God’s name as holy is simply to love
and revere it. In that case, the request is ful-
filled if everyone or almost everyone regards
God’s name very reverentially. And there are
New Testament passages which foretell states
of affairs fulfilling both these interpretations
of the request — prophesying a time at or near
the end of the world when all men fear or
love God’s name, and a time when the inhab-
itants of earth are all dedicated followers of
God.?
The second request in the Lord’s Prayer is
that God’s kingdom come. Now according
to orthodox Judaeo-Christian beliefs, God is
and always has been ruler of the world. What
then does it mean to ask for the advent of his
kingdom? Plainly, there is at least some sense
in which the kingdom of heaven has not yet
been established on earth and can be waited
and hoped for. And this request seems to be
for those millennial times when everything on
earth goes as it ought to go, when men beat
their swords into plowshares (Isaiah 2: 4) and
the wolf dwells at peace with the lamb (Isaiah
11: 6, 65: 25). This too, then, is a request for
a certain state of affairs involving all or most
men, the state of affairs at the end of the world
prophesied under one or another description
in Old and New Testament passages (cf., e.g.,
Revelation 21: 1-4).
And it seems closely related to the object
of the third request, “Thy will be done on
earth as it is in heaven.” There is, of course, a
sense in which, according to Christian doc-
trine, God’s will is always done on earth. But
that is the sense in which God allows things
to happen as they do (God’s so-called “per-
missive will”). God permits certain people to
have evil intentions, he permits certain peo-

ple to commit crimes, and so on, so that he
wills to let happen what does happen; and in
this sense his will is always done. But in heaven,
according to Christian doctrine, it is not that
God permits what occurs to occur, and so wills
in accordance with what happens, but rather
that what happens happens in accordance with
his will. So only the perfect good willed un-
conditionally by God is ever done in heaven.
For God’s will to be done on earth in such a
way, everyone on earth would always have to
do only good. This request, then, seems to
be another way ofasking for the establishment
of God’s kingdom on earth; and it also seems
linked with certain New Testament prophe-
cies — there will be a “new earth,” and the
righteous meek will inherit it (cf., e.g., Mat-
thew 5: 5 and Revelation 5: 10 and 21: 1-4).
What I think is most worth noticing in this
context about all three of these first requests
of the Lord’s Prayer is that it seems absolutely
pointless, futile, and absurd to make them.
All three seem to be requests for the millen-
nium or for God’s full reign on earth. But it
appears from New Testament prophecies that
God has already determined to bring about
such a state ofaffairs in the future. And if God
has predetermined that there will be such a
time, then what is asked for in those three re-
quests is already sure to come. But, then, what
is the point of making the prayer? Why ask for
something that is certain to come whether you
beg for it or flee from it? It is no answer to
these questions to say, as some theologians
have done,’ that one prays in this way just
because Jesus prescribed such a prayer. That
attempt at an answer simply transfers respon-
sibility for the futile action from the one pray-
ing to the one being prayed to; it says nothing
about what sense there is in the prayer itself.
On the other hand, if, contrary to theological
appearances, the things prayed for are not
predetermined and their occurrence or non-
occurrence is still in doubt, could the issue
possibly be resolved by someone’s asking for
one or another outcome? IfJimmy Carter, say,
(or some other Christian) does not ask for
God’s kingdom to come, will God therefore
PETITIONARY PRAYER
fail to establish it? Or will he establish it just
because Jimmy Carter asked for it, though he
would not have done so otherwise? Even Cart-
er’s staunchest supporters might well find it
frightening to think so; and yet if we do not
answer these questions in the affirmative, the
prayer seems futile and pointless. So either an
omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly good God
has predetermined this state of affairs or he
hasn’t; and either way, asking for it seems to
make no sense. This conclusion is applicable
to other cases of petitionary prayer as well.
To take just one example, suppose that Jimmy
Carter prays the altruistic and Christian prayer
that a particular atheistic friend of his be con-
verted and so saved from everlasting damna-
tion. If it is in God’s power to save that man,
won’t he do so without Jimmy Carter’s
prayers? Won’t a perfectly good God do all
the good he can no matter what anyone prays
for or does not pray for? Consequently, ei-
ther God of his goodness will save the man in
any case, so that the prayer is pointless, or there
is some point in the prayer but God’s good-
ness appears impugned.
We can, I think, generalize these arguments
to all petitionary prayer by means of a varia-
tion on the argument from evil against God’s
existence.'! (The argument that follows does
not seem to me to be an acceptable one, but
it is the sort of argument that underlies the
objections to petitionary prayer which I have
been presenting. I will say something about
what I think are the flaws in this argument
later in the paper.)
(1) Aperfectly good being never makes the
world worse than it would otherwise be
if he can avoid doing so.
The phrase “than it would otherwise be” here
should be construed as “than the world would
have been had he not brought about or omit-
ted to bring about some state of affairs.” In
other words, a perfectly good being never
makes the world, in virtue of what he himself
does or omits to do, worse than it would have
been had he not done or omitted to do some-
o00
ELEONORE STUMP
thing or other. Mulatis mutandis, the same
remarks apply to “than it would otherwise be”
in (4) and (7) below.
(2) An omniscient and omnipotent being
can avoid doing anything which it is not
logically necessary for him to do.
(3) .«. An omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly
good being never makes the world worse
than it would otherwise be unless it is
logically necessary for him to do so. (1,
2)
(4) Aperfectly good being always makes the
world better than it would otherwise be
if he can do so.
(5) An omniscient and omnipotent being
can do anything which it is not logically
impossible for him to do.
(6) .. An omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly
good being always makes the world bet-
ter than it would otherwise be unless it
is logically impossible for him to do so.
(4, 5)
(7) Itis never logically necessary for an om-
niscient, omnipotent, perfectly good be-
ing to make the world worse than it
would otherwise be; it is never logically
impossible for an omniscient, omnipo-
tent, perfectly good being to make the
world better than it would otherwise be.
(8) .. An omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly
good being never makes the world worse
than it would otherwise be and always
makes the world better than it would
otherwise be. (3, 6, 7)
This subconclusion implies that unless the
world is infinitely improvable, either the world
is or will be absolutely perfect or there is no
omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly good be-
ing. In other words, (8) with the addition of
a pair of premises —
(1) The world is not infinitely improvable
and
(1) Itis not the case that the world is or will
356
be absolutely perfect (i.e. there is and
always will be evil in the world) —
implies the conclusion of the argument from
evil. That is not a surprising result since this
argument is dependent on the argument from
evil.!?
(9) What is requested in every petitionary
prayer is or results in a state of affairs the
realization of which would make the
world either worse or better than it
would otherwise be (that is, than it
would have been had that state of affairs
not been realized).
It is not always clear whether a petitionary
prayer is requesting just an earthly state of af-
fairs, or God’s bringing about that earthly state
of affairs. So, for example, when a mother
prays for the health of her sick son, it is not
always clear whether she is requesting simply
the health of her son or God’s restoration of
the health of her son. If we can determine the
nature of the request on the basis of what the
one praying desires and hopes to get by means
of prayer, then at least in most cases the re-
quest will be just for some earthly state of af-
fairs. What is important to the mother is simply
her son’s getting well. For a case in which the
request is for God’s bringing about some
earthly state of affairs, we might consider
Gideon’s prayer concerning the fleece, dis-
cussed below. In any event, I intend “state of
affairs” in this argument to range broadly
enough to cover both sorts ofcases.
(10)... If what is requested in a petitionary
prayer is or results in a state of affairs
the realization of which would make
the world worse than it would other-
wise be, an omniscient, omnipotent,
perfectly good being will not fulfill that
request. (8)
(11). If what is requested in a petitionary
prayer is or results in a state of affairs
the realization of which would make
the world better than it would other-

wise be, an omniscient, omnipotent,
perfectly good being will bring about
that state of affairs even if no prayer
for its realization has been made. (8)
It might occur to someone here that what is
requested in at least some petitionary prayers
is that God bring about a certain state of af-
fairs im response to the particular petitionary
prayer being made. In such cases, of course, it
is logically impossible that God bring about
what is requested in the petitionary prayer in
the absence of that petitionary prayer. It is not
clear to me that there are such cases. The fa-
miliar entreaties such as “Hear the voice of
my supplications” (Psalm 28: 2) in the Psalms
seem to me not to be cases of the relevant
sort, because they seem to be an elaborate
“Please” rather than anything influencing the
nature of what is requested in the prayer. Per-
haps one of the best candidates for such a case
is Gideon’s prayer about the fleece: “If you
will save Israel by my hand, as you have said, I
will put a fleece of wool on the floor and if
the dew is on the fleece only and it is dry on
all the earth, then I will know that you will
save Israel by my hand, as you have said”
(Judges 6: 36-7; cf. also 6: 39). Gideon here
is requesting that God give him a sign by
means of the fleece of wool. Does his prayer
amount to a request that God produce dew
only on the fleece and not on the surround-
ing ground, or does it come to a request that
God do so in response to Gideon’s prayer? If
there are cases in which the request implicitly
or explicitly includes reference to the prayer
itself, then in those cases the inference from
(8) to (11) is not valid; and such cases ought
simply to be excluded from consideration in
this argument.
(12)... Petitionary prayer effects no change.
(9108 Lib)
There is, of course, a sense in which the offer-
ing of a prayer is itself a new state of affairs
and accompanies or results in natural, psycho-
logical changes in the one praying, but step
PETITIONARY PRAYER
(12) ought to be understood as saying that
no prayer is itself efficacious in causing a
change of the sort it was designed to cause.
An argument which might be thought to ap-
ply here, invalidating the inference to the con-
clusion (13), is that prayer need not effect any
change in order to be considered efficacious,
provided the offering of the prayer itself is a
sufficient reason in God’s view for God’s
fulfillment of the prayer.'* In other words, if,
for certain reasons apart from consideration
of a prayer for a state of affairs S, God has
determined to bring about S, a prayer for S
may still be considered to be efficacious if and
only if God would have brought about Sjust
in response to the prayer for S. But I think
that even if this view is correct, it does not in
fact invalidate the inference to (13). There is
a difference between being efficacious and
having a point. This argument about the effi-
cacy of prayer seems to assume that not all
answers to prayer will be of the
overdetermined type. And as long as a believer
is not in a position to know which states of
affairs are divinely determined to occur regard-
less of prayers, there is some point in peti-
tionary prayer — any given case may be one in
which God would not have brought about the
desired state of affairs without prayer for it.
But if it is the case for every fulfilled prayer
that God would have brought about the de-
sired state of affairs without the prayer, it does
seem that there is no point in petitionary
prayer, except for those cases (which I think
must at best form a very small minority) in
which the real object of the one praying a pe-
titionary prayer is not so much to see the re-
alization ofthe state ofaffairs he is requesting
as to have some influence on or contact with
the Deity by means ofpetitionary prayer; and
such cases may then simply be excepted from
the conclusion of the argument.
(13) .. Petitionary prayer is pointless. (12)
The basic strategy of this argument is an at-
tempt to show that there is an inconsistency
between God’s goodness and the efficacy of
357
ELEONORE STUMP
petitionary prayer; but it is possible to begin
with other divine attributes and make a case
for a similar inconsistency, so that we can have
other, very different arguments to the same
conclusion, namely, that petitionary prayer is
pointless. Perhaps the most formidable of such
alternative arguments is the one based on
God’s immutability, an argument the strat-
egy of which can be roughly summarized in
this way. Before a certain petitionary prayer is
made, it is the case either that God will bring
about the state of affairs requested in the
prayer or that he will not bring it about. He
cannot have left the matter open since doing
so would imply a subsequent change in him
and he is immutable. Either way, since he is
immutable, the prayer itself can effect no
change in the state of affairs and hence is point-
less. Even leaving aside problems of foreknowl-
edge and free will to which this argument (or
attempted objections to it) may give rise, I
think that orthodox theology will find no real
threat in the argument because of the doc-
trine of God’s eternality. However problem-
atic that doctrine may be in itself, it undercuts
arguments such as this one because it main-
tains God’s atemporality.!* My thirteen-step
argument against petitionary prayer is, then,
not the only argument rejecting petitionary
prayer on theistic principles, but it (or some
argument along the same lines) does, I think,
make the strongest case against petitionary
prayer, given Christian doctrine.
The premise that is most likely to appear
false in the argument, at first reading, is (9)
because one is inclined to think that there are
many petitionary prayers which, if they are
granted, would not make the world either
better or worse than it would otherwise be.
Such a view might be accommodated with-
out damaging the argument simply by weak-
ening (9) and the conclusion: many petitionary
prayers, and surely the most important ones,
are such that if fulfilled they make the world
either a better or a worse place. But I think it
is possible to argue plausibly for (9) in the
strong form I have given it. Take, for instance,
the case of a little boy who prays for a jack-
358
knife. Here, we might think we have an ex-
ample of a petitionary prayer the fulfillment
of which makes the world neither better nor
worse. But, on the one hand, if the little boy
has prayed for a jackknife, surely he will be
happier if he gets it, either because he very
much wants a jackknife or because God has
honored his request. Consequently, one could
argue that fulfilling the request makes the
world better in virtue of making the one pray-
ing happier. Or, on the other hand, if we think
of the little boy’s prayer for a jackknife from
God’s point of view, then we see that
fulfillment of the prayer involves not just the
little boy’s acquiring a jackknife but also God’s
bringing it about in answer to prayer that the
little boy acquire a jackknife. Fulfilling the
prayer, then, will have an influence on at least
the little boy’s religious beliefs and perhaps
also on those of his parents and even on those
of the people in his parents’ community. One
might argue that the influence in this case
would be deleterious (since it is conducive to
wrong views of the purpose of prayer and of
relationship with God), and consequently that
fulfilling this prayer would make the world a
worse place than it would otherwise be. So I
think it is possible to argue plausibly that the
fulfillment of even such a prayer would make
the world either a worse or a better place.
Christian literature contains a number of
discussions of the problem with petitionary
prayer and various attempts to solve it. For
the sake of brevity, I want to look just at the
proposed solution Aquinas gives. It is the most
philosophically sophisticated of the solutions
I know; and in the wake of the twentieth-cen-
tury revival of Thomism, it is the solution
adopted by many theologians and theistic
philosophers today.'® Thomas discusses prob-
lems of petitionary prayer in his Sentence com-
mentary and in the Summa contra gentiles,'®
but the clearest exposition of his views is in
the question on prayer in the Summa
theologiae, where he devotes an entire article
to showing that there is sense and usefulness
in petitionary prayer.'” The basic argument he
relies on to rebut various objections against

the usefulness of prayer is this. Divine Provi-
dence determines not only what effects there
will be in the world, but also what causes will
give rise to those effects and in what order
they will do so. Now human actions, too, are
causes. “For,” Thomas says, “we pray not in
order to change the divine disposition but for
the sake of acquiring by petitionary prayer
what God has disposed to be achieved by
prayer!”
Perhaps the first worry which this argument
occasions stems from the appearance of theo-
logical determinism in it: God determines not
only what effects there will be but also what
the causes of those effects will be and in what
order the effects will be produced. It is hard
to see how such a belief is compatible with
freedom of the will. In the preamble to this
argument, however, Thomas says he is con-
cerned not to deny free will but, on the con-
trary, to give an account of prayer which
preserves free will. So I want simply to assume
that he has in mind some distinction or some
theory which shows that, despite appearances,
his argument is not committed to a thorough-
going determinism, and I am going to ignore
any troubles in the argument having to do
with the compatibility of predestination or
foreknowledge and free will.
For present purposes, what is more trou-
blesome about this argument is that it does
not provide any real help with the problem it
means to solve. According to Thomas, there
is nothing absurd or futile about praying to
God, given God’s nature, because God has
by his providence arranged things so that free
human actions and human prayers will form
part of the chain of cause and effect leading
to the state of the world ordained in God’s
plan. And so, on Thomas’s view, prayer should
not be thought of as an attempt to get God
to do something which he would not other-
wise do but rather as an effort to produce an
appropriate and preordained cause which will
result in certain effects since God in his provi-
dence has determined things to be so. Now
surely there can be no doubt that, according
to Christian doctrine, God wants men to pray
PETITIONARY PRAYER
and answers prayers; and consequently it is
plain that God’s plan for the world includes
human prayers as causes ofcertain effects. The
difficulty lies in explaining how such a doc-
trine makes sense. Why should prayers be in-
cluded in God’s plan as causes of certain
effects? And what sense is there in the notion
that a perfect and unchangeable God, who
disposes and plans everything, fulfills men’s
prayers asking him to do one thing or another?
Thomas’s argument, I think, gives no help
with these questions and so gives no help with
this problem of petitionary prayer.
This argument of Thomas’s is roughly simi-
lar in basic strategy to other traditional argu-
ments for prayer!’ and is furthermore among
the most fully developed and sophisticated
arguments for prayer, but it seems to me in-
adequate to make sense ofpetitionary prayer.
I think, then, that it is worthwhile exploring a
sort of argument different from those that
stress the connection between God’s omnis-
cience or providence and men’s prayers. In
what follows I want to offer a tentative and
preliminary sketch of the way in which such
an argument might go.
Judaeo-Christian concepts of God com-
monly represent God as loving mankind and
wanting to be loved by men in return. Such
anthropomorphic talk is in sharp contrast to
the more sophisticated-sounding language of
the Hellenized and scholastic arguments con-
sidered so far. But a certain sort of anthropo-
morphism is as much a part ofChristianity as
is Thomas’s “perfect being theology,”*° and
it, too, builds on intricate philosophical analy-
sis, beginning perhaps with Boethius’s attempt
in Contra Eutychen et Nestorium to explain
what it means to say of something that it is a
person. So to say that God loves men and
wants to be loved in return is to say some-
thing that has a place in philosophical theol-
ogy and is indispensable to Christian doctrine.
Throughout the Old and New Testaments,
the type of loving relationship wanted between
man and God is represented by various im-
ages, for example, sometimes as the relation-
ship between husband and wife, sometimes
359
ELEONORE STUMP
as that between father and child. And some-
times (in the Gospel of John, for instance) it
is also represented as the relationship between
true friends.?! But if the relationship between
God and human beings is to be one which at
least sometimes can be accurately represented
as the love of true friendship, then there is a
problem for both parties to the relationship,
because plainly it will not be easy for there to
be friendship between an omniscient, omni-
potent, perfectly good person and a fallible,
finite, imperfect person. The troubles of gen-
erating and maintaining friendship in such
a case are surely the perfect paradigms of
which the troubles of friendship between: a
Rockefeller child and a slum child are just pale
copies. Whatever other troubles there are for
friendship in these cases, there are at least two
dangers for the disadvantaged or inferior
member of the pair. First, he can be so over-
come by the advantages or superiority of his
“friend” that he becomes simply a shadowy
reflection of the other’s personality, a slavish
follower who slowly loses all sense of his own
tastes and desires and will. Some people, of
course, believe that just this sort of attitude
towards God is what Christianity wants and
gets from the best of its adherents; but I think
that such a belief goes counter to the spirit of
the Gospels, for example, and I don’t think
that it can be found even in such intense mys-
tics as St Teresa and St John of the Cross.
Secondly, in addition to the danger of becom-
ing completely dominated, there is the dan-
ger of becoming spoiled in the way that
members of a royal family in a ruling house
are subject to. Because of the power at their
disposal in virtue of their connections, they
often become tyrannical, willful, indolent, self-
indulgent, and the like. The greater the dis-
crepancy in status and condition between the
two friends, the greater the danger of even
inadvertently overwhelming and oppressing or
overwhelming and spoiling the lesser mem-
ber of the pair, and if he is overwhelmed in
either of these ways, the result will be replace-
ment of whatever kind of friendship there
might have been with one or another sort of
360
using. Either the superior member of the pair
will use the lesser as his lackey, or the lesser
will use the superior as his personal power
source. To put it succinctly, then, if God wants
some kind of true friendship with men, he will
have to find a way of guarding against both
kinds of overwhelming.
It might occur to someone to think that
even if we assume the view that God wants
friendship between himself and human beings,
it does not follow that he will have any of the
problems just sketched, because he is omnipo-
tent.” Ifhe wants friendship of this sort with
men, one might suppose, let him just will it
and it will be his. I do not want to stop here
to argue against this view in detail, but I do
want just to suggest that there is reason for
thinking it to be incoherent, at least on the
assumption of free will adopted at the begin-
ning of this paper, because it is hard to see
how God could bring about such a friendship
magically, by means of his omnipotence, and
yet permit the people involved to have free
will. If he could do so, he could make a per-
son freely love him in the right sort of way,
and it does not seem reasonable to think he
could do so.” On the face of it, then, om-
nipotence alone does not do away with the
two dangers for friendship that I sketched
above. But the institution of petitionary
prayer, I think, can be understood as a safe-
guard against these dangers.
It is easiest to argue that petitionary prayer
serves such a function in the case of a man
who prays for himself. In praying for himself,
he makes an explicit request for help, and he
thereby acknowledges a need or a desire and
his dependence on God for satisfying that need
or desire. If he gets what he prayed for, he
will be in a position to attribute his good for-
tune to God’s doing and to be grateful to God
for what God has given him. If we add the
undeniable uncertainty of his getting what he
prays for, then we will have safeguards against
what I will call (for lack of a better phrase)
overwhelming spoiling. These conditions
make the act of asking a safeguard against ty-
rannical and self-indulgent pride, even if the

one praying thinks of himself grandly as hav-
ing God on his side.
We can see how the asking guards against
the second danger, of oppressive overwhelm-
ing, if we look for a moment at the function
of roughly similar asking for help when both
the one asking and the one asked are human
beings. Suppose a teacher sees that one ofhis
students is avoiding writing a paper and is
thereby storing up trouble for himself at the
end of the term. And suppose that the stu-
dent asks the teacher for extra help in organ-
izing working time and scheduling the various
parts of the work. In that case I think the
teacher can without any problem give the stu-
dent what he needs, provided, of course, that
the teacher is willing to do as much for any
other student, and so on. But suppose, on the
other hand, that the student does not ask the
teacher for help and that the teacher instead
calls the student at home and simply presents
him with the help he needs in scheduling and
discipline. The teacher’s proposals in that case
are more than likely to strike the student as
meddling interference, and he is likely to re-
spond with more or less polite variations on
“Who asked you?” and “Mind your own busi-
ness.” Those responses, I think, are healthy
and just. If the student were having ordinary
difficulties getting his work done and yet doc-
ilely and submissively accepted the teacher’s
unrequested scheduling of his time, he would
have taken the first step in the direction of
unhealthy passivity towards his teacher. And
if he and his teacher developed that sort of
relationship, he could end by becoming a
lackey-like reflection of his teacher. Bestow-
ing at least some benefits only in response to
requests for them is a safeguard against such
an outcome when the members of the rela-
tionship are not equally balanced.
It becomes much harder to argue for this
defense of prayer as soon as the complexity of
the case is increased even just a little. Take,
for example, Monica’s praying for her son
Augustine. There is nothing in Monica’s pray-
ing for Augustine which shows that Augus-
tine recognizes that he has a need for God’s
PETITIONARY PRAYER
help or that 4e will be grateful if God gives
him what Monica prays for. Nor is it plain that
Monica’s asking shields Augustine from op-
pressive overwhelming by God. So it seems as
if the previous arguments fail in this case. But
consider again the case in which a teacher sees
that a’student of his could use help but does
not feel that he can legitimately volunteer his
help unasked. Suppose that John, a friend of
that student, comes to see the teacher and says,
“T don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Jim is
having trouble getting to his term paper. And
unless he gets help, I think he won’t do it at
all and will be in danger of flunking the
course.” If the teacher now goes to help Jim
and is rudely or politely asked “What right
have you got to interfere?,” he’ll say, “Well,
in fact, your friend came to me and asked me
to help.” And if John is asked the same ques-
tion, he will probably reply, “But I’m your
friend; I had to do something.” I think, then,
that because John asks the teacher, the teacher
is in a position to help with less risk of op-
pressive meddling than before. Obviously, he
cannot go very far without incurring that risk
as fully as before; and perhaps the most he
can do if he wants to avoid oppressive med-
dling is to try to elicit from Jim in genuinely
uncoercive ways a request for help. And, of
course, I chose Monica and Augustine to in-
troduce this case because, as Augustine tells it
in the Confessions, God responded to Monica’s
fervent and continued prayers for Augustine’s
salvation by arranging the circumstances of,
Augustine’s life in such a way that finally Au-
gustine himself freely asked God for salvation.
One might perhaps think that there is some-
thing superfluous and absurd in God’s work-
ing through the intermediary of prayer in this
way. If Jim’s friend can justify his interference
on the grounds that he is Jim’s friend and has
to do something, God can dispense with this
sort of petitionary prayer, too. He can give
aid unasked on the grounds that he is the crea-
tor and has to do something. But suppose that
Jim and John are only acquaintances who have
discussed nothing more than their school-
work; and suppose that John, by overhearing
361
ELEONORE STUMP
Jim’s phone conversations, has come to be-
lieve that all Jim’s academic troubles are just
symptoms of problems he is having with his
parents. If John asks the teacher to help Jim
with his personal problems, and if the teacher
begins even a delicate attempt to do so by say-
ing that John asked him to do so, he and John
could both properly be told to mind their own
business. It is not the status of his relation-
ship or even the depth of his care and com-
passion for Jim which puts John in a position
to defend himself by saying “But I’m your
friend.” What protects John against the charge
of oppressive meddling is rather the degree
to which Jim has freely, willingly, shared his
life and thoughts and feelings with John. So
John’s line of defense against the charge of
oppressive meddling can be attributed to God
only if the person God is to aid has willingly
shared his thoughts and feelings and the like
with God. But it is hard to imagine anyone
putting himself in such a relation to a person
he believes to be omnipotent and good with-
out his also asking for whatever help he needs.
Even if the argument can be made out so
far, one might be inclined to think that it will
not be sufficient to show the compatibility of
God’s goodness with the practice of petition-
ary prayer. If one supposes that God brought
Augustine to Christianity in response to
Monica’s prayers, what is one to say about
Augustine’s fate if Monica had not prayed for
him? And what does this view commit one to
maintain about people who neither pray for
themselves nor are prayed for? It looks as ifan
orthodox Christian who accepts the argument
about petitionary prayer so far will be com-
mitted to a picture of this sort. God is analo-
gous to a human father with two very different
children. Both Old and New Testaments de-
pict God as doing many good things for men
without being asked to do so, and this hu-
man father, too, does unrequested good
things for both his children. But one child,
who is healthy and normal, with healthy, nor-
mal relations to his father, makes frequent re-
quests of the father which the father responds
to and in virtue of which he bestows benefits
362
on the child. The other child is selectively
blind, deaf, dumb, and suffering from what-
ever other maladies are necessary to make it
plausible that he does not even know he has a
father. Now either there are some benefits that
the father will never bestow unless and until
he is asked; and in that case he will do less for
his defective child, who surely has more need
of his help than does the healthy child. Or,
on the other hand, he will bestow all his ben-
efits unasked on the defective child, and then
he seems to make a mockery of his practice
with the normal child of bestowing some ben-
efits only in response to requests — he is, after
all, willing to bestow the same benefits with-
out being asked. So it seems that we are still
left with the problem we started with: either
God is not perfectly good or the practice of
petitionary prayer is pointless. But suppose the
father always meets the defective child’s needs
and desires even though the child never comes
to know of the existence of his father. The
child knows only that he is always taken care
of, and when he needs something, he gets
what he needs. It seems to me intuitively clear
that such a practice runs a great risk, at least,
of making the defective child willful and ty-
rannical. But even if the defective child is not
in danger of being made worse in some re-
spects in this situation, still it seems plain that
he would be better off ifthe father could man-
age to put the child in a position to know his
father and to frame a request for what he
wants. So I think a good father will fulfill the
child’s needs unasked; but I think that he can
do so without making a mockery of his prac-
tice of bestowing benefits in response to re-
quests only if putting the child in a position
to make requests is among his first concerns.
And as for the question whether God would
have saved Augustine without Monica’s
prayers, I think that there is intermediate
ground between the assertion that Monica’s
prayers are necessary to Augustine’s salvation,
which seems to impugn God’s goodness, and
the claim that they are altogether without
effect, which undercuts petitionary prayer.
It is possible, for example, to argue that God

would have saved Augustine without Monica’s
prayers but not in the same amount of time
or not by the same process or not with the
same effect. Augustine, for instance, might
have been converted to Christianity but not
in such a way as to become one of its most
powerful authorities for centuries.”*
With all this, I have still looked only at cases
that are easy for my position; when we turn
to something like a prayer for Guatemala af-
ter the earthquake — which begins to come
closer to the sort of petitions in the first half
of the Lord’s Prayer — it is much harder to
know what to say. And perhaps it is simply
too hard to come up with a reasonable solu-
tion here because we need more work on the
problem of evil. Why would a good God per-
mit the occurrence of earthquakes in the first
place? Do the reasons for his permitting the
earthquake affect his afterwards helping the
country involved? Our inclination is surely to
say that a good God must im any case help the
earthquake victims, so that in this instance at
any rate it is pointless to pray. But plainly we
also have strong inclinations to say that a good
God must in any case prevent earthquakes in
populated areas. And since orthodox Christi-
anity is committed to distrusting these latter
inclinations, it is at least at sea about the former
ones. Without more work on the problem of
evil, it is hard to know what to say about the
difference prayer might make in this sort of
case.
I think it is worth noticing, though, that
the first three requests of the Lord’s prayer
do not run into the same difficulties. Those
requests seem generally equivalent to a request
for the kingdom of God on earth, that state
of affairs in which, of their own free will, all
men on earth are dedicated, righteous lovers
of God. Now suppose it is true that God would
bring about his kingdom on earth even if an
individual Christian such as Jimmy Carter did
not pray for it. It does not follow in this case,
however, that the prayer in question is point-
less and makes no difference. Suppose no one
prayed for the advent of God’s kingdom on
earth or felt a need or desire for those
PETITIONARY PRAYER
millennial times strongly enough to pray for
them. It seems unreasonable to think that God
could bring about his earthly kingdom under
those conditions, or if he could, that it would
be the state of affairs just described, in which
earth is populated by people who freely love
God.** And ifso, then making the requests in
the first half of the Lord’s Prayer resembles
other, more ordinary activities in which only
the effort of a whole group is sufficient to
achieve the desired result. One man can’t put
out a forest fire, but if everyone in the vicinity
of a forest fire realized that fact and on that
basis decided not to try, the fire would rage
out of control. So in the case of the opening
petitions of the Lord’s Prayer, too, it seems
possible to justify petitionary prayer without
impugning God’s goodness.
Obviously, the account I have given is just
a preliminary sketch for the full development
of this solution, and a good deal more work
needs to be done on the problem. None the
less, I think that this account is on the right
track and that there is a workable solution to
the problem of petitionary prayer which can
be summarized in this way. God must work
through the intermediary of prayer, rather
than doing everything on his own initiative,
for man’s sake. Prayer acts as a kind of buffer
between man and God. By safeguarding the
weaker member ofthe relation from the dan-
gers of overwhelming domination and over-
whelming spoiling, it helps to promote and
preserve a close relationship between an om-
niscient, omnipotent, perfectly good person
and a fallible, finite, imperfect person. There
is, of course, something counter-intuitive in
this notion that prayer acts as a buffer; prayer
of all sorts is commonly and I think correctly
said to have as one of its main functions the
production of closeness between man and
God. But not just any sort of closeness will
result in friendship, and promoting the ap-
propriate sort of closeness will require inhib-
iting or preventing inappropriate sorts of
closeness, so that a relationship of friendship
depends on the maintenance of both close-
ness and distance between the two friends.
363
ELEONORE STUMP
And while I do not mean to denigrate the
importance of prayer in producing and pre-
serving the appropriate sort of closeness, I
think the problem of petitionary prayer at is-
sue here is best solved by focusing on the dis-
tance necessary for friendship and the function
of petitionary prayer in maintaining that dis-
tance.
As for the argument against prayer which I
laid out at the start of the paper, it seems to
me that the flaw lies in step (7), that it is never
logically necessary for God to make the world
worse than it would otherwise be and never
logically impossibie for him to make the world
better than it would otherwise be. To take a
specific example from among those discussed
so far, orthodox Christianity is committed to
claiming that the advent of God’s kingdom
on earth, in which all people freely love God,
would make the world better than it would
otherwise be. But I think that it is not possi-
ble for God to make the world better in this
way, because I think it is not possible for him
to make men freely do anything.*° And in gen-
eral, if it is arguable that God’s doing good
things just in virtue of men’s requests pro-
tects men from the dangers described and pre-
serves them in the right relationship to God,
then it is not the case that it is always logically
possible for God to make the world better and
never logically necessary for him to make the
world worse than it would otherwise be. If
men do not always pray for all the good things
they might and ought to pray for, then in some
cases either God will not bring about some
good thing or he will do so but at the ex-
pense of the good wrought and preserved by
petitionary prayer.
It should be plain that there is nothing in
this analysis of prayer which requires that God
fulfill every prayer; asking God for something
is not in itselfa sufficient condition for God’s
doing what he is asked. Christian writings are
full of examples of prayers which are not an-
swered, and there are painful cases of unan-
swered prayer in which the one praying must
be tempted more to the belief that God is his
implacable enemy than to the sentimental-
364
seeming belief that God is his friend. This
paper proposes no answer for these difficul-
ties. They require a long, hard, careful look at
the problem ofevil, and that falls just outside
the scope of this paper.
And, finally, it may occur to someone to
wonder whether the picture of God presented
in this analysis is at all faithful to the God of
the Old or New Testaments. Is this under-
standing of God and prayer anything that
Christianity ought to accept or even find con-
genial? It seems to me that one could point
to many stories in either the Old or New Tes-
tament in support of an affirmative answer —
for example, Elijah’s performance on Mount
Carmel (1 Kings 18), or the apostles’ prayer
for a successor to Judas (Acts 1: 24-6). But
for a small and particularly nice piece of evi-
dence, we can turn to the story in the Gospel
of Luke which describes Jesus making the
Lord’s Prayer and giving a lecture on how one
is to pray. According to the Gospel, Jesus is
praying and in such a way that his disciples
see him and know that he is praying. One of
them makes a request of him which has just a
touch of rebuke in it: teach us to pray, as John
taught /zs disciples to pray (Luke 11: 1). If
there is a note of rebuke there, it seems just.
A religious master should teach his disciples
to pray, and a good teacher does not wait until
he is asked to teach his students important
lessons. But Jesus is portrayed as a good
teacher ofjust this sort in the Gospel ofLuke.?7
Does the Gospel, then, mean its readers to
understand that Jesus would not have taught
his disciples how to pray if they had not re-
quested it? And if it does not, why is Jesus
portrayed as waiting until he is asked? Per-
haps the Gospel means us to understand?s that
Jesus does so just in order to teach by experi-
ence as well as by sermon what is implicit
throughout the Lord’s Prayer: that asking
makes a difference.”°
Notes
1 For a good recent account of the problem of
petitionary prayer and miracles, see Robert

Young, “Petitioning God,” American Philo-
sophical Quarterly, 11 (1974), pp. 193-201.
Other issues I intend to avoid include Peter
Geach’s worries about prayer for events in the
past in God and the Soul (London, 1969), pp.
89ff., and about “certain tensed propositions
about the divine will ... in connexion with
prayer” (God and the Soul, p. 97).
Eric George Jay, Origen’s Treatise on Prayer
(London, 1954), vols V-VI, pp. 92-103.
Most notably, Summa theologiae, 2a—2ae, 83,
1-17; Summa contra gentiles, 1.111. 95-6; In
IV. Sent., dist. XV, q. 4, a. I.
The Concept of God (New York, 1974),
pp. 221-2. Ward introduces the problem only
as an embarrassment for what he calls
‘Thomistic” theology. Cf. my review in The
Philosophical Review, 86 (1977), pp. 398-404.
The Concept of Prayer (New York, 1966),
pp. 112¢f.
Cf. The Concept of God, pp. 62, 101, 111, and
185. ‘ 16
Cf., for example, the similar understanding of
this petition in two very different theologians:
Augustine, Homzlies on the Gospels, Serm. 6;
and Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion,
III. xx. 41.
The most common Old Testament word for
“holy” and its correlates is some form of
“kadash,” the basic, literal meaning of which
is separation, withdrawal, or state of being set
apart; cf. Gesenius, A Hebrew and English Lexi-
con of the Old Testament. In the New Testa-
ment, the most frequently used word is
“hagiazod” and its correlates, the basic mean-
ing of which also includes the notion of being
separate and being set apart; cf. Thayer, A
Greek—English Lexicon of the New Testament,
and Arndt and Gringich, A Greek—English Lext-
con of the New Testament and Other Early
Christian Literature.
Cf., e.g., Isaiah 2: 2-21, 45: 23, and 65: 23;
Matthew 24; Mark 13; Luke 21; and
Revalation 6: 15-17.
10 See, for example, Martin Luther, Large Cat-
echism, pt. III. 169. Luther’s argument for
prayer has more force in the context of the
catechism than it does in the context of a philo-
sophical discussion, because Luther’s purpose
there is the practical one of blocking what he
understands as believers’ excuses for not pray-
ing.
PETITIONARY PRAYER
J My approach to the argument from evil, which
underlies the following argument, owes a good
deal to Carl Ginet and Norman Kretzmann.
12 There is a noteworthy difference between (ii)
and the premise ordinarily supplied in its stead
in arguments from evil, namely, (ii’) “There is
evil in the world.” The difference suggests a
way to develop an alternative or at least an
addition to the standard free will defense
against the argument from evil.
13 See Terence Penelhum, Religion and Ration-
ality (New York, 1971), pp. 287-92.
14 Norman Kretzmann and I examine the con-
cept of eternity in ancient and medieval meta-
physics and theology in our forthcoming book
on that subject, attending particularly to the
usefulness of the concept in resolving certain
problems in rational theology.
15 See, for example, the articles on prayer in the
Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique and The
New Catholic Encyclopedia.
See In IV. Sent., dist. XV, q.4, a.1, and Summa
contra gentiles, I. II1. 95-6.
17 See 2a—2ae, q. 83, a.2.
18 See reply, a.2. “Non enim propter hoc oramus
ut divinam dispositionem immutemus: sed ut
id impetremus quod Deus disposutt per orationes
sanctorium implendum.”
WS, Cf., e.g., Origen, op. cit., and Augustine, Czty
of God, Bk V, ix.
20 Plainly, a good deal of skillful work is needed
to weave such anthropomorphism and scho-
lastic theology into one harmonious whole.
The problem is, ofcourse, given lengthy, de-
tailed treatment in various scholastic writings,
including Thomas’s Summa theologiae.
21 See especially John 15: 12-15.
22 I want to avoid detailed discussion ofthe vari-
ous controversies over omnipotence. For
present purposes, I will take this as a rough
definition of omnipotence: a being is omnipo-
tent if and only if he can do anything which it
is not logically impossible for him to do and if
he can avoid doing anything which it is not
logically necessary for him to do.
23 Controversy over this point is related to the
more general controversy over whether or not
it is possible for an omnipotent, omniscient,
perfectly good God to create men who would
on every occasion freely do what is right. For
a discussion of that general controversy and
arguments that it is not possible for God to
365
ELEONORE STUMP
do so, see Alvin Plantinga’s God and Other
Minds (Ithaca, 1967), pp. 132-48; I am in
agreement with the general tenor of
Plantinga’s remarks in that section of his book.
24 I have presented the case of Monica and Au-
gustine in a simplified form in order to have
an uncomplicated hard case for the view Iam
arguing. As far as the historical figures them-
selves are concerned, it is plain that Monica’s
overt, explicit, passionate concern for her son’s
conversion greatly influenced the course ofhis
life and shaped his character from boyhood
on. It is not clear whether Augustine would
have been anything like the man he was if his
mother had not been as zealous on behalf of
his soul as she was, if she had not prayed con-
tinually and fervently for his salvation and let
him know she was doing so. Augustine’s char-
acter and personality were what they were in
large part as a result ofher fierce desire for his
espousal of Christianity; and just his knowl-
edge that his beloved mother prayed so ear-
nestly for his conversion must have been a
powerful natural force helping to effect that
conversion. In this context the question
whether God could have saved Augustine
without Monica’s prayers takes on different
366
meaning, and an affirmative answer is much
harder to give with reasoned confidence.
25 See n. 23 above.
26 See n. 23 above.
27 See, for example, the lessons taught in the two
incidents described in Luke 21: 1-6.
28 I have used awkward circumlocutions in this
paragraph in order to make plain that it is not
my intention here to make any claims about
the historical Jesus or the intentions of the
Gospel writer. Iam not concerned in this pa-
per to do or to take account of contemporary
theories of Biblical exegesis. My point is only
that the story in the Gospel, as it has been part
of ordinary Christian tradition, lends itself to
the interpretation I suggest.
29 In writing this paper, I have benefited from
the comments and criticisms of John Boler,
Norman Care, and Bill Rowe. I am particu-
. larly indebted to my friend Norman
Kretzmann for his thorough reading and very
helpful criticism of the paper. And I am grate-
ful to John Crossett, from whom I have learned
a great deal and whose understanding of philo-
sophical problems in Christian theology is
much better than my own.
Soul
41 The Future of the Soul*
Richard Swinburne
Four thousand million years of evolution pro-
duced man, a body and soul in continuing
interaction. A human soul is more dependent
for its development on its own states than is
an animal soul, for it has complex beliefs and
desires kept in place and changing in accord
with other beliefs and desires. Other animals
having only much simpler beliefs and desires
are much more dependent for their continu-
ing beliefs and desires directly on their bodily
states. Can this complex evolved human soul
survive on its own apart from the body which
sustains it? I contend that the functioning of
the human soul (i.e. its having conscious epi-
sodes) is guaranteed by the functioning of the
brain currently connected with it (connected,
in that the soul’s acquisition of beliefs about
its surroundings and action upon those sur-
roundings is mediated by that brain)... .
When the body dies and the brain ceases to
function, the evidence of the kind considered
earlier suggests that the soul will cease to
function also. For that evidence suggests that
the soul functions only when the brain has
rhythms of certain kinds, and at death the
brain ceases to function altogether. Ifthe soul
does not function before there is a function-
ing brain, or during deep sleep, when the brain
is not functioning at a certain level, surely it
will not function after there ceases to be a func-
tioning brain? However, there are arguments
* From Richard Swinburne, The Evolution of the Soul
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), ch. 15, pp.
298-312. Reprinted with permission.
and evidence of less usual kinds which pur-
port to show that things are different after
death from what they are before birth.
Before we face the question of whether the
soul can function without the functioning of
the brain currently connected with it, we must
consider the question of whether, after death,
the brain which ceases to function at death
can be made to function again and whether
thereby the soul can be revived.
Can the Brain be Reactivated?
A crucial problem is that we do not know how
much of the brain that was yours has to be
reassembled and within what time interval in
order that we may have your brain and so your
soul function again. We saw this earlier in the
split brain cases. If both half-brains are trans-
planted into empty skulls and the transplants
take, both subsequent persons will satisfy to
some extent the criterion of apparent memory
(as well as the brain criterion) for being the
original person. One subsequent person might
satisfy the criterion better than the other, and
that would be evidence that he was the origi-
nal person; but the evidence could be mis-
leading. The situation is equally unclear with
possible developments at death.
Suppose you die of a brain haemorrhage
which today’s doctors cannot cure, but your
relatives take your corpse and put it straight
into a very deep freeze in California. Fifty years
later your descendants take it out of the freeze;
367
RICHARD SWINBURNE
medical technology has improved and the
doctors are able quickly to mend your brain,
and your body is then warmed up. The body
becomes what is clearly the body of a living
person, and one with your apparent memory
and character. Is it you? Although we might
be mistaken, the satisfaction of the criterion
of apparent memory (together with the — at
any rate partial — satisfaction of the criterion
of brain continuity) would suggest that we
ought to say ‘Yes’. So long as the same brain
is revived, the same functioning soul would
be connected with it —- whatever the time in-
terval. But what if the brain is cut up into a
million pieces and then frozen? Does the same
hold? Why should there be any difference?
Suppose that the brain is reduced to its com-
ponent atoms; and then these are reasembled
either by chance or because they have been
labelled radioactively. Again, if the subsequent
person makes your memory claims, surely we
ought to say that it is you. But how many of
the original atoms do we need in the original
locations? That we do not know. So long as
the subsequent person had many similar at-
oms in similar locations in his brain, he would
claim to have been you. So, the criterion of
apparent memory will be satisfied. Total non-
satisfaction of the brain criterion would de-
feat the claims of apparent memory (in the
absence of any general failure of coincidence
in results between these criteria). But it re-
mains unclear and indeed insoluble exactly
how much of the original brain is needed to
provide satisfaction of the brain criterion.
This problem of how much of the original
body is physically necessary when other mat-
ter is added to it so as to make a fully func-
tioning body, in order that the original soul
may be present and function, is a problem
which concerned the thinkers of the early
Christian centuries and of the Middle Ages.
They considered the imaginary case of the
cannibal who eats nothing but human flesh.
Given that both the cannibal and his victims
are to be brought to life in the General Res-
urrection, to whom will the flesh of the can-
nibal belong? Aquinas’ begins his answer by
368
saying that ‘if something was materially present
in many men, it will rise in him to whose per-
fection it belonged’, i.e. that that part of the
body which is necessary for a man being the
person he is will belong to him in the General
Resurrection. But what part is that, and what
guarantee is there that the matter of that part
cannot come to form the essential part of a
different man who cannot therefore be recon-
stituted at the same time as the original man
(given the operation of normal processes)?
Aquinas goes on to produce an argument that
the ‘radical seed’ (i.e. the sperm, which ac-
cording to Aristotle formed the original mat-
ter of the embryo) forms the minimum
essential bodily core around which a man
could be rebuilt. But we know now, as Aquinas
did not, that the sperm does not remain as a
unit within the organism, and there seems to
me no reason why all the atoms which origi-
nally formed it should not be lost from the
body, and indeed come to form parts of origi-
nal cells of many subsequent men. The atoms
of the original cell are not therefore the most
plausible candidate for being the part of the
body physically necessary for human personal
identity. Aquinas’s problem remains without
modern solution.
Nevertheless, although neurophysiology
cannot tell us which part of his brain is physi-
cally necessary for the embodiment of a given
man, it does tell us, as I argued earlier, that
some of the brain is thus necessary. For the
functioning of a given human soul, there has
to be a man whose brain contains certain of
the matter of his original brain (but which
matter we do not know), similarly arranged.
A certain amount of the original brain matter
has to be reassembled in a similar arrangement
and reactivated by being joined to other brain
matter and a body if the soul is to function
again. And how likely is it that physical proc-
esses will bring about such a reassembly? As
the time since death increases, and brain cells
and then brain molecules are broken up, burnt
by fire, or eaten by worms — it becomes very,
very unlikely indeed that chance will reassem-
ble them; or even that human agents can do

so for they will not be able to re-identify the
atoms involved. (One must, however, be care-
ful here about the possibilities for technology
in the twenty-second century. Maybe a brain
map could be constructed and a process of
labelling constitutent atoms devised, which
would make possible a reassembly after many
years. But the possible development of such a
technology seems to me very unlikely.) When
the original atoms are reduced to packets of
energy, then since these perhaps cannot be
individuated, reassembly finally becomes not
merely physically very, very improbable, but
totally impossible physically. (But the word is
‘perhaps’; it is a difficult question in the phi-
losophy of physics whether bursts of energy
can be individuated.) I conclude that it is very,
very unlikely (and with increasing time virtu-
ally impossible) that after death souls will again
have reassembled the brain basis which we
know makes them function.
Is there any good reason to suppose that
the soul continues to function without the
brain functioning? Arguments to show that
the soul continues to function without the
brain functioning may be divided into three
groups, involving different amounts of theo-
retical structure, to reach their conclusions.
First, we may consider arguments which pur-
port to show that certain men have survived
death, in the sense that their souls have func-
tioned without their brains functioning, di-
rectly — i.e. without needing first to establish
anything about the nature of the soul or any
more systematic metaphysical structure. Ar-
guments of this kind may be called parapsy-
chological arguments.
Arguments from Parapsychology
First, there is the alleged evidence of reincar-
nation, that souls function in new bodies with
new brains on Earth. There are Indian chil-
dren who claim to remember having lived a
certain past life, and whose memory claims
coincide with the events of some real past life
about which — allegedly — they could not have
THE FUTURE OF THE SOUL
learnt by what they were told or had read.’
Now, it is of course open to serious question
whether perhaps those Indian children had
read or were told or learnt in some other per-
fectly normal way the details of those past lives.
But even if for a few Indian children there
was this coincidence between their memory
claims and the events of a certain past per-
son’s life, without there being any normal
cause of the accuracy of their memory claims,
that would not be enough evidence to show
their identity with those persons. For. . . given
the general coincidence of sameness of
memory with continuity of brain, we must take
continuity of brain as a criterion of identity;
and the non-satisfaction of that in the case of
the few Indian children (who do not have the
same brain matter as the cited past persons),
must remain substantial evidence against the
supposition that they are those persons.
Next, there is the alleged evidence of spir-
itualism, that souls function without bodies-
or with new bodies and brains in another
world. Mediums purport to have telepathic
communication with dead persons. The evi-
dence that they do is allegedly provided by
the knowledge of the details of the dead per-
son’s life on Earth (not obtainable by the
medium by normal means) which the medi-
um’s reports of the telepathic communications
reveal. In the reincarnation case there is no
doubt that there exists in the present a living
conscious person; the debatable question con-
cerns his identity with the past person. In the
spiritualism case the crucial issue concerns
whether there is a conscious person with
whom the medium is in communication.
A serious issue in medium cases, like the
similar issue in the supposed reincarnation
cases, concerns the source of the mysterious
knowledge. Perhaps the medium gets her
knowledge from some spy who has done re-
search on the dead person’s life. But even if
investigation showed clearly that the mediums
had gained their knowledge of the past lives
of dead person by no normal route, the evi-
dence would still, I suggest, not support the
hypothesis of telepathic communication with
369
RICHARD SWINBURNE
the dead. For also compatible with the evi-
dence would be the hypothesis that the me-
diums have clairvoyance — they see directly into
the past and acquire their knowledge thus.
(Adopting the latter hypothesis would involve
supposing either that the mediums were de-
ceiving us about the kind of experiences they
were having (apparent two-way traffic with a
living person), or that they were deceiving
themselves, or that their experiences were il-
lusory.) On the choice between the two hy-
potheses there seem to me to be two
important reasons for preferring the clairvoy-
ance hypothesis. First, there are no cross-
checks between mediums about the alleged
present experiences of the dead in the after-
life. Mediums never give independently veri-
fiable reports on this. Secondly, their reports
about the present alleged experiences of the
dead are themselves very banal. Yet one would
expect because of the total lack of depend-
ence of the dead on their past bodies, that
they would live in a very different world, and
that this would emerge in their reports on that
world.
Finally, there is the interesting and recently
published alleged evidence that souls function
while their bodies are out of action. There has
been careful analysis of the experiences of
those who clinically were as good as dead and
then recovered. Such experiences are often
called ‘near-death experiences’.* Fifteen per
cent of subjects resuscitated after being in such
a condition report strange experiences of one
of two kinds. Many of them report the fol-
lowing ‘transcendental experiences’:
an initial period of distress followed by profound
calm and joy; out-of-the-body experiences with
the sense of watching resuscitation events from
a distance; the sensation of moving rapidly down
a tunnel or along a road, accompanied by a loud
buzzing or ringing noise or hearing beautiful
music; recognising friends and relatives who
have died previously; a rapid review of pleasant
incidents from throughout the life as a pano-
ramic playback (in perhaps twelve per cent of
cases); a sense of approaching a border or fron-
tier and being sent back; and being annoyed or
370
disappointed at having to return from such a
pleasant experience — ‘I tried not to come back’,
in one patient’s words. Some describe frank tran-
scendent experiences and many state that they
will never fear death again. Similar stories have
been reported from the victims of accidents, falls,
drowning, anaphylaxis, and cardiac or respira-
tory arrest.°
Resuscitated patients other than those who
had transcendental experiences have under-
gone ‘a wide variety of vivid dreams, halluci-
nations, nightmares and delusions’, but some
of those who had transcendental experiences
also experienced these and sharply distin-
guished between the two kinds of experience.
The ‘dreams’ were regarded as dreams, and
were quickly forgotten; the ‘supposed
glimpses of a future life’ were regarded as real
and permanently remembered. These glimpses
were reported as having occurred at moments
when ‘breathing had ceased, the heart had
stopped beating, and the patients showed no
visible signs oflife’. The principle of credulity
might suggest that we ought to take such ap-
parent memories seriously, especially in view
of the considerable coincidences between
them, as evidence that what subjects thought
they experienced, they really did. But although
the subjects referred these experiences to
moments at which the heart had stopped beat-
ing, etc., I do not know of any evidence that
at these moments their brains had ceased to
function. And if the brain was still function-
ing then, what the evidence would show is
not that the soul may function when the brain
does not, but only that its perceptual experi-
ences (i.e. sensations and acquisitions of be-
lief about far away places) are not dependent
on normal sensory input.
The same conclusion will follow with re-
spect to the considerable but not overwhelm-
ing evidence of those resuscitated patients who
had experiences of the other strange kind,
‘out-of-body-experiences’, i.e. being able to
view their own bodies and events in the oper-
ating theatre from a distance, obtaining
thereby information which they would not
have been able to obtain by normal means

(e.g. having visual experiences of events which
they would not have got from use oftheir eyes,
such as views of parts of the theatre hidden
from their eyes).° This again suggests that the
subject’s acquisition of information is depend-
ent on some factor quite other than normal
sensory input to the brain. But again I know
of no evidence that these experiences occurred
while the brain was not functioning; and so
the available evidence does not support the
suggestion that the soul can function without
the brain functioning.
My conclusion on parapsychology is that it
provides no good evidence that the soul con-
tinues to function without the brain to which
it is currently connected functioning.
Arguments for Natural Survival
The second class of arguments purporting to
show that the soul survives death purport to
show from a consideration of what the soul is
like when it functions normally that its nature
is such that the failure of the brain to func-
tion would make no difference to the opera-
tion of the soul. Such arguments verge from
very general arguments of what the soul must
be like to be conscious at all to arguments
which appeal to particular empirical data.
Dualist philosophers of the past have usu-
ally affirmed the natural immortality of the soul
— that the soul has such a nature, or the laws
of nature are such, that (barring suspension
of natural laws) it will continue to function
forever. There have been a variety of general
arguments for the natural immortality of the
soul. Each argument has, in my view, its own
fallacies; and the fallacies being fairly evident
today, there is no need for any extensive dis-
cussion of such arguments. (Expositions of the
arguments do, incidentally, usually suffer from
confusing the existence of the soul with its
functioning; wrongly supposing that when it
exists, necessarily it will function.)
To illustrate the fallacies of such arguments,
I take just one famous argument, put forward
by Plato.” Plato argues that the soul being an
THE FUTURE OF THE SOUL
immaterial thing is unextended, and so does
not have parts; but the destruction of a thing
consists in separating from each other its parts;
whence it follows that souls cannot be de-
stroyed and must continue to exist forever.
Now certainly the normal way by which
most material objects cease to exist is that they
are broken up into parts. The normal end of a
table is to be broken up; likewise for chairs,
houses, and pens. But this need not be the
way in which a material object ceases to exist.
Things cease to exist when they lose their es-
sential properties. The essential properties of
a table include being solid. Ifa table was sud-
denly liquified, then, even if its constituent
molecules remained arranged in the shape of
a table by being contained in a table-shaped
mould, the table would have ceased to exist.
So if even material objects can cease to exist
without being broken up into parts, souls
surely can cease to exist by some other route
than by being broken up into parts.
Nor are the more empirically based argu-
ments oftraditional dualists any more success-
ful at showing that the soul has a nature such
as to survive death. In The Analogy of Reli-
gion, Joseph Butler pointed out that many
men die of disease, when in full possession of
powers of thought; and this, he considered,
suggested that weakening of powers of body
has no effect at all on many powers of soul:
as it is evident our present powers and capaci-
ties of reason, memory, and affection do not
depend upon our gross body in the manner in
which perception by our organs of sense does;
so they do not appear to depend upon it at all
in any such manner as to give ground to think
that the dissolution of this body will be the de-
struction of these our present powers of reflec-
tion, as it will of our powers of sensation; or to
give ground to conclude, even that it will be so
much as a suspension of the former.’
But, although it is true that weakening of
certain bodily faculties does not affect powers
of thought, the evidence is manifest that other
bodily damage or disease or mere sleep does
affect powers of thought. Drugs and alcohol
ua
RICHARD SWINBURNE
affect clarity of thought, and ... there is no
reason to suppose that any conscious events
occur during periods of deep sleep.
The failure of the above arguments is, I sug-
gest, typical of the failure ofdualist arguments
to show that the soul has an immortal nature
or at any rate a nature such that it is able to
go on functioning ‘under its own steam’. We
need a form of dualism which brings out that
the soul does not have a nature so as to func-
tion on its own.
Is the Soul Naturally Embodied?
If it cannot be shown that the soul has a na-
ture so as to survive death without its con-
nected brain functioning, can it be shown that
the soul has a nature such that its functioning
is dependent on that of the brain with which
it is connected? Can we show that there is a
natural law which (i) connects consciousness
of a soul with the functioning of some mate-
rial system, and (ii) connects the conscious-
ness of each soul with the functioning of a
particular material system; so that of natural
necessity a soul can only function if the brain
or other complex system with which it is at
some time connected continues to function?
... It has not been shown and probably
never can be shown that there is any naturally
necessary connection of these kinds between
soul and body. All we are ever likely to get is
correlations — between this kind of brain-event
and that kind of mental event. And in the ab-
sence ofatheory which explains why a mate-
rial system of this kind is needed to produce a
soul, how this sort of physical change will pro-
duce this kind of mental state, how just so
much of the brain and no more is needed for
the continuity ofa certain soul (as opposed to
the mere functioning of a soul with similar
apparent memories), we have no grounds for
saying that souls cannot survive the death of
their brains. We do not know and are not likely
to find out what if any natural necessity gov-
erns the functioning ofsouls.
The situation is simply that the fairly direct
372
kinds of evidence considered so far give no
grounds for supposing that anyone has sur-
vived death, but we know of no reason to sup-
pose that it is not possible for anyone to survive
death. The situation is thus similar to that in
many areas of enquiry when no one has yet
found a so-and-so but no one has shown that
so-and-sos do not exist. Maybe there are liv-
ing persons on other planets, naturally occur-
ring elements with atomic numbers of over
1,000, or magnetic monopoles; but as yet no
one has found them. Someone may argue that
failure to find something when you have
looked for it is evidence that it does not exist.
But that is so only if you would recognize the
object when you found it, and if there is a
limited region within which the object can
exist and you have explored quite a lot of the
region. Failure to find oil in the English Chan-
nel after you have drilled in most parts of it,
or to find the Abominable Snowman if you
have explored most of the Himalayas, is in-
deed evidence that the thing does not exist.
But that is hardly the case with souls whose
brains have ceased to function. Maybe they
are reincarnate in new bodies and brains on
Earth but, as they have lost their memories,
the evidence of their identity has gone. Or
maybe they are where we cannot at present
look. They may still function without being
embodied . . . and so there be no place which
they occupy. Or if they are re-embodied in
another body with another brain, they may
be anywhere in this universe or some other.
Failure to find souls who have survived death
shows no more than that if they do exist, they
are not in the very few places where we have
looked for them or that if they are, the marks
of their identity (e.g. apparent memories of
past lives) have been removed. In the absence
of any further evidence as to whether souls
do survive death we can only remain agnostic
and wait until further evidence does turn up.

Evidence of Survival via
Metaphysical Theory
There is however a third kind of evidence
about whether men survive death which we
have not yet considered. This is evidence of a
wide-ranging character which is most simply
explained by a very general metaphysical
theory of the world, which has as its conse-
quence that human souls survive death as a
result of their nature or as a result of the pre-
dictable action of some agent who has the
power to bring them to life.
One such theory is the Hindu-Buddhist
metaphysic of karma, a deep law of retribu-
tion in nature whereby an agent who lives a
life thereafter lives another in which he gets
the deserts (reward or punishment) for the
previous life. (The establishment of such a
system would have the consequence that, de-
spite [a] lack ofevidence for this . . . souls exist
before birth; in order to be reborn they must
then normally lose much of the character
which, I have argued, comes to characterize
the soul by the time of death.)
Another such theory is of course Christian
theism. The theist has first to argue for the
existence of God, a person (in a wide sense)
of infinite power, wisdom, goodness, and free-
dom. He may argue that the existence of God
provides the simplest explanation of the ex-
istence of the universe, the virtual total regu-
larity of its behaviour in its conformity to
natural laws, and various more particular phe-
nomena within the universe. It would then
follow that God, being omnipotent, would
have the power to give to souls life after death
(and if there is no natural law which ties the
functioning of a soul to the operation of a
brain, God would not need to suspend natu-
ral laws in order to do this). The Christian
theist will need further to show that God in-
tends to bring souls to function after death.
He could show this either by showing that it
was an obligation on an omnipotent being to
do such a thing, and so that, being good, God
would do it; or by showing that God had an-
nounced his intention of doing this (e.g. by
THE FUTURE OF THE SOUL
doing something which God alone could do
such as suspending a law of nature, in con-
nection with the work of a prophet as a sign
that the prophet who had said that God so
intended was to be trusted.)
It will be evident that any argument via
metaphysical theory to the survival of death
by hurhan souls will have a lengthy and com-
plicated structure. But of course those who
produce such arguments are equally concerned
about most ofthe other things which need to
be proved on the way. Few people are inter-
ested in the existence of God solely for its value
in proving life after death. And ifI am right in
my claim that we cannot show that the soul
has a nature such that it survives ‘under its
own steam’, and that we cannot show that it
has a nature such that it cannot survive with-
Out its sustaining brain, the only kind of ar-
gument that can be given is an argument
which goes beyond nature, i.e. that shows
there is something beyond the natural order
embodied in laws of nature, and that the op-
eration of that something is to some extent
predictable.
If God did give to souls life after death in a
new body or without a body, he would not in
any way be violating natural laws — for, if 1am
right, there are no natural laws which dictate
what will happen to the soul after death. The
soul doesn’t have a nature which has conse-
quences for what will happen to it subsequent
to the dissolution of its links to the body.
I [contend] that the human soul at death
has a structure, a system of beliefs and desires
which might be expected to be there to some
degree in the soul if that soul were to be re-
vived. Ifa man does survive death, he will take
his most central desires and beliefs with him,
which is the kind ofsurvival for which, I sus-
pect, most men hope. In hoping to survive
death, a man hopes not only that subsequent
to his death, he will have experiences and per-
form actions. He hopes also to take with him
a certain attitude to the world. That attitude
certainly does not always include all aspects
of aman’s present character. Much, no doubt,
many a man would be happy to dispense with.
373
RICHARD SWINBURNE
But it does include some ofhis character, and
that part just because it is the part which he
desires should continue, is the most central
part.
Note that if there does occur a general res-
urrection of souls with new bodies in some
other world, yet with apparent memories of
their past lives (or a general reincarnation on
Earth with such memories), they would have
grounds for re-identifying each other cor-
rectly. For then the general failure of the re-
sults of the criterion of bodily continuity to
coincide with those of apparent memory
would .. . justifiably lead us to abandon the
former criterion and rely entirely on the lat-
ter. Not merely is a general resurrection logi-
cally possible but it would be known by the
subjects to have occurred.
Conclusion
The view of the evolved human soul which I
have been advocating may be elucidated by
the following analogy. The soul is like a light
bulb and the brain is like an electric light
socket. If you plug the bulb into the socket
and turn the current on, the light will shine.
If the socket is damaged or the current turned
off, the light will not shine. So, too, the soul
will function (have a mental life) ifit is plugged
into a functioning brain. Destroy the brain or
cut off the nutriment supplied by the blood,
and the soul will cease to function, remaining
inert. But it can be revived and made to func-
tion again by repairing or reassembling the
brain — just as the light can be made to shine
again by repairing the socket or turning on
the current. But now, my analogy breaks down
slightly (as all analogies do — else they would
not be analogies). Humans can repair light
sockets. But there is a practical limit to the
ability of humans to repair brains; the bits get
lost. Humans can move light bulbs and put
them into entirely different sockets. But no
human knows how to move a soul from one
body and plug it into another; nor does any
known natural force do this. Yet the task is
374
one involving no contradiction and an om-
nipotent God could achieve it; or maybe there
are other processes which will do so. And just
as light bulbs do not have to be plugged into
sockets in order to shine (loose wires can be
attached to them), maybe there are other ways
of getting souls to function than by plugging
them into brains. But investigation into the
nature of the soul does not reveal those ways.
And humans cannot discover what else is
needed to get souls to function again, unless
they can discover the ultimate force behind
nature itself.
Appendix
The theory of the evolved human soul which
I have been advocating in this book is, I be-
lieve, that of the Bible. Both Old and New
Testament hold that a man is a thing of flesh
and bone. (Because the Jews believed — see
Genesis ] — that all material things were good,
they could set a high value on man without
denying his materiality.) When in the last cen-
tury BC many Jews came to believe in life after
death, and when the Christian religion arose
within Judaism affirming life after death, the
life which they affirmed was not a natural im-
mortality, but a resurrection — God interven-
ing in history to give to Christ or to all men
new bodies and thereby new life. The Nicene
Creed affirms beliefin ‘the resurrection of the
body’. Christian theology has always affirmed
that the reunion of a soul with a body in the
General Resurrection required a divine act.
But early in Christian thought there arose the
view that the dead exist in an intermediate state
of purgatory (or in the case of some souls,
heaven or hell) as souls without bodies. This
view combined with Plato’s view that there
was a natural immortality of the soul to yield
the view that souls existed in purgatory or else-
where without bodies under their own natu-
ral powers. That view seems to me to be out
of line with the Christian emphasis on the
embodiedness of men as their normal and di-
vinely intended state, and also to fall foul of

the arguments of this chapter. If souls exist in
purgatory or elsewhere without their bodies
or with totally new bodies, they do so by spe-
cial divine act, not under their own natural
powers.
Notes
1 Summa Contra Gentiles, 4.81.12 and 13.
(Book IV, translated under the title On the
Truth of the Catholic Faith, book IV, by C. J.
O’Neill (New York: Image Books 1957).)
2 For references to the literature, see John Hick,
Death and Eternal Life (London: Collins,
1976), pp. 373-8.
3 On the alleged evidence of spiritualism, see
John Hick, Death and Eternal Life, ch. 7.
4 ‘There is a brief and well-balanced survey of
42 From Neurophilosophy: Toward a Unified Science of
the Mind-Brain
Patricia Smith Churchland
8.2 Substance Dualism
One line of resistance to a program aimed at
reducing psychological theory to neuroscience
is taken by those who deny that the mind is
identical with the brain and who conceive of
the mind instead as a nonphysical substance.
Their hypothesis is that mental states such as
perceptions, thoughts, feelings, and sensations
are states, not of the brain, but of a different
substance altogether. This substance is char-
acterized as independent of the body inasmuch
as it allegedly survives the brain’s disintegra-
* From Patricia Smith Churchland, Neuwrophilosophy:
Toward a Unified Science of the Mind—Brain (Cam-
bridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1986), pp. 317-23.
Reprinted with permission.
NEUROPHILOSOPHY
this evidence in Paul and Linda Badham, Im-
mortality or Extinction? (London: Macmillan,
1982), ch. 5. My summary ofthe evidence is
based on this chapter, but I also make use ofa
very careful and balanced account of a new
programme of investigations by Michael B.
Sabom, Recollections of Death (New York:
Harper and Row, 1982).
5 Lancet, 24 June 1978, quoted in Badham,
Immortality or Extinction.
6 On this, see Sabom, Recollections of Death,
chs 3, 6, 7 and 8.
7 Phaedo, 78 b-80e. See also, for example,
Berkeley: ‘We have shown that the soul is in-
divisible, incorporeal, unextended, and it is
consequently incorruptible’ — G. Berkeley,
Principles ofHuman Knowledge, § 141.
8 The Analogy of Religion, 1.1.3.
tion, though it is considered to interact caus-
ally with the brain when the latter is intact.
On this hypothesis, no reduction of psy-
chological theory to neuroscientific theory is
forthcoming because the former is a theory
about the states and processes of mind-sub-
stance, whereas the latter is a theory about
the states and processes of amaterial substance,
the brain. Each substance is thought to have
its own laws and its own range of properties,
hence research on the brain is not going to
yield knowledge of the mind and its dynam-
ics, nor, by parity of reasoning, will research
on the mind tell us anything much about how
the brain works.
What is the evidence for the hypothesis that
minds are nonphysical substances in which
mental states such as beliefs, desires, and
375
PATRICIA SMITH CHURCHLAND
sensations inhere? Descartes was particularly
impressed by the human capacity for reason-
ing and for language, and though he was a
keen mechanist, he simply could not imagine
how a mechanical device could be designed
so as to follow rules of reasoning and to use
language creatively. What sort of mechanical
devices were the paradigm that inspired
Descartes’s imagination? Clockwork machines
and fountains. And though some were intri-
cate indeed, by our standards even the most
elaborate clockwork devices of the seventeenth
century do not have a patch on modern sym-
bol-manipulating machines that can perform
such tasks as guiding the flight path ofa cruise
missile or regulating the activities of a space-
craft on Mars. The advent of the modern com-
puter has stolen much of the thunder of
Descartes’s argument that reasoning betokens
a nonphysical substance. Nevertheless, . . . the
theme that reasoning, the meaningfulness of
sentences in reasoning, and the /ogical rela-
tions between sentences used in reasoning
eludes an explanation in physicalist terms is
taken up by contemporary philosophers as the
basis for antireductionist arguments. The out-
ward form of the contemporary arguments is
new and clever, but the motivating intuitions
are discernibly Cartesian.
An intractable problem confronting sub-
stance dualism concerns the nature of the in-
teraction between the two radically different
kinds of substance. Soul-stuff allegedly has
none of the properties of material-stuff and
is not spatially extended, and the question
therefore concerns how and where the two
substances interact. This problem stymied
Descartes, and his completely inadequate so-
lution was to suggest that the “animal spirits”
functioned to mediate between the two types
of substance and that the subtle interaction
took place in the pineal gland. But his animal
spirits were composed of material stuff, albeit
very fine material stuff, so the problem stood
its ground. Can the mind be affected by, say,
electrical or magnetic fields? For Descartes,
apparently not, for then it would have prop-
erties in common with matter, and its status
376
as a radically different substance would be
imperiled.
On the classical picture, essentially two types
of items were exchanged at the station where
mind and brain interacted, wherever it was,
and these were sensations and volitions. The
brain was thought to send sensations to the
mind, which could then use them in percep-
tion. The mind, on the other hand, was
thought to send volitions to the brain, which
could then translate the volitions into motor
effects. The higher functions of the mind, in-
cluding reasoning, consciousness, moral feel-
ings, and the emotions, were assumed to
function independently of the brain, save for
the extent to which perceptions might figure
in these functions. Perceptions were excepted
because they were to some extent dependent
on sensations. This independence of the
higher mental operations from the physical
business of the brain was really the raison d’étre
of the substance dualist hypothesis, for it was
these mental functions that seemed utterly
inexplicable in material terms. Given a life of
their own in the nonphysical mind, reasoning
and consciousness and their kind should be
amenable to nonmaterial explanations, and
getting these seemed far easier than getting
brain-based explanations. We shall see this
theme concerning reasoning and conscious-
ness reappear in assorted guises in virtually
every antireductionist argument, including
those most recently minted.
The hypothesized independence of reason-
ing and consciousness that makes substance
dualism attractive is at the same time a chronic
and aggravating problem that costs it cred-
ibility. The difficulty is straightforward: rea-
soning, Consciousness, moral feelings,
religious feelings, political convictions, aes-
thetic judgments, moods, even one’s deep-
seated personality traits — all can be affected if
the brain is affected by drugs or by lesions,
for example. The more we know about neu-
rology and about neuropharmacology, the
more evident it is that the functions in ques-
tion are not remotely as independent as the
classical hypothesis asserts. On the materialist

hypothesis, the observed interdependence is
precisely what would be expected, but it is
distinctly embarrassing to the dualist hypoth-
esis.
Recent hypotheses meant to explain the
nature of the interaction between the non-
physical mind and the physical brain are not
significant improvements upon Descartes’s
proposal. Although Eccles has energetically
addressed the problem, his theory of the in-
teraction remains metaphorical. His explana-
tory flow diagram consists essentially of many
arrows connecting the “mind” box to the box
for the language areas of the human brain.
The question that persists after study of the
array of arrows is this: what is the manner of
interaction, and how does the nonphysical
mind bring about changes ofstate in the brain,
and vice versa? The inescapable conclusion is
that the arrow-array is after all as much an
explanatory surd as the notion of Descartes’s
animal spirits finely but mysteriously “affect-
ing” the nonmaterial substance in the con-
fines of the pineal gland.
The unavailability of a solution to the
manner ofinteraction between two radically
different substances does not entail that sub-
stance dualism is false. For all we know now,
further research may yet discover a solution.
But with no leads at all and not even any seri-
ous plans for finding a solution, it does mean
that the hypothesis has diminished appeal. This
failure invites the conjecture that the prob-
lems the hypothesis was designed to solve
might in fact be pseudoproblems, and in this
respect they might be similar to the now-
discarded problems of how the heart concocts
vital spirits or how the tiny homunculi in
sperm can themselves contain tinier homun-
culi containing even tinier sperm containing
yet more tiny homunculi. The phenomena,
as we now know for these cases, were radi-
cally misdescribed, and the corresponding
problems, therefore, did not exist to be solved.
Additional difficulties further diminish the
plausibility of substance dualism, and one such
problem is drawn from evolutionary biology.
Assuming that humans evolved from earlier
FROM NEUROPHILOSOPHY
mammalian species, that we and the chimpan-
zees share a common ancestor, and that we
can trace our lineage back to single-celled or-
ganisms, then a question arises about where
the ‘soul-stuff came from. Do all organisms
have it? If some organisms do not have such a
substance, how did the others come to have
it? Could it have evolved from physical stuf?
If humans alone have minds, where did these
substances come from? A theologically based
answer is that nonphysical minds, unlike physi-
cal brains, are not an evolutionary product but
were for the first time placed in contact with
brains by divine intervention some 80,000
years (or in some calculations merely 6,000
years) ago. Since then, apparently, there has
been continual intervention by a supernatural
being to invest each human brain with its own
nonphysical mind.
The price of espousing substance dualism
begins to look too high, for among other
things it entails arbitrary and unmotivated
exceptions to the plausible and unified story
of the development of intelligence provided
by modern evolutionary biology. On the other
side of the ledger, the compensatory explana-
tory payoff from the hypothesis seems meager.
If chimpanzees or monkeys do not have
minds, then presumably their learning, per-
ception, feeling, and problem solving are ex-
plained in terms ofbrain function. But if theirs,
then why not ours? In the absence of solid
evidence for the separate existence of the
mind, the appeal of substance dualism fades.
The hypothesis ofsubstance dualism is also
supposed to explain the unity of conscious-
ness (the unity of the self), and it is alleged
that such unity cannot be explained on a ma-
terialist hypothesis. The reasoning here is less
than convincing, both because it is far from
clear what the phenomenon is that the hy-
pothesis is meant to explain and because it is
far from clear how the hypothesis succeeds in
explaining this ill-specified phenomenon.
Consider first the phenomenon. Certain
questions immediately arise: How do
nonconscious mental states comport with al-
leged unity of consciousness? How does all
377
PATRICIA SMITH CHURCHLAND
that nonconscious processing postulated in
cognitive science fit into the picture? How do
the split-brain results fit? Or the blindsight
results? Or the cases ofsplit personality? What
about when the brain is in slow-wave sleep or
in REM sleep? The questions are far too nu-
merous for unity of consciousness to be a phe-
nomenon in clear and unproblematic focus.
In a previous publication I argued that con-
sciousness, as it is circumscribed in folk psy-
chology, probably is not a natural kind, in
much the way that impetus is not a natural
kind. Nor, for example, do the categories
“gems” or “dirt” delimit a natural kind. That
is to say, something is going on all right, but it
is doubtful that the generalizations and cat-
egories of folk psychology either do justice to
that phenomenon or carve Nature at her
joints. The evidence already indicates that
consciousness is not a single type of brain proc-
ess, and that if we think of consciousness as a
kind of light that is either on or off, and that
when on illuminates the contents of mental
life, we are hopelessly mistaken. We already
know that so-called subliminal experiences can
affect “conscious” problem solving. We know
that one can engage in a number of highly
complex activities at once, even though not
“paying attention” to them all. We know that
brain activity as measured on the EEG during
some REM sleep looks more like brain activ-
ity during fully awake periods than during
other sleep periods. We know that some sub-
jects who are in fact blind apparently fail to
be aware that they are blind. We know that
some patients with temporal lobe damage can
learn complex cognitive skills and yet be com-
pletely unaware that they have done so — even
while engaged in one of those very skills. And
so on and on. The brain undoubtedly has a
number of mechanisms for monitoring brain
processes, and the folk psychological catego-
ries of “awareness” and “consciousness” in-
differently lump together an assortment ofthe
mechanisms. As neurobiology and neuropsy-
chology probe the mechanisms and functions
of the brain, a reconfiguring of categories can
be predicted.
378
The second question to be asked of the sub-
stance dualist concerns how his hypothesis
explains the phenomenon, whatever that phe-
nomenon is. How is it that the nonphysical
mind yields unity of consciousness? How does
it unify experiences occurring at different
times? If the answer is that the nonphysical
mind unifies because the experiences are ex-
periences of one substance, then that answer
is also available to the materialist, who can say
that the experiences are experiences of one
brain. If the answer is that it is simply in the
nature of the nonphysical mind to be unified
and to provide unity, then the sense that an
explanation has been provided loses its hold.
It is like saying, “It just does.” Moreover, the
materialist is entitled to make the same futile
move: it is simply in the nature of the brain to
provide unity to experiences. This is a stand-
off, and neither hypothesis advances our un-
derstanding. Therefore, the dualist cannot
claim that his case is supported by his being
able, and the materialist’s being unable, to
explain the unity of consciousness.
A parallel discussion can be constructed
concerning nonphysical minds and free will.
Here the dualist credits his hypothesis with
the ability to explain how humans have free
will. In this instance too, it is far from clear
what the phenomenon is or how dualism ex-
plains anything about it. A dualist hypothesis
claiming that the nonphysical mind acts freely
because it is the nature of the mind to do so
leaves us without explanatory nuts and boits.
And as before, for every move the dualist
makes here, the physicalist has a counterpart
move. Again the result is a standoff, and the
dualist can claim no advantage .. .
The two primary foci for the dualist’s con-
viction are the logical-meaningful dimension
of cognition and the qualities of conscious-
ness. The importance of these matters has
struck dualist philosophers in different ways,
with the consequence that some have gravi-
tated to one focus and some to the other. One
group has taken the nature of felt experience
as the difficulty of paramount importance and
hence has tended to side with materialists on

the other question. That is, they expect that
eventually the logical-meaningful dimension
will ultimately have a causal neurobiological
explanation. For these philosophers reason-
ing is not the stumbling block, partly because
the idea that the logical-meaningful dimen-
sion of cognition is fundamentally noncausal
is found objectionable. The second group has
just the converse set of intuitions. Like
reductionists, they think that ultimately con-
sciousness and the qualities of felt experience
will be explained in neurobiological terms. But
for them, the difficulty of paramount impor-
tance lies in the logical-meaningful dimension
of cognition. Here, they argue, are insur-
mountable problems for a reductionist strat-
egy. The reductionist has been useful to both
camps by providing reductionist arguments for
each to use against the other.
43 Materialism and Survival*
Dean W. Zimmerman
1 A Dilemma for Materialist
Survival
A materialist would say that I am nothing
other than the six-foot tall living organism I
call “my body” (or some part of it, for exam-
ple, its brain). Iam not an unextended imma-
terial substance, or an extended but thin
ectoplasmic substance of a kind unknown to
physicists. Nor am I a composite made out of
any such substance and this body (or some
part of it). I am, instead, an entirely material
being, made entirely of material parts — the
* An expanded version of this essay will appear in a
forthcoming volume of Faith and Philosophy under the
title “The Compatibility of Materialism and Survival.”
MATERIALISM AND SURVIVAL
These dualist intuitions can be respectably
sustained despite the hopeless problems of
substance dualism in finding a coherent fit for
the mind-substance in modern physics and
biology. The general strategy in support of
these intuitions has been to abandon the al-
batross idea of a distinct substance but to re-
tain the idea of irreducibility. Thus,
philosophers concerned with subjective expe-
rience have argued that subjective experience
is an irreducible property, and philosophers
concerned with the logical-meaningful dimen-
sion have argued for the irreducibility of cog-
nitive theory. It is among these two, albeit
inharmonious, groups that the most sophisti-
cated antireductionist arguments are to be
found, and characteristically they are not to
be removed by a few casual rejoinders.
atoms, molecules, and so forth of which all
material things are made.
Or so the materialist says. I, for one, have
my doubts. On even-numbered days of the
month, I find myself wondering, with
Descartes, where exactly my soul interacts with
this brain — the brain which I use to think,
much as I use my eyes to see or my ears to
hear. And on odd-numbered days I wake up
in Berkeley’s world, a world in which the only
substances are spirits like you and me and God;
and the material objects are just “bundles of
perceptions.”
But that’s just me. I’m a philosopher, and
philosophers have been known to dream of
more things than there are in heaven and earth
—and also to dream that there are fewer things
than there are in heaven and earth, which may
SHS)
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN
have been Berkeley’s problem. Let us suppose
that the materialist is right about me, that I
just am this physical object, my body. And let
us further consider the fact that my body
would appear to be doomed. It will suffer
decay, cease to exist, its parts probably end-
ing up spread all around the world. Do not
these two suppositions together imply that I
am doomed? That J will suffer decay and cease
to exist? If Iand this body are not two things
but one, then whatever fate awaits my body
awaits me.
The Christian — at least the Christian who
affirms, say, the Nicene creed — is one who
“looks for the resurrection of the dead, and
the life of the world to come.” Can such a
one be a materialist? Can she accept the con-
clusion of the preceding argument, judging
that she will suffer decay and cease to exist —
for a time, until “the life of the world to come”
begins?
Well, why not? Why couldn’t I cease to ex-
ist for a time and then come back into exist-
ence again? At the general resurrection, God
collects all the parts of me that are left, or some
portion of them if a few have found their way
into other people’s bodies to be resurrected
with them, and reconstitutes me more or less
as I was at my death. Isn’t that enough to
bring me back on to the scene? The problem
with this scenario is not that it is impossible
for something to have a “gappy existence” — I
see no reason to deny that something could
cease to be for a time and then pop back into
existence again. The problem is that it is hard
to see how a living body could come back into
existence after this sort of gap. For the gap
described is one over which there are no causal
connections — or at least no very direct ones —
passing from the body as it was at death to
the body as it will be in the world to come.
For God to create a “new me” at that time —
even if He uses mostly old parts salvaged from
the wreck of my body — is not for Him to
bring me back, but to create a mere replica of
me, a doppelganger.
The lack of appropriate causal connections
between the body that dies and the one res-
380
urrected is the primary obstacle Peter van
Inwagen sees to a materialistic account of sur-
viving death.
The atoms of which I am composed occupy at
each instant the positions they do because of
the operations of certain processes within me
(those processes that, taken collectively, consti-
tute my being alive). ... [I]f.a man does not
simply die but is totally destroyed (as in the case
of cremation) then /e can never be reconstituted,
for the causal chain has been irrevocably bro-
ken. If God collects the atoms that used to con-
stitute that man and “reassembles” them, they
will occupy the positions relative to one another
they occupy because of God’s miracle and not
because of the operation of the natural proc-
esses that, taken collectively, were the life ofthat
man.!
I find van Inwagen’s claim here extremely
plausible. In order that a given material ob-
ject — or any other individual thing, for that
matter — persist throughout a period of time,
there must be appropriate causal relations be-
tween the object as it is at earlier times and
the object as it is at later times. This sort of
causation has been called “immanent causal-
ity,” causation that passes from earlier states
of an object to later states of that very same
object. To say that immanent causal connec-
tions are required for the persistence of abody
is to say that later states of the body must be
causally dependent, at least in part, upon its
earlier states. But not just any sort of causal
dependence seems sufficient to give us the
kind of immanent causation that is crucial to
the persistence of a body. It is not enough,
says van Inwagen, that the way my body was
at death serve as a blueprint for God’s creat-
ing anew one at the general resurrection. That
is causal contribution of a sort; but here the
causal chain passes through God’s mind; it
doesn’t remain “immanent” with respect to
processes going on within a living human
body. The case is analogous to that of van
Inwagen’s monks who claim that God “re-
created” an original manuscript in Augustine’s
own hand.’ If the original was destroyed in a

fire, no document brought into existence later
on, by God or anyone else, could literally be
the original — no matter how precisely similar
the two might be.
Does the Christian materialist have any op-
tions left? Is she forced either to deny van
Inwagen’s thesis about the necessity of im-
manent causation for her persistence, or to
deny that she is identical with her body? I think
there are options left — as does van Inwagen.*
Abstractly, the only other way out is to deny
the second, empirical premise in the problem
with which I began: namely, the premise stat-
ing that this body is doomed. Perhaps my
body’s future is really not so grim; perhaps,
appearances to the contrary notwithstanding,
my upcoming death is not, strictly speaking,
the complete and utter destruction of my body
after all. My goal today is to tell a “just so”
story in which God ensures that this very body
escapes the deadly powers that would other-
wise destroy it utterly. The escape is by a hair’s
breadth, at the last moment. It is effected by
a miraculous last minute jump that takes me
out of harm’s way. So I am tempted to call
this little fiction “the falling elevator model”
of survival — for you’ll recall that, according
to the physics of cartoons, it is possible to avoid
death in a plummeting elevator simply by
jumping out in the split second before the el-
evator hits the basement floor. I argue that it
is at least logically possible for our bodies to
do something like that when we die.
Although I tell the story under the suppo-
sition of materialism, its relevance for Chris-
tian dualists (such as myself) should be clear.
According to venerable theological traditions,
Christ, like all of us, was a spirit united to a
normal human body. After his body was killed,
he (i.e. his spirit, since his body was still in the
tomb) descended into hell to “preach to the
spirits in prison” and “lead forth captives.”
On “the third day,” his body was raised to
life again — that very same body that lay in the
tomb was reanimated by his spirit and subtly
transformed. Identity of the dying and resur-
rected body is necessary to make sense of the
empty tomb. And ifChrist’s death and resur-
MATERIALISM AND SURVIVAL
rection provide the model for our own, it
would be a great theological advantage to be
able to say that we, too, get numerically the
same body back — transformed and improved,
no doubt, but not a body newly cut from
wholly different cloth. The Christian dualist
moved by these theological considerations can
put the theory that follows into service as an
account of one way in which our resurrected
bodies could be the same as the bodies we
had in this life, in much the same sense in
which Christ’s resurrected body was the same
as the one laid in the tomb.
2 Van Inwagen’s Metaphysics
of Material Beings
I shall take Peter van Inwagen’s own views
about the persistence conditions of living
things as the context in which to develop the
falling elevator model of entry into the next
life. 1am confident that my strategy could be
deployed within other theories of persistence,
as long as they give pride of place to imma-
nent causation. In particular, those who, un-
like van Inwagen, accept the thesis that a
human being persists by having a different
“temporal part” for each time at which she
exists will have a somewhat easier time of it.
But I choose van Inwagen’s own metaphysics
because he has set the problem for us, and
because his theory of persisting living things
is probably one ofthe hardest to square with
survival.
Van Inwagen’s account of the nature and
persistence conditions of physical objects is
found in his impressive book, Material Beings.*
Here’s the Reader’s Digest condensed version:
At bottom, the universe is filled with material
simples — tiny particles that have no proper
parts. Some of them are arranged table-wise
in the center of my study; many more are ar-
ranged house-wise around me. However, con-
trary to what one might initially have thought,
the simples arranged in a table shape here do
not in fact compose anything, nor do the ceil-
ing-shaped simples hanging over me. Simply
381
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN
heaping simples together is not sufficient to
produce an object having them for its parts.
Some simples, however, are caught up into a
very special kind of event: namely, a Life. A
set of objects are caught up in a Life when
they are organized in such a way that they
work toward ensuring the continued existence
of successor sets of simples organized in
roughly the way they are — they possess a
conatus sese conservandt, a knack for self-main-
tenance. The only events in our world that
really exhibit this sort of self-sustaining activ-
ity are biological (although a particularly
stable weather pattern, like a hurricane, is at
least a pale imitation of a Life). When a set of
objects is caught up in a Life, then there ex-
ists an object that is composed of these parts
—a living organism. This organism lasts just
so long as the event which is its Life contin-
ues. And, since there is no other way of or-
ganizing a collection of objects so that they
compose an object, the world contains noth-
ing but living things and the simples from
which they are made.
How does van Inwagen handle the familiar
problems of fission and fusion? What is to be
said, for instance, about a Life that splits when
a human organism divides in two by means of
some fancy brain-splitting surgery? Here I
think van Inwagen, like everyone but certain
temporal parts theorists, must give up what is
sometimes called the “only x and y” princi-
ple: roughly, the thesis that facts about events
outside the spatio-temporal path swept out
by an object could not have made any differ-
ence to the question of whether or not a
single object passed along that path. Van
Inwagen must allow for at least the abstract
possibility of cases of organic fission which
break the “only x and y” principle. We know
that it is possible for a person to survive the
removal of an entire brain hemisphere. And it
seems plausible to suppose that “brain trans-
plants” are at least possible in principle, and
that in such a case the person goes where her
brain goes. Now if my brain were only a little
bit different,° then it would seem that I could
survive not just the loss of an entire hemi-
382
sphere, but the destruction of an entire half
of my brain; and, given the possibility of brain
transplants, the subsequent transplantation of
my half-a-brain into a different body. But this
raises a more troublesome question: what
would happen were my symmetrical brain split
in two, each of the halves being transplanted
into a separate body? Each of the resulting
organisms would have an equally good claim
to be continuing my Life — that is, to be me.
But they cannot both be me; one thing can-
not become two, on pain of contradiction.
Now the believer in souls can say that I went
wherever my soul went — either with the one
half-brain or the other or neither.® But what
should the materialist say?
Those who believe in temporal parts can
maintain that there were two people all along;
they simply shared their earlier stages, much
as two roads may share a certain stretch of
pavement in common. But the opponents of
temporal parts, like van Inwagen, must say
something else — namely, that, at least in cases
of perfectly symmetrical fission, the original
organism ceases to be and is replaced by two
new ones. And indeed that is what van
Inwagen does say.’ But (for rather complicated
reasons I give elsewhere®) this response leads
inevitably to a “closest continuer” theory of
personal identity: the view that whether a
given process is a single Life will sometimes
depend upon events that are not part of that
process — which is, roughly, the denial of
the “only x and y” principle. If there are two
simultaneously existing and equally good can-
didates for being involved in the same Life as
some earlier person, then the person ceases to
exist; the Life ends; and two new Lives begin.
But if one of the two candidates had been
completely absent (destroyed at the point of
fission instead of being preserved alive), then
the original Life would have continued and
the original person would have persisted
through the loss of half her brain.
I shall shortly need a little more informa-
tion about how to trace Lives through
branchings. The principle I will appeal to is
this: if you are looking for the next event in a

given Life, and the present event is immanent-
causally connected to two nonsimultaneous
later events in the appropriate way, but one is
earlier than the other, go to the earlier of the
two — it is the earlier one that represents the
continuation of this Life, and the subsequent
appearance of the later one does not turn
this into a case of fission. I shall be assuming,
then, something like a “temporally-closest
continuer” theory of persistence conditions.
Now it at least appears that every Life ends.
My parts eventually lose their special self-sus-
taining structure, the homeodynamism of my
life peters out, and immanent-causal paths end.
The lights go off, and no one is home. Ifthis
really happens, then setting up some batch of
simples later on in such a way that they are
alive and constitute an organism resembling
me at my death would just be starting up a
new Life, and hence a new organism.
At one time, these considerations led van
Inwagen to the conclusion that the only way
(consistent with empirical facts) for God to
secure my survival would be for him to re-
move my corpse — or at least my brain and
central nervous system — and replace it with a
simulacrum at the time of my (seeming)
death.’
The materialist who believes in survival is
bound to be unhappy with this conclusion. I
once helped a friend with some of the more
laborious steps in the process of taking a hu-
man corpse apart.'? Opening a human skull
and finding a dead brain is sort oflike open-
ing the ground and finding a dinosaur skel-
eton. Of course it is in some sense possible
that God takes our brains when we die and
replaces them with stuff that looks for all the
world like dead brains, just as it is possible
that God created the world 6,000 years ago
and put dinosaur bones in the ground to test
our faith in a slavishly literal reading of Gen-
esis. But neither is particularly satisfying as a
picture of how God actually does business.
And that provides my motivation for trying
to tell a better story.
MATERIALISM AND SURVIVAL
3 Lives with Spatio-temporal
Gaps
Suppose that van Inwagen’s notion of a (non-
branching) Life does constitute the proper
way to trace the careers of human beings. I
propose that we can still make sense of an
afterlife without making God a secret body-
snatcher — someone who invisibly removes
bodies or body-parts at death, replacing them
with lookalikes. Here’s one way:
Everyone should agree that, if something
has persisted into the present, then its exist-
ence in the immediate past must not be caus-
ally irrelevant to its having lasted until now.
For instance, the fact that Iam presently stand-
ing here must be at least partly causally expli-
cable in terms ofthe fact that I was standing
here a moment ago; for if the body standing
here then had no causal connections with the
body here now, then the latter is not a con-
tinuation of the old one but a replacement
that just happens to resemble the old one a
good deal. This falls out as a consequence of
van Inwagen’s view, since lives are continu-
ous self-sustaining events — but it should fall
out of everyone’s view. As noted earlier, the
sort of causal relations that must hold between
different stages of the same person are often
called relations of immanent causality. .. .!
(Note that talk about the “stages” ofa person
need not presuppose that persons can be di-
vided up into temporal parts; for the stages in
question may simply be events that are parts
of the total history of the person — the life-
long process of intrinsic change which that
person undergoes.)
Most metaphysicians seem to agree that...
immanent-causal relations among stages are
much more important than relations of spatio-
temporal contiguity among stages.!? Further-
more, the notion that spatio-temporal
continuity is not even necessary for persist-
ence is a quite natural view, at least for those
of us who grew up watching Star Trek and
reading science fiction. Why suppose that
things cannot jump discontinuously from
one place to another, or flicker out of exist-
383
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN
ence for a while only to re-emerge elsewhere
and elsewhen? Armstrong sums up the re-
lationship between spatio-temporal contin-
uity and immanent causation succinctly:
“Spatio-temporal continuity of phases of
things appears to be a mere result of, an ob-
servable sign of, the existence of a certain sort
of causal relation between the phases.”'4
On the face of it, immanent-causal re-
latedness among stages of a thing would seem
to be compatible with its making discontin-
uous spatiotemporal jumps, or even being
“temporally gappy.” If it is possible for an
object to persist through temporal gaps dur-
ing which it has no stages, then there must be
suitable immanent-causal relations which cross
the temporal gap between earlier and later
stages. But, given that the kind of immanent-
causal connections that normally preserve a
Life could cross spatial and temporal gaps,
there’s no reason to think that one and the
same Life could not contain spatial jumps or
temporal gaps. As long as the causal processes
from earlier stages to later stages are of the
right sort, preserving the self-sustaining struc-
ture peculiar to the living thing in question,
one has the same Life.
Of course the supposition that causal proc-
esses can be spatiotemporally gappy in this way
is contentious. Philosophical theories of cau-
sation as different as Hume’s and Ducasse’s
have been in agreement on the necessity of
spatio-temporal contiguity of cause and effect.
But I do not see the inevitability of this as-
sumption. Russell addresses the question in
his discussion of “mnemic causation” — “that
kind of causation .. . in which the proximate
cause consists not merely of a present event,
but of this together with a past event.”!* He
concludes that there is “no a priori objection
to a causal law in which part of the cause has
ceased to exist.”!5 But Russell’s regularity
theory of causation is so weak that we should
not be too surprised at his having no special
trouble with mnemic causation. Ofcourse one
who believes in the Christian God cannot hold
a simple regularity theory of causation in gen-
eral. God made the heavens and the earth; all
384
contingent things are dependent upon him;
and although the making and upholding God
does is very different from anything his crea-
tures are capable of, these activities on his part
should qualify as the exercise of causal power
— albeit causal power on the highest order. So
causation is not analysable in terms of more
regularities of succession, as Russell thought.
A more robust theory is needed; but I see no
reason to expect that the truth about causa-
tion will require the spatio-temporal contigu-
ity of cause and effect.'°
If we can in some way make sense of imma-
nent-causal connections over spatio-temporal
gaps, then we are well on our way to an ac-
count of survival without body-snatching.
Suppose my body were to undergo an extraor-
dinary and discontinuous case offission: every
particle in my body at a certain time ¢ is im-
manent-causally connected with two resulting
particle-stages after that time. The two sets of
resulting particles appear at some later time
* in disjoint spatial regions, and each is ar-
ranged just as the set of “parent” particles that
produced it. My body, in this case, replicates
itself over a temporal gap. Given the solution
to fission cases defended above, we must say
that this event brings my life to an end. But
now suppose that the same sort of fissioning
of each particle occurs, but that only one set
constitutes at ¢* a living human body struc-
tured just like mine — the other set appears at
¢* as an unstructured pile of dead matter.
Then, thanks to the failure of one body to
“take,” my life is continued by the successful
candidate that appears after a temporal inter-
val.
Now we have a model for how God may
resurrect this very body: He does so by, just
before it completely loses its living form, ena-
bling each particle to divide — or at least to be
immanent-causally responsible for two result-
ing particle-stages. One ofthe resulting parti-
cle-stages is right here, where the old one was;
another is either in heaven now (for immedi-
ate resurrectionists), or somewhere in the far
future. But in any case, since the set of parti-
cle-stages immanent-causally connected with

my dying body which stay here do not par-
ticipate in a life, they do not constitute any
object, and there is absolutely no danger of
my fissioning out of existence due to compe-
tition with “my corpse” — there being no such
object! Furthermore, if the ultimate simples
are the kinds of things that can last through
time, it could even turn out that each simple
which God “zaps” to give it this replicat-
ing power in fact does not ttself divide, but
simply remains right here — as a part of my
crumpled corpse. Each particle «is immanent-
causally connected to two streams of later
particle-stages; one of them — the one in the
here and now — includes stages of x itself; the
other, the one in the hereafter, may be a par-
ticle stage ofavery different particle (its iden-
tity with x need not matter for the question
whether the body of which it is a part is my
body — all that matters for that question is
whether the right kind of life-sustaining causal
continuity obtains between person-stages).
Unlike a case of fission in which the fission-
products co-exist, the case of the future-rep-
licating individual particle involves only one
resultant particle now; so, in the present there
is no other candidate to threaten the contin-
ued existence of the original particle — there is
only one “temporally closest continuer” for
each particle. Thus we have everything we
want: the heap of dead matter I leave behind
is made of stuff which really was a part of my
body (it’s not a simulacrum; God is not a
body-snatcher), and the resurrected body is
really identical with this present one — it is
causally continuous with it in just the way
adjoining stages of my present body are caus-
ally continuous, except that in this case there
is a spatial or spatio-temporal gap which my
poor body was given the power to cross by
means of God’s intervention.
But what if God had given my particles this
replicating power back at the end of my twen-
tieth year, so that at that time they were im-
manent-causally connected both with a living
duplicate in the hereafter as well as with suc-
ceeding spatio-temporally continuous 21-
year-old body-stages in the here-and-now? I
MATERIALISM AND SURVIVAL
answer just as in the particle case: since there
is no rival candidate for me in existence 7m-
mediately after the last 20-year-old particle-
stage, my life continues in the ordinary way —
the ostensibly 20-year-old “resurrected” rep-
lica ofme is just that, a replica of “the me that
used to be.” One only faces fission when a life
divides into two co-existing (and therefore
competing) streams...
Notes
1 Peter Van Inwagen, “The Possibility of Res-
urrection” reprinted in Immortality, ed. Paul
Edwards (New York: Macmillan, 1992),
pp. 242-6.
2 Cf. van Inwagen, ibid, p. 243.
3 Cf. van Inwagen, “Dualism and Materialism:
Athens and Jerusalem?” Faith and Philosophy,
12 (1995), pp. 475-88; and the author’s note
to “The Possibility of Resurrection,” p. 246.
4 Material Begs (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1990).
5 That is, if it were more like that of van
Inwagen’s Neocerberus; cf. Material Beings,
pp. 202-3.
6 Richard Swinburne turns the fact that the be-
liever in souls can say this into an argument
against materialism; cf. “Personal Identity: The
Dualist Theory,” a chapter from Personal Iden-
tity, by Richard Swinburne and Sydney Shoe-
maker (Oxford: Blackwell, 1984), reprinted in
Metaphysics: the Big Questions, ed. by Peter van
Inwagen and Dean W. Zimmerman (Oxford:
Blackwell, 1998).
7 Cf. Material Beings, pp. 205-7.
8 See my “The Compatibility of Materialism and
Survival,” forthcoming in Faith and Philoso-
phy.
9 “Immanent Causation,” Philosophical Perspec-
tives, vol. 11: Mind, Causation and World,
pp. 4335-71.
10 The friend was not a mobster, but a student
of anatomy. Saddled with a lazy lab partner,
she recruited my wife and me to assist.
11 The /ocus classicus on immanent causation is
W. E. Johnson, Logic, part III (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1924), chs 7-9.
For a more recent discussion, cf. my “Imma-
nent Causation,” Philosophical Perspectives, vol.
11: Mind, Causation, and World (1997).
385
DEAN W. ZIMMERMAN
12 Cf. the discussions in D. M. Armstrong, “Iden-
tity Through Time,” in Peter van Inwagen
(ed.), Time and Cause (Dordrecht: D. Reidel,
1980), pp. 67-78, esp. pp. 74-6; Sydney
Shoemaker, “Identity, Properties, and Cau-
sality,” in his Identity, Cause, and Mind
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1984), pp. 234-60; and Chris Swoyer, “Cau-
sation and Identity,” Midwest Studies in Phi-
losophy, vol. 9: Causation and Causal Theories,
ed. by Peter A. French. Theodore E. Uehling,
Jr, and Howard K. Wettstein (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1984), pp.
593-622.
386
13 Armstrong, “Identity Through Time,” in van
Inwagen (ed.), Time and Cause, p. 76.
14 The Analysis of Mind (London: George Allen
and Unwin, 1921), p. 85.
15 The Analysis of Mind, p. 89.
16 Furthermore, as I show in “The Compatibil-
ity of Materialism and Survival,” there is a way
for God to create a person long after my death
whose later stages depend “quasi-causally”
upon my earlier stages, without the introduc-
tion of full-fledged mnemic causation. The
quasi-causal “glue” I describe is strong enough
by itself, I think, to hold my stages together
over the gap.
Revelation
44 Are We Entitled?*
Nicholas Wolterstorff
.. . does God speak?
Our situation is not that we and a few oth-
ers have recently begun to entertain the propo-
sition that God speaks, and are now wondering
whether to accept or reject that proposition.
Countless human beings, down through the
ages, and on into our own time and place,
have in fact believed that God speaks. Let us,
then, pose our question in full recognition of
that fact; let us ask how such beliefs are to be
appraised.
Locke on Entitlement to
Religious Belief
...1 propose setting the stage for this issue
of appraisal by recalling a fateful conversation
which took place . . . in the spring of 1671 in
an apartment in Exeter House in London. The
participants were John Locke and some five
or six of his friends; the topic was various
matters of morality and revealed religion — we
don’t know which. The participants, Locke
tells us, were scarcely into their conversation
before they felt themselves stymied “by the
difficulties that arose on every side.” They
plowed ahead and kept on talking, but they
were getting nowhere. After they had thrashed
about in this fashion for some hours, the
* From Nicholas Wolterstorff, Divine Discourse: Philo-
sophical Reflections on the Claim that God Speaks (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), ch. 15,
pp. 261-80. Reprinted with permission.
thought occurred to Locke that perhaps their
whole procedure was misguided. Perhaps to
advance one had first to retreat: instead of
continuing to worry the issues at hand in the
hope that answers would turn up if they just
kept at it, perhaps they ought to turn inward
for a while to examine the cognitive abilities
of human beings, with the aim of determin-
ing which objects the human understanding
is fit to deal with, and how; and then, with
illumination on those matters in hand, return
to the topic. It was this thought, says Locke,
that led eventually to his Essay concerning
Human Understanding.
The general epistemology which Locke
developed there has been profoundly influ-
ential in the modern West; even more influ-
ential has been Locke’s application of that
general epistemology to the regional episte-
mology of religious belief. An indispensable
preparation for thinking through for ourselves
how we ought to appraise beliefs that God
speaks is bringing to the level of conscious
self-awareness this part of our cultural inher-
itance.
There are things deeply amiss, Locke, con-
cluded, in the practices that his fellow coun-
trymen — and humanity in general — typically
use for arriving at beliefs, especially beliefs on
matters of religion and morality. One of the
worst features of those practices is their use of
tradition as a basis of belief. People believe
without question what others tell them; they
take them at their word. Since most of what
people believe on say-so is false, there is
387
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
scarcely a worse basis for belief than this. Ad-
mittedly believing on say-so cannot be elimi-
nated from our lives; no one could possibly
look into everything for herself. None the less,
for everyone there are certain questions whose
answers one is obligated to try one’s best to dis-
cover — matters of maximal “concernment,”
Locke calls them.
What constitutes doing one’s best? Locke
assumed, without question, that for every per-
son and for every topic, the structure of do-
ing one’s best is the same. For every person,
there are certain facts of which that person is
directly aware. Typically such awareness pro-
duces a corresponding belief; when it does,
that belief has maximal certitude. One can’t
do better in one’s believings than this. The
scope of such directly perceptible facts is ex-
tremely limited, however: each of us can be
directly aware only of those facts consisting
of relationships among the ideas and acts of
one’s own mind, and the relationship of those
to one’s mind itself. So what about all the
other facts; what constitutes doing one’s best
to get in touch with those? Well, it may be
that one can construct a demonstrative argu-
ment for some of them, starting from propo-
sitions one knows because one is directly aware
of the corresponding mental fact. But if that
doesn’t work, then, for any proposition con-
cerning some such fact, doing one’s best con-
sists of doing the following: first, from among
the facts of which one is directly aware, as-
sembling a satisfactory body of evidence con-
cerning the truth or falsehood of that
proposition. Second, calculating the probabil-
ity of that proposition on that body of evi-
dence. And third, believing or disbelieving the
proposition with a firmness proportioned to
its probability on that evidence... .
... What about propositions to the effect
that God says so-and-so? Will doing our best
ever yield belief in such propositions? Locke
himself never addresses this precise question;
the traditional notion of God speaking has all
but disappeared from his thought, its place
taken up by the notion of God revealing. But
we can get a good indication of what he would
388
say on the topic by looking at what he says
about believing that God has revealed so-and-
so, and then extrapolating from that.
Locke draws the customary distinction be-
tween original and traditional revelation in the
following way: original revelation is “that first
impression, which is made immediately by
God, on the mind of any man, to which we
cannot set any bounds;” traditional revelation
is “those impressions delivered over to others
in words, and the ordinary ways of conveying
our conceptions one to another” (Essay rv,
xviii, 3). The word “impression” here is vague.
When Locke speaks of “an impression made
immediately by God on the mind,” he means,
as I understand him, a Jelief, revelation oc-
curs when God directly brings about a belief
in someone’s mind.
It will already be clear from the foregoing
that, on Locke’s view, the mere fact that God
has planted a belief in one’s mind does not
entitle one to believe it. His language is vivid
and emphatic:
He ... that will not give himself up to all the
extravagancies of delusion and error must bring
this guide of his light within to the trial. God
when he makes the prophet does not unmake
the man. He leaves all his faculties in their natu-
ral state, to enable him to judge of his inspira-
tions, whether they be ofdivine original or not.
When he illuminates the mind with supernatu-
ral light, he does not extinguish that which is
natural. If he would have us assent to the truth
of any proposition, he either evidences that truth
by the usual methods of natural reason, or else
makes it known to be a truth, which he would
have us assent to, by his authority, and convinces
us that it is from him, by some marks which
reason cannot be mistaken in. Reason must be
our last judge and guide in every thing. (Essay
IV, xix, 14)
So suppose God has originally revealed
something to someone. How is that person
to proceed? Well, somehow the thought
comes to mind that God revealed this. What
brings that about, Locke does not say; per-
haps when God directly plants a beliefin some-
one’s mind, God also directly plants the

second-level thought (though not necessarily
the belief) that that first-level belief is a case
of revelation. Be that as it may, the thought
does come to mind; and the recipient of origi-
nal revelation is obligated to set about doing
his best concerning the proposition that God
has revealed so-and-so to him. Doing his best
requires looking around for a miracle which
will confirm that it was a case of revelation.
“The holy men ofold,” says Locke, “who had
revelations from God, had something else
besides that internal light of assurance in their
own minds, to testify to them, that it was from
God. [They] had outward signs to convince
them of the author of those revelations. Mo-
ses saw the bush burn without being con-
sumed, and heard a voice out of it. This was
something besides finding an impulse upon
his mind to go to Pharaoh,” and also some-
thing beyond the impulse to believe that that
first impulse was planted in his mind by God
(ibid., Iv, xix, 15).
Locke conceded that original revelation
might still be occurring; none the less, he was
profoundly skeptical of anyone’s claim to have
experienced a contemporary episode thereof.
The only episodes oforiginal revelation he was
himself willing to acknowledge were those
ancient episodes recorded and reported in the
Christian scriptures. His own attention was
focused entirely on the books of the New
Testament, which he regarded as divinely in-
spired, infallible records of original revelation
by God to the writers — these infallible records
in turn including a good many reports oforigi-
nal revelation received by someone other than
the writer, in particular, by Jesus. Thus the
Bible was for him an instrument of traditional
revelation, not oforiginal revelation. Our task
in reading scripture is to do our best to figure
out what God revealed back in antiquity, to
the writers of the biblical books and to those
other ancient persons that the writers report
as having been recipients of revelation.
And what does doing our best look like in
this case? If one wanted to do one’s best to
find out whether, say, God revealed so-and-
so to the apostle Peter, how would one pro-
ARE WE ENTITLED?
ceed? Well, one starts with the narration by a
gospel writer, Luke, perhaps, of a claim of
Peter’s that God revealed so-and-so to him,
and of Peter’s claim that he experienced such-
and-such miraculous event confirming that it
really was a revelation he had received. One
first determines the probability on satisfactory
evidence that Luke has accurately narrated
what Peter reported on these two matters. If
that probability proves high, one believes with
an appropriate firmness that Luke accurately
narrated what Peter reported. Now one is
ready to deal with the accuracy of Peter’s re-
ports. First one assesses the probability on sat-
isfactory evidence that Peter really did have
the experience which he claimed to have iden-
tified as receiving a revelation from God, and
the probability on satisfactory evidence that
he really did experience the event which he
claimed to have identified as a miracle. If the
probability of both of these turns out rather
high, then one believes with an appropriate
firmness that Peter really did have those two
experiences which he thus identified. Now one
is ready to consider the likelihood that Pe-
ter’s claimed identification of those experi-
ences was correct. First one determines the
probability on satisfactory evidence that that
event, which Peter identified as a miracle, re-
ally was a miracle. If that probability proves
rather high, one believes with an appropriate
firmness that if it occurred, it was a miracle.
Then one moves on to consider the probabil-
ity on satisfactory evidence that that miracle,
if it was that, really does confirm that Peter’s
experience was an experience of receiving a
revelation from God. Ifthe probability of that
proves rather high, one believes with an ap-
propriate firmness that if that was a miracle,
then Peter did receive a revelation from God.
Lastly, one considers the probability on satis-
factory evidence that if God did indeed reveal
something to Peter, then it was so-and-so that
God revealed, not something else. If the prob-
ability of that proves rather high, then one
believes, quite infirmly by now, that so-and-
so. One needn’t, before believing the content
of the purported revelation, take the additional
389
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
step of assessing the probability on satisfac-
tory evidence that the revealer is veracious and
reliable; for it is a necessary truth, self-evident
to us, that if God reveals something, it’s true.
Practice and Entitlement
The topic before us is how we are to appraise
that enormous number of humanity’s
believings which consist of believing that God
said so-and-so. What must first be noted is.
that there is a wide variety of distinct merits
(and corresponding defects) which believings
are capable of possessing; and that for each of
these merits one can attempt to determine,
for a given believing, whether that believing
has it or lacks it — or to what extent it has it or
lacks it. We have all been schooled to con-
sider which believings possess the merit of
being cases of knowing, and which possess the
merit of having true propositional content. But
those merits represent only a small selection
from the totality. In his recent book Warrant,
Alvin Plantinga has introduced the concept
of warrant — by which he means, that which
must be added to a belief whose propositional
content is true to make it a case of knowl-
edge. One might consider whether a given
believing has that merit. William Alston, in
his recent book Perceiving God, carves out a
concept of justified belief according to which,
to quote him, “being justified in believing that
p is for that belief to be based on an objec-
tively adequate ground, one that is (fairly)
strongly indicative of the truth of the belief”
(p. 99). One might consider whether a given
believing has that merit. Closely related, and
much discussed in recent years, is the concept
of being formed by a reliable belief-forming
process. One might consider whether a given
belief has that merit. And prominent in the
philosophical tradition for many centuries have
been disputes over which beliefs have the merit
of belonging to good science.
The merit which occupied the center of
Locke’s attention is different from any of those
I have mentioned. It is that of a belief being
390
such that the person is entitled to that belief.
The assumption is that deontic concepts, con-
cepts of obligation, apply to believings. Some
believings of aperson are ones that he ought
not to have, some, are ones that he ought to
have, and some — the ones for which it is mot
the case that he ought not to have them — are
ones that he is permitted to have, entitled to
have. Perhaps there are also some he doesn’t
have that he ought to have.
Epistemology is that branch of philosophy
in which we attempt to develop accounts of
truth-relevant merits in believings. What
makes the field so extraordinarily difficult and
confusing is the combination of, on the one
hand, this plethora of distinct merits, with,
on the other hand, competing theories, for
each such merit, as to the conditions under
which a believing has it or lacks it. Despair is a
natural response. But this whole array of
believings, that God said or is saying so-and-
so, cries out for appraisal. Some are so bizarre
as to lack whatever merit one can think of.
Many have proved utterly appalling in their
consequences: human blood has been shed,
oppression imposed, suffering experienced, as
the consequence of one and another person
believing that God had spoken to him. We
can’t let despair get the better of us and just
walk away. So which, from this dizzying ar-
ray, shall we focus on? We can’t deal with them
all.
I propose focusing on that one which was
at the center of Locke’s attention and which,
from the seventeenth century until recently,
was probably at the center of most discussions
of these matters — the merit of entitlement.
All of us would dearly love to know which, if
any of these believings are true. But one can
see why Locke focused on entitlement. The
facts which make the propositions we are con-
sidering, and those we believe, true or false,
are mainly not even in principle available to
us for our awareness, certainly not for our di-
rect awareness; by contrast, whether or not
one has fulfilled one’s (subjective) obligations
is something that one can discern, at least in
principle, by reflection. So we aim at fulfilling

our duties in our believings; and hope and
trust that in believing as we ought and may,
we are getting truth in hand. Furthermore,
fulfilling one’s duties in one’s believings takes
precedence over aiming at their exhibiting one
and another merely admirable feature. Locke
puts the point nicely in a well-known passage
from the Essay. Ignore, on this occasion, the
allusions to his own views concerning the
grounds of obligations and the criterion for
entitlement in belief:
He that believes, without having any reason for
believing, may be in love with his own fancies;
but neither seeks truth as he ought, nor pays
the obedience due his maker, who would have
him use those discerning faculties he has given
him, to keep him out of mistake and errour... .
He that does not this to the best of his power
however he sometimes lights on truth, is in the
right but by chance; and I know not whether
the luckiness of the accident will excuse the ir-
regularity of his proceeding. This at least is cer-
tain, that he must be accountable for whatever
mistakes he runs into: whereas he that makes
use of the light and faculties God has given him,
and seeks sincerely to discover truth, by those
helps and abilities he has, may have this satisfac-
tion in doing his duty as a rational creature, that
though he should miss truth, he will not miss
the reward of it. (Essay Iv, xvii, 24).
I said that from the seventeenth century
onwards the merit of entitlement has been at
the center of these discussions — until recently.
Recently many epistemologists have con-
cluded that there is no such merit in believings
as entitlement. Members of the family of
deontic concepts — ought, ought not, duty,
may, permitted, entitled — simply do not.ap-
ply to believings. The main reason offered is
that our believings and non-believings are not
the outcome of acts of will on our part, but of
dispositions. One can’t bring about one’s be-
lieving or not believing some proposition by
deciding to believe or not believe it; one’s dis-
position to believe so-and-so is activated by
some event, and the belief just emerges, like
it or not. Possibly it’s true that, with the aim
in mind of believing so-and-so, one can form
ARE WE ENTITLED?
and act on a long range action plan which has
some chance of success; Pascal remarked that
if one wants to become a Catholic believer,
one might try attending Catholic mass. Evi-
dence about belief-formation from contem-
porary experimental psychology gives some
credence to Pascal’s claim. But it seems clear
that the phenomenon doesn’t come to much
—not enough to build a whole theory around.
I judge these points about belief-formation
to be both true and of fundamental impor-
tance for the epistemologist. But they do not
establish that deontic concepts have, at most
marginal application to our believings. A
glance back at Locke can help us see why. For
though it may have been characteristic of those
later “Lockeans” who embraced a so-called
“ethics of belief” to make naive assumptions
about the power of the will over belief, Locke
himself was not at all naive on the matter. He
held that only rarely if ever can one come to
believe something by deciding to believe it;
there’s little in the current near-consensus
among epistemologists about belief and the
will that Locke would disagree with. Yet, for
all that, Locke’s discussion is resonant with
the language of duty. I have interpreted Locke
as outlining a certain practice which, in his
judgment, ought to be used by each of us in
all cases of maximal “concernment.” The clue
to the applicability of deontic concepts to our
believings lies in the notion of adoxastic prac-
tice, as I shall call it, of which the practice
Locke recommends is one example.
To explain what I have in mind by such a
practice, we must start at ground level. All of
us, as we go about our ways of being and do-
ing, find beliefs emerging in ourselves; and all
of us find that some of these get stored in
memory for retrieval. Often though not al-
ways we can identify the event which activated
the disposition that produced the belief —
though it must at once be added that one must
be in a certain state for the event to activate
the disposition: must possess such-and-such
concepts, have or lack such-and-such beliefs,
attend with a certain intensity, and so forth.
Among the believings that emerge, are
391
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
believings about our believings — beliefs about
our beliefs. The second-order beliefs that we
have about our first-order beliefs often make
us unhappy with the flow of our first-order
beliefs, and lead us to anticipate unhappiness.
That unhappiness is grounded in part in the
emotional impact on us of various of our be-
liefs. But it’s also grounded in two other fea-
tures of our flow of beliefs. We find our flow
of belief lacking beliefs on certain matters that
we want it to include beliefs on. And we find
our flow of beliefs throwing up false beliefs
here and there; we want both to get rid of,
and forestall, such.
How do we come to believe that our flow
of beliefs throws up false beliefs? In a variety
ofways — prominent among them, in my view,
being that of finding oneself directly ac-
quainted with a fact which contradicts some
proposition that one believes. On this occa-
sion, however, I don’t propose exploring all
the issues and controversies surrounding that
claim. Suffice it to note that all of us do, rather
often, find ourselves in the situation of be-
lieving, about a certain pair of our beliefs, that
they aren’t both true — maybe even believing
that they couldn’t both be true. That is to
say, we find ourselves with belief-triples of this
sort: the belief that p, the belief that g, and
the belief that and garen’t both true (or the
belief that necessarily p and garen’t both true).
But then, typically, another feature of our
believings enters the picture to which I haven’t
yet called attention; it is with varying degrees
of firmness that we believe propositions. Thus
it regularly happens, after taking note of one
of those troubling triples, that right away, or
after a while, one no longer believes the
propositional content of one member of the
triple — perhaps even one believes that it’s false.
Perhaps the firm belief that p, and the firm
belief that p and gare not both true, together
oust the somewhat infirm belief that g from
one’s belief repertoire. The fittest survive.
So once again: we come to believe that the
flow ofbeliefs that spills into us as we go about
our being and doing has these two grand de-
ficiencies: it’s not producing certain beliefs and
oY2
sorts of beliefs that we would like it to be pro-
ducing; and it’s producing more false beliefs
on certain matters than we would like it to
produce. So we take steps. The flow of beliefs
itself becomes a matter of concern on our part.
We don’t just let it occur as we go about our
other concerns.
What do we do? We implement ways of
using our belief-dispositional constitution so
as to diminish these deficiencies, in so far as
in us lies. We implement what I shall call
doxastic practices. We implement ways offind-
ing out about new things. We implement ways
of ousting false beliefs. And we implement
ways of forestalling the emergence of false
beliefs, or rather, of diminishing the frequency
of their emergence, so that various compo-
nents of the flow become more reliable. Some
of these ways we learn on our own, from ex-
perience. But massively it’s the case that we
learn them from others. For many are estab-
lished in our society; they are social practices,
in Alasdair MacIntyre’s sense; and we are in-
ducted into them, by modeling and by ex-
plicit instruction. We learn from our parents
how to determine more reliably the colors of
things, from our art teachers how to look at
paintings, and so forth.
But if beliefs are formed in us by the activa-
tion of our belief-dispositions rather than by
acts of will, what can such “ways of using”
our belief-dispositional nature possibly come
to? Fundamentally they consist of doing things
which we have learned will activate, or will
probably or possibly activate, our dispositions.
We listen attentively for certain formal features
in musical compositions; that’s something we
can decide to do. There emerges the belief
that the movement we are listening to is a
rondo. We rehearse all the places we stopped
during the last hour; that’s something we can
decide to do. There emerges the belief that
we left our umbrella on the counter in the
butcher shop. A doxastic practice is a way of
steering one’s doxastic constitution. The con-
stitution itself also changes across the course
of one’s lifetime. As Hume emphasized in his
account of induction, new dispositions of

belief-formation emerge in the form of hab-
its. But mostly we do and must accept our
constitution, as we slowly come to know it,
and then steer it — just as most of us pretty
much accept how the cars we purchase are
built, and content ourselves with steering
them. Locke outlined for us a certain doxastic
practice, a way ofsteering one’s doxastic con-
stitution. His claim for this practice was that,
for any proposition, if you want to do your
best to bring it about that you believe it ifand
only if it is true, then this is the practice to
use. There is, so he claims, no practice more
reliable than this one.
Though nothing has yet been said about
entitlement, the phenomenon is now right at
hand. These doxastic practices, these ways of
using our belief-dispositional nature, these
ways of steering our doxastic constitution,
recommend themselves to us; otherwise we
wouldn’t participate in them. They recom-
mend themselves to us as ways of finding out
about this and that sort of thing, as ways of
ousting false beliefs about certain sorts of
things from the body of beliefs we already
have, and as ways of forming beliefs about
certain sorts of things more reliably. We come
to believe, about the doxastic practices of
which we know, that they hold out one or
the other of those three kinds of promise. This
is part and parcel of our induction into them,
in case they are social practices, or of our de-
cision to adopt them, in case they emerge from
our own experience. And now for the final
link in the chain: given such beliefs about the
various doxastic practices of which one knows,
it is often the case that one is obligated to try
to use one of them to find out about so-and-
so, or obligated to try to use one of them so as
to sort through one’s present beliefs with the
aim of detecting and ousting false ones, or
obligated to try to use one of them so as to
form beliefs on a more reliable basis.
Thus it is that our conversations about be-
lief are filled with the language of “You should
have known” and “You know you shouldn’t
have believed that without doing so-and-so.”
We say, “You should have known that Ger-
ARE WE ENTITLED?
many is not a member of the UN Security
Council;” thereby we express our judgment
that the addressee has failed to carry out the
obligation to take steps to find out, or recall,
the proposition in question. And we say, “You
know you shouldn’t have believed what he
told you about his divorce without first check-
ing it out with people who know him,”
thereby expressing our judgment that the ad-
dressee has failed, and knows that he has failed,
to carry out his obligation to acquire a par-
ticular basis for his belief. The idea in this lat-
ter sort of case is not that he knows he
shouldn’t have decided to believe p without
doing X; because he didn’t, and couldn’t, de-
cide to believe p. The idea is rather that he
knows that he had the obligation to do X,
given that he believed p. Had he done X, he
might now not believe p. Then again, he still
might; but if so, he would believe it on a dif-
ferent and more reliable basis, or in the light
of more of the relevant evidence.
A great deal more begs to be said on all
these matters; I hope, on another occasion,
to say some of that more. But I judge that,
for our purposes here, enough has been said
for me to be able to explain being entitled to a
belief thus: a person S is entitled to his belief
that p just in case S believes p, and there’s no
doxastic practice D pertaining to p such that
S ought to have implemented D and S did
not, or S ought to have implemented D bet-
ter than S did. (Notice that a person may be
entitled at one time to believe p without hav-
ing implemented D, and at a later time no
longer be entitled to believe p without having
implemented D.)
What sort of obligations are these? Are they,
in the last resort, all moral obligations? Or is
there perhaps a distinct set of doxastic obliga-
tions within the totality of one’s obligations?
In addition to our duties to each other, do
we perhaps have a “duty to the truth?” A well-
argued answer to this question would require
detailed analysis of a rather wide range ofcases;
and nothing at all in what I say subsequently
hangs on what the right answer proves to
be. Enough for my purposes here that it be
She
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
acknowledged that, whatever be their type,
we do have such obligations as I have been
pointing to.
Whatever be their nature, it’s important to
realize that the obligations in questions are
situated obligations, in that which obligations
of this sort actually apply to a given person is
a function of various aspects of the particular
situation of the person in question. To pose
the abstract question, for some proposition
P, “Is one entitled to believe that P?” is to
pose a question void for vagueness. Which
obligations of this sort apply to a given per-
son depend, for one thing, on the doxastic
practices available to that person, and what
he entitledly believes and doesn’t believe about
them. We have ways now offinding out about
the distance of the moon from the earth which
simply were not available to persons of antiq-
uity. Secondly, it depends on the abilities of
the person. There may be some excellent
doxastic practices available in a society which
certain members ofthe society lack the ability
to utilize, as there may be excellent doxastic
practices available in one society which mem-
bers of another society lack the ability to uti-
lize. That cluster of extremely subtle practices
which native Americans utilized for finding
their way and tracking game in the forests of
North America is beyond the abilities of most
of us to utilize. Some of us might be able to
acquire the requisite abilities; none of us has
them now. Thirdly, which obligations of this
sort apply to a given person depends on the
totality ofthat person’s other obligations. One
may know about a more reliable way of form-
ing beliefs on some matter; but using that way
might take time away from other, more press-
ing, obligations. It might be irresponsible to
take the time to utilize that more reliable prac-
tice.
Was Virginia Entitled?
The application, to the main issue at hand, of
this last point about the situatedness of enti-
tlement, is obvious. That main issue is which,
394
if any, of humanity’s beliefs that God said
something is an entitled belief. The question
can only be answered in the concrete, not in
the abstract.
On which concrete examples, then, shall we
focus? On those we most care about. Whether
Antony and Augustine were entitled to be-
lieve that God had spoken to them is, for us,
little more than a matter of curiosity. What
we really want to know is whether we — intel-
ligent, educated, citizens of the modern West
—are ever entitled to believe that God speaks.
Let’s pick an example in which extraneous
considerations are minimized — in particular,
considerations pertaining to the epistemology
of testimony. That leads us to look for a re-
cent case, and one close to home.
Let me present part of the narration of some
experiences which recently befell an acquaint-
ance of mine who is a well-established mem-
ber of the faculty of one of the old, Eastern
seaboard universities of the United States. I
shall call her “Virginia;” that’s not her real
name; I’ll also change the name of the pastor
named in the narration and call him “Byron.”
Perhaps I should add that though Virginia is,
and was at the time, a Christian, she neither is
nor was what anyone would classify as an
Evangelical. It’s worth saying that because
Evangelicals have the reputation of believing
that God speaks to them rather more often,
and rather more trivially, than most of us think
God would bother with; hence we quite eas-
ily dismiss their claims that God is on speak-
ing terms with them.
It’s probably important to know that there
was a great deal of conflict in the parish of
which Virginia speaks; that comes out in parts
of the narration which I won’t quote. Here’s
Virginia’s narration, or part ofit. I think all of
us will have the sense of entering a strange
and unsettling world:
On February 12, 1987, while folding laundry I
suddenly knew with certain knowledge that
Byron was supposed to leave St Paul’s Church.
There was no external voice, but there was a
brightening in the room at the moment of rev-

elation. The experience was so overwhelming
that I called my husband and invited him to
come home for lunch. I did not discuss what
had happened, but I needed to reassure myself
of reality. Later that afternoon ... I found my-
self sobbing. I knew the knowledge that I had
been given was not me, and I knew that it was
correct. As the day progressed, it became clear
to me that there were seven, insistent statements
that I needed to tell Byron. Nothing like this
had ever happened to me before or to anyone I
knew. I was awe-struck and terrified. Passing
on the message accurately and with a preface
that would allow him to hear it clearly became
my goal....
The next morning, when I went to see By-
ron, I was very agitated. Byron told me to take
a deep breath or I would hyperventilate. We
discussed God, and belief in God, and then I
prayed out loud that I would be rendered
speechless if what I was about to say was not
indeed God’s will. I told him the seven state-
ments: “Your work is done here. You have ac-
complished what you were sent to do. You are
still young. There are great things in store for
you. Do not be afraid. God will take care of
you. I will help with the transition.” This mes-
sage was not a surprise to Byron. He had al-
ready come to that conclusion prior to our
conversation. There had been a call committee
at the church that past Sunday, about which I
had known nothing....
Byron did not get that call... I began to
doubt my message. As I drove home from staff
meeting one day in March, I said to God that if
He wanted me to believe that the message had
been divine, God would either have to give By-
ron a call or give me a message for someone
else. Both came true....
[A few weeks later, on a] Saturday night, there
was a fierce thunderstorm which shook the
screen next to our bedroom window. From
12:30 to 4 a.m. I struggled with God. There
was another message. God was patient and kept
repeating each sentence until I could not possi-
bly forget it. It was only about a paragraph long.
I knew it was for the Tuesday night meeting.
But I did not know when to say it or how to
preface it. I kept seeing the hall clock at church
pointing to 8:45....
The narration continues with her telling about
ARE WE ENTITLED?
delivering the message from God at 8:45 on
Tuesday evening, and the response from the
other participants in the meeting. “I was sur-
prised,” she says, “at how perfectly everybody
seemed to think what I had said fit in. There
was a feeling of jubilation.” Still she had her
doubts. She went to see a priest who was rec-
ommended to her as a spiritual director. Let
me continue with her own words:
He was extremely helpful in his affirmation of
my experiences. I began to see how I could use
my renewed spirituality in all aspects of what I
was already doing. I felt stronger but still wanted
to go to see a psychologist to be sure that I was
mentally fit.
I met with a psychologist at Harvard Com-
munity Health Plan and told her everything that
had happened. After listening to my story, she
said that these kinds of things happen all the
time, and why was I surprised. She suggested a
book that I might read, and thanked me pro-
fusely for sharing my experience with her. She
did not feel that I required any further ses-
SOUS sear:
Before we set out, a small bit of taxonomy
may be helpful. Reading and interpreting
sacred Scripture for the divine voice consists
of taking an enduring object, a text, and
reading to find out what God said. Virginia’s
case was very different. She wasn’t trying to
find out what God said — she wasn’t on the
lookout for divine discourse. A non-sensory,
quasi-mystical, experience befell her, totally
unexpected, which seems to have had the
phenomenological character of God appear-
ing to her as talking to her; and this immedi-
ately evoked in her the conviction that God
was saying something to her — discoursing with
her. The Augustine case was somewhat dif-
ferent. The phenomenology was not that ofa
non-sensory, quasi-mystical experience of
God, appearing to him as talking to him. Its
core was the sensory experience of a child’s
sounding out certain words — though one gets
the impression that that did not exhaust the
phenomenology, that there was in addition
some strange sort of aura; and rather than this
395
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
entire phenomenology immediately evoking
in Augustine the conviction that by way of
the child talking, God was discoursing with
him, it seems to have triggered a rapid “best
explanation” inference. Augustine rapidly in-
ferred that the best explanation of his being
confronted with the sounding out loud of
exactly those words at exactly that time in his
life was that God was bringing about that con-
frontation so as thereby to speak to him, to
discourse with him. There have been other
cases like Augustine’s except that the person
only very slowly came to the conclusion that
the best explanation of the events he had ex-
perienced is that God brought about those
events so as thereby to speak. Various writers
testify to the fact that sometimes when read-
ing and interpreting Scripture to find out what
God said thereby, they have had an experi-
ence rather like Augustine’s, which they ex-
plain as God speaking to them by way of the
passage before them. In that case we have a
coincidence of the two phenomena between
which I have drawn my major divide. When
reading to find out, they had an experience
which befell them.
Let’s assume that Virginia was entitled to
her framework of basic Christian belief. I
know, of course, that some will contest that
assumption. But in considering issues of enti-
tlement, one always has to take for granted
that a great many — indeed, most — ofthe per-
son’s beliefs are entitled beliefs; otherwise one
cam’t even get going on determinations of
entitlement. It appears to me that Virginia,
without having thought much (if at all) about
the matter, believed that it was possible for
God to speak. I doubt that she had worked
through the arguments of any of the philoso-
phers and theologians who have cast doubt
on the very possibility of God speaking. I
doubt that she had even heard of them. She
probably just took for granted the biblical pic-
ture of God as speaking. Should she have
known about the skeptical discussions ofphi-
losophers and theologians? I don’t myself see
why. But if you think ’m wrong about this,
imagine that Virginia had once looked into
396
these discussions and concluded that the
skepticism was not well-grounded.
I’m composing this chapter in a flat on the
High Street in Oxford. There’s always noise
coming into the flat — the rumble of traffic
going past. Now and then I happen to take
note of the rumble; I often take note when a
vehicle goes by with siren blaring. But mostly,
I pay no attention. So if my wife wants to say
something to me, and wants me to take note
that she is doing so, she can’t just make noises
which blend into the noise of the traffic go-
ing by — even though it is in principle possible
to say things by making exactly such noises.
So it is for God as well. If God is going to
say things to us, say them in such a way that
there’s a chance of our taking note, God has
to do something which stands out from the
rumble of ordinary existence. Must it be a
miraculous intervention in the workings of a
law of nature? That depends, in part, on what
one takes Jaws of nature to be, and how much
of what transpires in the world and human
experience one takes to fall under their sway;
and those are complicated questions. But even
if we conclude that it must be a miraculous
intervention, that by itselfisn’t enough. There
may be all sorts of miraculous interventions
in the workings of laws of nature of which we
know nothing. If God is to speak to us, the
discourse-generating event must somehow
stand out from what I called “the rumble of
ordinary existence.” Something uncanny — I
don’t know of a better word — something
uncanny must take place in one’s experience.
That uncanniness may take many forms: the
uncanniness of Virginia’s quasi-mystical expe-
rience, the uncanniness of the coincidence of
Augustine’s just happening to hear words so
appropriate to his spiritual condition, and so
forth.
But we in the modern world know that the
experiences of people in a state of mental dis-
order also sometimes have an uncanny qual-
ity; in particular, it’s not at all uncommon for
people in such states to “hear voices.” So Vir-
ginia did exactly what I, at least, think she
ought to have done: she seriously entertained

the possibility that her experience was a symp-
tom of mental disorder rather than a case of
God inwardly appearing to her as speaking,
and took steps to check it out. She immedi-
ately called her husband and urged him to
come home for lunch; “I needed to reassure
myself of reality,” she says. She is reassured.
But the possibility, that the uncanny experi-
ence was a symptom of mental disorder, con-
tinued to prey on her mind for a long time,
until she tells all to a professional psycholo-
gist, who in response says ... “You’re OK.”
In short, Virginia explored the possibility that
there is another and better explanation of her
uncanny experience than the one which just
overwhelmed her at the time, viz., that God
was speaking to her; but she doesn’t come up
with a better one.
No doubt Virginia’s background under-
standing of God was such that one can imag-
ine a whole range of purported experiences,
of God speaking to her in this quasi-mystical
fashion, which she would and should have
dismissed at once on the ground that the con-
tent wasn’t something that God would say to
her. If, for example, the voice had told her to
call her husband to come home for lunch and
then to stab him as he was drinking his cof-
fee. (Though it’s likely that if she had in fact
“heard” a voice saying that, she would have
been so disordered that she wouldn’t have
drawn the conclusion that it wasn’t God speak-
ing.) However, this test, call it the acceptabil-
ity of content test, was not a test she applied —
unless she just neglected to narrate it. Appar-
ently nothing about the content triggered any
suspicion on her part.
Instead, the narration focuses on whether
or not the experiences, and her accepting that
the experiences are veridical, have the conse-
quences that one would expect if the experi-
ences were indeed of God speaking. After
some initial hesitations about the first mes-
sage, she concludes that they do have those
consequences. Her hesitation was induced by
the fact that what God told her to tell Byron
didn’t come true when she had assumed it
would. Eventually, though, it did. As to the
ARE WE ENTITLED?
message that she delivered to the whole group,
that produced jubilation; people remarked
about how well her remarks fitted in. Some-
time later she noticed that her experiences had
produced in her a “renewed spirituality.”
I have been assuming that the narration is
an honest one; I have no reason at all to think
otherwise. So my own conclusion is that, at
least by the time she wrote this narration, Vir-
ginia was entitled to believe that God had spo-
ken to her. So far as I can see, everything she
should have done to make her entitled to this
belief, she had done.
It will be noted that she didn’t try to im-
plement the Lockean practice. Should she have
tried to do so? Should she have tried to estab-
lish that, on evidence consisting of mental and
conceptual facts of which she was directly
aware, it was more probable than not that God
had spoken to her?
Well, one thing Locke says does, I think,
point to an important truth. Often, when we
know of a more reliable practice for the for-
mation of some belief of ours than the one
we actually used, we remain more or less con-
tent with not applying that purportedly more
reliable practice; we judge the practice we did
use reliable enough for our purposes, and we
have more pressing things to do than worry
the matter further. But if there’s something
about some experience of mine which makes
me think there’s a live possibility that God
was speaking to me by way of that experience,
then I think it would seldom ifever be appro-
priate to rush on to other things on the ground
that they are more important. Even ifthe ex-
perience produced in me the conviction that
God was speaking to me by way ofthat expe-
rience, I would seldom want to rush on to
other things, since I would know that lots of
times when people believed that God was
speaking to them, they were mistaken, often
with calamitous consequences. One will want
to do one’s reasonable best, and probably
should do one’s reasonable best, to determine
whether God was or was not speaking to one.
The question, though, is whether doing
one’s best always consists of implementing the
397
NICHOLAS WOLTERSTORFF
Lockean practice. It seems to me clear that,
for a vast array of facts, the Lockean practice
is not in fact the best. Modern philosophy has
witnessed a long and elaborate series of at-
tempts to prove, along Lockean lines, the ex-
istence of the external world. It’s the consensus
of most philosophers — myself included — that
all those attempts have failed. Faithful appli-
cation of the Lockean practice will not yield
the belief that this and that external object
exists; one can’t get to there starting solely
from mental and conceptual facts. None the
less, we do have available to us very good ways
of getting in touch with a great deal of the
external world. Those ways are the various
perceptual practices that have emerged among
us and which we all use: for many facts of the
external world, the best way of bringing it
about that one believes the corresponding
propositions if and only if they are true is to
apply not the Lockean practice but one and
another of our common perceptual practices.
So far forth, this leaves open the possibility
that the Lockean practice is the best for find-
ing out the truth of the matter when it comes
to God speaking. But once we see that it is
not in general the best practice available to us
human beings, we would need some special
argument for the thesis that it is the most re-
liable for such facts. And I, at least, fail to see
what such a reason might look like.
I dare say that some of my readers remain
convinced that, be all this as it may, Virginia
was suffering from delusions and that she her-
self should have realized that. But here we
must once again remind ourselves of how be-
liefs get formed in us, and of the role of
doxastic practices in our lives. We don’t de-
cide to believe or not believe things; it was
398
not in Virginia’s power to decide to believe
that it was a delusion. Beliefs are formed in us
by the activation of our belief-dispositions.
What we can do is steer our belief-dispositional
nature: go out and acquire additional experi-
ences, attend more carefully and in different
ways to the experiences we are having, reflect
more carefully on the things we already know
and believe and how they fit together, and so
forth. Beyond that, there’s nothing we can
do, nothing at all. Virginia did everything, so
far as I can see, that one could ask of her; ap-
plied all the doxastic practices that she ought
to have applied.
Some there are who will remain convinced
that she didn’t get it right; God didn’t speak
to her, she was suffering from delusions. But
it’s just a fundamental feature of our human
existence that often two of us look at the same
evidence and consider the same arguments and
come out with different conclusions. We can’t
get past that. When that happens, the out-
come is symmetrical: each party believes the
other is mistaken. The skeptic believes that
Virginia was suffering from delusions and mis-
taken in her belief that God had spoken to
her; but Virginia, having done everything one
could ask of her, believes that the person who
thinks she was suffering from delusions is mis-
taken. Though the situation, as between Vir-
ginia and her skeptical critics, isn’t quite
symmetrical: Virginia had the experience, the
skeptic didn’t. And that counts for something.
So, yes; it is possible for an intelligent adult
of the modern Western world to be entitled
to believe that God has spoken to him or her.
I draw that conclusion because the possibility
seems to me to have been actualized in the
case of Virginia.
 PART SIX |

CAN MORALITY HAVE A

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Introduction

45 Morality: Religious and Secular

PATRICK NOWELL-SMITH
46 Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again
RoBeRT ADAMS
47 Abraham, Isaac, and Euthyphro: God and the Basis of
Morality
NORMAN KRETZMANN
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Introduction
The claim that moral truths must be grounded
in a divine reality is one that has been widely
endorsed by religious believers. Yet this belief
has been subject to powerful criticism from at
least the time of Plato. This Part includes es-
says which discuss the arguments that have
been raised for and against the claim that
morality can have a religious foundation.
In the first essay, Patrick Nowell-Smith ar-
gues that the most common argument for a
religious-based morality is mistaken and that,
further, religious-based moralities seem to be
the result of something like stunted moral
development. Religious believers often hold
that for moral claims to be true, they must be
grounded in some authority who has the
power to make them true (often reflected in
slogans such as “every law needs a law-giver’”’).
Seen this way, moral claims are likened to
mandates ofcivil law. A prescription does not
count as a “civil law” until someone invested
with the proper authority says that it does.
The analogy, however, is faulty (argues
Nowell-Smith) because while morality may
need some foundation, there is no reason to
think that it is a command or dictate of some
“moral authority.”
Furthermore, the fact that religious people
ground moral beliefs in mere divine com-
mands shows a moral immaturity on their part.
Early in life we adopt moral standards because
they are commanded by our elders. But it is a
sign of maturity that we begin to understand
what underlies those commands and thus
come to realize the moral subtleties that some-
times require that we make exceptions to the
moral generalizations which might still be
good rules of thumb. Since basing morality
on the whims of another being makes it im-
possible to come to know the principles that
“underlie” the commands (since there are
none; it is not that God bases his decrees con-
cerning right and wrong on more fundamen-
tal facts — the principles of goodness are de-
fined by God’s issuing the corresponding com-
mand), religious believers are perpetually stuck
at this immature stage, basing their behaviors
on moral prescriptions for which no reasons
can be given.
Robert Adams, in the following essay, of-
fers a first defense of a religious-based moral-
ity. In his essay, Adams revises a divine
command theory of morality which he origi-
nally defended in an earlier, widely republished
essay. Adams claims that ethical wrongness is
to be defined as contrariety to a divine com-
mand, whereas Nowell-Smith assumes that the
religious believer exhibits a sort of moral im-
maturity because she fails to get to the deeper
reasons underlying moral claims. But if Adams
is right, the charge fails since there simply is
nothing deeper to come to know. Failure to
uncover the “deeper reasons” would not then
be a sign of immaturity but simply of a clear
understanding of what wrongness is. But what
of the objection, noted by Nowell-Smith, that
on the divine command theory it seems that
just anything could turn out to be morally
permissible (since a practice’s being morally
permissible depends only on God’s command-
ing it)? Adams argues that this criticism can
be deflected by defining wrongness more nar-
rowly as “contrariety to the commands of a
loving God.” Thus, any moral prescription that
is inconsistent with divine love is such that it
is not possible for God to command it.
One might wonder, however, what we are
to make of Adams’s appeal to a “loving God”
when defining moral rightness and wrongness.
Does this imply that there is some further
standard of “lovingness” to which God is
bound? And ifso, does this constitute the real
grounds for the divine moral commands?
In the final essay, Norman Kretzmann of-
fers a version of the divine command theory
which is significantly different from Adams’s.
401
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
Kretzmann begins by setting out the classic
dilemma for divine command theories raised
by Plato, The dilemma is this; it is either the
case that moral truths are true because God
commands them, or that God commands the
things that he does because they are moral
truths, Ifthe former, then it appears that what
is moral depends on divine whim, The result
is that we are compelled to say that whatever
God might command (indiscriminate torture,
for example) would be moral, if God com-
manded it. If the latter, then it appears that
there is a moral standard independent of God’s
commands which fixes moral truth, But if this
is so then God is, strictly speaking, irrelevant
to morality.
Kretzmann appeals to the doctrine of di-
vine simplicity as a way of escaping the di-
lemma. According to this doctrine, God is not
composed of parts, nor is God distinct from
his properties. The doctrine of divine simplic-
ity entails a number of (sometimes strange-
sounding) claims, among them that God is
“identical to” his attributes, This means that
God is, in this respect, quite different from
the ordinary objects of our experience. I, for
example, am unlike God in this respect since
I am “distinct trom” my properties. Thus,
while I have the property of being two-leg-
ged, I could lack this property (if, say, I had
one leg amputated) and still be me.
Kretzmann argues that once we bring the
doctrine of simplicity to bear on the Platonic
dilemma described above, the dilemma col-
402
lapses. The reason for the collapse is that it is
no longer possible for us to separate out the
notion of “perfect goodness” and “that which
God commands.” On this view, right actions
are right because God, i.e. perfect goodness,
“approves” them, and God “approves” them
because “perfect goodness,” i.e. God, dictates
that they are right.
Further Reading
Adams, Robert, “A Modified Divine Com-
mand Theory of Ethical Wrongness,” from
Religion and Morality: a Collection of Es-
says, ed. Gene Outka and John Reeder
(New York: Doubleday, 1973).
Helm, Paul, The Divine Command Theory of
Ethics (Oxtord: Oxford University Press,
1979),
Idziak, J. M., Divine Command Morality:
Historical and Contemporary Readings
(New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1980).
Mouw, Richard, The Gea Whe Commands
(Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1990).
Neilson, Kai, Eevies Witheut God (New York:
Pemberton Books, 1973), ch. 2.
Quinn, Philip, Divine Commands and Moral
Requirements (Oxtord: Clarendon Press,
1978).
, “The Recent Revival of Divine Com-
mand Ethics,” Philesepky and Pheno-
menological Research, 50 (suppl.) (1990),
pp. 345-65.

45 Morality: Religious and Secular*
Patrick Nowell-Smith
The central thesis of this paper is that reli-
gious morality is infantile. I am well aware that
this will sound absurd. To suggest that
Aquinas and Kant - to say nothing of millions
of Christians oflesser genius — never grew up
is surely to put oneself out of court as a phi-
losopher to be taken seriously. My thesis is
not so crude as that; I shall try to show that,
in the moralities of adult Christians, there are
elements which can be set apart from the rest
and are, indeed, inconsistent with them, that
these elements can properly be called “reli-
gious” and that just these elements are infan-
tile.
I shall start by making some assumptions
that I take to be common ground between
Christians and secular humanists. I propose
to say almost nothing about the content of
morality; that love, sympathy, loyalty, and
consideration are virtues, and that their op-
posites, malice, cruelty, treachery, and callous-
ness, are vices, are propositions that I shall
assume without proof. One can’t do every-
thing at the same time, and my job now is not
to refute Thrasymachus. Secondly, I propose
to occupy, as common ground, some much
more debatable territory; I shall assume in
broad outline the metaphysical view of the
nature of man that we have inherited from
Plato and Aristotle. The basis of this tradition
is that there is something called “Eudaimonia”
or “The Good Life,” that this consists in ful-
filling to the highest possible degree the na-
ture of Man, and that the nature of Man is to
be a rational, social animal. Love, I shall as-
sume, is the supreme virtue because the life of
* From The Rationalist Annual (London: Pemberton
Publishing, 1961). Reprinted by permission.
MORALITY: RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR
love is, in the end, the only life that is fully
rational and fully social. My concern will be,
not with the content of morality, but with its
form or structure, with the ways in which the
manifold concepts and affirmations of which
a moral system is composed hang together;
not with rival views of what conduct is moral
and what is immoral, but with rival views of
what morality 2s.
This contrast between form and content is
not difficult to grasp, but experience has
taught me that it is often ignored. When they
discover that I have moral views but no reli-
gious beliefs, people often ask me this ques-
tion: “Where do you get your moral ideas
from?” Faced with this question, my habit is
to take it literally and to answer it truthfully.
“From my father and mother,” I say, “from
the companions of my boyhood and man-
hood, from teachers and from books, from
my own reflections on the experience I have
had of the sayings and doings of myself and
others, an experience similar in countless ways
to that of other people born of middle-class
English parents some forty-five years ago, but
in its totality unique.” This boring and auto-
biographical answer never satisfies the ques-
tioner; for, though it is the right answer to
the question he actually asked, it is not, as I
very well knew, the answer to the question he
really had in mind. He did not want to know
from whom I learnt my moral views; he wanted
to know what authority I have for holding
them. But why, if this is what he wanted to
know, did he not ask me? He has confused
two different questions; and it is natural
enough that he should have confused them,
since it is often the case that to point to the
source of an opinion or claim is to show the
403
PATRICK NOWELL-SMITH
authority on which it is based. We appeal to
the dictionary to vindicate an assertion about
the spelling of aword, and the policeman’s
production of a warrant signed by a magis-
trate is a necessary and sufficient condition of
his authority to enter my house. But even a
dictionary can make mistakes, and one may
doubt whether one ought to admit the po-
liceman even after his legal title to enter has
been satisfactorily made out. “He certainly has
a legal right,” one might say, “but even so,
things being as they are, ought I to admit
him?”
Those who put this question to me have
made an assumption that they have not ex-
amined because they have not reflected suffi-
ciently on the form of morality. They have
simply assumed that just as the legal propri-
ety of an action is established by showing it to
emanate from an authoritative source, so also
the moral propriety of an action must be es-
tablished in the same way; that legal rightness
has the same form as moral rightness, and may
therefore be used to shed light on it. This as-
sumption made, they naturally suppose that,
even when I agree with them — for example,
about the immorality of murder — I have no
right to hold this impeccable view unless I can
show that I have received it from an authori-
tative source. My autobiographical answer
clearly fails to do this. My parents may have
had a right to my obedience, but no right to
make the moral law. Morality, on this view, is
an affair of being commanded to behave in
certain ways by some person who has a right
to issue such commands; and, once this
premise is granted, it is said with some reason
that only God has such a right. Morality must
be based on religion, and a morality not so
based, or one based on the wrong religion,
lacks all validity.
It is this premise, that being moral consists
in obedience to commands, that I deny. There
is an argument, familiar to philosophers but
of which the force is not always appreciated,
which shows that this premise cannot be right.
Suppose that I have satisfied myself that God
has commanded me to do this or that thing —
404
in itself a large supposition, but I will waive
objections on this score in order to come
quickly to the main point — it still makes sense
for me to ask whether or not I ought to do it.
God, let us say, is an omnipotent, omniscient
creator of the universe. Such a creator might
have evil intentions and might command me
to do wrong; and if that were the case though
it would be imprudent to disobey, it would
not be wrong. There is nothing in the idea of
an omnipotent, omniscient creator which, by
itself, entails his goodness or his right to com-
mand, unless we are prepared to assent to
Hobbes’s phrase, “God, who by right, that is
by irresistible power, commandeth all things.”
Unless we accept Hobbes’s consistent but re-
pugnant equation of God’s right with his
might, we must be persuaded independently
of his goodness before we admit his right to
command. We must judge for ourselves
whether the Bible is the inspired word of a
just and benevolent God or a curious amal-
gam of profound wisdom and gross supersti-
tion. To judge this is to make a moral decision,
so that in the end, so far from morality being
based on religion, religion is based on moral-
ity.
Before passing to my main theme, I must
add two cautions about what this argument
does not prove. It does not prove that we
should in no case take authority as a guide.
Suppose that a man’s aim is to make money
on the Stock Exchange. He decides that it
would be most profitable to invest his money
in company A; but his broker prefers com-
pany B. He will usually be well advised to ac-
cept the verdict of his broker, even if the
broker is, as they often are, inarticulate in giv-
ing his reasons. He might decide to put all his
financial affairs in the hands ofa broker, and
to do nothing but what the broker tells him
to do. But this decision, even if it is the only
financial decision he ever makes in his life, is
still his own. In much the same way, a man
might decide to put his conscience wholly into
the hands ofa priest or a Church, to make no
moral decisions of his own but always to do
what the priest tells him. Even he, though he

makes but one moral decision in his life, must
make and continually renew that one. Those
who accept the authority of a priest or a
Church on what to do are, in accepting that
authority, deciding for themselves. They may
not fully comprehend that this is so; but that
is another matter.
Secondly, to deny that morality need or can
have an external nonmoral basis on which to
stand is by no means to deny that it can have
an internal basis, in the sense of one or a few
moral beliefs that are fundamental to the other
beliefs of the system. A man’s views on gam-
bling or sex or business ethics may (though
they need not) form a coherent system in
which some views are held because certain
other views are held. Utilitarianism is an ex-
ample of such a system in which all moral rules
are to be judged by their tendency to pro-
mote human happiness. A moral system ofthis
kind is like a system of geometry in which some
propositions appear as axioms, others as theo-
rems owing their place in the system to their
derivability from the axioms. Few ofus are so
rationalistic as to hold all our moral beliefs in
this way, but to move towards this goal is to
begin to think seriously about morals.
(2) Inany system of morality we can distin-
guish between its content and its form. By its
“content” I mean the actual commands and
prohibitions it contains, the characteristics it
lists as virtues and as vices; by its “form” I
mean the sort ofpropositions it contains and
the ways in which these are thought of as con-
nected with each other. The basic distinction
here is between a teleological morality in
which moral rules are considered to be sub-
ordinate to ends, to be rules for achieving
ends and consequently to be judged by their
tendency to promote those ends, and a de-
ontological system in which moral rules are
thought of as absolute, as categorical impera-
tives in no way depending for their validity
on the good or bad consequences of obedi-
ence, and in which moral goodness is thought
to lie in conformity to these rules for their
own sake. The first of these ways of looking
MORALITY: RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR
at morality as a whole derives from the Greeks,
so I shall call it the Greek view of morality; it
can be summed up in the slogan “the Sab-
bath was made for man, not man for the Sab-
bath.” The second, deriving from Jewish
sources, I shall call the Hebrew view. This in-
volves a serious oversimplification, since we
find deontological elements in the Greek New
Testament and teleological elements in the
Hebrew Old Testament; but, taken broadly,
the contrast between the deontological char-
acter of the Old and the teleological charac-
ter of the New Testaments is as striking as the
difference of language. I shall also indulge in
another serious oversimplification in speaking
of Christianity as a morality of the Hebrew
type while it is, of course, an amalgam of both
with different elements predominating in dif-
ferent versions. This oversimplification would
be quite unjustifiable if my task were to give
an account of Christian morality; but it is le-
gitimate here because my task is to contrast
those elements in the Christian tradition which
secular humanists accept with those which they
reject, and these are broadly coterminous with
the Greek and the Hebrew elements in Chris-
tianity respectively.
How there can be these two radically dif-
ferent ways of looking at morality, one which
sees it as a set of recipes to be followed for the
achievement of ends, the other which sees it
as a set of commands to be obeyed, can best
be understood if we consider the way in which
we learn what it is to be moral. For a man’s
morality is a set of habits of choice, of charac-
teristic responses to his environment, in par-
ticular to his social environment, the people
among whom he lives; and habits are learnt
in childhood. Growing up morally is learning
to cope with the world into which we find
ourselves pitched, and especially to cope with
our relations with other human beings. In the
course of living we learn to reflect on our re-
sponses, to find in some of them sources of
satisfaction, in others of regret, and “coping
with the world” means coping with it in a
manner ultimately satisfactory to ourselves.
Philosophers such as Aristotle and Hobbes
405
PATRICK NOWELL-SMITH
who boldly and crudely identified “good” with
“object of desire” may have made a technical
mistake; but they were certainly on the right
lines. If men had no desires and aversions, if
they felt no joy and no remorse, if they were
totally indifferent to everything in the universe,
there would be no such thing as choice and
we should have no concept of morality, of
good and evil.
The baby is born with some desires, not
many; others it acquires as time goes on.
Learning to cope with the world is learning
how to satisfy and to modify these desires in a
world that is partly propitious and partly hos- —
tile. For the world does not leap to gratify my
desires like an assiduous flunkey; I do not get
fed by being hungry. My desires are incom-
patible with each other and they come into
conflict with those of other people. We have
to learn both to bend the world to our wills
and to bend our wills to the world. A man’s
morality is the way in which, in important
matters, he does this.
Men are by nature rational and social ani-
mals, but only potentially so; they become
actually rational and social only in a suitable
environment, an environment in which they
learn to speak a language. Learning how to
cope with one’s environment goes on side by
side with learning to talk. The child’s con-
cepts, the meanings which, at every stage,
words have for him, change as his horizon
becomes wider, as he learns to grasp ideas that
are more and more complicated, more and
more remote from the primitive actions and
passions that initially constitute his entire con-
scious life. It is not therefore surprising that
the form of his morality, the meanings which
moral words have and the ways in which they
hang together, reflect at each stage the kind
of experience he has. To babies who cannot
yet talk we cannot, without serious error, at-
tribute any thoughts at all; but though they
cannot think, they can certainly feel, experi-
ence pleasure and pain, satisfaction and frus-
tration. It is in these preverbal experiences that
the origin of the ideas of “good” and “bad,”
even of “right” and “wrong,” must be found;
406
for their later development I turn to Piaget.
My case for saying that religious morality is
infantile cannot be conclusively made out
without a much more detailed study of
Piaget’s researches than I have space for; I shall
concentrate on a few points that seem to me
to bear directly on the issue between the reli-
gious morality of law and the secular morality
of purpose.
Piaget made a detailed study of the attitudes
of children of different ages to the game of
marbles, and he found three distinct stages. A
very small child handles the marbles and
throws them about as his humor takes him;
he is playing, but not playing a game; for there
are no rules governing his actions, no ques-
tion of anything being done right or wrong.
Towards the end of this stage he will, to some
extent, be playing according to rules; for he
will imitate older children who are playing a
rule-governed game. But the child himself is
not conscious of obeying rules; he has not yet
grasped the concept ofa “rule,” of what a rule
is. We may call this the premoral attitude to
rules.
The second type of attitude is exhibited by
children from five to nine. During this stage,
says Piaget, “the rules are regarded as sacred
and inviolable, emanating from adults and last-
ing for ever. Every suggested alteration in the
rules strikes the child as a transgression.”
Piaget calls this attitude to rules “heterono-
mous” to mark the fact that the children re-
gard the rules as coming, as indeed they do,
from the outside, as being imposed on them
by others. We might also call this the
“deontological stage,” to mark the fact that
the rules are not questioned; they just are the
rules of marbles, and that’s that. At this stage
the child has the concept of a rule, he knows
what a rule is; but he has not yet asked what a
rule is for. This deontological character is ob-
viously connected with the unchangeability of
the rules. Like laws in a primitive society, they
are thought of as having been handed down
from time immemorial, as much a part of the
natural order of things as sunrise and sunset.
The child may chafe at obedience and may

sometimes disobey; but he does not question
the authority of the rules.
Finally, at the third stage, the child begins
to learn what the rules are for, what the point
of having any rules is, and why it is better to
have this rule rather than that. “The rule,”
says Piaget, “is now looked upon as a law due
to mutual consent, which you must respect if
you want to be loyal, but which it is permissi-
ble to alter on condition ofenlisting the gen-
eral opinion on your side.” He calls this type
of attitude “autonomous” to mark the fact
that the children now regard themselves, col-
lectively, as the authors of the rules. This is
not to say that they falsely suppose themselves
to have invented them; they know well enough
that they received them from older children.
But they are the authors in the sense of being
the final authorities; what tradition gave them
they can change; from “this is how we learnt
to play” they no longer pass unquestioningly
to “this is how we ought to play.” We might
also call this stage “teleological” to mark the
fact that the rules are no longer regarded as
sacred, as worthy of obedience simply because
they are what they are, but as serving a pur-
pose, as rules for playing a game that they want
to play. Rules-there must certainly be; and in
one sense they are sacred enough. Every player
must abide by them; he cannot pick and
choose. But in another sense there is nothing
sacred about them; they are, and are known
to be, a mere device, to be molded and adapted
in the light of the purpose which they are
understood by all the players to serve.
To illustrate the transition between the sec-
ond and the third stages I should like to refer
to a case from my own experience. Last sum-
mer I was with one other adult and four chil-
dren on a picnic, and the children wanted to
play rounders. We had to play according to
the rules they had learnt at school because
those just were the rules of rounders. This
involved having two teams, and you can well
imagine that, with only three players in each
team, the game quickly ran on the rocks. When
I suggested adapting the rules to our circum-
stances all the children were scandalized at
MORALITY: RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR
first. But the two older children soon came
round to the idea that, situated as we were,
we should have to change the rules or not play
at all and to the idea that it would not be
wicked to change the rules. The two younger
children were troubled, one might say, in their
consciences about the idea of changing the
rules. In Piaget’s words, they thought of an
alteration of rules as a transgression against
them, having as yet no grasp of the distinc-
tion between an alteration of the rules by com-
mon consent to achieve a common purpose
and the unilateral breach or defiance of them.
In the eyes of these younger children we were
not proposing to play a slightly different game,
one better adapted to our situation; we were
proposing to play the old game, but to play it
wrong, almost dishonestly.
In another of Piaget’s researches, this time
directly concerned with moral attitudes, he
told the children pairs of stories in each of
which a child does something in some sense
“bad” and asked which of the children was
naughtier, which deserved most punishment.
In one such story a child accidentally breaks
fifteen cups while opening a door, and in the
companion story breaks one cup while steal-
ing jam. The replies of the very young chil-
dren are mixed, some saying that the first child
was naughtier; older children are unanimous
in calling the second child naughtier. They
have got beyond the primitive level of assess-
ing moral guilt by the extent of the damage
done.
Some of the youngest children do not rec-
ognize an act as wrong unless it is actually
found out and punished, and we may call these
last two points taken together “moral realism,”
because they display an attitude of mind that
makes questions of morality questions of ex-
ternal fact. The inner state of the culprit — his
motives and intentions — have nothing to do
with it. To break crockery is wrong; therefore
to break more crockery is more wrong. Moral
laws are like laws of Nature, and Nature gives
no marks for good or bad intentions and ac-
cepts no excuses. The fire will burn you if you
touch it, however careful you were to avoid
407
PATRICK NOWELL-SMITH
it. But if you are careless and, by good luck,
avoid it, you will not be burnt; for Nature gives
no bad marks for carelessness either. In the
same way, if you lie and are punished, that is
bad; but if you lie and are not punished, that
is not bad at all. The fact that retribution did
not follow shows that the lie was not, in this
case, wrong.
(3) Iwant now to compare the religious with
the secular attitude towards the moral system
which, in its content, both Christians and
Humanists accept. I shall try to show that the
religious attitude retains these characteristics
of deontology, heteronomy and realism which
are proper and indeed necessary in the devel-
opment ofa child, but not proper to an adult:
But I must repeat the caution with which I
began. The views which I called “moral real-
ism,” which make intentions irrelevant, were
expressed by very young children. No doubt
many of these children were Christians and I
do not wish to suggest that they never grew
up, that they never adopted a more mature
and enlightened attitude. This would be ab-
surd. My thesis is rather that these childish
attitudes survive in the moral attitudes of adult
Christians — and of some secular moralists —
as an alien element, like an outcrop of igne-
ous rock in an alluvial plain. When Freud says
of someone that he is fixated at the oral stage
of sexuality he does not mean that he still sucks
his thumb; he means rather that some of his
characteristic attitudes and behavior patterns
can be seen as an adult substitute for thumb
sucking. In the same way, I suggest that some
elements characteristic of Christian morality
are substitutes for childish attitudes. In the
course of this comparison I shall try to show
how these infantile attitudes belong to a stage
that is a necessary stage on the way to the fully
adult, a stage which we must have passed
through in order to reach maturity.
It needs little reflection to see that deon-
tology and heteronomy are strongly marked
features of all religious moralities. First for
deontology. For some Christians the funda-
mental sin, the fount and origin of all sin, is
408
disobedience to God. It is not the nature of
the act of murder or of perjury that makes it
wrong; it is the fact that such acts are trans-
gressions of God’s commands. On the other
hand, good acts are not good in themselves,
good in their own nature, but good only as
acts of obedience to God. “I give no alms only
to satisfy the hunger of my brother, but to
accomplish the will and command of my God;
I draw not my purse for his sake that demands
it, but his that enjoined it” (Sir Thomas
Browne, Religio Medici I, 2). Here charity
itselfisheld to be good only because God has
told us to be charitable. It is difficult not to
see in this a reflection of the small child’s atti-
tude towards his parents and the other au-
thorities from whom he learns what it is right
to do. In the first instance little Tommy learns
that it is wrong to pull his sister’s hair, not
because it hurts her, but because Mummy for-
bids it.
The idea of heteronomy is also strongly
marked in Christian morality. “Not as I will,
but as thou wilt.” The demand made by Chris-
tianity is that of surrendering self, not in the
ordinary sense of being unselfish, of loving
our neighbor and even our enemy. It is the
total surrender of the wall that is required;
Abraham must be prepared to sacrifice Isaac
at God’s command, and I take this to mean
that we must be prepared to sacrifice our most
deeply felt moral concerns if God should re-
quire us to do so. If we dare to ask why, the
only answer is “Have faith”; and faith is an
essentially heteronomous idea; for it is not a
reasoned trust in someone in whom we have
good grounds for reposing trust; it is blind
faith, utter submission of our own reason and
will.
Now, to the small child morality is neces-
sarily deontological and heteronomous in
form; he must learn that certain actions are
right and others wrong before he can begin
to ask why they are, and he learns this from
other people. The child has his own spon-
taneous springs of action; there are things he
wants to do off his own bat; morality is a curb,
at first nothing but a curb on his own voli-

tion. He comes up against parental discipline,
even ifonly in the form ofthe giving and with-
drawing oflove, long before he can have any
compassion, long before he has any concep-
tion of others as sentient beings. When he
begins to learn language, words like “bad”
must mean simply “what hurts me; what I
don’t like”; through the mechanism ofparen-
tal discipline they come to mean “what adults
forbid and punish me for.” It is only because
actions which cause suffering to others figure
so largely among parental prohibitions that
the child learns to connect the word “bad”
with them at all.
If we consider the foundations of Christian
ethics in more detail we shall find in them
moral realism as well. Christianity makes much
of charity and the love of our neighbor; but it
does not say, as the Greeks did, that this is
good because it is what befits the social ani-
mal, Man. We ought to be charitable because
this is laid on us as a duty and because this
state of the soul is the proper state for it dur-
ing its transient mortal life. We must be chari-
table because (we are told) only so can we
arrive at the soul’s goal, the right relation to
God. This fundamental isolation of the indi-
vidual soul with God seems clearly to reflect
what one supposes must be the state of mind
of the small baby for whom, at the dawn of
consciousness, there is only himself on the one
side and the collective world of adults, repre-
sented largely by his parents, on the other,
for whom the idea of others as individuals, as
beings like himself, does not yet exist.
This impression is increased when we con-
sider some accounts of what this right rela-
tionship between the soul and God is. Granted
that to achieve this is the object of right liv-
ing, just what relationship is it that we are to
try to achieve? The terms of the relation are
an omnipotent creator and his impotent crea-
ture, and between such terms the only rela-
tion possible is one of utter one-sided
dependence, in which the only attitude proper
to the creature must be one of adoration, a
blend of love and fear. Surely this is just how
the world must appear to the young child; for
MORALITY: RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR
he really zs impotent, wholly dependent on
beings whose ways he cannot understand,
beings sometimes loving, sometimes angry,
but always omnipotent, always capricious — in
short, gods. “As for Dr Wulicke himself per-
sonally, he had all the awful mystery, duplic-
ity, obstinacy, and jealousy of the Old
Testament God. He was as frightful in his
smiles as in his anger.”
Consider in this connection the ideas of
original sin and grace. Every son of Adam is,
of his own nature, utterly corrupt, redeem-
able only by divine grace. Once more, the
conditions in which the child learns morality
provide an obvious source for this remarkable
conception. Parents are not only omniscient
and omnipotent; they are also necessarily and
always morally in the right. This must be so,
since they are, as the child sees it, the authors
of the moral law. Morality, the idea of some-
thing being right or wrong, enters the hori-
zon of the child only at those points at which
he has, so to speak, a dispute with authority,
only on those occasions on which he is told
or made to do something that he does not
spontaneously want to do. From these
premises that, at the time when the meanings
of “right” and “wrong” are being learnt, the
child must disagree with its parents and that
they must be right he naturally passes to the
conclusion that he must always be wrong. To
have the sense of actual sin is to have the sense
that one has, on this occasion, done wrong;
to have the sense of original sin is simply to
feel that one must be always and inevitably
wrong. This sense ofsin has often been delib-
erately and cruelly fostered; John Bunyan is
not the only man to have left on record the
agony of his childhood; but the point I wish
to make is that the infantile counterpart of
the sense of sin is a necessity at a certain stage
of moral development, the stage at which
moral words are being learnt and moral rules
accepted as necessarily what parents say they
are.
On the other side of the picture there is the
doctrine of grace. Each individual soul is
either saved or damned; but its fate, at least
409
PATRICK NOWELL-SMITH
according to some versions, is wholly out of
its own control. In these extreme versions,
grace is absolutely necessary and wholly suffi-
cient for salvation; and grace is the free gift of
God. As far as the creature is concerned, there
is absolutely nothing that he can do or even
try to do either to merit or to obtain it. From
his point of view the giving or withholding of
the means of salvation must be wholly capri-
cious.
Once more, this is how parental discipline
must seem to the child who cannot yet un-
derstand its aims and motives. Consider, for
example, how even the most careful and con-
sistent parents react towards what they call the
clumsiness of a child. He knocks things over;
he fumbles with his buttons. Though most
parents do not think of themselves as punish-
ing a child for such things, their behavior is,
from the child’s point of view, indistinguish-
able from punishment. They display more ir-
ritation when the child knocks over a valuable
vase than when he knocks over a cheap cup,
when the button-fumbling happens to occur
at a moment when they are in a hurry than
when it does not. Ifa father takes from a small
child something that is dangerous to play with
or stops him hurting himself by a movement
necessarily rough, that to the child is indistin-
guishable from punishment; it is a thwarting
of his inclination for no reason that he can
see. Children often say things that they know
to be untrue; sometimes they are reprimanded
for lying, sometimes complimented on their
imagination. How can the child know under
which heading, the good or the bad, a piece
of invention will come, except by observing
whether it is punished or rewarded? The child,
by this time, is beginning to make efforts to
try to please his parents, to do what, in his
childish mind, he thinks right. The parents,
not being expert child psychologists, will of-
ten fail to notice this; more often they will
disregard it. To the child, therefore, there is
little correlation between his own intentions
and the reactions he evokes from the adult
world. Salvation in the form of parental smiles
and damnation in the form ofparental frowns
410
will come to him, like grace, in a manner that
both seems and is wholly unconnected with
any inwardly felt guilt. The mystery of God’s
ways to Man is the mystery of a father’s ways
to his children.
This characterization of religious morality
as essentially infantile may seem to be unnec-
essary; for do not Christians themselves liken
their relationship to God as that of child to
father? In so doing they do not seem to me
always to realize how incompatible this father
— child relationship is with the Greek concep-
tion of the good life which they recognize as
one of the sources of their moral doctrine.
Aristotle says that children, like animals, have
no share in the good life (a remark which al-
ways sounds so odd when people translate it
as “children have no share in happiness”), and
the reason he gives is that children do not act.
This is a deep furrow to begin to plough at
this stage — what is meant by “action”; but
briefly it is motion that is self-initiated and
responsible. The prime difference between the
adult and the child is that the adult has free-
dom to choose for himself and has, what goes
with freedom, responsibility for his actions.
In the life ofa child there is always, in the last
resort, the parent or some substitute for a par-
ent to turn to. The father is responsible at law
for the actions of his child; he will undo what
harm the child has done; he will put things
right, will save the child from the conse-
quences of his mistakes. To pass from child-
hood into adulthood is essentially to pass from
dependence into freedom, and the price we
pay is responsibility. As adults we make our
own choices and must accept their conse-
quences; the shield that in our childish petu-
lance we once thought so irksome is no longer
there to protect us. To many of us this is a
matter of life-long regret, and we search end-
lessly for a father substitute. Surely “they” will
get us out of the mess; there ought to be a
law; why doesn’t somebody. These, in this
godless age, are the common secular substi-
tutes; religion, when it is not a patent sub-
stitute, is only a more profound, a more
insinuating one.

(4) The postulation of a god as the author of
the moral law solves no more problems in eth-
ics than the postulation ofa god as first cause
solves problems in metaphysics. Nor need we
base morality, as I have done, on the meta-
physical conception of Man as a rational, so-
cial animal, though we shall do so if we care to
maintain the link with the old meaning of the
word “humanist.” To me, as a philosopher,
some systematic view of the whole of my expe-
rience, some metaphysic, is essential, and this
conception of the nature of Man makes more
sense of my experience than any other I know.
But I certainly should not argue that because
the species Man has such and such a nature,
therefore each and every man ought to act in
such and such ways. In trying to sketch a hu-
manist morality I shall start simply with the idea
that a morality is a set of habits of choice ulti-
mately determined by the question “What life
is most satisfactory to me as a whole?” and I
start with this because I simply do not under-
stand the suggestion that I ought to do any-
thing that does not fit into this conception.
Outside this context the word “ought” has for
me no meaning; and here at least I should ex-
pect Christians to agree with me.
If we start in this way, inquiries into my
own nature and into the nature of Man at once
become relevant. For my nature is such that
there are some things that are impossible for
me to do. Some hopes must be illusory, and
nothing but frustration could come ofindulg-
ing them. I could not, for example, become
an operatic tenor or a test cricketer. Inquiries
into the nature of Man are relevant in two
ways; first, because I have to live as a man
among men, secondly, because all men are to
some degree alike and some of my limitations
are common to us all. None of us can fly or
witness past events. It is only in so far as men
are alike that we can even begin to lay down
rules as to how they should (all) behave; for it
is only in so far as they are alike that they will
find satisfaction and frustration in the same
things. Prominent among the similarities
among men are the animal appetites, the de-
sire for the love and companionship of their
MORALITY: RELIGIOUS AND SECULAR
own species, and the ability to think; and it is
these three similarities that make us all “moral”
beings. Morality consists largely, if not quite
wholly, in the attempt to realize these com-
mon elements in our nature in a coherent way,
and we have found that this cannot be done
without adopting moral rules and codes of law.
Humanism does not imply the rejection ofall
moral rules, but it does imply the rejection of
a deontological attitude towards them. Even
Piaget’s older children could not have played
marbles without rules; but they treated them
as adaptable, as subservient to the purpose of
playing a game, which is what they wanted to
do. They treated the rules as a wise man treats
his motor car, not as an object of veneration
but as a convenience.
This, I suggest, is how we, as adults, should
regard moral rules. They are necessary, in the
first place, because one man’s aim in life often
conflicts with the aims of others and because
most of our aims involve the cooperation of
others, so that, even for purely selfish reasons,
we must conform to rules to which others also
conform. Most moral rules, from that prohib-
iting murder to that enjoining punctuality,
exist for this purpose. But morality is not
wholly an affair ofregulating our dealings with
others; each man has within himself desires of
many different kinds which cannot all be fully
satisfied; he must establish an order of priori-
ties. Here I think almost all moralists, from
Plato to D. H. Lawrence, have gone astray;
for they have overemphasized the extent to
which men are like each other and conse-
quently been led to embrace the illusory con-
cept of a “best life” that is the same for all of
us. Plato thought this was a life dominated by
the pursuit of knowledge, Lawrence one
dominated by the pursuit of sensual experi-
ence and animal activity. I do not happen to
enjoy lying naked on the grass; but I should
not wish to force my preference for intellec-
tual endeavor on anyone who did. Why should
we not, within the framework of uniformity
required for any life to be satisfactory to any-
one at all, seek satisfaction in our own differ-
ent ways? ...
411
ROBERT ADAMS
46 Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again*
Robert Adams
1 My Old Position
My modified divine command theory was pro-
posed as a partial analysis of the meaning of
“(ethically) wrong.” Recognizing that it
would be most implausible as an analysis of
the sense in which the expression is used by
many speakers (for instance, by atheists), I
proposed the theory only as an analysis of the
meaning of “wrong” in the discourse of some
Jewish and Christian believers. In the theory
that I now prefer, as we shall see, the identifi-
cation of wrongness with contrariety to God’s
commands is neither presented as a meaning
analysis nor relativized to a group of believ-
ers. According to the old theory, however, it
is part of the meaning of “(ethically) wrong”
for at least some believers that
(1) (for any action X) X is ethically wrong if
and only if X is contrary to God’s com-
mands,
but also that
(2) “Xis wrong” normally expresses oppo-
sition or certain other negative attitudes
toward X.
The meaning of “wrong” seems to be
overdetermined by (1) and (2). Conflicts
could arise. Suppose God commanded me to
practice cruelty for its own sake. (More pre-
cisely, suppose he commanded me to make it
my chief end in life to inflict suffering on other
human beings, for no other reason than that
* From The Journal of Religious Ethics, 7:1 (1979),
pp. 66-79. Reprinted with permission.
412
he commanded it.) I cannot summon up the
relevant sort of opposition or negative atti-
tude toward disobedience to such a command,
and I will not say that it would be wrong to
disobey it.
Such conflicts within the religious ethical
belief system are prevented by various back-
ground beliefs, which are presupposed by (1).
Particularly important is the belief that
(3) God is loving, and therefore does not
and will not command such things as
(e.g.) the practice of cruelty for its own
sake.
But (3) is contingent. It is allowed by the
theory to be logically possible for God to com-
mand cruelty for its own sake, although the
believer is confident he will not do such a
thing. Were the believer to come to think (3)
false, however, I suggested that his concept
of ethical wrongness would “break down.” It
would not function as it now does, because
he would not be prepared to use it to say that
any action is wrong (Adams, 1973: 100-102).
Because of the interplay and tension of the
various considerations involved in it, this pic-
ture of the meaning of “(ethically) wrong” is
(as I acknowledged) somewhat “untidy.” But
its untidiness should not obscure the fact that
I meant it quite definitely to follow from the
theory that the following are necessary truths:
(4) If Xis wrong, then X is contrary to the
commands of God.
(5) If Xis obligatory, then X is required by
the commands of God.
(6) IfXis ethically permitted, then X is per-
mitted by the commands of God.

(7) Ifthere is not a loving God, then noth-
ing is ethically wrong or obligatory or
permitted.
These four theses are still taken to be neces-
sary truths in my present divine command
theory.
4 The Nature of Wrongness
and the Meaning of “Wrong”
I do not think that every competent user of
“wrong” in its ethical sense must know what
the nature of wrongness is. The word is used
— with the same meaning, I would now say —
by people who have different views, or none
at all, about the nature of wrongness. As I
remarked in my earlier paper, “There is prob-
ably much less agreement about the most ba-
sic issues in moral theory than there is about
many ethical issues of less generality” (Adams,
1973: 118). That people can use an expres-
sion to signify an ethical property, knowing it
is a property they seek (or shun, as the case
may be), but not knowing what its nature is,
was realized by Plato when he characterized
the good as
That which every soul pursues, doing everything
for the sake ofit, divining that it is something,
but perplexed and unable to grasp adequately
what it is or to have such a stable beliefas about
other things. (Republic 505D-E)
What every competent user of “wrong”
must know about wrongness is, first of all, that
wrongness is a property of actions (perhaps
also of intentions and ofvarious attitudes, but
certainly of actions), and second, that people
are generally opposed to actions they regard
as wrong, and count wrongness as a reason
(often a conclusive reason) for opposing an
action. In addition I think the competent user
must have some opinions about what actions
have this property, and some fairly settled dis-
positions as to what he will count as reasons
DIVINE COMMAND METAETHICS MODIFIED AGAIN
for and against regarding an action as wrong.
There is an important measure of agreement
among competent users in these opinions and
dispositions — not complete agreement, nor
universal agreement on some points and disa-
greement on others, but overlapping agree-
ments of one person with another on some
points and with still others on other points.
“To call an action ‘wrong’ is, among other
things, to classify it with certain other actions,”
as having a common property, “and there is
considerable agreement . . . as to what actions
those are” (Adams, 1973: 119). Torturing
children for fun is one of them, in virtually
everyone’s opinion.
Analysis of the concept or understanding
with which the word “wrong” is used is not
sufficient to determine what wrongness is.
What it can tell us about the nature of wrong-
ness, I think, is that wrongness will be the
property of actions (if there is one) that best
fills the role assigned to wrongness by the
concept. My theory is that contrariety to the
commands of a loving God is that property;
but we will come to that in section 5. Mean-
while I will try to say something about what
is involved in being the property that est fills
the relevant role, though I do not claim to be
giving an adequate set of individually neces-
sary and jointly sufficient conditions.
(1) We normally speak of actions being
right and wrong as of facts that obtain objec-
tively, independently of whether we think they
do. “Wrong” has the syntax of an ordinary
predicate, and we worry that we may be mis-
taken in our ethical judgments. This feature
of ethical concepts gives emotivism and
prescriptivism in metaethics much oftheir ini-
tial implausibility. If possible, therefore, the
property to be identified with ethical wrong-
ness should be one that actions have or lack
objectively.
(ii) The property that is wrongness should
belong to those types of action that are
thought to be wrong — or at least it should
belong to an important central group of them.
It would be unreasonable to expect a theory
of the nature of wrongness to yield results that
413
ROBERT ADAMS
agree perfectly with pretheoretical opinion.
One of the purposes a metaethical theory may
serve is to give guidance in revising one’s par-
ticular ethical opinions. But there is a limit to
how far those opinions may be revised with-
out changing the subject entirely, and we are
bound to take it as a major test of the accept-
ability of a theory of the nature of wrongness
that it should in some sense account for the
wrongness of a major portion of the types of
action we have believed to be wrong.
(iii) Wrongness should be a property that
not only belongs to the most important types
of action that are thought to be wrong, but °
also plays a casual role (or a role as object of
perception) in their coming to be regarded as
wrong. It should not be connected in a merely
fortuitous way with our classification of ac-
tions as wrong and not wrong.
(iv) Understanding the nature of wrong-
ness should give one more rather than less
reason to oppose wrong actions as such. Even
if it were discovered (as it surely will not be)
that there is a certain sensory pleasure pro-
duced by all and only wrong actions, it would
be absurd to say that wrongness is the prop-
erty of producing that pleasure. For the prop-
erty of producing such a pleasure, in itself,
gives us no reason whatever to oppose an ac-
tion that has the property.
(v) The best theory about the nature of
wrongness should satisfy other intuitions
about wrongness as far as possible. One intui-
tion that is rather widely held and is relevant
to theological metaethics is that rightness and
wrongness are determined by a law or stand-
ard that has a sanctity that is greater than that
of any merely human will or institution.
We are left, on this view, with a concept of
wrongness that has both objective and sub-
jective aspects. The best theory of the nature
of wrongness, I think, will be one that identi-
fies wrongness with some property that ac-
tions have or lack objectively. But we do not
have a fully objective procedure for determin-
ing which theory of the nature of wrongness
is the best, and therefore which property is
wrongness.
414
For example, the property that is wrong-
ness should belong to the most important
types of action that are believed to be wrong.
But the concept possessed by every compe-
tent user of “wrong” does not dictate exactly
which types of action those are. A sufficiently
eccentric classification of types of actions as
right or wrong would not fit the concept. But
there is still room for much difference of opin-
ion. In testing theories of the nature of wrong-
ness by their implications about what types of
action are wrong, I will be guided by my own
classification of types of action as right and
wrong, and by my own sense of which parts
of the classification are most important.
Similarly, in considering whether identify-
ing wrongness with a given property, P, makes
wrongness more or less of a reason for oppos-
ing an action, I will decide partly on the basis
of how P weighs with me. And in general I
think that this much is right about prescript-
ivist intuitions in metaethics: To identify a
property with ethical wrongness is in part to
assign it a certain complex role in my life (and,
for my part, in the life of society); in deciding
to do that I will (quite reasonably) be influ-
enced by what attracts and repels me person-
ally. But it does not follow that the theory I
should choose is not one that identifies wrong-
ness with a property that actions would have
or lack regardless of how I felt about them.
5 A New Divine Command
Theory
The account I have given of the concept of
wrongness that every competent user of
“wrong” must have is consistent with many
different theories about the nature of wrong-
ness — for example, with the view that wrong-
ness is the property of failing to maximize
human happiness, and with a Marxist theory
that wrongness is the property of being con-
trary to the objective interests of the pro-
gressive class or classes. But given typical
Christian beliefs about God, it seems to me
most plausible to identify wrongness with the

property of being contrary to the commands
of a loving God. (i) This is a property that
actions have or lack objectively, regardless of
whether we think they do. (I assume the
theory can be filled out with a satisfactory
account of what love consists in here.) (ii) The
property of being contrary to the commands
of a loving God is certainly believed by Chris-
tians to belong to all and only wrong actions.
(iii) It also plays a causal role in our classific-
ation of actions as wrong, in so far as God
has created our moral faculties to reflect his
commands. (iv) Because of what is believed
about God’s actions, purposes, character, and
power, he inspires such devotion and/or fear
that contrariness to his commands is seen as
a supremely weighty reason for opposing an
action. Indeed, (v) God’s commands constit-
ute a law or standard that seems to believers
to have a sanctity that is not possessed by any
merely human will or institution.
My new divine command theory of the
nature of ethical wrongness, then, is that ethi-
cal wrongness 7s (i.e. is identical with) the
property of being contrary to the commands
of a loving God. I regard this as a metaphysi-
cally necessary, but not an analytic or a priori
truth. Because it is not a conceptual analysis,
this claim is not relative to a religious
subcommunity of the larger linguistic com-
munity. It purports to be the correct theory
of the nature of the ethical wrongness that
everybody (or almost everybody) is talking
about.
Further explanation is in order, first about
the notion of a divine command, and second
about the ecessity that is claimed here. On
the first point I can only indicate here the char-
acter of the explanation that is needed, for it
amounts to nothing less than a theory of rev-
elation. Theists sometimes speak of wrong
action as action contrary to the “will” of God,
but that way of speaking ignores some im-
portant distinctions. One is the distinction
between the absolute will of God (his “good
pleasure”) and his revealed will. Any Chris-
tian theology will grant that God in his good
pleasure sometimes decides, for reasons that
DIVINE COMMAND METAETHICS MODIFIED AGAIN
may be mysterious to us, not to do everything
he could to prevent a wrong action. Accord-
ing to some theologies nothing at all can hap-
pen contrary to God’s good pleasure. It is
difficult, therefore, to suppose that all wrong
actions are unqualifiedly contrary to God’s will
in the sense of his good pleasure. It is God’s
revealed will — not what he wants or plans to
have happen, but what he has told us to do —
that is thought to determine the rightness and
wrongness of human actions. Roman Catho-
lic theology has made a further distinction,
within God’s revealed will, between his com-
mands, which it would be wrong not to fol-
low, and “counsels (of perfection),” which
it would be better to follow but not wrong
not to follow. It is best, therefore, in our meta-
ethical theory, to say that wrongness is con-
trariety to God’s commands, and commands
must have been issued, promulgated, or some-
how revealed.
The notion ofthe issuance of a divine com-
mand requires a theory of revelation for its
adequate development. The first such theory
that comes to mind may be a biblical literal-
ism that takes divine commands to be just what
is written in the Bible as commanded by God.
But there will also be Roman Catholic theo-
ries involving the magisterium of the Church,
a Quaker theory about “the inner light,” theo-
ries about “general revelation” through the
moral feelings and intuitions of unbelievers as
well as believers, and other theories as well.
To develop these theories and choose among
them is far too large a task for the present es-
say.
The thesis that wrongness is (identical with)
contrariety to a loving God’s commands must
be metaphysically necessary if it is true. That is,
it cannot be false in any possible world ifit is
true in the actual world. For if it were false in
some possible world, then wrongness would
be nonidentical with contrariety to God’s
commands in the actual world as well, by the
transitivity of identity, just as Matthew and
Levi must be nonidentical in all worlds if they
are nonidentical in any.
This argument establishes the metaphysi-
415
ROBERT ADAMS
cal necessity of property identities in general;
and that leads me to identify wrongness with
contrariety to the commands ofa loving God,
rather than simply with contrariety to the com-
mands of God. Most theists believe that both
of those properties are in fact possessed by all
and only wrong actions. But if wrongness is
simply contrariety to the commands of God,
it is necessarily so, which implies that it would
be wrong to disobey God even if he were so
unloving as to command the practice of cru-
elty for its own sake. That consequence is
unacceptable. I am not prepared to adopt the
negative attitude toward possible disobedience
in that situation that would be involved in
identifying wrongness simply with contrari-
ety to God’s commands. The loving charac-
ter of the God who issues them seems to me
therefore to be a metaethically relevant fea-
ture of divine commands. (I assume that in
deciding what property is wrongness, and
therefore would be wrongness in all possible
worlds, we are to rely on our own actual moral
feelings and convictions, rather than on those
that we or others would have in other possi-
ble worlds.)
If it is necessary that ethical wrongness is
contrariety to a loving God’s commands, it
follows that no actions would be ethically
wrong if there were not a loving God. This
consequence will seem (at least initially) im-
plausible to many, but I will try to dispel as
much as I can of the air of paradox. It should
be emphasized, first ofall, that my theory does
not imply what would ordinarily be meant by
saying that no actions are ethically wrong if
there zs no loving God. If there is no loving
God, then the theological part of my theory
is false; but the more general part presented
in section 4 implies that in that case ethical
416
wrongness is the property with which it is iden-
tified by the best remaining alternative theory.
Similarly, if there is in fact a loving God,
and if ethical wrongness is the property of
being contrary to the commands of a loving
God, there is still, I suppose, a possible world,
w,, in which there would not be a loving God
but there would be people to whom w, would
seem much as the actual world seems to us,
and who would use the word “wrong” much
as we use it. We may say that they would as-
sociate it with the same concept as we do, al-
though the property it would signify in their
mouths is not wrongness. The actions they
call “wrong” would not be wrong; that is, they
would not have the property that actually is
wrongness (the property of being contrary to
the commands of a loving God). But that is
not to say that they would be mistaken when-
ever they predicted “is wrong” of an action.
For “wrong” in their speech would signify the
property (if any) that is assigned to it by the
metaethical theory that would be the best in
relation to an accurate knowledge of their situ-
ation in w,. We can even say that they would
believe, as we do, that cruelty is wrong, if by
that we mean, not that the property they
would ascribe to cruelty by calling it “wrong”
is the same as the property that we so ascribe,
but that the subjective psychological state that
they would express by the ascription is that
same that we express... .
Reference
Adams, Robert Merrihew, “A Modified Divine
Command Theory of Ethical Wrongness,” in
Religion and Morality, ed. Gene Outka and
John P. Reeder, Jr. (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor,
1973), pp. 318-47.

47 Abraham, Isaac, and Euthyphro: God and the Basis
of Morality*
Norman Kretzmann
Hamartia in its New Testament sense of
moral fault retains the flavor of its older sense
of missing the mark. And if we ask against that
biblical background, “who sets up the moral
mark that hamartia is the missing of?” the
question answers itself. My main concern in
this paper grows naturally out of that ques-
tion and its obvious answer, for I want to con-
sider just what is involved in God’s establishing
of moral principles. Every reply to this ques-
tion is at least the beginning of a theory of
religious morality, and at least three such theo-
ries will be examined in this paper.
The relationship I want to explore between
God and morality is especially well-endowed
with concrete examples in the world’s great
literature, and the story of Abraham and Isaac
is surely the most familiar of them. But be-
cause I will want to refer to one or two ofits
details, I will refresh the reader’s memory by
presenting the whole story here:
The time came when God put Abraham to the
test. “Abraham,” he called, and Abraham re-
plied, “Here I am.” God said, “Take your son
Isaac, your only son, whom you love, and go to
the land of Moriah. There you shall offer him as
a sacrifice on one of the hills which I will show
you.” So Abraham rose early in the morning
and saddled his ass, and he took with him two
of his men and his son Isaac; and he split the
firewood for the sacrifice, and set out for the
* From Hamartia: The Concept of Error in the West-
ern Tradition. Essays in Honor ofJohn M. Crossett, ed.
Donald V. Stump, James A. Arieti, Lloyd Gerson, and
Eleonore Stump (New York: Edwin Mellen Press,
1983), pp. 27-40, 41-50. Reprinted with permission.
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
place of which God had spoken. On the third
day Abraham looked up and saw the place in
the distance. He said to his men, “Stay here with
the ass while I and the boy go over there; and
when we have worshipped we will come back
to you.” So Abraham took the wood for the
sacrifice and laid it on his son Isaac’s shoulder;
he himself carried the fire and the knife, and the
two of them went on together. Isaac said to
Abraham, “Father,” and he answered, “What is
it, my son?” Isaac said, “Here are the fire and
the wood, but where is the young beast for the
sacrifice?” Abraham answered, “God will pro-
vide himself with a young beast for a sacrifice,
my son.” And the two of them went on together
and came to the place of which God had spo-
ken. There Abraham built an altar and arranged
the wood. He bound his son Isaac and laid him
on the altar on top of the wood. Then he
stretched out his hand and took the knife to kill
his son; but the angel of the Lord called to him
from heaven, “Abraham, Abraham.” He an-
swered, “Here I am.” The Angel of the Lord
said, “Do not raise your hand against the boy;
do not touch him. Now I know that you are a
God-fearing man. You have not withheld from
me your son, your only son.” Abraham looked
up, and there he saw a ram caught by its horns
in a thicket. So he went and took the ram and
offered it as a sacrifice instead of his son.
Abraham named that place Jehovah-jireh [that
is, the Lord will provide]."
It is clear that Abraham loved his son — not
only from God’s reference to Isaac as “your
only son, whom you love,” but also, I think,
from Abraham’s answer to Isaac’s question,
an answer that seems intended to shield Isaac
as long as possible. But it is equally clear that
Abraham was prepared to carry out God’s
command: “he stretched out his hand and
417
NORMAN KRETZMANN
took the knife to kill his son.” How are those
two facts to be reconciled? I want to consider
just three answers that might be drawn from
the story. One of them fits the story best, but
neither of the others is wildly implausible at
first glance.
The first of these answers is that Abraham
was prepared to kill his only son, whom he
loved, because he was afraid of what God
would do to him if he disobeyed or hopeful
of some reward for his obedience. And in fact
the story goes on to tell that Abraham was
rewarded, gloriously. There are good philo-
sophical reasons to deny that even God could
know ahead of time what Abraham would
freely decide to do, and it should be noted
that in the story God says, “ Now I know... .””
But there is no reason to suppose that God
would not know what Abraham was thinking
simultaneously with Abraham’s thinking it.
And so if this first answer is to be taken seri-
ously, God is showering Abraham with incom-
parable blessings for obeying him while
thinking along these lines: “I know that what
I’m about to do is horrible, but who knows
what awful thing might happen to me if I don’t
do it, or what marvelous things God might
do for me if Igo through with it?” God need
not even be particularly good to be repelled
by such a character, and it is strictly incredible
that Abraham should be singled out for such
a blessing on the basis of obedience rendered
in such a spirit. Behavior of the sort attrib-
uted to Abraham in this first answer is pru-
dent, and there are of course many
circumstances in which prudent behavior is
just what’s wanted. But prudent behavior is
not to be confused with moral behavior, and
when a moral issue as stark as the one in this
story is overridden by considerations of pru-
dence, prudent behavior is immoral behavior.
It seems clear to me, then, that the very fact
that the story ends with God’s rewarding
Abraham as he does is powerful evidence
against taking this first answer seriously. And,
anyway, since obeying commands, even divine
commands, out of fear of punishment or hope
of reward cannot count as moral behavior, the
418
first answer would make the story of Abraham
and Isaac irrelevant to our investigation of the
relationship between God and morality.
A second initially plausible answer to the
question why Abraham was prepared to kill
his beloved son at God’s command is that he
believed that the horrible act had been made
morally right simply by the fact that God had
commanded it. This answer is relevant to our
purposes as the first one is not, and I will have
a good deal more to say about it and about
the theory of religious morality it represents.
It is also harder to reject as an interpretation
of the story; there is, for instance, nothing in
the fact that God blesses Abraham that is ob-
viously at variance with this answer. It will be
easiér to say what I think is wrong with this
answer in the light ofa consideration ofa third
answer, which I think is the right one.
The third answer is that Abraham was pre-
pared to kill Isaac because, throughout his
ordeal, Abraham firmly held all four of these
beliefs: God has commanded me to kill my
son; God is good and altogether worthy of
my obedience; for me to kill my son, even asa
sacrifice to God, would be horribly wrong;
God is good and will not allow me to do some-
thing horribly wrong in obedience to his com-
mands. Those four beliefs certainly strain
against one another, but they are not incom-
patible. Abraham could hold them all with-
out being inconsistent, and if he did hold them
all, his trust in God was unconditional. That
it was indeed unconditional can be seen in the
line “he stretched out his hand and took the
knife to kill his son.” Obviously Abraham’s
state of mind was not that of an ordinary de-
cent God-fearing father, who on finding him-
self in such harrowing circumstances might
think “Surely God won’t let me actually do
this horrible thing; so V’ll go along with his
command, at least until the last minute. But
if there’s no divine reprieve by then, I’Il know
God wasn’t good after all, and T’ll save Isaac
myself.” A conditional trust of that sort would
have been sensible as well as decent, but it
would have fallen far short of the religious
heroism with which Abraham was credited by

St Paul and St James.* So if Abraham trusted
God’s goodness, he trusted unconditionally:
he took the knife to kill his son, not merely to
raise his arm as if to kill his son. But where is
the evidence that he did, in fact, trust God to
save Isaac (and thereby to save Isaac’s father
from wrongdoing)? When it was all over,
Abraham named the hilltop with a name that
means “the Lord will provide”; I think that
that name was intended to blazon out in tri-
umph what he had been steadfastly, silently
saying to himself for three whole days: “The
Lord will provide.” And for further evidence
of his trust in God’s goodness, look again at
the exchange between the boy and his father:
Isaac said to Abraham, “Father,” and he an-
swered, “What is it, my son?” Isaac said, “Here
are the fire and the wood, but where is the young
beast for the sacrifice?” Abraham answered,
“God will provide himself with a young beast
for a sacrifice, my son.”
The writer of the story leaves it to us to un-
derstand the emotions in this scene, and surely
all of us can do so. But when this scene is
viewed against the background of the second
answer, according to which Abraham thinks
that he will in fact be sacrificing his son quite
soon, the father’s reply is not only intended
to shield the boy for a few more minutes, it is
also a little joke — a joke the point of which
will be the last thing Isaac ever sees. Cruel
irony at the boy’s expense is incompatible with
Abraham’s love for him, however, and so
Abraham’s reply must be no joke but rather
the straightforward expression of his trust.
Only the third answer provides an interpreta-
tion that fits the story, one that also provides
a basis for Paul’s assessment of Abraham as
“the father of all who have faith.” More im-
portant for my purposes is the fact that this
third answer provides us with an instance of a
second theory of religious morality — the view
that Gods goodness (together with his know-
ledge) entatls that the actions he approves of are
morally right and the actions he disapproves of
are morally wrong.
Before these competing theories (encoun-
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
tered in the second and third interpretations
of the story) can be evaluated, they need to
be more fully presented and more clearly dis-
tinguished. Happily, the classic clarification
and differentiation of views like these takes
place in the setting of another good story, the
one told in Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro.
Socrates meets Euthyphro outside one of
the Athenian courts of law and learns that
Euthyphro is there to prosecute his own
father on a charge of murder. Socrates is
shocked: “most men,” he says, “would not
know how they could do this and be right.”*
And so he supposes that the explanation
for Euthyphro’s otherwise bizarre behavior
must lie in the fact that the victim, too, was a
member of Euthyphro’s family. Here is
Euthyphro’s reply:
It is ridiculous, Socrates, for you to think that it
makes any difference whether the victim is a
stranger or a relative. One should only watch
whether the killer acted justly or not; if he acted
justly, let him go, but if not, one should pros-
ecute, even if the killer shares your hearth and
table. The pollution is the same if you know-
ingly keep company with such a man and do
not cleanse yourself and him by bringing him
to justice. The victim was a dependent of mine,
and when we were farming in Naxos he was a
servant of ours. He killed one of our household
slaves in drunken anger, so my father bound him
hand and foot and threw him in a ditch, then
sent a man here to enquire from the priest what
should be done. During that time he gave no
thought or care to the bound man, as being a
killer, and it was no matter if he died, which he
did. Hunger and cold and his bonds caused his
death before the messenger came back from the
seer. Both my father and my other relatives are
angry that Iam prosecuting my father for mur-
der on behalf of amurderer, as he did not even
kill him. They say that such a victim does not
deserve a thought and that it is impious for a
son to prosecute his father for murder. But their
ideas of the divine attitude to piety and impiety
are wrong, Socrates. (58—-E)
Without suggesting that I know anything
about Athenian law or even much about law
419
NORMAN KRETZMANN
generally, I think Euthyphro’s charge of mur-
der would be dismissed, and I think
Euthyphro thought so, too. What matters to
Euthyphro is not that his father should be
convicted, or even that he should be tried;
what matters is that Euthyphro should, by
bringing the case to the judges, publicly ac-
knowledge that an injustice has been perpe-
trated by his father (and that much is obviously
true). And although he is indignant that Soc-
rates should think that the relationship of the
victim to Euthyphro might motivate his pros-
ecuting his father, the perpetrator’s relation-
ship to Euthyphro clearly does motivate him.
He says that if the killer acts unjustly “one
should prosecute, even if the killer shares your
hearth and table,” but he has no doubt fallen
into the habit of putting it that way because
of the flaming row he’s having with his fam-
ily, who plainly cling to the ancient Greek prin-
ciple of filial piety. The way Euthyphro the
moral innovator sees it, one should prosecute
especially if the killer shares one’s hearth and
table; for what worries Euthyphro most is not
the violation of the criminal code or even the
injustice, but “the pollution” to which you are
subjected “if you knowingly keep company with
such a man and do not cleanse yourself and
him dy bringing him to justice.” What drives
Euthyphro, then, is the ideal of moral or spir-
itual purity, and he undertakes the legal case
against his father in the service of that ideal
and with a care for his father’s purification as
well as his own. Poor Euthyphro! People who
have heard what he’s up to think he’s crazy,
as he himself reports to Socrates (4A), but it
is the attitude of his own father and family
that is especially hard to bear. “They say ...
that it is zmpious for a son to prosecute his
father for murder,” thereby revealing that they
have completely missed the special, even radi-
cal, filial piety underlying Euthyphro’s admit-
tedly bizarre behavior as well as failing utterly
to understand the nature of religious piety:
“But their ideas of the divine attitude toward
piety and impiety are wrong, Socrates.”
Socrates picks up the implication: “Whereas
... you think that your knowledge of the di-
420
vine, and of piety and impiety, is so accurate
that... you have vo fear of having acted im-
piously in bringing your father to trial?” (5E)
And Euthyphro responds in the expected way,
in the way that invites a Socratic examination:
“I should be of no use, Socrates, and
Euthyphro would not be superior to the ma-
jority of men, ifIdid not have accurate knowl-
edge of all such things” (4E-5A). “Tell me
then,” says Socrates, “what zsthe pious... ?”
(SD)
Like most of Socrates’ interlocutors in simi-
lar circumstances, Euthyphro finds it very hard
to say what he thought he knew perfectly well,
and he makes a couple of false starts along the
way to expressing his view in a definition that
Socrates takes to be worth examining as at least
the beginning of a theory of piety. But
throughout Euthyphro’s trial by dialectic all
his attempts to say what he thought he knew
stay close to the idea already suggested in his
repudiation of his family’s attitude: the knowl-
edge of what is pious and what is impious rests
on a knowledge of “the divine attitude.” Thus,
his third answer, the one that receives Socra-
tes’ most detailed philosophical analysis, is that
“the pious is what all the gods love” (9E) —
an answer which might as well be expressed
monotheistically, for purposes of the discus-
sion in the dialogue as well as for our pur-
poses: Piety 1s what God approves of.
Piety is one of the virtues regularly recog-
nized by Socrates and the people with whom
he talks, the others being justice, wisdom, cour-
age, and moderation (or temperance). And
since piety is the virtue specifically appropriate
to a human being’s relationship to God, it is
neither surprising nor illuminating to be told
that piety is what God approves of. But Socra-
tes draws a distinction regarding this defini-
tion which 7s illuminating, as well as perfectly
general in its applicability to definitions of that
sort. Socrates introduces his distinction in the
form of a question (10A), which I can para-
phrase in this way: Does God approve of what is
pious because it 1s pious, or is it pious because
God approves of it? The eftect of that question
on Euthyphro’s definition of piety is marvelous

to see (as long as you happen not to be
Euthyphro), but we are not going to look at it
now. The drama of the stories, even the dia-
lectical drama of the dialogue, must now be
left behind so that we can get down to work.
I can make Socrates’ distinction more di-
rectly relevant to our consideration of God’s
role in the basis of morality by applying it to
Euthyphro’s answer generalized from a sin-
gle virtue to morality in general: Moral gooa-
ness 1s what God approves of. I will call this claim
the general thesis of religious morality. It is
taken for granted in the stories of Abraham
and his son and of Euthyphro and his father:
in both stories God approves or disapproves
of certain human actions, and human beings
have ways of knowing which ones he approves
of and which ones he disapproves of. And we
are, of course, not talking about just those
two stories; the general thesis of religious
morality has been incorporated into the doc-
trine of most — perhaps all — of the world’s
theistic religions. I want to apply Socrates’
distinction to the general thesis in order to
extract clarified versions of the two theories
of religious morality we have encountered in
our discussion of the story of Abraham. (They
are present also in Plato’s dialogue, but not
noticeably in Euthyphro’s story, the only part
of the dialogue presented in detail here.) It
will be convenient to work with a fuller ver-
sion of the general thesis applied to actions
alone: Right actions are all and only those God
approves of, and wrong actions are all and only
those God disapproves of: Applying Socrates’
distinction to that general thesis of religious
morality, we can extract from it two theories
of religious morality. For either
(TO) God approves of right actions just
because they are right and disapproves
of wrong actions just because they are
wrong; or
(TS) Right actions are right just because
God approves of them and wrong
actions are wrong just because God
disapproves of them.
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
I call these two theories theological objectiv-
ism (TO) and theological subjectivism (TS),
for reasons that will emerge if they are not
already obvious.
We have seen an instance of (TS) in the sec-
ond possible explanation we considered of the
fact that Abraham was prepared to kill Isaac,
whom he loved: Abraham might have believed
that the horrible deed was made morally right
just because God commanded it. And if this
Abraham was a thoroughgoing adherent of
(TS), he would have believed three days later
that that same deed was then made morally
wrong just because then, at the last possible
moment, God prohibited it. For reasons I have
already given, I think that taking Abraham to
have been an adherent of (TS) doesn’t fit the
story. But to reject (TS) as an interpretation
of Abraham’s state of mind is not (yet) to re-
ject (TS) as a theory of religious morality, and
so I want now to consider the theory itself.
There are good philosophical reasons for
rejecting (TS) as a basis for morality, two of
which I will be mentioning shortly. But it
would be a shame to permit (TS) to perish
peacefully of refutation alone when it richly
deserves execration. For taking (TS) seriously
means taking seriously the possibility that ab-
solutely any action could be made morally
right simply in virtue of God’s commanding
or approving ofit. Ifa father’s killing his in-
nocent son, whom he loves, is not an exam-
ple horrible enough for you, you may be left
to your darkest imaginings. But do not sup-
pose that the adherent of (TS) can extricate
himself from this terminal embarrassment with
the pious rejoinder that God is good and so
can be relied on not to approve of moral evil.
The only standard of moral goodness supplied
by (TS) is God’s approval; and so to say within
the context of (TS) that God is good comes
to nothing more than that God approves of
himself — which is easy to grant but impossi-
ble to derive any reassurance from.
The execration (TS) deserves was never
more forcefully delivered than by John Stuart
Mill, who, happily for philosophical polemic
and English prose but unhappily for Mr
42]
NORMAN KRETZMANN
Mansel, encountered in that Mr Mansel an
adherent of a version of (TS). Here is part of
what Mill has to say about Mr Mansel and his
theory of religious morality:
If in ascribing goodness to God I do not mean
what I mean by goodness; if Ido not mean the
goodness of which I have some knowledge, but
an incomprehensible attribute of an incompre-
hensible substance, which for aught I know may
be a totally different quality from that which I
love and venerate — and even must, if Mr Mansel
is to be believed, be in some important particu-
lars opposed to this — what do I mean by calling _
it goodness? and what reason have I for vener-
ating it? If Iknow nothing about what the at-
tribute is, I cannot tell that it is a proper object
of veneration. To say that God’s goodness may
be different in kind from man’s goodness, what
is it but saying, with a slight change of phrase-
ology, that God may possibly not be good? To
assert in words what we do not think in mean-
ing, is as suitable a definition as can be given of
a moral falsehood. Besides, suppose that cer-
tain unknown attributes are ascribed to the Deity
in a religion the external evidences of which are
so conclusive to my mind as effectually to con-
vince me that it comes from God. Unless I be-
lieve God to possess the same moral attributes
which I find, in however inferior a degree, in a
good man, what ground of assurance have I of
God’s veracity? All trust in a Revelation presup-
poses a conviction that God’s attributes are the
same, in all but degree, with the best human
attributes. If, instead of the “glad tidings” that
there exists a Being in whom all the excellences
which the highest human mind can conceive,
exist in a degree inconceivable to us, I am in-
formed that the world is ruled by a being whose
attributes are infinite, but what they are we can-
not learn, nor what are the principles of his gov-
ernment, except that “the highest human
morality which we are capable of conceiving”
does not sanction them; convince me ofit, and
I will bear my fate as Imay. But when I am told
that I must believe this, and at the same time
call this being by the names which express and
affirm the highest human morality, I say in plain
terms that I will not. Whatever power such a
being may have over me, there is one thing
which he shall not do: he shall not compel me
to worship him. I will call no being good, who
422
is not what I mean when I apply that epithet to
my fellow-creatures; and if such a being can sen-
tence me to hell for not so calling him, to hell I
will go.*
There is good argumentation in this passage
along with the denunciation, but Mill’s vehe-
mence in the second half of it strikes me as
altogether warranted. Although he was not a
theist himself, the passionate tones of his con-
demnation of (TS) ought to resonate in the
heart of every self-respecting theist. Submit-
ting to the moral authority of God as envis-
aged in (TS) would be inadequately ridiculed
as a case of buying a pig in a poke, for it
amounts to selling yourself to a pig in a poke.
It is not only for the damage it does to the
concept of God that (TS) is to be rejected,
but also for its destruction of the basis of
morality. For present purposes I will have to
content myself with simply mentioning two
of the more important, more obvious failings
of (TS) as a putative basis for morality. In the
first place, and most importantly, morality rests
on objectivity. Part of what that means is that
if an individual action is really right at some
time or other, then it always was and will be
right. But (TS) does not preserve objectivity,
as can be seen from the (TS)-interpretation
of the Abraham story. In my view, this con-
sideration alone is enough to disqualify (TS)
as a theory of religious morality. In the sec-
ond place, if (TS) is conjoined with a doc-
trine of divine rewards and punishments, as
theories of religious morality usually are, it will
be difficult or impossible to distinguish mo-
rality from prudence in the context of (TS). If
God’s command is all that makes the action
right and I believe that God will punish me
for disobedience, how can I convince myself
that I perform the action because it is right
rather than simply out of fear?
By this point (TS) should look disintegrated
in disgrace, and the keenness of the reader’s
anticipation of (TO) must be almost painful;
so I will delay the consideration of (TO) no
longer than it takes to announce that, incred-
ible as it seems, (TS) will rise again.

(TO) the theory which did seem to fit the
story of Abraham, obviously has the strengths
corresponding to the shortcomings of (TS):
(TO) does provide the objectivity necessary
for morality, and it does preserve the possibil-
ity of drawing a clear distinction between
morality and prudence. Furthermore, in Mill’s
attack on Mr Mansel’s version of (TS), the
theory of religious morality that is clearly (if
implicitly) advocated by Mill is (TO). Accord-
ing to (TO), God disapproves of treachery just
because it is really wrong to betray someone
who trusts you. According to (TS), on the
other hand, fit is wrong to betray someone
who trusts you, it is so only because and only
as long as God disapproves of treachery; and
if we should learn tomorrow that it is approved
of by God, then tomorrow it will have be-
come rightto betray someone who trusts you.
And so it looks as if every self-respecting the-
ist should, with a clear mind and an easy heart,
repudiate (TS) and embrace (TO) with the
sense that a danger to religious morality has
been averted and a firm foundation for it has
been secured.
But now consider (TS) and (TO) in the
light of our main question: What does God
have to do with morality? These two theories
offer two radically different answers to that
question, and those answers are “Nothing es-
sential” and “Absolutely everything.” But
“Absolutely everything” is the answer pro-
vided by the just-repudiated (TS), and “Noth-
ing essential” is the answer entailed by (TO),
which has been looking like the theory that
would explain how morality could be based
on religion.
Think of the story of Moses and the Ten
Commandments. Moses is often called the
law-giver, but since the story has him receiv-
ing the Commandments from God, that epi-
thet is misleading; Moses was only the
law- transmitter. God is the one who is prop-
erly described as the law-giver. But is he? Ac-
cording to (TS) he is, but according to (TO)
God himself is really only a law-transmitter.
For according to (TO) certain actions are re-
ally wrong and God knows which they are;
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
and so, when he tells Moses to tell the people
not to steal, he’s not legislating, he’s teach-
ing. Of course such teaching on the basis of
divinely expert authority may well have been
invaluable at an early stage in the moral de-
velopment of mankind, but if (TO) is right,
there is every reason to suppose that the ob-
jective truth about morality is there to be dis-
covered in more and more depth and detail
by human beings using their reason, without
the aid of further revelation. If (TO) is right,
God’s “giving” the Ten Commandments to
the people through Moses is just what it would
have been for God to have “given” them the
principles of arithmetic — not to disclose to
them his sovereign will, but to provide them
with a starter-kit for the discovery of great
truths. And so, if (TO) is right, the answer to
the question “What does God have to do with
morality?” is “Nothing essential.” Of course,
nothing essential need not be nothing at all.
The person who first taught you arithmetic
certainly has something to do with arithme-
tic, but nothing essential; there would be arith-
metic even if that person had never existed.
And, even more obviously, your first arithme-
tic teacher has something to do with your
knowing arithmetic but, again, nothing essen-
tial; you could have learned arithmetic from
someone else, and you could even have fig-
ured out quite a lot of it by yourself as you
grew older and discovered the need for it. And
so, if (TO) is right, it is just as absurd to con-
sider God to be even a part of the basis for
morality as it would be for you to expect to
find a discussion ofyour first arithmetic teacher
in a book entitled Foundations of Mathemat-
wes.
(TO), which made its entrance into this
discussion looking like the overwhelmingly
preferable theory of religious morality, turns
out to be not really a theory of religious mo-
rality at all, evidently cutting off any need
morality might have been thought to have for
a foundation in religion. And (TS), its only
rival on the scene, has already proved not to
be a theory of morality at all. At this stage of
our investigation reasonable people might be
423
NORMAN KRETZMANN
excused for thinking that, since the one theory
of religious morality gives God everything to
do with what turns out not to be morality,
while the other theory preserves the essence
of morality at the cost of giving God a walk-
on part that could easily be written out of the
play, religious morality has been shown to be,
at best, not worth any further serious thought.
But even such reasonable people ought to be
at least vaguely worried by the fact that the
concept of God, which I began by describing
as an essential ingredient in this discussion,
has so far been given no attention. Of course,
I have said quite a lot about God, but God as
I have been talking about him is God as he
appears in the stories we have been looking at
and in the bit of religious-cultural background
we all share. It is time now to consider the
concept of God....
That concept of God, the one in which I
am interested, is the concept of an absolutely
perfect being. Among the attributes included
in that concept are some that everyone has at
least heard of: omniscience, omnipotence, and
eternality, for instance. Perfect goodness is
another familiar attribute of an absolutely per-
fect being, and one that will obviously be im-
portant if the concept is to have an essential
role in a theory of religious morality. But the
attributes that will concern us to begin with
are less familiar and less obviously relevant to
our main topic, and the first of these is abso-
lute independence.
It is easy to see that nothing that could count
as absolutely perfect could be dependent on
anything else for anything. So anything abso-
lutely perfect is absolutely independent; and if
God is conceived of as an absolutely perfect
being, then God is conceived of as absolutely
independent. That line of thought, short and
simple as it is, has a devastating effect on the-
ists who might have been willing to accept
(TO) after all, abandoning the project ofa re-
ligious morality and settling for a religion that
simply coexists with morality. For if God is an
absolutely perfect being, then (TO), with its
implication of moral principles on which God
depends for his knowledge of good and evil,
424
seems to be false. Even when (TO) was look-
ing its best, it was likely to have given theists
the uneasy feeling that it impugned God’s
majesty; but what corresponds to God’s maj-
esty in perfect-being theology is absolute in-
dependence, and absolute independence
cannot be merely impugned. Like everything
else about an absolutely perfect being, it’s all
or nothing. And so, on the basis of everything
we’ve seen so far, no theist who conceives of
God as an absolutely perfect being. . . can take
refuge in the apparent safety and sanity of (TO).
Perfect-being theology is incompatible with
(TO) as we have been reading it. It is not in-
compatible with (TS), but (TS) has been shown
to be so bad on other grounds that no self-
respecting theist can have recourse to it at this
stage of our investigation.
It may look as if the emerging conclusion is
that perfect-being theology is just incompat-
ible with morality altogether. .. . But there is
one more attribute I want to introduce, one
that I think will save the day. It is the hardest
of all the attributes to understand, and it is
called simplicity.
To say that an absolutely perfect being is
absolutely simple is to say that it is altogether
without components of any kind, and so sim-
plicity can be derived from independence. For
whatever has components is dependent on
those components for being what it is, and so
perfection entails independence, which entails
simplicity. As Anselm puts it, “everything com-
posite needs the things it is composed of in
order to exist. Moreover, what it is it owes to
them, since whatever tis it is in virtue of them,
while they are not what they are in virtue of 7¢.
And so [whatever is composite] is not com-
pletely supreme [or absolutely perfect]”
(Monologion, XV11). Obviously an absolutely
simple being cannot be a physical object, and
there are other interesting implications of sim-
plicity that are not hard to see. But the one
that concerns us now might easily be over-
looked in a first consideration of the concept
of absolute perfection; to see it is to see how
drastic a simplicity absolute simplicity has to
beat

To say that God is absolutely simple is not
merely to say that God cannot have any parts
in the ordinary sense; it is also to say that God
cannot be thought of as distinguishable from
any ofhis attributes. And if God and each of
his attributes are identical, then all of God’s
attributes are identical with one another. Be-
fore we can make use of this notion of sim-
plicity, we have to make sense ofit.
Attribution is, of course, ordinarily ex-
pressed in subject-predicate sentences, even
when the subject is God. So we would ordi-
narily attribute goodness and power to God
by saying “God is good” and “God is power-
ful.” According to this notion of simplicity,
however, such sentences are imprecise. If God
is conceived of as an absolutely perfect being
and thus as absolutely simple, then the pre-
cise versions of such sentences will be either
“God is identical with his goodness” and
“God is identical with his power” or, even
more simply, “God is identical with goodness”
and “God is identical with power.” Let’s say
that the first of these pairs of more precise
sentences presents cautious simplicity and the
second pair bold simplicity. Since it follows
from the cautious pair that God’s goodness is
identical with God’s power and from the bold
pair that goodness is identical with power, it
seems fair to say that absolute simplicity
presents us with a more or less dire identity
crisis, one that must be resolved before we try
to apply the notion to the problems of reli-
gious morality. Because cautious simplicity
presents the less dire identity crisis, it is only
sensible to try to make do with it as an inter-
pretation of the notion of simplicity.
As Frege has taught us, there are two kinds
ofidentity claims, uninformative, as in 9 = 9,
and informative, as in 9 = 3. The identity cri-
sis in the notion of simplicity (whether cau-
tious or bold) obviously has to do with
informative identity claims. There are plenty
of non-mathematical examples of such claims,
but we may as well stay with Frege’s classic
example involving the morning star, the
evening star, and the planet Venus. Since the
morning star is identical with Venus and the
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
evening star is identical with Venus, it is true
and informative to say that the morning star
is identical with the evening star. At the same
time we want not to ignore the fact that they
are also different — two different ways of see-
ing one and the same thing. If we focus on
their designations rather than on the phenom-
ena themselves, we say that the designations
“the morning star” and “the evening star”
differ in sense although they are identical in
reference. And whenever we have a true in-
formative identity claim, we will have two ex-
pressions with one and the same referent and
two different senses. What happens when these
basic distinctions are applied to cautious sim-
plicity?
As analogues to the morning star, the
evening star, and Venus, we have God’s good-
ness, God’s power, and God, respectively. And
so we should be able to say correctly that the
designations “God’s goodness” and “God’s
power” have one and the same referent — God
—and differ only in sense. Putting it that way
certainly satisfies the notion of cautious sim-
plicity, but can we make sense of putting it
that way? If we bear in mind the analogy with
Frege’s paradigm, it is not hard to make sense
of cautious simplicity. It might be said that,
because of differing circumstances that apply
only to us and not at all to that being itself,
the absolutely simple being that is God is per-
ceived by us sometimes in a way that leads us
to perceive divine goodness, sometimes in a
way that leads us to perceive divine power.
Divine goodness and divine power are no
more really distinguished from each other or
from God than the morning star, the evening
star, and Venus are three in reality rather than
one. Obviously there is more to explain and
more to worry about in connection with even
cautious simplicity, but there is no point in
our considering cautious simplicity any fur-
ther as a possible route to a third theory of
religious morality. The reason for abandon-
ing it we have already seen in dealing with
(TS) and in considering Mill’s attack on Mr
Mansel: as long as we are focusing on God’s
goodness, the question will and should always
425
NORMAN KRETZMANN
arise whether God’s goodness is really good-
ness. And so, despite the fact that it is easier to
make sense ofcautious simplicity initially, we
have to consider bold simplicity if the doc-
trine of simplicity is to provide a preferable
theory of religious morality.
According to the small portion of perfect-
being theology I am presenting in this paper,
perfect goodness must be an attribute of an
absolutely perfect being; and in the light of
the notion of simplicity in its bold form, God
conceived of as an absolutely perfect being zs
perfect goodness itself. If we momentarily ig-
nore the question whether the consequences »
of bold simplicity are tolerable, we can see that
applying it to the difficulties in religious mo-
rality has a dramatic effect. When God is con-
ceived of as identical with perfect goodness,
the kind of distinction that was crucial as be-
tween (TO) and (TS) becomes a mere stylis-
tic variation. Here are the bold-simplicity
counterparts of (TO) and (TS):
(PBO) God conceived of as perfect good-
ness itself sanctions certain actions
just because they are right and rules
out certain actions just because they
are wrong.
(PBS) Certain actions are right just because
God conceived of as perfect good-
ness itself sanctions them, and cer-
tain actions are wrong just because
God conceived of as perfect good-
ness itself rules them out.
If there is goodness itself, as there is if there is
an absolutely perfect being, then obviously it
is and must be the sole criterion of moral right-
ness and wrongness. And so (PBS) involves
no subjectivity, as did our original (TS), nor
does (PBO) involve principles independent of
and criterial for God, as did our original (TO).
(PBO) and (PBS) are just two ways ofsaying
the same thing: actions are right if and only if
goodness certifies them as such, and good-
ness certifies actions as right if and only if they
are so.
426
It may look as if this third theory of reli-
gious morality transforms God from the ulti-
mate judge of morality into no more than the
abstract ultimate criterion; but, of course, God
conceived of as an absolutely simple being is
conceived of as the ultimate judge who is zden-
tical with the objective ultimate criterion it-
self. And so, once the crucial contribution
made by bold simplicity to this third theory is
taken into account, the theory could safely
revert to the judgmental verbs “approve” and
“disapprove” found in (TO) and (TS) and
could even be expressed in new versions of
(TO) and (TS) in which slight linguistic revi-
sions would mark fundamental changes in in-
terpretation. We can designate these new
versions (TO’) and (TS’):
(TO’) God conceived of as a moral judge
identical with perfect goodness itself
approves ofright actions just because
they are right and disapproves of
wrong actions just because they are
wrong.
(TS’) Right actions are right just because
God conceived of as a moral judge
identical with perfect goodness itself
approves of them and wrong actions
are wrong just because God con-
ceived of as a moral judge identical
with perfect goodness itself disap-
proves of them.
When God in the story of Abraham swears a
solemn oath, he swears by himself (what else?);
when the God of perfect-being theology
makes a moral judgment, he judges by the
objective criterion ofperfect goodness which
is himself. And so (TO’) and (TS’), unlike
(TO) and (TS) but like (PBO) and (PBS), are
just two ways of saying the same thing.
So far so good; but what about the fact that
bold simplicity apparently requires us to say
that goodness is identical with power, which
means that wherever there is power there is
goodness, which is blatantly false? Well, tak-
ing bold simplicity seriously requires us to rec-

ognize that the identity claim at issue is, strictly
speaking, not “Goodness is identical with
power” but “Perfect goodness is identical with
perfect power,” which means that wherever
there is perfect power there is perfect good-
ness, which is not blatantly false and may very
well be true.
Such a glancing inspection is by no means
enough to certify bold simplicity as free from
paradox, much less to show that bold sim-
plicity and the rest of perfect-being theology
provides a basis for a theory of religious mo-
rality preferable to those ordinarily encoun-
tered. But I hope it is enough to suggest that
even bold simplicity might be made sense of,
with dramatic results for the association be-
tween morality and theology. God knows it
needs work, but it’s worth it.
ABRAHAM, ISAAC, AND EUTHYPHRO
Notes
1 Genesis 22: 1-14, New English Bible. Subse-
quent quotations from Scripture are from this
translation, with italics added for emphasis.
2 See Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretzmann,
“Eternity,” The Journal ofPhilosophy, 78 (1981),
pp. 429-58, especially the discussion of ET-
simultaneity beginning on p. 434.
3 Romans 4 and Galatians 3: 6; James 2: 21-3.
4 Euthyphro, 4A, in The Trial and Death of Soc-
rates, tr. G. M. A. Grube (Indianapolis, 1975).
Subsequent citations of the dialogue are from
this translation, with italics added for emphasis.
5 An Examination of Sir William Hamuilton-s
Philosophy, 4th edn (London, 1872), ch. VI:
“The Philosophy of the Conditioned, as Applied
by Mr Mansel to the Limits of Religious
Thought,” pp. 128-9.
427
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THINKING ABOUT RELIGION?

Introduction

48 On Non-Jewish Religions
JUDAH HALEVI
49 Religious Diversity and the Epistemic Justification of
Religious Belief
JEROME GELLMAN
50 What’s the Difference? Knowledge and Gender in
(Post)Modern Philosophy of Religion
Grace M. JANTZEN
51 Women’s Experience Revisited: the Challenge of the
Darker Sister
JACQUELYN GRANT
52 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
53 The Value of African Religious Beliefs and Practices for
Christian Theology
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Introduction
The history of philosophical and theological
reflection in the theistic traditions has been
dominated largely by males of European and
Middle Eastern descent who have worked
within the Judeo-Christian and Muslim tra-
ditions. At various times throughout history,
and most notably in contemporary philoso-
phy, it has been argued that this dominance
has led these traditions to think about God
and more specific religious doctrines in an
unjustifiably restricted way. Some have argued,
then, that philosophers of religion need to
reflect carefully on the often unreflective bi-
ases that they bring to their philosophical
work. In doing so, they might come to real-
ize that abandoning those unreflective biases
can lead to equally fruitful ways of thinking
about God and religious belief, ways which
lead down quite different paths. In this sec-
tion we will explore the claims of those who
want to argue that there are legitimate alter-
native perspectives, informed by different ini-
tial starting assumptions, to those defended
by traditionalists.
The first two essays in this section focus
specifically on the notion of religious diver-
sity. Everyone is well aware of the fact that
there are a wide variety of religious beliefs
endorsed around the globe. And most are well
aware of the fact that the major world reli-
gions are in disagreement about a number of
fundamental claims concerning the nature of
ultimate reality. Each religious tradition also
cites evidence in its favor, evidence which
comes sometimes from philosophical argu-
ment and sometimes from various sorts of re-
ligious experiences. What should we think
about this variety of religious beliefs? Since
they make claims that are inconsistent with
one another, we might be inclined to think
that at most one of them is true. Let us call
this view “exclusivism.” According to
exclusivism, at most one religious tradition is
correct, the remainder, though they may get
some things right, are ultimately mistaken.
Recently thinkers from a wide variety of
disciplines have begun to regard exclusivism
with suspicion. Some think that even if
exclusivism zs true, the evidence that is avail-
able to us is insufficient to decide which of
the various religions is in fact correct. Thus,
anyone who claims that their own religious
tradition is exclusively true is irrational, arro-
gant, mean-spirited, or some combination of
these. The readings included here focus on
this claim. Can the exclusivist continue to
endorse exclusivism in the face of the fact that
other religions claim to have the same types
and degrees of support enjoyed by the
exclusivist’s own?
The first response to this position comes
from the medieval Jewish philosopher Judah
Halevi (ca. 1085-ca. 1141). We might think
of this piece as Halevi’s attempt to undermine
the pluralists’ claim that the evidence avail-
able to us is insufficient to decide among the
major world religions. Here, Halevi argues
that the views of the Christian and Muslim
are fundamentally (and evidently) mistaken
and that, further, the fact of God’s miracu-
lous revelation and preservation of the Jewish
people is decisive evidence in favor of the
claims of Judaism. Thus critics of exclusivism
are, on this view, simply mistaken in thinking
that the burden ofthe evidence does not sup-
port one tradition over the others.
But what if, as seems to be the case, the
adherents of the various religious traditions
examine one another’s evidence and are still
convinced that their own religion is well sup-
ported and the others are not? Shouldn’t this
at least make us skeptical about our ability to
draw objective conclusions from the evidence?
And shouldn’t this further lead us to be ag-
nostic, and thus to reject exclusivism, about
religious beliefs generally? Jerome Gellman
43]
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
thinks that the answer is “no” on both counts.
First, as a general principle, Gellman claims,
we do not think that it is irrational to hold
views that other equally well-informed and
fair-minded people disagree on. Our political
beliefs provide a good example, as do the be-
liefs of various opposing camps within phi-
losophy and other academic disciplines as well.
Gellman then examines two specific arguments
which aim to show that evidential parity
among religions makes belief in the exclusive
truth of one’s own religion irrational. Both of
these arguments fail, he claims, since, among
other things, they fail to recognize that the
process ofjustification of beliefs cannot go on
indefinitely. Some beliefs of ours must act as
“rock-bottom justifying propositions.” And
even among such rock-bottom beliefs, we hold
some with greater tenacity than others (a fea-
ture of the beliefs Gellman dubs “epistemic
priority”).But if this is right, then there seems
to be nothing unacceptable about the religious
believer holding certain religious beliefs (e.g.
that the theistic God exists) as rock-bottom
beliefs with strong epistemic priority. If the
theist’s belief in God is regarded in this way,
then religious diversity does not pose a chal-
lenge to belief since, for the theist, this belief
becomes one of the rock-bottom beliefs on
the basis of which all others are assessed.
The next selection, by Grace Jantzen, dis-
cusses the issues that divide Anglo-American
(Anglophone) philosophy of religion from
Continental philosophy of religion, and the
impact of these differences in thinking about
religion and gender. As the reader will note,
the essays in this volume are written largely
by American and British figures. In significant
measure, the practice of philosophy in these
two countries shares many similarities. And
this way of engaging in philosophical inquiry
differs significantly from the way philosophy
is practiced in Continental Europe. As Jantzen
points out, the Anglophone tradition assumes
that our perceptual capacities and our lan-
guage allow us to know and communicate
objective truths about the external (and in-
ternal) world(s). As a result, the task of phi-
432
losophy is to begin with these “truths” that
we know, embedded in the language that we
use, and construct arguments and counter-
arguments with them. The Continental tra-
dition, on the other hand, is suspicious of
these Anglophone starting points. Since
Continentalists hold that our way of concep-
tualizing the world is deeply influenced by
unconscious beliefs and desires, beliefs and
desires that thereby escape our reasoned re-
flection, we are wrong to assume the
Anglophone philosophers’ starting points. It
is more fruitful instead to consider how these
unconscious structures and processes have
given rise to a variety of social institutions,
including our language structures and reli-
gious practices, and then ask to what extent
these institutions have unfairly disadvantaged
various parties. Jantzen argues that the
Anglophone tradition needs to take seriously
the claims advanced by the Continentalist fig-
ures (even if in the end they do not agree)
and to consider how the influences of these
unconscious structures have led to a uniquely
male-oriented and female-oppressing way of
conceptualizing God and the religious life.
Adopting the sorts of insights that Jantzen
suggests, Jacquelyn Grant argues that those
in her tradition, namely, Christianity, must go
one step further. While it is true that we must
take seriously the way in which women gen-
erally have been affected by the oppressive
origins and subsequent roles of certain theo-
logical structures and symbols, Grant argues
that these same structures and symbols have
favored the oppression of Black women in a
way not uncovered by the critiques of White
feminists. Thus Grant holds that there is a
compelling need to cultivate a conception of
the divine, specifically of Christ in her tradi-
tion, that identifies with Christ “the stranger,
the outcast, the hungry, the weak, and the
poor.”
In a brief but penetrating selection, the
nineteenth-century slave and later journalist
and abolitionist Frederick Douglass (1817-
95) seeks to separate out “Christianity proper”
from the form of Christianity which he saw

practiced in slave-owning communities. This
sort of Christianity was, like that described by
Grant, infected by elements which were mo-
tivated (even if unreflectively) by greed and
cruelty, and which perpetuated the institutions
of slavery. Embedded in this selection is, we
might conclude, an implicit call to do what
Jantzen and Grant advocate, namely, to be
reflective about those parts of one’s theologi-
cal tradition which spring from unconscious
and/or socially conditioned beliefs and de-
sires, to appreciate their force and pervasive-
ness, and to subject them to critical scrutiny.
If, in fact, religious structures, beliefs, and
practices, are informed by unconscious beliefs
and desires and their resulting structures in
one’s culture, one might think that they can
also be positively informed by institutionaliz-
ing certain indigenous cultural emphases. In
the final selection, Mercy Oduyoye argues that
this very thing can and should be done within
Christianity, for example, by appropriating key
African cultural emphases. For example, Afri-
can Christianity can avail itself of the indig-
enous beliefs of human beings as stewards of
their physical environment, and of the prac-
tice oftreating past, present, and future gen-
erations as constituting a single community.
Both of these traditions are part of the Chris-
tian tradition, but these features can be
strengthened and reinforced by incorporating
native African cultural ritualizations of them.
In this way, cultural beliefs and practices which
may have unconsciously formed part of the
African cultural infrastructure can be used to
positively inform the theological symbolism
and religious practice in contemporary Afri-
can Christianity.
Further Reading
For further readings on the relation of reli-
gious, gender, and racial diversity on topics
in philosophy of religion, the following sources
are worthy of special attention.
Religious Diversity
D’Costa, Gavin, Theology and Religious Plu-
INTRODUCTION TO PART SEVEN
ralism (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986).
Griffiths, Paul, Aw Apology for Apologetics: a
Study in the Logic ofInterreligious Dialogue
(Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1991).
Hick, John, and Brian Hebblethwaite (eds),
Christianity and Other Religions (Glasgow:
Collins, 1980).
Hick, John, An Interpretation of Religion
(New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press,
1989).
Kellenberger, J. (ed.), Imter-Religious Models
and Criteria (New York: St Martin’s Press,
1993).
Netland, Harold, Dissonant Voices: Religious
Pluralism and the Question of Truth (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans,
199.1%
O’Connor, Timothy, “Religious Pluralism,”
in Reason for the Hope Within, ed. Michael
Murray (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B.
Eerdmans, 1998).
Senor, Thomas D. (ed.), The Rationality of
Belief and the Plurality of Faith (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995).
The following pair of articles also treat cer-
tain central issues relevant to this topic:
Kaufman, Gordon, “ ‘Evidentialism’: a Theo-
logian’s Response,” Faith and Philosophy,
6 (1989), pp 35-46.
Stump, Eleonore, and Norman Kretzmann,
“Theologically Unfashionable Philoso-
phy,” Faith and Philosophy, 7 (1990), pp.
329-39.
Finally, one might also consult the following
two issues of Faith and Philosophy which
were devoted to this topic:
(1) volume 5, no. 4 (1988), John Hick
(guest editor).
(2) volume 14, no. 3 (1997).
Gender Diversity
Grimshaw, J., Feminist Philosophers: Women’s
Perspectives on Philosophical Traditions
(London: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1986).
433
PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION: THE BIG QUESTIONS
Hampson, D., Swallowing a Fishbone? Femi-
nist Theologians Debate Christianity (Lon-
don: SPCK, 1996).
Jantzen, Grace, “Feminists, Philosophers, and
Mystics,” Hypatia, 9 (1994), pp. 186-206.
Johnson, Patricia Altenbernd, “Feminist
Christian Philosophy,” Faith and Philoso-
phy, 9 (1992), pp. 320-34.
Suchocki, Marjorie Hewitt, “The Idea of God
in Feminist Philosophy,” Hypatia, 9
(1994), pp. 56-67.
434
Racial Diversity
Cone, Cecil Wayne, Identity Crisis in Black
Theology (Nashville, Tenn.: African Meth-
odist Episcopal Church, 1975).
Wilmore, Gayraud, and James Cone (eds),
Black Theology: a Documentary History
(New York: Orbis, 1979).
West, Cornel, Prophesy Deliverance! An Afro-
American Revolutionary Christianity
(Philadelphia, Penn.: Westminster Press,
1982).

48 On Non-Jewish Religions*
Judah Halevi
1. I was asked to state what arguments I
could bring to bear against the attacks of phi-
losophers and followers of other religions
which differ from ours and against the sectaries
who differ from the majority of Israel. And I
remembered the arguments I had heard of a
Rabbi who sojourned with the King of the
Khazars, who, as we know from historical
records, became a convert to Judaism about
four hundred years ago: to him there appeared
repeatedly a dream, in which it seemed as if
an angel addressed him saying: “Thy (inten-
tion) is indeed pleasing to the Creator, but
thy way of acting is not pleasing.’ Yet he was
so zealous in the performance of the Khazar
religion, that he devoted himself with a per-
fect heart to the service of the temple and the
sacrifices. Notwithstanding this devotion, the
angel came again at night and repeated: ‘thy
intention, is indeed pleasing, but thy way of
acting is not pleasing.’ This induced him to
ponder over the different beliefs and religions,
and finally he became a convert to Judaism
together with many other Khazars. As I found
among the arguments of the Rabbi many
which appealed to me and were in harmony
with my opinions, I resolved to write them
down as they had been spoken. The intelli-
gent will understand me.
It is related: when the King of Khazar
dreamt that his intention was pleasing to God,
but his way of acting was not pleasing, and
was commanded in the same dream to seek
the work that would please God, he inquired
* From Judah Halevi, Kuzari: A Book of Proof and
Argument: An Apology for a Despised Religion, Book
I, ed. Isaak Heinemann, in Three Jewish Philosophers
(New York: Meridian Books, 1960), pp. 27-37.
Reprinted with permission.
NON-JEWISH RELIGIONS
ofaphilosopher concerning his persuasion. THE
PHILOSOPHER replied:
There is no favour or dislike in God, be-
cause He is above desire and intention. For
an intention intimates a desire in the intend-
ing person: by the fulfilment of this desire he
becomes complete; as long as it remains un-
fulfilled, he is incomplete. In a similar way God
is, in the opinion of the philosophers, above
the knowledge of individuals, because they
change with the times and there is no change
in God’s knowledge. He does not know thee,
much less thy intentions and actions, nor does
He listen to thy prayers or see they move-
ments. Even if philosophers say that He cre-
ated thee, they only speak in metaphor,
because He is the cause of causes in the crea-
tion of all creatures, but not because this was
His intention from the beginning. He never
created man, for the world is without begin-
ning, and no man arose other than through
one who came into existence before him; in
every man we find united physical and intel-
lectual qualities deriving from his parents and
other relations not discounting the influence
of winds, countries, foods and water, spheres,
stars and constellations. Everything is reduced
to the Prime Cause — not to a Will proceed-
ing from it, but to an Emanation, from which
emanated a second, a third, and a fourth cause.
The causes and the things caused are, as thou
seest, intimately connected with one another;
their connection is as eternal as the Prime
Cause and has no beginning. Therefore, every
individual on earth has its completing causes;
consequently an individual with perfect causes
becomes perfect and another with imperfect
causes remains imperfect, e.g. the negro is fit
to receive nothing more than human shape
435
JUDAH HALEV!|
and speech in its least developed form; the
philosopher, however, who is equipped with
the highest capacity, derives therefrom moral,
intellectual and active advantages, so that he
wants nothing to make him perfect. But these
perfections exist only in the form of latent
powers which require instruction and train-
ing to become active, bringing to light this
capacity, in all its completeness or with its
deficiencies and innumerable grades. To the
perfect person there adheres a light of Divine
nature, called Active Intellect; his Passive In-
tellect cleaves so closely to it that it considers
itself to be one with the Active Intellect. His
organs — I mean the limbs of such a person —
only serve the most perfect purposes, at the
most appropriate time, and in the best condi-
tion, as though they were organs of the Ac-
tive Intellect, not of the potential and Passive
Intellect, which made use of them at an ear-
lier period, sometimes well, but more often
improperly. This degree is the ultimate and
most longed-for goal for the perfect man,
whose soul, purified of doubts, grasps the in-
ward truth of science. The soul becomes the
equal of an angel, and finds a place on the
nethermost step of seraphic beings. This is
what is called, allusively and approximately,
God’s pleasure. Endeavour to reach it and to
reach the true knowledge of things, in order
that thy intellect may become active. Keep to
the just way, as regards character and action,
because this will help thee to effect truth, to
gain instruction, and to become like this Ac-
tive Intellect. The consequence of this will be
contentment, humility, meekness and every
other praiseworthy inclination, accompanied
by the veneration of the Prime Cause, not in
order to receive favour from it or to divert its
wrath, but solely to become like the Active
Intellect. If thou hast reached such disposi-
tion of belief, be not concerned about the
forms of thy humility, worship and benedic-
tion — nor fashion thy religion according to
the laws of reason set up by philosophers, but
strive after purity of the soul. Then thou wilt
reach thy goal, viz. union with the Active In-
tellect. Maybe he will communicate with thee
436
or teach thee the knowledge of what is hid-
den through true dreams and positive visions.
2. Tue Knazarr: Thy speech is convincing,
yet it does not correspond to what I desire to
find. I know already that my soul is pure and
that my actions are directed to gain the fa-
vour of God. To all this I recieved the answer
that this way of acting does not find favour,
though the intention does. There must no
doubt be a way of acting, pleasing in itself,
and not through the medium of intention. If
this be not so, why then do Christian and
Muslim, who divided the inhabited world
between them, fight with one another, each
of them serving his God with pure intention,
living either as monks or hermits, fasting and
praying? It is, however, impossible to agree
with both.
3. THE PHrLosopHER: The philosopher’s
creed knows no manslaughter, cultivating only
the intellect.
4. THe Kuazarr: And what could be more
erroneous, in the opinion ofthe philosophers,
than the belief that the world was created, and
that in six days; or that the Prime Cause spoke
with mortals — in view of the philosophical
doctrine, which declares God to be above
knowing details. Moreover, one might expect
the gift of prophecy to be quite common
among philosophers, considering their deeds,
their knowledge, their researches after truth,
their exertions and their close connection with
all things spiritual; one might also expect that
wonders, miracles, and extraordinary things
would be reported of them. Yet we find that
true visions are granted to persons who do
not devote themselves to study or the purifi-
cation of their souls. This proves that between
the Divine power and the soul there are se-
cret relations which are not identical with
those thou mentionedst, O Philosopher!
After this the Khazari said to himself: I will
ask the Christians and the Muslims, since one
of these ways of acting is, no doubt, the God-
pleasing one. But as regards the Jews, I am

satisfied that they are of low station, few in
number, and generally hated. He then invited
a Christian scholar and questioned him about
his doctrine and his practice.
THE CHRISTIAN SCHOLAR: I believe that all
things are created, whilst the Creator is eter-
nal; that He created the whole world in six
days; that all mankind sprang from Adam, and
after him from Noah; that God takes care of
the created beings, and keeps in touch with
man; that He is wrathful, takes delight, and is
merciful; that He speaks, appears and reveals
Himself to His prophets and favoured ones;
that He dwells among those who please Him.
In short: I believe in all that is written in the
Torah and the other books of the Israelites,
which are undisputed, because they are gen-
erally accepted as everlasting and have been
revealed before a vast multitude. Subsequently
the Divinity became embodied in the womb
ofa noble Israelite virgin; she bore Him hav-
ing the semblance of a human being, which
concealed nevertheless a divinity, seemingly a
prophet, but in reality a God sent forth. He is
the Messiah, whom we call the Son of God,
and He is the Father and the Son and the Holy
Ghost. We believe in His unity, although the
Trinity appears on our tongues. We believe in
Him and in His abode among the Israelites;
this was granted to them as a distinction, be-
cause the Divine influence never ceased to be
attached to them — until their masses rebelled
against this Messiah, and they crucified Him.
Then Divine wrath burdened them everlast-
ingly, whilst the favour was confined to a few
who followed the Messiah, and to those na-
tions which followed these few. We belong to
their number. Although we are not of
Israelitish descent, we are well deserving of
being called Israelites, because we follow the
Messiah and his twelve Israelite companions,
who took the place of the tribes. Our laws
and regulations are derived from the apostle
Simon (Petrus) and from ordinations taken
from the Torah, which we study, for its truth
and Divine origin are indisputable. It is also
stated in the Gospel by the Messiah: I came
NON-JEWISH RELIGIONS
not to destroy one ofthe laws of Moses, but I
came to confirm and corroborate them.
5. ‘THE Kwazari: Here is no logical conclu-
sion; nay, logical thought rejects most of what
thou sayest. It is only when both appearance
and experience are so palpable that they grip
the whole heart, which sees no way of con-
testing, that it will agree to the difficult, and
the remote will become near. This is how natu-
ralists deal with strange powers which come
upon them unawares; they would not believe
if they only heard of them without seeing
them; but when they see them, they discuss
them, and ascribe them to the influence of
stars or spirits, because they cannot disprove
ocular evidence. As for me, I cannot accept
these things, because they come upon me sud-
denly, seeing that I have not grown up in
them. My duty is, therefore, to investigate
further.
He then invited one of the scholars of Is-
lam and questioned him about his doctrine
and his practice.
THe Musuim ScHo.ar: We acknowledge the
Unity and Eternity of God and that all men
are derived from Adam and Noah. We abso-
lutely reject embodiment (of God), and if any
element of this appears in the Writ, we ex-
plain it as metaphoric, serving to make the
doctrine acceptable to our comprehension. At
the same time we maintain that our Book is
the Speech of God, being itselfa miracle which
we are bound to accept for its own sake, since
no one is able to produce anything compara-
ble to it, or to one ofits verses. Our prophet
is the Seal of the prophets, who abrogated
every previous law, and invited all nations to
embrace Islam. The reward of the pious con-
sists in the return of his spirit to his body in
Paradise and bliss, where he never ceases to
enjoy eating, drinking, women’s love, and
anything he may desire. The requital of the
disobedient consists in being condemned to
fire, and his punishment knows no end.
6. THE Kuazari: If anyone is to be guided
in matters divine, and to be convinced that
437
JUDAH HALEVI
God speaks to man, whilst he considers it im-
probable, he must be convinced by facts which
are generally known and which allow of no
refutation. And if your book is a miracle — a
non-Arab, as Iam, cannot perceive its miracu-
lous character, because it is written in Arabic.
7. THE Musum ScHorar: Yet miracles are
performed by the Prophet, but they are not
used as evidence for the acceptance of his Law.
8. THe Kuazanri: Yes, the human mind does
not incline to believe that God has intercourse
with man, except by a miracle which changes"
the nature of things, so that man may recog-
nize that God alone is able to do so, who cre-
ated him from nought. Such a miracle must
also have taken place in the presence of great
multitudes, who saw it distinctly. Then it is
possible for the mind to grasp this extraordi-
nary matter, viz. that the Creator of this world
and the next, of the heavens and lights, should
hold intercourse with this contemptible sub-
ject, I mean man, speaking to him, and fulfill-
ing his wishes and desires.
9. THe MusLim ScHo.ar: Is not our Book
full of stories of Moses and the Israelites? No
one denies what He did to Pharaoh, how He
divided the sea, saved those who enjoyed His
favour, but drowned those who aroused His
wrath, that he granted them manna and the
quails during forty years, that He spoke to
Moses on the mount (Sinai), that He made
the sun stand still for Joshua, and assisted him
against the giants; nor do they deny what hap-
pened previously, viz. the Flood and the de-
struction of the fellow-citizens of Lot. Is this
not so well known that no suspicion of deceit
and imagination is possible?
10. THe Kuazarr: Indeed I see myself com-
pelled to ask the Jews, because they are the
descendants of the Israelites. For I see that
they constitute in themselves the evidence for
a divine law on earth.
He then invited a Rabbi and asked him
about his belief.
438
The Basis of Jewish Faith
11. THe Rasst: I believe in the God of
Abraham, Isaac and Israel, who led the Israel-
ites out of Egypt with signs and miracles; who
fed them in the desert and gave them the
(Holy) Land, after having made them traverse
the sea and the Jordan in a miraculous way;
who sent Moses with His Law, and subse-
quently thousands of prophets, who con-
firmed His law by promises to those who
observed, and threats to the disobedient. We
believe in what is contained in the Torah —a
very large domain.
12. Tue Kuazarr: I had intended from the
very beginning not to ask any Jew, because I
am aware of the destruction of their books
and of their narrow-minded views, their mis-
fortunes having deprived them of all com-
mendable qualities. Shouldst thou, O Jew, not
have said that thou believest in the Creator of
the world, its Governor and Guide, who cre-
ated and keeps thee, and such attributes which
serve as evidence for every believer, and for
the sake of which he pursues justice in order
to resemble the Creator in His wisdom and
justice?
13. Tse Rassr: That which thou dost ex-
press is speculative and political religion, to
which inquiry leads; but this is open to many
doubts. Now ask the philosophers, and thou
wilt find that they do not agree on one action
or on one principle, since they rely on theo-
ries; some of these can be established by ar-
guments, some of them are only plausible,
some even less capable of being proved.
14. THe Kuazari: That which thou sayest
now, O Jew, seems to me better than the be-
ginning, and I should like to hear more.
15. Tue Razsi: But the beginning of my
speech was the very proof, yea, the evidence,
which makes every argument superfluous.
16. THe Kwazarr: How so?

17. ‘THe Rassi: Allow me to make a few pre-
liminary remarks; for I see thee disregarding
and depreciating my words.
18. THe Kaazari: Let me hear thy remarks.
19. Tue Rassi: If thou wert told that the
King of India was an excellent man, command-
ing admiration, and deserving reputation, only
because his actions were reflected in the jus-
tice which rules his country and the virtuous
ways of his subjects, would this compel you
to revere him?
20. THE KuHazart: How could this compel
me, whilst I am not sure if the justice of the
Indian people is natural and not dependent
on their king, or due to the king, or both?
21. Tue Rast: But if his messenger came
to thee bringing presents which thou knowest
to be only procurable in India, and in the royal
palace, accompanied by a letter in which it is
distinctly stated from whom it comes, and to
which are added drugs to cure thy diseases, to
preserve thy health, poisons for thine enemies,
and other means to fight and kill them with-
out battle, would this make thee beholden to
him?
22. THe Kxazari: Certainly. For this would
remove my former doubt that the Indians have
a king. I should also acknowledge that his
dominion and his word had touched me.
23. THe Razer: How wouldst thou then, if
asked, describe him?
24. THE Kuazart: In such terms as were
quite clear to me; and I would add such as
were at first rather doubtful, but which were
later affirmed by the former.
25. THE Rapti: In this way I answered thy
question. In the same strain Moses spoke to
Pharaoh, when he told him ‘The God ofthe
Hebrews sent me to thee’— viz. the God of
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. For the story of
NON-JEWISH RELIGIONS
their life was well known to the nations, who
also knew that the Divine power was in con-
tact with the Patriarchs, caring for them and
performing miracles for them. He did not say:
“The God ofheaven and earth’ nor ‘my Crea-
tor and thine sent me’. In the same way God
commenced His speech to the assembled peo-
ple of Israel: ‘I am the God whom you wor-
ship, who hath led you out of the land of
Egypt’; He did not say ‘I am the Creator of
the world and your Creator.’ In the same style
I spoke to thee, O Prince of the Khazars, when
thou didst ask me about my creed. I made
mention to thee of what is convincing for me
and for the whole ofIsrael, who knew these
things, first through personal experience, and
afterward through an uninterrupted tradition,
which is equal to experience.
26. THE Kuazart: Then your belief is con-
fined to yourselves?
27. ‘THE Rassi: Yes. Any Gentile who joins
us sincerely shares our good fortune, but he
is not equal to us. If the Torah were binding
on us because God created us, the white and
the black man would be equal since He cre-
ated them all. But the Torah (is binding) be-
cause He led us out of Egypt and remained
attached to us. For we are the pick of man-
kind.
28. THE Kuazarr: I see thee quite altered,
O Jew, and thy words are poor after having
been so rich.
29. Tue Rassi: The poorest ones will be-
come the richest, if thou givest me thy atten-
tion, until I have expressed myself more fully.
30. THe Kuazarr: Say what thou wilt.
31. THE Raps: The (realm of) the organic
power comprises nurture, growth, and propa-
gation with their powers and all conditions
attached thereto. To this belong plants and
animals, to the exclusion of earth, stones,
metals, and elements.
439
JUDAH HALEVI
32. ‘THE Knazart: This is a maxim which re-
quires explanation, but it is true.
33. THE Rass: Likewise, the realm of the
soul’s power, expressed in movement, willed
action, external and internal senses and such
like, is limited to all animated beings.
34. THE Kuazari: This, too, cannot be con-
tradicted.
35. THE Rapsi: Likewise, the intellectual
power distinguishes man above all living be-
ings, it leads to the ennobling of his charac-
ter, to the administration of his home and his
country, to government and legislation.
36. THe Knazart: This is also true.
37. THe Rassi: And which would be the
degree higher than this?
38. THe Kuazarr: The degree of great schol-
ars.
39. THe Rast: I only mean a degree which
distinguishes those who occupy it essentially,
as the plant is distinguished from inorganic
things, a man from animals. The difference in
quantity, however, are innumerable, but are
purely accidental, and do not constitute a de-
gree in the true scense.
40. THe Kuazarr: Ifthis be so, then there is
no degree above man among tangible things.
440
41. Tue Rapsr: And if we find a man who
walks into the fire without hurt, or abstains
from food for some time without starving, on
whose face a light shines which the eye can-
not bear, who is never ill, nor ages — and when
he reaches his life’s end, dies spontaneously
just as a man retires to his couch to sleep on
an appointed day and hour, equipped with the
knowledge of what is hidden as to past and
future: is such a degree not essentially distin-
guished from the human degree?
42. Tue Kuazart: This degree would be di-
vine and seraphic, if it existed. It would be-
long to the province of Divine power, not to
that of the intellectual, spiritual (soulful) or
natural one.
43. Tuer Rast: These are some ofthe char-
acteristics of the undoubted prophet. Through
him God made manifest to the people that
He is in connection with them, that there is a
Lord who guides them as He wishes, accord-
ing to their obedience or disobedience. He
revealed that which was hidden and taught
how the world was created, how the genera-
tions prior to the Flood followed each other
and how man descended from Adam. He de-
scribed the Flood and the origin of the Sev-
enty nations from Shem, Ham and Japhet, the
sons of Noah; how the languages were split
up, and where men sought their habitations;
how arts arose and how cities were built — and
the chronology from Adam up to this day.
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
49 Religious Diversity and the Epistemic Justification
of Religious Belief*
Jerome Gellman
Humankind knows a diversity of “religions”
or “religious traditions,” by which I shall mean
sets of religious beliefs with associated reli-
gious practices. We shall assume that no devo-
tees of a religion R can show, by means which
do not already make assumptions peculiar to
R, that R is true or “more true” than other
religions. Accordingly, let us call the religious
beliefs in R evidence-free relative to other reli-
Zions (or simply, evidence-free), in the sense
that either they are not based on evidence at
all, or if based on evidence, one could not
show that the evidence was adequate without
making some of the assumptions of R itself.
Let us call the state ofaffairs so far described,
religious diversity. 1 wish to discuss whether
religious diversity renders religious belief
epistemically defective or unacceptable within
the family of human doxastic practices. Ifit
does, and ifa religious devotee became aware
of the defectiveness of his belief on that ac-
count, his belief would be irrational.
Now it may be that the believer cannot help
but believe. But there may be steps he could
take in an attempt to dislodge adherence to
religious belief. He could at least adopt an
attitude toward religion that reflects an ac-
knowledgment of its irrationality. And this
would surely have an impact on the manner
in which he applied his religion to daily life,
and on his relations with adherents of other
religions.
* Brom Faith and Philosophy, 10:3 (1993), pp. 345-
64. Reprinted with permission.
In what follows I wish to focus on one fea-
ture of religious diversity: the fact that many
beliefs, including the most central ones, of one
religious tradition are inconsistent with those,
including the most central ones, ofother reli-
gious traditions.
For example, S believes in the existence of
an infinite God, creator of heaven and earth,
while S1 believes in a God who is subject to
eternal laws of reality. Or, S believes the Mes-
siah has already come, whereas S1 believes the
Messiah is yet to come, or denies, in the name
of S1’s tradition, that there is an earthly Mes-
siah. Or: S believes that what survives this life
to a next life is an essential self, or Atman,
identical to Brahman, whereas S1 believes that
what survives “this life” is only a nexus of
“conditioning” that causally gives rise to a new
constellation of body and mind, structurally
similar to, while numerically distinct from, one
in a previous existence.
There seem to be two possible ways in which
contradictions between traditions may gener-
ate an epistemic problem for the religious
devotee: Because:
(1) Any instance of contradictions between
evidence-free beliefs epistemically
delegitimizes those beliefs.
(2) In the religious case in particular con-
tradictions between evidence-free beliefs
delegitimize those beliefs.
Let us consider (1) and (2) in turn.
44]
JEROME GELLMAN
That (1) has little force is shown by exam-
ples of some of our most cherished beliefs that
are evidence-free and contradict beliefs in
other doxastic traditions, while being, surely,
epistemically adequate. Take our widely shared
belief that democratic government is superior
to other extant forms of government, past and
present. And consider the contradictory be-
lief, still held at least in China, that commu-
nist dictatorship surpasses democracy as a
superior form of government.
Now perhaps an argument could be
mounted for democracy that would not beg
any relevant questions in its favor. Perhaps we
could agree with our opponents on certain
values or goods that we all want to see exhib-
ited in society, and then convince them that
our democratic position would best enhance
the realization of those values or goods.
But suppose our belief in democracy ex-
pressed for us a cluster of fundamental po-
litical and ethical values, and that the other
side’s communism expressed for them a most
basic cluster of values. Or, supposing agree-
ment on some values, imagine that these dif-
ferent traditions disagreed fundamentally on
the relative weights to be given to each value.
We could argue, let us imagine, that democ-
racy enhanced individual freedoms and pro-
tection from arbitrary arrest, much better
than does communism, but find that the val-
ues we were building on were not recognized
by the other side, or were recognized as val-
ues of a lesser sort. In either case, we would
find no way to argue without begging the
question at issue in favor of the values, and
their weights, which are peculiarly part of the
democratic tradition.
If such were the case, our belief in democ-
racy would be evidence-free, in the above de-
fined sense. But it seems quite obvious that
we would be perfectly entitled to believe in
democracy, even if evidence-free, and even if
contradicted by the beliefs of others.
The fact is that many of our most cherished
beliefs are shared only by those who share our
cultural, geographical, ethnic or educational
background. And often these beliefs are both
442
evidence-free as well as contradicted by other
orientations.
Cherished beliefs of this sort are not lim-
ited to morals and politics, and religion. Con-
sider an example involving an existence claim,
that is an evidence-free belief, and which we
recognize as epistemically proper. Some math-
ematicians think of sets as mere constructs
useful for the mathematical life. They do not
posit their existence. Other mathematicians
believe that sets exist, and their whole way of
doing mathematics is accordingly affected.
They do so without a non-question-begging
argument that shows them to be right and
their opponents wrong, although they can give
themselves various reasons for their belief. It
would appear that their belief is not irrational
in the least.
Hence, if there is a problem from religious
diversity on account of contradictions between
the beliefs of one tradition and another, it does
not come from being an instance of doxastic
diversity in general.
Let us now consider:
(2) In the religious case in particular con-
tradictions between evidence-free beliefs
delegitimize those beliefs.
A most serious challenge to the epistemic
acceptability of religious belief on account of
features of religious diversity, in particular, has
been made by Stephen J. Wykstra,! A similar
argument has been put forward by David
Basinger, and is intimated in the writings of
John Hick.’ Here we will concentrate on the
arguments of Wykstra and Basinger, respec-
tively.
Wykstra argues that religious belief is what
the calls “evidence essential,” meaning that
unless evidence for the belief is available to
the community of believers, the belief is
epistemically defective.* In so saying, Wykstra
does not mean that each believer must know
or be aware of the evidence, but that the evi-
dence must be known within the believer’s
community. This is a “communitarian” sense
of “having evidence.” For example, each of
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
us needn’t know or even be capable of under-
standing the scientific evidence for the belief
that electrons exist in order for the latter to
be epistemically acceptable for each of us. It
is enough that the experts have that evidence.
If it should turn out, however, that even
for the scientists there was no evidence for our
belief in electrons, our belief would be
epistemically defective, whether we knew it
or not. Were we to become aware of the lack
of evidence, and were then to continue be-
lieving in electrons, we would be irrational in
doing so. The belief in electrons is thus evi-
dence-essential, for Wykstra. And he argues
that so is religious belief.
Wykstra’s argument for the latter conclu-
sion begins by following Thomas Reid, in
maintaining that we are endowed with what
Wykstra calls ‘basic faculties,” such as the
senses, memory, credulity, and logical intui-
tion, through whose use we form beliefs.*
Beliefs formed via these natural faculties are
not inferentially accessed. Rather, we natu-
rally and unreflectively accept them in the
course of employing these faculties. For ex-
ample, I do not accept a law of logic because
of an inference to the effect that it seems logi-
cally intuitive and what seems logically intui-
tive is most likely true. Instead I simply believe
the law, via the faculty oflogical intuition.
Reid and Wykstra insist we are perfectly
within our epistemic rights to rely on our ba-
sic faculties. We need not imfer that there is a
tree in front of us, or that 2 + 2 = 4, or that
we were once in Paris. We are epistemically
justified in believing these things straightaway,
upon the functioning of the appropriate fac-
ulty.
When our basic faculties present conflict-
ing results, however, we face what Wykstra
calls “ostensible epistemic parity.”* In osten-
sible epistemic parity we become obligated
according to Wykstra to find evidence of an
inferential type which will allow us to discrimi-
nate between the belief, formed by our natu-
ral faculties, that’s to be trusted, and that belief
formed by our natural faculties that’s to be
rejected. Epistemic parity “blocks the flow,”
in Wykstra’s words, of our natural disposition
to accept what we believe via our faculties.
Discriminational evidence frees up that block-
age, by either confirming one side, or
disconfirming one side. In either case, the re-
sult is an unblocking of the natural flow of
credulity toward the remaining belief-candi-
date.
To illustrate, consider our disposition to
trust the testimony of others, a basic faculty
for Reid and Wykstra. Suppose my father tells
me one thing, and my mother something in-
consistent with that. This creates ostensible
epistemic parity, blocking the natural disposi-
tion and the epistemic right to trust the testi-
monies of my mother and father. What is
needed to restore the epistemic right to be-
lieve one or another of the testimonies is ev7-
dence for or against one of the parental
assertions. Initially, testimony could be be-
lieved in the absence of evidence, because of
the basic faculty of forming beliefs based on
the testimony ofothers. But now without evi-
dence I would remain in ostensible epistemic
parity.
To summarize, epistemic parity makes evi-
dence essentially a condition of epistemic pro-
priety.
Wykstra embraces the view that religious
belief initially requires no evidence of the deri-
vational kind to be epistemically upright. That
is because human beings have a basic faculty
for belief-formation, we might call the “reli-
gious faculty.” In appropriate circumstances,
this faculty gives non-derivational religious
beliefs in an epistemically acceptable way. One
need not derive, say, the existence of God from
an experience of Him, any more than one de-
rives the existence of the tree from seeing it.
In both cases one simply believes on having
the appropriate experiences.
When we consider religious diversity, how-
ever, the situation changes. According to
Wykstra, religious diversity epistemically re-
sembles conflict in testimony, demanding dis-
criminational evidence for the favoring of one
religion over others, so as to eliminate block-
age of the natural reliance upon the religious
443
JEROME GELLMAN
faculty.° Wykstra concludes that “insofar as
such parity problems are pervasive, there is
reason to regard experiential religious beliefs
as needing evidence of (at least) the discrimi-
national kind.”’ So, because of religious di-
versity religious belief is evidence-essential,
meaning that (discriminational) evidence for
that belief must be available to the commu-
nity of believers. Hence, on our assumption
that religious beliefs are evidence-free, reli-
gious beliefs are epistemically defective.
An argument somewhat similar to Wykstra’s
has been put forward by David Basinger.
Basinger attacks what he calls the “General
Reliability Argument” (GRA), in light of reli-
gious diversity. GRA is characterized as fol-
lows:
We as humans are naturally endowed with a
considerable number of belief-forming faculties
... The assumed reliability of such faculties
serves as the basis for some of our most non-
controversial examples of “knowledge.” So our
basic stance toward such faculties — including
our religious faculties — should be to assume they
are “innocent until proven guilty.”®
Basinger wishes to disallow the GRA when it
comes to the faculty of forming religious be-
liefs:
Pervasive religious diversity brings into serious
question whether we ought consider religious
faculties to be analogous to other belief-form-
ing faculties in the way GRA suggests . . . since
the reason we do not question the reliability of
most of our faculties is that such faculties con-
sistently generate similar beliefs in most indi-
viduals, the fact that religious faculties do not,
in general, produce similar beliefs in similar con-
texts does make it much more difficult to as-
sume they possess the same sort of reliability
status.’
Basinger calls into question the very reli-
ability of the religious faculty, whereas Wykstra
focused on the epistemic obligation to deter-
mine by evidence which of the contradictory
religious beliefs deserves credence. The more
local and uncommon the phenomenon of
444
epistemic parity for a particular faculty, the
more is the problem one of selecting one of
the contradictory beliefs for credence. The
more pervasive and unresisting cases of
epistemic parity for a particular faculty, the
more reason we would have to doubt its very
reliability. Religious epistemic parity might
well display a pervasiveness and entrenchment
which would qualify it as a candidate for the
second type of problem.
Basinger believes that religious diversity also
defeats a principle he calls the Negative
Apologetical Thesis (NAT), which goes as
follows:
For a theist to be in a position to maintain jus-
‘tifiably that her basic formed beliefs are true even
though she has no “positive reason” to think
they are true, she is only obligated to defend
herself against the claim that her religious fac-
ulties are not functioning properly.'®
Basinger, in opposition to NAT, claims that
“religious diversity does challenge the assump-
tion that a theist need only defend her formed
beliefs and the reliability of the faculties which
have produced them,” in order to continue
to believe without positive evidence.'! He
writes:
The knowledgeable theist is obligated to attempt
to resolve the pluralistic conflict — enter the arena
of positive apologetics — before any “final” deci-
sion concerning the epistemic status of her
formed religious belief can be made.
For both Wykstra and Basinger, therefore, it
is religious diversity that would make religious
belief epistemically defective if evidence-free.
I now want to argue that the position of
Wykstra, and of Basinger, is unacceptable, for
three major reasons:
(1) Their position has unwanted epistemo-
logical consequences.
(2) The religious faculty does not generally
function in the way they suppose.
(3) Their conception of epistemology is too
narrow.
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
(1) If we accept that there are faculties for
forming religious beliefs, beliefs of logic, and
sense beliefs, we should acknowledge a fac-
ulty, as well, by means of which we form moral
and value beliefs. After all, we form moral and
value beliefs just as naturally and unreflectively
as some form religious beliefs. And we are just
as familiar with the notion of a “moral intui-
tion” as we are with the notion of a religious
experience or a logical intuition. I conclude
that we ought to recognize a faculty for form-
ing moral or value beliefs, if we recognize
other natural faculties.
Consider now, our belief in democracy.
Most of us who hold this belief do so non-
inferentially, via the natural faculty for form-
ing value beliefs. Similarly, those who believe
in a non-democratic system may plausibly be
said to be exercising the very same faculty.
Conceding this, and noting the pervasiveness
and entrenched nature of the contradiction
between champions of democracy and their
opponents. Basinger ought to call into ques-
tion the reliability of the faculty for forming
value beliefs.
At the least we should get epistemic parity
with regard to our value faculty. And then our
belief in democracy should be judged
epistemically defective, unless there were avail-
able to the community ofbelievers in democ-
racy non-question-begging discriminational
evidence in their favor.
This consequence seems deeply counter-
intuitive. If true, then if it should turn out
that no one, not even our best political theo-
rists, had any evidence (in the sense appropri-
ate to value inquiry) favoring democracy, that
did not draw exclusively from the cluster of
values that only a believer in democracy would
recognize or give similar weight to in the first
place, then our beliefindemocracy would be
epistemically defective. And knowing this, we
would be epistemically irrational to continue
believing in democracy. That this is not true
seems to me obvious. Our belief in democ-
racy would not be evidence-essential, even if
evidence-free under conditions of epistemic
parity.
Similar implausible conclusions follow from
considering any number of beliefs which fig-
ure in debate over public policy. On the view
we are considering, no one would be
epistemically entitled to endorse a pro- or con-
abortion point ofview, or a belief for or against
capital punishment. Presumably, sophisticated
holders of any of these positions could justify
it with a whole cluster of beliefs about hu-
manity, justice, and the value oflife. But their
opponents could invoke against them an
equally ramified cluster of values. Neither side,
it seems, can produce a non-question-begging
argument. These beliefs are thus evidence-free
relative to the opposition, and thus allegedly
epistemically defective.
An additional problem with the approach
of Wykstra and Basinger regards the nature of
the religious faculty. If 1understand Wykstra
and Basinger correctly, one who formed an
atheistic or an agnostic belief in a natural,
unreflective way, would not be considered to
have employed a religious faculty in so doing.
This is indicated by the fact that in their dis-
cussions ofthe beliefs formed via the religious
faculty, both Wykstra and Basinger confine
themselves exclusively to conflicts between
religious beliefs. This suggests that in their
view the forming of an atheistic or agnostic
belief is not the product of the religious fac-
ulty.
Why should a belief that God exists be the
product of one faculty, and the belief that God
does not exist a product of a different faculty?
Perhaps the idea is that the formation of
beliefs via a religious faculty is the result of
religious experience, and not merely an intui-
tion or conviction formed via an appropriate
belief-forming mechanism. The formation of
atheistic and agnostic beliefs is not based on
religious experiences at all. So different facul-
ties must be acknowledged.
However, the difference between a Chris-
tian experience of God, for example, and a
Buddhist experience of nothingness, is not
impressively less than the difference between
the Christian experience and an experience,
say, of looking at the starry heavens and, im-
445
JEROME GELLMAN
pressed by the sheer meaninglessness of it all,
declaring there is no God. It is arbitrary to
assign the Christian and Buddhist experiences
to one faculty, and the above atheistic experi-
ence to another. More plausibly, all three ex-
periences are varying forms of a single faculty
for forming beliefs on spiritual matters, on the
basis of our experiences of the world.
It might be objected, though, that atheis-
tic (and agnostic) beliefs are rarely the result
of experiences of the sort described above.
They are mostly the result of other belief-form-
ing faculties or are the result of inferences,
correct or not, from other beliefs.
This objection would be completed by the
claim that normally, religious belief zs the re-
sult of religious experience, and not of some
other belief-forming mechanism, nor the re-
sult of an inference from other beliefs. And
that is why a distinct religious faculty must be
recognized.
This claim about the manner in which reli-
gious belief is normally formed will be rejected
below. It should be noted now, however, that
atheistic and agnostic belief can issue from
some natural faculty or other, even if not the
same faculty for religious belief. Beliefs of this
kind are at least sometimes formed in that
unreflective and immediate way which indi-
cates that a basic faculty is at work. But once
this is acknowledged, the arguments of
Wykstra and Basinger would have the quite
implausible consequence that because of reli-
gious/agnostic/atheistic diversity, 2o belief
about the existence or non-existence of God
could be held in an epistemically justified way.
And that would be because of epistemic par-
ity between the results of different faculties,
and the ensuing threat to the reliability of each
of the faculties involved. After all, parity be-
tween faculties should be a no less potent
epistemic threat than parity that arises within
the confines of the employment of a single
faculty. If our sense of sight and sense of touch
were seriously and regularly at odds in their
testimony to us, the problems raised by
Wykstra and Basinger would surely arise there,
if they arose anywhere.
446
If the line of argument being scrutinized
were correct, no one could form any epist-
emically justified beliefs about any religious
matter about which there existed a diversity
of belief, without running afoul of the prohib-
ition upon relying on a faculty, when faced
with epistemic parity.
Furthermore, neither could judgment be
suspended, for the reason that a faculty is in-
volved in judging that belief should be sus-
pended. This would be the faculty of forming
epistemic judgments or perhaps the faculty of
reasoning. And this faculty must be weighed
against the faculty that says that God exists,
and against the faculty that says God does not
exist. So the very faculty employed to decide
that judgment should be suspended, would
itself be a party to epistemic parity (Wykstra)
or be threatened by the loss of its reliability
(Basinger).
To my mind, these results count strongly
against the epistemological assumptions of
Wykstra and Basinger.
(2) The religious faculty does not widely
function in the way implied by Wykstra and
Basinger. We should here distinguish between:
(A) the initial formulation of religious belief
in a believer, and (B) the ongoing creation of
religious beliefs in the life of a believer.
(A) pertains to the way in which a believer
comes to have religious beliefs in the first place
(early on in life, say). These may be beliefs
held by a general population, such as that God
has revealed His Law to His people. Or they
may be of a more personal and specific na-
ture, held solely by a single believer or together
with those close to her, such as that God loved
Uncle Randolph, or that God “wants me to
go to sleep now.”
(B) pertains to the ongoing creation of re-
ligious beliefs as the religious life is lived, and
may include the adding on of generally held
beliefs, but more typically will pertain to the
personal type of belief, such as that God
“wants me now to act in a certain way.”
With regard to (A), it seems quite apparent
that the vast majority of religious believers in
the world’s religious traditions do not come
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
to their beliefs via a religious faculty. Rather,
they are born and raised within a religious tra-
dition with which they simply go along. They
are led by their elders and teachers to act and
speak in certain ways, and they just go along
with it. This is also the way they get their be-
liefs about geography, history, literature, mu-
sic, science, and much else. They then
continue along with their beliefs once they
have them. If anything, a faculty of credulity
in testimony of others lies at the beginning of
their religiosity. At that beginning, in any case,
often lies an intricate network of dogma and
doctrine which it is quite implausible to sup-
pose believers come to via a religious faculty.
They believe what they are taught by their
elders.
With regard_to (B), later beliefs, again it
seems quite apparent that these religious be-
liefs are not generally formed in a fashion sug-
gesting the operation of a religious faculty.
Rather, believers typically are drawing conclu-
sions from the religious framework they have
been taught, applying it to the circumstances
in which they find themselves.
This procedure is quite unlike the forma-
tion of sense-beliefs. For while individuals do
see objects with the obvious aid of an accul-
turated practice, yet in doing so they normally
do not draw any conclusions from previously
acquired sense-beliefs. Their formation of
sense-beliefs when confronted by physical
objects is direct and spontaneous. With reli-
gion, however, it seems that after the initial
period of acculturation, believers are typically
only drawing upon the beliefs within their tra-
dition to form inferences concerning their
present life situations.
There may be exceptions to this in some
religious traditions, but these are not typical
of the way the world’s religions work for their
adherents in general. In particular, talk of a
religious faculty as the source of religious be-
liefs, rather than the faculties of credulity in
testimony and of reasoning, seems largely in-
appropriate to contemporary Jewish religious
belief. Religious belief has much more to do
with living within a tradition and drawing in-
ferences within it, than with forming
unreflective beliefs via a uniquely religious fac-
ulty.
(3) My major objection to Wykstra and
Basinger is that their epistemology is too nar-
row to correctly reflect the epistemology of
religion.
The implicit conception of epistemology
shared by these two thinkers is that one’s epis-
temology consists exclusively in the discovery
and accurate formulation of rules governing
beliefs. That is to say, on this view epistemol-
ogy is solely a matter of finding the right rules
and applying them correctly to specific beliefs.
By a rule Imean a(n implicitly or explicitly)
universally quantified proposition which states
under what conditions one is justified in tak-
ing a proposition as true, or in believing it, or
in taking it to be rational to believe it; or which
sets out one’s epistemic obligations with re-
gard to one’s given epistemic situation.
To illustrate, Wykstra and Basinger employ
the following epistemic rules in their discus-
sions:
(1) One is justified in believing the testimony
of one’s natural faculties unless one has
reason not to.
(2) When there is epistemic parity one is
obligated to find discriminational evi-
dence for one side or the other.
(3) It is not rational to believe without evi-
dence or without relying on one’s natu-
ral faculties.
The history of epistemology has largely been
the history of such rules. Here are some
favorites of various philosophers, past and
present:
(4) Ifa proposition appears to one to be self-
evident, then one is justified in believ-
ing it.
(5) It is irrational to believe in a contradic-
tion.
(6) One has an obligation never to believe
without evidence.
(7) One has an obligation to form one’s
447
JEROME GELLMAN
judgments on the basis of one’s total evi-
dence.
These rules (and others like them) are offered
as rock-bottom governors ofour epistemic lives:
they determine the acceptability of belief can-
didates, while themselves not subject to deeper
epistemic justification. In the event that an
epistemic rule is derived, and not itself rock-
bottom, typically what appears at the rock-bot-
tom level of the derivation is only other rules.
Let us call any epistemology which recognizes
only rules as ultimate in judging propositions
a “rule-epistemology.”
By a “religious epistemology,” I shall mean
an epistemological point of view used to gov-
ern one’s religious beliefs. And what I want
to claim is that typically a religious epistemol-
ogy is not a rule-epistemology.
However one has formed a religious belief,
at some point along the way it acquires
epistemic unconditionality. One’s religious
beliefs become the very rock-bottom of one’s
epistemological apparatus. The epistemic ac-
ceptability of other beliefs is then judged by
their lights. The grounds ofreligious belief, if
any, fall away, leaving a religious belief whose
epistemic acceptability is underived for the
believer.
It is in the nature ofthe religious life, I con-
tend, that religious belief typically serves the
believer not as what is justified, but only as
justifying. Consider the belief that God ex-
ists. Whether belief-candidates are acceptable
or not is judged, in part, in light of whether
they are consistent with God’s existence. And
this is done not because one is or means to be
following a rule, about, say, relying on beliefs
for which one has evidence, or because one is
or means to be following a rule about, say,
being justified in relying on natural faculties
which deliver beliefs. Rather, belief in God,
being rock-bottom, plays the role for the be-
liever of a test for other beliefs, in precisely
the way purported for (1)-(7).
Generally, (1)-(7) are accepted as starting
points of one’s epistemology. And so, typi-
cally, I contend, belief in God belongs with
448
the starting points of the epistemology of the
religious believer, at the same level of episte-
mological significance for her as any of the
rock-bottom rules of philosophers for them.
Now one may object that religious belief as
I understand it can be given the form of a
rule. For example, “God exists” as a rock-bot-
tom justifying proposition, can be cast as fol-
lows:
(G) Any proposition which contradicts
God’s existence is to be rejected.
: But if so, the epistemology of religious belief
has not been shown to diverge in any way from
rule-epistemology.
But this objection is easily answered. For
the proposed rule, (G) is not itself rock-bot-
tom in the believer’s epistemology. For (G)
derives from the non-rule belief that God ex-
ists. What is significant about the religious case
is that the specific proposition that God exists
(as well as other specific religious propositions)
plays an exclusively grounding or judging role
in one’s epistemology. Whether or not one
originally grounded one’s belief in God, sub-
sequently that belief does not function as a
grounded belief but only as a grounding one.
Traditional epistemology has reserved this role
for rules alone.
Alternatively, we may concede that (G)
functions for the believer in the rock-bottom
way that rules (1)-(7) do for epistemologists.
Then I need only revise my position by saying
that rule (G) is to be found in the rock-bot-
tom ofthe typical believer’s epistemology. My
point would then be that in the believer’s epis-
temology are to be found rules not found in
the epistemology of non-believers, for exam-
ple (G). In what follows I will prefer the first
reply though: that (G) is not rock-bottom,
but derived from the belief that God exists,
which is rock-bottom.
A second point about a typical believer’s
epistemology depends on the notion of a /i-
erarchy of rock-bottom propositions. Propo-
sitions are epistemically rock-bottom in virtue
of not being derived from any other proposi-
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
tion. There can still be a hierarchy of such
propositions in one’s epistemology, though.
A rock-bottom proposition, p, will be said to
be Mierarchically higher in a hierarchy, H, than
is rock-bottom qin H, when pis allowed more
weight than gin one’s epistemic deliberations.
And 7 is allowed more weight than g when
the results of applying p are preferred to the
results of applying q. Finally let us say that p is
hierarchically prior to qin H, when the result
of applying p is accepted irregardless of what
the results are of applying gq, that is, when the
application of gis not allowed to change the
result yielded by the application of p.
Generally, the rule that tells us to trust our
senses, (S), is hierarchically higher than the rule
that tells us to trust the testimony of others,
(T); but (S) isnot prior to (T). The rule that
we not believe in an explicit contradiction is
prior to both (S) and (T).
For most of us, (S) is both higher and prior
in our hierarchy of epistemic rock-bottom
propositions than the rule that we are justi-
fied in believing what seems true as the con-
clusion of asound logical deduction. For that
reason, we do not allow Zeno-like arguments
to influence in the least the degree to which
we believe in motion.
Typically, I wish to maintain, religious be-
lief, or at least some substantial core thereof,
which is rock-bottom, is przor in the believ-
er’s epistemic hierarchy to many of the rules
favored by epistemologists. In particular reli-
gious beliefisprior to consideration of rules
of rationality. Let us say, then, that religious
belief is possessed of strong priority in a reli-
gious epistemology.
Issues ofrationality, I wish to claim, against
Wykstra’s and Basinger’s approach, find a place
in a religious epistemology, if at all, posterior
to the acceptance of religious belief. Only al-
ready armed with rock-bottom religious be-
liefs as judging-propositions does the believer
ever raise questions ofthe rationality ofother
beliefs. In particular, the believer’s rules of
rationality are not applied to her rock-bottom
religious beliefs. The latter are prior to the
former for her, in the way that our belief in
motion is prior for us to our acceptance of
the conclusions of Zeno’s arguments.
It should be noted that a religious episte-
mology which includes rock-bottom religious
beliefs with strong epistemic priority is not a
fideism, for the following reasons:
First, fideism asserts that one may believe
“on faith,” without support from “reason.”
So fideism involves an epistemological rule.
However, a believer for whom beliefin God
is rock-bottom and possessed ofstrong hier-
archical priority is simply a Christian, or a
Shaivite, with no epistemological rule justify-
ing her belief, and with no rule that states the
conditions of justification of religious beliefs
in general (whether hers or someone else’s).
She simply believes her religion straightaway,
evaluating other beliefs directly in terms of the
specific religious beliefs she holds. That’s it.
Secondly, fideism includes a view about how
believers come to hold their religious beliefs.
They do so on faith. The thesis I am present-
ing recognizes that believers come to their be-
liefs in various ways, though I have claimed
that most are simply raised in a religious at-
mosphere and go along with it. My claim is
that as religious belief typically functions, the
grounds, if any, for belief fall away, as it were,
and religious beliefs become rock-bottom
epistemic propositions, no longer vulnerable
to assessment, but instead the starting points
of assessment.
Likewise, we should not conclude that an
epistemology of rock-bottom strongly-prior
religious beliefs requires a unique conception
of “rationality” on the part of the believer.
For the believer may not have any concep-
tion of rationality whatsoever. In particular,
if my description of a typical religious epist-
emology is correct, the believer does not
accept his religious beliefs because he thinks
they are rational. They are epistemically
proper for him not because ofsatisfying a rule
of rationality for him. They are acceptable
for him on account of being the propositions
that they are.
I conclude that typical religious epistem-
ology differs markedly from the picture
449
JEROME GELLMAN

presented in the arguments of Wykstra and (B) Sis epistemically justified in believing a
Basinger. proposition, p, if and only if S has good
reason to think that p is true.

Il Contrary to (B), however, there are beliefs

epistemically justified in the absence of rea-
I have argued that a typical religious episte-
sons for thinking the belief true. It seems most
mology regards religious beliefs, or at least a
rational, everything else being equal, to con-
core thereof, as epistemically rock-bottom and
tinue believing what one already believes, until
strongly prior in the hierarchy of epistemically
one has a reason to abandon that belief, even
rock-bottom propositions.
if presently there is no reason for thinking the
In this section I argue that such an episte-
belief true.'* This is true even when the belief
mology is quite proper, and that no epistemic
in question is challenged by counter-beliefs.
problem need arise for the believer on account
This is sometimes called the principle of
of religious diversity. I begin by considering
“methodological conservatism.” So we see
two objections to the position given in sec-
that epistemic justification does not depend
tion I. Then I consider the status of such an
on having reasons to think that p is true.
epistemology when faced with opposing epis-
It may be argued, though, that even so
temological viewpoints.
methodological conservatism is epistemically
The first objection is that a religious episte-
justified in reference to truth, even if not in-
mology of the sort described violates the no-
dicative of the truth of propositions, because
tion of “epistemic justification.” The second
the pursuit of truth is best served in the long
objection is that if such an epistemology were
run by adoption of the principle. If people
approved, then “anyone could believe any-
were to follow the rule of methodological
thing they wanted.”
conservatism, they would be more motivated
The first objection begins by asserting an
to attempt to find evidence for the proposi-
intrinsic connection between “epistemic jus-
tions they held than they would if they merely
tification” and “truth.” Laurence Bonjour has
entertained those propositions without believ-
put the point about the connection in the fol-
ing them. The increased effort to try to estab-
lowing way:
lish the truth of propositions serves the cause
The distinguishing characteristic of epistemic of truth in the long run.!° And so, the argu-
justification is thus its essential or internal rela- ment concludes, the principle of methodologi-
tion to the cognitive role of truth. It follows cal conservatism is justified, at least, with
that one’s cognitive endeavors are epistemically “respect” to truth: while it may not serve to
justified only if and to the extent that they are indicate truth, it helps yeld truth, in the long
aimed at this goal, which means very roughly run.
that one accepts all and only those beliefs which Allowing this reply to stand, let us change
one has good reason to think are true. To ac- (B) accordingly:
cept a belief in the absence of such a reason...
is to neglect the pursuit of truth; such accept-
(Bl) Sis epistemically justified in believing
ance is, one might say, epistemically irresponsi-
ble. [So] any degree of epistemic justification, a proposition, /, if and only if either S$
however small, must increase to a commensu- has good reason to think that p is true,
rate degree the chances that the belief in ques- or Shas good reason to think that be-
tion is true. . . for otherwise it cannot qualify as lieving p will serve the pursuit of truth
epistemic justification at all.’ in the long run.

Bonjour seems to be endorsing the following Accepting (B1), however, does not require
principle: rejecting a non-rule religious epistemology.

450
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
To see this, consider that (B1) will entail this
only if read as:
(B2) Sis epistemically justified in believing
a proposition, p, if and only if either S$
has good reason to think that p is true
in virtue of having tested p in accord-
ance with epistemically valid rules, or $
has good reason independent of think-
ing that p 1s true to think that believ-
ing p will serve the pursuit of truth in
the long run.
But one can accept (B1), with its disjunctive
link between epistemic justification and truth,
without endorsing (B2), by adopting a non-
rule epistemology. In a non-rule epistemol-
ogy, S’s having good reason to think that p is
true, is not equivalent to S’s having a good
reason to think that p is true 7 virtue of hav-
ing tested p by epistemically valid rules. And in
a non-rule-epistemology that S has good rea-
son to think that believing p serves truth in
the long run, is not equivalent to S having
good reason independent of thinking that p ts
true to think that believing p serves truth in
the long run.
A non-rule-epistemology does require the
rejection of (B2), but not the rejection of (B1).
A non-rule-epistemologist can embrace (B1)
with enthusiasm. If there zs a link between
epistemic justification and truth it is purely
formal, and does not entail a substantive claim
about what ave good reasons for thinking that
p is true or for thinking that believing p will
serve truth in the long run. The non-rule-epis-
temologist is free, as far as (B1) is concerned,
to think of the veasons for thinking p true or
for thinking the belief in p as conducive to
truth, as internal to the act of accepting p.
Let me illustrate the point with the belief
that God exists, as rock-bottom and possessed
of strong priority.
As for the link between epistemic justifica-
tion and having a good reason for thinking that
God exists is true, the believer who believes
that God exists and who holds this belief in a
rock-bottom way might well be prepared to
insist that he holds it because it is true. Ifasked
what his reason is for thinking that it is true,
he could well answer that the reason he thinks
it is true is just because it zs true. He neither
derives this belief from any other belief of his
nor recognizes an epistemic duty to justify the
truth of this belief by means of rules which
pass upon its acceptability.
The situation of the believer would thus not
be dissimilar to that of the epistemologist who
accepts the rule listed earlier:
(4) Ifa proposition appears to one to be
self-evident, then one is justified in be-
lieving it.
The epistemologist would no doubt claim that
his reason for thinking that (4) true is that it
seems true. But suppose we wished him to
make explicit his reason for thinking that if
(4) seems true, then it zs true. Plausibly, our
epistemologist would answer that:
(4a) Ifa proposition seems true, that’s a good
reason to think it és true.
But then if we ask what reason he has for think-
ing (4a) true, he cannot reply that he thinks
that zt is true because it seems to be true, with-
out begging the question at issue. The only
real recourse the epistemologist seems to have
is to say that the reason he thinks (4a) true is
just that it zs true. His reason for accepting
the truth of (4a) is thus internal to his accept-
ance of (4a). He is none the less epistemically
justified in accepting (4a). The belief that God
exists would be similar for the believer to the
belief in (4) or (4a) for the epistemologist.
The reason for thinking that each is true be-
longs internally to the acceptance of the
proposition in question.
Next, regarding epistemic justification and
the serving of truth in the long run, a believer
can readily proclaim that the holding of his
belief furthers the cause of truth in the long
run. This will be because he attests that God
exists is true, so judging other beliefs by
whether they contradict that belief will serve
451
JEROME GELLMAN
the cause of truth in the long run. To sup-
pose that such a procedure violates (B1) is to
smuggle into (B1) substantive epistemologi-
cal doctrines not justified on the mere grounds
of a conceptual link between epistemic justifi-
cation and truth.
The point is that accepting (B1) does not
require that the veason for thinking that what
one believes is true or serves the cause of truth
must be decided independently of and prior
to the acceptance of the belief itself. (B1) does
not entail (B2). It follows that ceding the dis-
junctive link between epistemic justification
and truth does not disqualify a religious epis-
temology which is not a rule-epistemology.
The second objection to religious episte-
mology as I have presented it that I wish to
consider is this: If religious belief, epistemically
rock-bottom and strongly prior, were recog-
nized as epistemically proper, then couldn’t
just any belief claim the same right? Wouldn’t
the door be open for out and out irrational-
ity?
This objection parallels an objection con-
sidered by Alvin Plantinga to his thesis that
religious belief is properly basic.'° I paraphrase
Plantinga’s voicing of the objection, substi-
tuting “rock-bottom and has strong epistemic
priority” for each occurrence of “properly
basic”.
If belief in God is rock-bottom and has strong
epistemic priority, why cannot just any belief
be rock-bottom and have strong epistemic pri-
ority? Could we not say the same for any bi-
zarre aberration we can think of? What about
voodoo or astrology? What about the belief that
the Great Pumpkin returns every Halloween?
Could I properly take that as rock-bottom and
as having strong epistemic priority?!”
The first thing to be said in response is that
this issue need not arise for a religious episte-
mology. And that is because a religious epis-
temology need not have any rule to the effect
that any belief can be rock-bottom and
strongly prior. A religious epistemology may
explicitly reject such a rule, recognizing only
particular religious beliefs as rock-bottom and
452
strongly prior. Neither, from the point of view
of such an epistemology, is a rule required to
distinguish the favored religious beliefs from
other possible candidates for proper rock-bot-
tom strong priority. And that is because the
religious beliefs are rock-bottom and strongly
prior epistemically, thus not dependent upon
passing the test of any rule. The religious be-
liefs may securely be in place before, as it were,
the rationality of voodoo and astrology are
ever considered. So from the point of view of
a religious epistemology there need be no
problem created by the asking of the above
questions.
The above questions only arise from the
point of view of a rule-epistemology, which
grants epistemic respectability only to beliefs
that pass the test of epistemic rules. And the
question asked from that point of view is: by
what rule are rock-bottom strongly prior reli-
gious beliefs to be epistemically justified? The
rule that any belief of that sort can be
epistemically justified is obviously unaccept-
able. But what could distinguish the religious
case from others?
A possible suggestion emerges from con-
sidering Plantinga’s choice of belief in the
“Great Pumpkin,” as an example of a para-
digmatically unacceptable belief. Now the
fact is that a belief in the Great Pumpkin who
returns every Halloween bears a striking simi-
larity to beliefs current in the world’s great
religions. In some sects of Buddhism, for ex-
ample, Buddha figures are said to appear and
reappear to the inner eye of the devotee. De-
vout Jews believe that the prophet Elijah re-
turns to their homes every Passover, and
attends every Jewish circumcision. And Chris-
tianity has taught that a man who died and
was buried long ago reappears regularly in
substance upon the partaking of wine and
wafer under proper circumstances.
Of course each of these beliefs is embed-
ded within a larger theological context. But
couldn’t we imagine the same for beliefin the
Great Pumpkin? I don’t see why not. So what,
indeed, makes the Great Pumpkin, but not
Transubstantiation or Elijah’s annual visits, a
 RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY AND EPISTEMIC JUSTIFICATION
fine example of an obviously unacceptable
belief?
I suggest that a felt difference between the
religious cases and the Great Pumpkin exam-
ple is that the former and not the latter are
accepted and lived by within a wide commu-
nity of believers. That is why, aside from ques-
tions of politeness, the Great Pumpkin is felt
to be a good example of an absurd belief, while
the others are not. And the reason why com-
munity embedding is felt to make an epistemic
difference is that it is in our communities that
we discover our epistemic frames of reference,
and live our doxastic lives. So I suggest that
the belief that a man long ago dead regularly
returns in substance is epistemically permissi-
ble because embedded in a wide community
of believers, while the Great Pumpkin has no
such following. For the same reason belief in
democracy is epistemically justified, even if
evidence-free.
There are no precise rules to determine how
widely a belief must be believed in and lived
by in order to be epistemically proper, when
rock-bottom. I dare suggest that epistemo-
logical rules regarding what is epistemically
acceptable are themselves community-embed-
ded, most typically in communities of philoso-
phers. And the community’s own sense of
itself, and its purposes, shapes its attitude on
these matters. Thus variations will be expected
on views as to the extent to which a belief
must be widely held in order to be consid-
ered epistemically acceptable.
Well, then, what of voodoo and astrology.
Are they not widely held and lived by? Cer-
tainly. So are they too epistemically respect-
able? The predilection to answer in the
negative lies in the fact, I believe, that what
we object to in these practices is their making
empirical predictions contradicted by the
senses and science. Given the epistemologies
of most of us, this makes them unacceptable.
And it is this feature which makes them so
readily available as obvious examples of im-
proper beliefs. And the same may be said of
belief in the Great Pumpkin if taken as out
and out empirical. Of course the same may be
said of religious teachings with empirical im-
port at odds with the senses and science, from
the point of view, at least, of anon-religious
epistemology. The fact is, though, that nei-
ther the Buddha’s appearances, nor Elijah’s
visits, nor the transubstantiation are empiri-
cal in nature.
Hence, our rejection of voodoo and astrol-
ogy does not count as a counterexample to
the epistemic respectability of widely held
beliefs. We merely need require that widely
held beliefs not be admitted if they contradict
the evidence of the senses or scientific truths.
Thus I see no reason to think that if reli-
gious epistemology were recognized as accept-
able, then just amy belief could be acceptable,
no matter how little believed and no matter
how much it went against our sense judgments
and well established scientific truths.
We have now considered, and attempted
to turn back, two reasons why a religious epis-
temology, as I have described it, might be re-
jected as epistemically defective. The first was
from considerations of a link between truth
and epistemic justification, and the second was
from the fear that if religious epistemology
were granted epistemic respectability, just any
belief would have to be similarly regarded.
But suppose, despite my best efforts, the
epistemic respectability of religious epistemol-
ogy, as here presented, was rejected in the
name of a rule-epistemology. What would
then be the epistemic situation for one who
embraced a religious epistemology? Anyone
holding a rule-epistemology would be per-
fectly within his rights to require religious
belief to answer to the requirements of /is
epistemology. What needs to be stressed,
though, is that the holding of arock-bottom
religious belief takes place on the same episte-
mological level as the holding of a rule-episte-
mology. To put the point differently, just as
the rule-epistemologist may think that rule-
epistemology has the right to judge religion,
the religious believer may equally believe that
religion has the right to judge rule-epistemol-
ogy.
What is impermissible, I suggest, is for the
453
GRACE M. JANTZEN
rule-epistemologist to assume that her episte-
mological stance is somehow of a more fun-
damental order than is another’s religious
stance.
In fact, the situation between a religious
epistemology and a rule-epistemology is ex-
actly analogous to the situation that obtains
between one religion and another within reli-
gious diversity. Thus a rule-epistemologist
could not very well cling to her own episte-
mological orientation, discounting all others,
while denying the same right of one religious
orientation to discount all the others. She
couldn’t very well do that, that is, unless she
preferred her own rule-epistemology without
having made it pass any rule.
And so, to conclude the argument of this
study, while I have not established that rock-
bottom strongly prior religious belief is
epistemically justified, I hope to have said
enough to show that there is no good reason
to think it is not.
Notes
1 Stephen J. Wykstra, “Toward a Sensible
Evidentialism: on the Notion of ‘Needing
Evidence,’” in William L. Rowe and William
J. Wainwright, eds, Philosophy of Religion, Se-
lected Readings, 2nd edn (New York: Harcourt
Brace, 1989), pp. 426-37.
50 What’s the Difference? Knowledge and Gender in
(Post)Modern Philosophy of Religion*
Grace M. Jantzen
Donna Haraway, in her ‘Manifesto for
Cyborgs’, issues a warning that in the post-
modern world where grand narratives increas-
* From Religious Studies, 32:4 (1996), pp. 431-48.
Reprinted with permission.
454
2 See David Basinger, “Plantinga, Pluralism, and
Justified Religious Belief,” Faith and Philoso-
phy, 8 (1991), pp. 67-80. References in the
text will be to this article. See also, Basinger,
“Hick’s Religious Pluralism and ‘Reformed
Epistemology,’” Faith and Philosophy, 5
(1988), pp. 421-32. Sec John Hick, An In-
terpretation of Religion (London: Macmillan,
1989), and, “Religious Pluralism and Salva-
tion,” Faith and Philosophy, 5 (1988), pp. 365-
HI
3 Wykstra, pp. 430-1.
4 Wykstra, pp. 434¢f.
5 Wykstra, p. 435.
6 Wykstra, p. 436.
7 Wykstra, p. 437.
8 Basinger, p. 70.
9 Basinger, p. 71.
10 Basinger, p. 69, abridged.
ll Basinger, p. 75.
12 Basinger, p. 75.
13 Laurence Bonjour, The Structure of Empirical
Knowledge (Boston: Harvard University Press,
1985), p. 8.
14 See Gary Gutting, Religious Belief and Reli-
gious Skepticism (Notre Dame, Ind.: Notre
Dame University Press, 1985), p. 100.
15 See Gutting, pp. 101-2.
16 See Alvin Plantinga, “Is Belief in God Prop-
erly Basic?” Nous, 15 (1981). Reprinted in
Rowe and Wainwright, pp. 417-26.
17 Rowe and Wainwright, p. 423.
ingly fail and subjects are seen to be irremedi-
ably fragmented, ‘we risk lapsing into bound-
less difference and giving up on the confusing
task of making a partial, real connection. Some
differences are playful; some are poles of world
historical systems of domination. Epistemol-
 WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
ogy is about knowing the difference.”! Such
an account of epistemology, which sees its
central task to be a knowledge of the signifi-
cance of difference and a capacity to discern
between innocent and oppressive forms of
difference, is perhaps not one that would most
readily occur to British philosophers of reli-
gion. It is, however, an account which has
resonances both with many contemporary
Continental thinkers and with feminist epis-
temologists. Notwithstanding the many areas
of divergence between and among these
groups, on two points at least they converge:
that the recognition and discernment of dif-
ference has become inescapable for epistemol-
ogy; and that of the differences which must
be dealt with, gender difference has a para-
digmatic status,
Contemporary Continental thought, par-
ticularly that deriving from France, is often
referred to by the terms ‘postmodern’ or
‘poststructural’ and their variants, in a doubt-
ful if convenient derivation from Lyotard’s
account of The Postmodern Condition.’ Yet as
soon as one begins to read the thinkers lumped
together under these labels, the vast differ-
ences among them become apparent. Indeed,
many of the thinkers unhappily joined to-
gether under the term ‘postmodern’ explic-
itly reject the label. It is therefore important
to ask, as Judith Butler does,
Is there, after all, something called post-
modernism? Is it an historical characterization,
a certain kind of theoretical position, and what
does it mean for a term that has described a cer-
tain aesthetic practice now to apply to social
theory ... ? Who are these postmodernists? Is
this a name that one takes on for oneself, or is it
more often a name that one is called. . . ??
Butler suggests, I believe correctly, that the
term is far too frequently used as a refusal to
take the writers in question seriously, whether
as an excuse to jump on some sort of
‘postmodern bandwagon’ or, more often, as
a technique of dismissal, as when Ernest
Gellner says that postmodernists and feminists,
between them, have manufactured a “pseudo-
crisis’ of reason which actually amounts to
nothing more than ‘sturm und drang und ten-
ure.’* Such blanketing techniques, used by ei-
ther side, labelling each other as trendy and
reactionary respectively, are not going to be
very helpful: in any case, there are plenty of
them already, without my adding to them.
What is needed is a much more piecemeal
approach, looking carefully at particular as-
pects of Continental thought on difference
and gender and the ways in which they chal-
lenge British philosophy of religion. In one
paper, I can do no more than make a very
modest start in this task; but I hope that it
will be of interest in itself, and also serve as an
invitation to further reading and critical study
of the richly varied primary texts. This is all
the more important because whereas Conti-
nental thought is being taken up by British
thinkers in linguistics and cultural studies and
in its implications for Biblical studies and
hermeneutics, few philosophers of religion
have so far taken it seriously. One reason for
this is the deep channel that separates Eng-
land from France when it comes to conceptu-
alizing what religion is, and therefore what
constitutes philosophy of religion and how it
should be conducted. In this paper I would
like to sketch something ofthat divide, in or-
der that we may approach contemporary Con-
tinental thought, particularly its emphasis on
difference and gender, with fewer misconcep-
tions and greater chance of appreciation and
understanding.
In the following sketch, I shall use ‘British’
as shorthand for the Anglo-American analytic
tradition in philosophy of religion with its
heavy investment in the philosophical theol-
ogy of Christianity, and ‘French’ as shorthand
for the strands of thought associated with
structuralism and its aftermath, and recognize
in advance that I am lumping together, un-
der each label, thinkers who are in fact quite
disparate and who in important ways disagree
with one another. Also, of course, there are a
few British philosophers ofreligion who have
been deeply influenced by contemporary Con-
tinental thinking (Don Cupitt comes to mind)
455
GRACE M. JANTZEN
and a few Continental thinkers, such as Vin-
cent Briimmer, whose methodology is not
differentiable from what I am labelling ‘Brit-
ish’. I am using ‘British’ and ‘French’ as short-
hand for divergent methodologies, rather than
as adjectives describing where people live,
though there is considerable correspondence
between the two.
1 Constructing the Discipline
of Philosophy of Religion
A central preoccupation of many British phi-
losophers of religion, as well as of American
strands such as those influenced by Alvin
Plantinga, is with the nature and existence of
God, where ‘God’ is understood along the
lines of traditional Christian doctrine: a being
other than the world or anything in it who is
its creator, omnipotent, omniscient, and be-
nevolent. In what has become known as the
‘realist’—‘antirealist’ debate, the contested
question is whether belief in God signifies
belief that such a transcendent being objec-
tively exists, or whether expression of belief
in God is something more like a subject’s po-
sitioning of herself over against whatever
might happen, whether or not there is a tran-
scendent referent for the term ‘God’. The lat-
ter position is, as we shall see, rather closer to
Continental thought forms than the former.
Among those who take the realist position,
the question of the existence of this God, then,
is seen as a question of objective fact. Though
the existence of such a being might be the
most important of all facts, and indeed their
cause, in terms of its status asa fact it is not
different from other facts. If it is true, it is one
more fact within the world offacts; ifit is false,
the rest of the world of facts stays just the same,
since it is after all from that world of facts that
the evidential debate is conducted. The dif-
ference between a theist and an atheist, on
this account, is that the theist accepts as a fact
one item which the atheist denies, namely the
existence of God. Hence one can pass from
atheism to theism or vice versa by the addi-
456
tion or subtraction of one fact, while the rest
of the facts remain untouched. This is of
course vot to say that the addition or subtrac-
tion of that fact is without profound implica-
tion for how the individual’s life is conducted,
and in that sense has a bearing on other facts.
But believers and atheists can share in scien-
tific theories, laboratory experiments, eco-
nomic strategies, and social policies: their
disagreement regarding God’s existence is an
additional fact, external to the class of facts
about the world, and best left to the private
realm ofreligion. This is true even in the moral
realm: for example, in Responsibility and
Atonement Richard Swinburne separates his
inquiry into two parts: first the development
of a moral theory which rests largely on criti-
cal intuition and is not specifically Christian,
and second, an analysis of what follows if we
add to this the premises of traditional Chris-
tian doctrine. Although he holds that such
addition does make a moral difference espe-
cially in such things as making worship a duty,
the moral theory developed in the first part of
the book functions in what Philip Quinn has
described as an ‘Archimedean fixed point’,° a
basis for theological evaluation precisely be-
cause it holds for theists and nontheists alike.
One of the tasks of philosophy of religion,
then, is to consider whether it is rational to
believe in God. This task can be approached
in various ways: with Richard Swinburne in a
quasi-calculation of the probabilities of the
existence of God, for example, or, quite dif-
ferently, with the idea that the existence of
God is a properly basic belief, as Alvin
Plantinga holds, perhaps grounded, as William
Alston argues, in mystical perception, a con-
cept modelled on the sensory perception of
empirical objects. Although I do not want to
minimize the differences between these phi-
losophers, I suppose that form a Continental
perspective they all look very much alike, in
their preoccupation with a putative transcend-
ent being and how beliefin such a being could
be justified.
Moreover, they all proceed, not only as
though the central question of philosophical
 WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
theism is the question of whether or not God
exists (as an objective fact), but also as though
the philosopher who weighs the evidence or
perhaps ponders basicality or mystical percep-
tion is, unproblematically, a rational subject.
This subject has experiences, whether sensory
or mystical, and is capable of weighing up
those experiences (perhaps with a little help
from philosophical experts) and deciding on
the basis of them whether or not it is rational
to believe that God exists. Exactly the same
assumption of the rationality of the subject
obtains, moreover in relation to what some
philosophers of religion consider to be the
logically prior issue of the coherence of
theism, the conceptual investigation of the
simultaneous attribution of the traditional
predicates of the divine. Such issues as the
embodiedness and cultural embeddedness of
the knowing subject, differences between sub-
jects whether in terms of power, gender, or
social status, or the effects of the unconscious
or of ideology on claims to knowledge are not
taken as central to the debate.
All of this presupposes, moreover, that it is
possible to speak of these subjects of rational-
ity and their experiences, and indeed of God,
in ordinary human language. Granted, the
question of how finite human language can
refer to the infinite is a question which many
British philosophers of religion grapple with,
recognizing that an appeal to analogy or meta-
phor at least requires explication. It is no ac-
cident, either, that those English-speaking
philosophers of religion like D. Z. Phillips,
who take seriously Wittgenstein’s remarks on
language games which have close affinities to
Continental semiotics, are seen to destabilize
a good deal of traditional philosophy of reli-
gion. With the exception of such
Wittgensteinians, however, and in spite of
some recognition of the problem ofreference,
a great deal of contemporary philosophy of
religion proceeds as though the difficulties in
speaking of or referring to God can be over-
come, and that, at least at a rough and ready
level, we can adequately understand what is
meant by such putative divine attributes as
omnipotence, omniscience, and goodness.
In much Continental thought, each ofthese
terms — God/religion, the subject, and lan-
guage — are held self-evidently to be vastly
more problematic and complicated than they
are’taken to be in British philosophy of reli-
gion. Contemporary Continental thinkers
such as Derrida, Irigaray and Kristeva, for all
their differences, take as inescapable the con-
ceptual terrain mapped out by the ‘masters of
suspicion’ Nietzsche, Marx and Freud, and the
complications of this terrain by Saussure,
Lacan and Althusser — to let these names stand
for many. This is not to say that they suppose
that the positions adopted by these thinkers
are beyond dispute, but rather that they can-
not be ignored. To ignore is to be ignorant.
The importance of the unconscious, and there-
fore of longing, projection and repression in
any significant human relation and therefore
certainly in religion; the inescapability of ide-
ology and social construction and therefore
the dynamics of power and dominance in re-
ligion; the continuous play of signifiers in an
ever-shifting constellation of meaning, and
therefore the problem ofreference or relation
to the signified; the interweaving of violence
and the sacred and the all-pervasiveness of
sexual dynamics of masculinity and feminin-
ity; the inescapable responsibility of intellec-
tuals for the ethical and political uses that will
be made of our words and our silences: all
these themes are in their view fundamental
for any non-naive philosophy of religion.
Moreover, all of these are, in their view, al-
ways already implicated in anything that could
count as ‘empirical evidence’ or as ‘logical co-
herence’ — and implicated even more obviously
in who gets to do the counting.
Such assumptions are quite literally foreign
to many British philosophers of religion, and
I do not wish to suggest that they are beyond
challenge. Indeed, the French thinkers I have
mentioned are themselves often sharply criti-
cal of the ‘masters of suspicion’ and their fol-
lowers. The differences in what is at stake in
their critiques and how they are pursued, how-
ever, are revealing. In British writing, what
457
GRACE M. JANTZEN
often happens is that specific arguments about
religion in Freud or Marx or Nietzsche are
challenged by a combination of appeal to em-
pirical evidence and logic. Thus, for example,
John Hick in his book An Interpretation of
Religion, devotes a few pages to criticisms of
some particular arguments about the nature
of religion offered by Durkheim and Freud.
Having dispensed with these arguments to his
satisfaction, Hick then proceeds to an account
of religion which treats human subjectivity,
experience and _ language relatively
unproblematically.”? From the perspective of
current French philosophers, who are also, like’
Hick, deeply concerned about the nature of
religion, such an approach would appear sim-
plistic. This is not to say that they would de-
fend Freud or Marx or Durkheim at the points
where Hick attacks them: as already said, they
also develop searching critiques of these think-
ers.® But in French thinking, the force of the
‘masters of suspicion’ is not so much in their
detailed arguments, which may often fall into
mistakes, but rather in the ways in which they
show Enlightenment assumptions about the
rational subject, language and religion to be
radically destabilized by the combined factors
of the unconscious and socially constructed
ideology. Unless we recognize the extent to
which assumptions of such destabilization
forms the background to the philosophy of
religion of Kristeva (or Irigaray, or Derrida,
or Foucault, for all their differences), that
philosophy will remain as incomprehensible
to us as British realism and empiricism seem
astonishing to them. In the interests of pro-
moting understanding, I shall make some
highly schematic remarks about the ways in
which this destabilization is related to issues
of difference and of gender, and is seen to af-
fect the three areas highlighted in my com-
ments about British philosophy of religion:
the subject, language and God /religion.
2 Decentring the Subject
The work of Freud and Lacan has shown that
458
subtending the ‘rational’ and ‘autonomous’
ego beloved of Kant and his followers is the
unconscious, built out of the repression of
unacceptable desires from early childhood
onwards, and always returning to reveal itself
in jokes, slips of the tongue, and above all
dreams. The desires of the unconscious are
desires of and for the body, focused initially
on the body of the mother, and subsequently
on all the others who stand in for the (m)other.
But since the conscious, rational ego was built
upon the repression and mastery of those de-
sires, that mastery will extend to all those who
stand for the mother, all the (m)others who
at an unconscious level suggest to the subject
the desires that have been repressed. In
Lacanian psychoanalytic theory, moreover, the
subject qua subject is always masculine, since
it is individualized out of its primordial unity
with the mother by means of identification
with the Law of the Father in the Oedipal
phase of childhood development. In so far as
women become subjects — which is only im-
perfectly and against the grain — it is by be-
coming masculinized, speaking men’s
language, playing male roles by male rules, or
by accepting female roles of motherhood and
service designed for them by males.
Hence, the subject’s efforts at mastery are
directed toward the feminine, all that is iden-
tified with the (m)other: actual women,
otherness in race or sexuality, and, dramati-
cally, ‘Mother Nature’ whose domination is
taken up as a sacred task. The mastery of all
these is a necessary corollary to the repression
of the desire for the mother by which the sub-
ject constitutes itself'as a separate and rational
ego. Furthermore, in this effort toward mas-
tery the ego will bond with and project itself
into any structures of kinship or institutions
of society which will facilitate such repression:
thus are the structures of civilization built up.
Difference, of which gender difference is the
paradigm, is perceived as a challenge to mas-
tery. Hence the Continental view is that any
understanding of religion and the concept of
God must take seriously the extent to which
conceptualizations of the divine are male pro-
 WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
jections serving the interests of repression of
desires and the mastery of (m)others.
Although any specific allegation of projec-
tion, notoriously those found in Freud’s To-
tem and Taboo,’ can be usefully explored and
perhaps challenged, Continental thinkers take
it for granted that once we have admitted the
existence of the unconscious, as we must, then
we can no longer philosophize as though we
are uncomplicated rational subjects. Our very
existence is built upon difference, as we define
our conscious selves over against others. Nor
can we suppose that God is an uncomplicated
divine subject, our mirror image writ large. The
idea that we can tabulate characteristics of hu-
man personhood, and then ask to what extent
such characteristics might apply to God and
how they would have to be modified in the
divine case, even granted a quite complicated
doctrine of analogy, would seem to French
thinkers quite impossible. All the same, to say
that the concept of God of western Christian-
ity carries huge loads of projection is not nec-
essarily to say that it is false: Luce Irigaray, for
instance, urges that women should engage in
conscious and deliberate projection of a female
divine as an antidote to a relentlessly male de-
ity, and in an effort to reach toward the hori-
zon of our gendered becoming.!® It is,
however, to say that any account of God must
be treated with a hermeneutic of suspicion both
in terms of its provenance and in terms of the
strategic purposes it serves. They would per-
haps not be surprised at reading, as I did in the
Church Times a year or two ago, a bishop ex-
plaining that ‘in the Christian tradition God is
a relatively genderless male deity’.
The insistent question for Continental
thinkers, then, is how at a conscious level to
relate to the unconscious. It is possible to re-
press it, to deny its importance for the phi-
losophy of religion. But a basic theme of
psychoanalysis is the ‘return of the repressed’,
the intrusion of that which was meant to be
silenced into speech and behaviour. One of
the techniques of Continental writers like
Derrida and Irigaray is to demonstrate what
really was on an author’s mind, at an uncon-
scious level, as that is revealed in the meta-
phors, turns of phrase, or lacunae in the text.
This ‘reading the margins’ can be infuriating
to British philosophers of religion, since it is
not engaging with the argument of the text
but ‘rather ferreting out the desires of the
subtext, engaging, therefore, at a level of un-
acknowledged and perhaps unacknowledge-
able motivation rather than at a level of
acknowledged argument.
On the other hand, the relation to the un-
conscious need not be one of repression or
denial. It can instead be openness and vulner-
ability to difference, so that the conscious and
the unconscious can be integrated. In this way
that which erupts from unconscious depths is
a creative wellspring rather than a threaten-
ing volcano, and desire and rationality can be
strongly connected rather than struggling
against each other. But for this to be the case,
it is necessary to be in touch with emotion,
bodiliness, and sexuality, in short with that
which psychoanalytic theory has labelled the
feminine. Moreover, for this to have integ-
rity, it is necessary also to become aware of
the manifestations of both repression and vul-
nerability in social and global contexts and the
ways in which difference is implicated with
power: such issues as emerge in awareness of
gender, race and colonialism. The effort to-
ward integration has led to some highly crea-
tive work in the philosophy of religion, which
connects it to issues of ethics and politics: some
examples are Irigaray’s ‘Divine Women’," and
Kristeva’s development of‘herethics’ in ‘Stabat
Mater’.!? It can, however, have bizarre results
as well. So, for example, we find Derrida in
Spurs trying to ‘write like a woman’! —a ges-
ture simultaneously radical and hugely prob-
lematic. (What is a man doing trying to write
like a woman while women themselves —
Irigaray, Kristeva, Cixous — are still being si-
lenced, even in his own work? Why doesn’t
he rather try to write like a man — not a uni-
versal sexless subject but an embodied male
human being in a specific, not universal, con-
text, who takes actual women and their work
seriously? )
459
GRACE M. JANTZEN
One of the points of contention around the
theme of the decentring of the subject is the
status of the self in relation to agency and
moral responsibility. The phrase ‘the death of
the subject’ is sometimes bandied about as
though any recognition of the discursively
constructed nature ofthe subject carries with
it the loss of possibility of agency or account-
ability, since there is no pre-given ‘I’ who acts
and who can be held accountable for my ac-
tion. This, however, is to misunderstand what
is going on. The point of rejecting a pre-given
‘I’, a self which is not constructed in the ma-
trix of power constituted by discourses of gen-
der, race, class and sexuality within a particular
historical context, is not to say that there are
no ‘subjects’ and certainly not to deny them
agency and accountability. It is, rather, nega-
tively, to ask what purposes of power are be-
ing served by insisting on a pre-given self
rather than to have one’s eyes opened to the
extent to which our privileged subjecthood
may be bought at the expense ofthe abjection
of others; and positively, it is to say that sub-
jects, complete with agency and accountabil-
ity, are constituted within and by a context, a
context which importantly involves exclusion,
since one constitutes oneself by distinguish-
ing oneself from the other — initially from the
mother. Selfhood is premised on difference,
and cannot occur in a vacuum. The impor-
tant question, then, is how that difference will
be construed: will it be in terms of mastery or
respect, belittling or celebration?
3 ‘Structured Like a Language’
The Continental emphasis on the unconscious
is coupled with an emphasis on historical and
social locatedness which shapes and frames the
subject. This emphasis is heavily indebted to
linguistic theory, especially the structuralist
semiotics of Saussure! and Jakobson,! as well
as to theories of ideology derived from Marx
via Althusser and others. Very broadly speak-
ing, the difference from British philosophy of
religion in this respect is the recognition that
460
all experience, indeed all conceptualization
and speech, is always already constructed with
the concrete cultural and material frame. There
can be no such thing as neat experience, un-
contaminated by perspective and assumption,
whether that is sensory experience or religious
experience. Just as the words I use must be
selected from the vocabulary of the language
in which I speak for them to count as words
at all rather than unintelligible babble, so also
any experience I claim as evidence for a belief
can only be identified as such within a cul-
tural repertoire, and is, along with the beliefs
themselves, in large measure socially con-
structed.
The words ‘structure’ and ‘construction’
keép appearing; and indicate the great debt
that current Continental thought owes to
structuralism, an approach especially associ-
ated with Saussure and Lévi-Strauss.’® Struc-
turalism can be summarized as the theory that
every social practice is structured like a lan-
guage. What this means is that social prac-
tices are not spontaneous eruptions out of
nowhere: they are determined by rules of pro-
cedure — what we might call the ‘grammar’ of
the practice. It means also that the practice
signifies something of importance within the
culture, and that the particular rules of the
practice stand in arbitrary relation to that
which is signified.
Thus for example the practice of religious
sacrifice serves in many societies both as a
method of bonding among those who par-
ticipate in the ritual and perhaps eat the food
of the sacrificial victim, and as a way of ex-
cluding others by not permitting them to par-
take. There are very precise rules about what
must and must not be done, and by whom, in
sacrifices ranging from animal slaughter in
primitive religions to the Catholic mass. Yet
these rules are arbitrary in relation to the sym-
bolic function they serve: in one society only
the most revered men are permitted to eat the
brains of the victim and the liver is given to
those of low esteem, while in another society
exactly the reverse occurs, yet with the same
social meaning. Similarly, the sounds of one
 WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
language differ from those of another and are
arbitrary in their designation. This arbitrari-
ness, however, does not mean that in any given
language one can use sounds to mean what-
ever one likes and expect to be understood;
just as the social rules and practices of a soci-
ety, though arbitrary in the sense that they
could be different in some other society, are
not open to individualistic reinterpretation.
One cannot just decide to feed the consecrated
host to one’s dog in a Catholic mass and ex-
pect observers to take that action as having
no particular meaning.
The assumption of structuralist linguistics
is coupled with broad acceptance of Lacanian
psychoanalytic theory which, as sketched
above, accepts that the Symbolic, including
language, civilization, religion, at least in their
western manifestations, are identified with the
masculine. The example of sacrifice graphi-
cally illustrates this: in a vast range ofsocieties
sacrifice can only be performed by a man, and
if women can partake at all, they can do so
only in conditions strictly controlled by men.
Thus one ofthe social functions ofsacrifice is
to bond the men of power together and to
exclude or control slaves, foreigners, and
women, whose blood is often seen as a pol-
lutant. So prevalent is this structure across di-
vergent cultures that Nancy Jay has described
sacrifice as a ‘remedy for having been born of
a woman’.”” Sacrifice is thus taken as an ex-
treme example of the masculinist construction
of the Symbolic in which difference, para-
digmatically gender difference, is crucial.
But if this were all that could be said, then
there would be no way of breaking out of it.
A structuralist account of language (where
language stands for the Symbolic in general)
is profoundly conservative, seeing language as
homogeneous and therefore paralysed when
it comes to any confrontation with the other.
The only thing the ego can do is attempt
mastery. Contemporary Continental thinkers
are deeply concerned with the ways in which
the dominant groups, whether political, ec-
clesiastical, intellectual, or racial have sought
to master the various ‘others’, often with great
brutality, to their own impoverishment, and
the ways in which religion has been part of
those structures of domination. Yet such atti-
tudes of oppression enacted by the mastering
ego are indicative ofa failure to encounter and
be enriched by the alterities within ourselves:
we remain ‘strangers to ourselves’, as Kristeva
entitles one of her recent books,!® and rather
than celebrating the elements ofdifference and
foreignness, we are threatened by them, seek
to repress and master them, and hence to re-
press anyone — the other race, sex, sexuality —
that serves to remind us of our own alterities.
The poststructuralist move is to recognize
that social practices, including language,
though structured according to rules which
imply attitudes of mastery, nevertheless also
carry within themselves the resources neces-
sary to transgress the boundaries of the domi-
nating establishment and to begin to develop
alternative ways of thinking and being.’? I see
this as the shorthand way of distinguishing
contemporary poststructuralism from the
structuralist thought preceding and to a large
extent shaping it: poststructuralists seek ways,
from within the structures of the Symbolic,
to disrupt or transgress those structures, thus
destabilizing them in the interests of justice: a
brilliant and outrageous example is Derrida’s
Dissemination, where he disrupts Lacanian
gender structures and their compulsory het-
erosexuality by showing what happens when
the autonomy of the male self is taken liter-
ally.”° This interest in destabilizing from within
is why poststructuralists are so interested in
excess, transgression, free play, even madness.
They draw upon Surrealists, the avant garde,
the Marquis de Sade. They look at prisons and
at mental hospitals; they explore bodiliness
and sexuality in many forms, not just as an
aspect oftheir ‘private lives’ but as part of their
philosophical enterprise of seeking ways to
destabilize the dominant ego and its structural
manifestations, and thus make room for
the celebration of alterities. This can and
sometimes does tip over into nihilism, as in
Baudrillard,”! or into an amoral and relativis-
tic free-play, as in Mark Taylor’s (mis)approp-
461
GRACE M. JANTZEN
riation of Derrida for a ‘transgressive’ philoso-
phy ofreligion which is so busy smashing icons
that it has not one word to say about issues of
injustice. But in the work of many
poststructuralist writers the exploration of the
excessive or transgressive serves a very serious
moral purpose indeed. I am personally par-
ticularly interested in the (different) ways in
which Irigaray and Kristeva explore women’s
mystical experience as excessive, disruptive of
the stable and oppressive structures of religious
language, doctrine and practice, and thereby
opening new horizons of the imminent divine
that will be able to celebrate rather than re-
press alterities of sex, race and sexuality.?#
The effort toward ways of dealing with op-
pressive structures is also one of the reasons
why French thinkers adopt writing styles
which we in Britain may well find opaque and
exasperating. Rather than writing in straight-
forward prose, developing arguments with
clearly defined premises and conclusions,
French writers tend to use allusive, often po-
etic style, sometimes allowing themselves to
free-associate on a theme to see what comes
up, almost as one would in a therapy session
where one was allowing the unconscious to
emerge. Since British philosophers are for the
most part given to a philosophical methodol-
ogy whereby arguments are presented, at-
tacked, defended, and counterattacked, clarity
and precision of presentation is of great im-
portance. French thinkers, however, see this
as already buying into the structuring of ra-
tionality which they are seeking to destabilize
by their insistence on the unconscious and the
structures of ideology. At best, as in Irigaray’s
Speculum or Kristeva’s Powers of Horror, the
allusive method is wonderfully illuminating of
possibilities, though it must be granted that
at the hands of less competent or less morally
committed writers the line between brilliance
and self-indulgence is easily crossed.?* Even
at its best, however, British philosophers can
find this writing extremely heavy going, partly
because of the difference of style of argument,
and partly also because the multiple allusions
tend to assume a thorough knowledge of
462
French literature and philosophy of the past
five hundred years (and sometimes, also that
of Russia, Italy and former Eastern Bloc coun-
tries): it is like trying to read Milton without
benefit of the Bible or Shakespeare. Partly, this
just means that one has to do a great deal of
very pleasant homework reading history and
novels and poetry (and looking at paintings
and sculpture) in order to understand what
they are getting at. The difficulty I have with
it is that it sometimes seems to be addressed
only to those who have the leisure and educa-
tional privilege to engage in such cultural pur-
suits, and in this sense can be elitist — though
as compared with the use of Bayes’s theorem
to assess the probability of the existence of
God, I should think it is accessible to far more
people.
Coupled with the issues raised by structur-
alism, Continental thinkers are acutely aware
that the framing of experience, and therefore
the development of any discipline or body of
knowledge, is intertwined with issues of power
and authority. On what grounds are people
considered to be experts in any field? The
straightforward answer is that people are ex-
perts if they know a great deal about it. But as
soon as it is recognized that the ‘experts’ are
also the ones who develop, define and police
the field, the connection between knowledge
and power which Foucault so tellingly ex-
plored becomes obvious.”* At this point there
is also a connection back to the unconscious,
since the exercise of authority will reflect the
desires, quite probably repressed and unac-
knowledged, of those in power. If those de-
sires include a strong need to deny the
relevance of the body, to repress sexuality and
the (m)other, in short to refuse differences,
then the structures of civilization as they are
defended and upheld by those in authority are
bound to be bad news for women, blacks, and
gays, and poor people of all countries.
Broadly speaking, and with many variations,
French thinkers have taken it as given that this
applies to the history of Christendom, not only
in ecclesiastical structures but also in theol-
ogy and philosophy of religion. Where Brit-
 WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
ish thinkers prefer to deal in terms of devel-
oping and defending arguments for or against
specific religious beliefs, French thinkers are
acutely conscious of the ideology and social
construction of those beliefs, and insist on
asking who benefits and who loses out, not
only from the beliefs themselves, but even
from conducting the conversation in this way.
Many British thinkers are worried about the
relativist consequences of French procedure,
and what may be perceived as continual side-
stepping of the substantive issues of theology
and the philosophy ofreligion. French think-
ers ask how it comes about that these particu-
lar issues are the ones that are construed as
‘substantive’ issues in the first place, while
others such as those having to do with gen-
der and other forms of difference are
marginalized. Such questioning disrupts the
whole idea of a quest for religious (or any
other) realities by means of the employment
of Enlightenment rationality, with its un-
problematic and implicitly masculine subject
and the philosophical methods it employs.
Both method and goal French thinkers would
see as prime examples of socially constructed
projection of repressed masculinist desires.
Given such utterly different starting points
between British and French thinkers, it is
hardly surprising that without very great good
will and considerable effort, everyone winds
up with a headache.
Although a complete discussion of the ques-
tion of relativism would take me far beyond
the bounds of this paper, it is important to
note that in this regard French thinkers have
not always been well served by their Anglo-
American admirers: Richard Rorty, for exam-
ple, and Mark Taylor espouse a relativism
which they consider derivative from Derrida,
but which is arguably very far from Derrida’s
own thought.*® Derrida’s emphasis on
deconstruction, in fact, is one which British
philosophers of religion might find congen-
ial. In his ‘Force of Law: the “Mystical Foun-
dation of Authority”’”” Derrida shows how it
is necessary to investigate the ways in which
justice has been construed in different histori-
cal contexts, and in particular how what has
counted as ‘justice’ has all too often served
the interests of those who were doing the
counting. But such a deconstruction of jus-
tice is necessary precisely in the mame of jus-
tice and for its sake: and this is so even though
we can be quite clear that we are never going
to arrive at a neutral or uncontextual tran-
scendent account of justice. Whatever account
of justice we propose will itself always need
deconstruction, and so on, ad infinitum; but
although we can never say that we have ar-
rived, or are already perfect, this is not the
same as to say that any account we develop
is unusable, let alone that one account of
Justice is as good as another. Though Derrida
does not make the comparison, this is not far
from Eckhart’s comment, ‘For God’s sake, rid
me of God,’ at least if that is interpreted to
mean that whatever concepts of God we may
develop, we must always also recognize that
they are provisional and partial and if viewed
as final they become idolatry: in the name of
God it is necessary to deconstruct God.
4 God and Religion
But if the subject of religious belief is
destabilized by the unconscious, and the lan-
guage of religion is socially and ideologically
framed, what about God? What, according to
Continental thinkers, is religion itself? Again,
there are many variations, but some common
themes emerge. First, it is taken as obvious
that ‘good old God’, as Lacan calls him, is a
masculinist projection subtending the
phallocentric structures of civilization; there
are arguments about detail here, but the cen-
tral point is hardly disputed among current
French thinkers.”* But that is by no means to
dismiss the divine, or religion. On the con-
trary, thinkers like Irigaray and Kristeva and
(I think) Derrida would see the ‘British style’
beliefin God and discussions about that God’s
existence and nature not just as simplistic but
as profoundly irreligious. This is not merely
because British philosophers ofreligion do not
463
GRACE M. JANTZEN
engage with the psychoanalytic and political
issues already raised, which Continental think-
ers consider essential to any intellectually re-
sponsible stance. It is also because they would
hold that to think of the existence of God as a
fact among other facts, even if the most im-
portant one, is to trivialize it right out of reli-
gious significance. Continental thought would
thus see British philosophy of religion as
largely secular and empiricist in its treatment
of the question of God’s existence as one more
fact about a world which is otherwise the same
for theists and atheists.
Their approach, instead, is to shift the un-
derstanding of religion to the idea that the
basic values, myths and rituals of any civiliza-
tion are in fact its religion. Religion in some
form, thus, is a necessary basis for any civiliza-
tion. In some ways we can see religion and
the unconscious as parallel in their thought:
we could say that in their view as the uncon-
scious subtends the rational subject, so reli-
gion subtends civilization. The question,
therefore, is not whether we as a society will
be religious, but ow, just as the question is
not whether we as individuals have an uncon-
scious, but how we relate to it. This accounts
for a comment such as the following by Luce
Irigaray:
It seems we are unable to eliminate or suppress
the phenomenon of religion. It reemerges in
many forms, some of them perverse: sectarian-
ism, theoretical or political dogmatism, religi-
osity... . Therefore, it is crucial that we rethink
religion, and especially religious structures, cat-
egories, rules, and utopias, all of which have been
masculine for centuries. Keeping in mind that
today these religious structures often appear
under the name of science and technology.”
Such an attitude explains the prominence
of religious themes in Continental thought,
even among thinkers who would look with
suspicion on the very idea of a ‘specialty’ in
philosophy of religion. The writings of Lacan
are peppered with Biblical quotations and re-
ligious allusions, not often commented upon
by his English expositors who, while discuss-
464
ing his psychoanalytic and philosophical ideas,
seem largely to have assumed the Anglo-
American secularist stance which I think
French writers hold to be impossible. From a
certain perspective, also, Derrida’s work can
arguably be seen as an exercise in apophatic
theology. Some British and American femi-
nist writers are alive to the importance of reli-
gion for Irigaray and Kristeva.*° With these
exceptions, however, the religious ideas of
Continental thinkers are largely unexplored
or marginalized by English-speaking writers
who discuss their ideas, probably because
many of the English writers who do engage
with French thought are sociologists or lin-
guists, and are not particularly interested in
religion, while philosophers of religion have
for their part left them severely alone. Thus
what may be one of the most creative aspects
of their work is ignored.
One of the reasons for this may be that
British philosophers of religion do not see why
that which subtends civilization should nec-
essarily be called religious: why should we
not rather reserve the term for that which has
to do with God and God’s relations to the
world? In part this is a question of stipul-
ation, though once again it is obvious that
stipulation carries a great weight of power
and ideology: think for instance of the way
Smart or Hick speaks of ‘major world relig-
ions’ — meaning primarily Christianity, Islam,
Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism — and
thereby marginalize tribal and aboriginal re-
ligions, though historically and perhaps even
now these would have more adherents than
those systems which are labelled ‘major’. One
does not have to be unduly cynical to sup-
pose that the history of this country as a ‘Chris-
tian’ colonial power has something to do with
how easily we find these stipulations ‘normal’.
Be that as it may, Continental thinkers
might point out that, whatever name is given
to it, the ultimate values and myths that sub-
tend a civilization are of enormous signifi-
cance, and that ifsocieties or subgroups within
them are worshipping money or science or
football, then it is far more intellectually re-
 WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? KNOWLEDGE AND GENDER
sponsible for thinkers to notice and interpret
this than to shrug it off as not really about
religion and therefore not our specialist con-
cern. Whether one thinks that such things as
ongoing sexism and racism, the wars in Bosnia
and Chechnya or the tenuous peace in North-
ern Ireland, are manifestations of genuine re-
ligion or an aberration of it, even on a most
generous reading, Christendom has lent itself
to incalculable injustice over the centuries. Is
it not urgent that an account ofthe nature of
religion take this on board? Once again, Brit-
ish philosophers are likely to see Continental
thinkers as lacking in rigour and discipline,
and lapsing into sociology and politics, while
French thinkers might see British philosophers
of religion as much too narrow in approach,
refusing to engage with the real religious is-
sues of our time while frittering away energy
discussing things that don’t have much bear-
ing on people’s lives, and thereby in effect
supporting the status quo. It should not be
forgotten that most of the French thinkers I
have mentioned inherited the ideals, though
not the precise content, of the political com-
mitment of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de
Beauvoir. Many of them were on the barri-
cades in 1968, and have worked hard for po-
litical and social projects such as the welfare
of Algerian immigrants, the lifting of the
USSR’s heavy hand in Poland and Czecho-
slovakia, the right of French women to con-
traception and abortion, and the humanizing
of conditions in mental hospitals and prisons.
This political engagement, and the ways in
which the institutions of church and univer-
sity enabled them or failed them in their ef-
forts, informs all their thinking; indeed, they
would consider it part of an intellectual’s duty
to be engaged at a practical, not only at a theo-
retical level.
I am aware of how sketchy is this summary of
some of the differences of approach of British
and French thinkers on the themes of the sub-
ject, language, and God/religion. Everything
I have said requires deepening; and for almost
every generalization about both British and
French philosophers, exceptions could easily
be found. Furthermore, even to give such a
sketch, with rather simplistic pigeon holes,
already places me very firmly on English-speak-
ing terrain: I cannot imagine any French
thinker making such a survey or even having
much sympathy with it. They would surely
want to know what desires and whose inter-
ests are being served by an attempt to button
down, however provisionally, the shifting
signifiers in the way that I have done.
My excuse is that I believe that we (i.e.
English-speaking philosophers of religion)
have a great deal to learn from them, but that
differences of style and basic assumptions and
starting positions often make their work inac-
cessible to us. Unless we recognize and allow
for some ofthese differences, we won’t begin
to see what they are on about. And whether
in the end we agree or disagree, I believe that
we are greatly impoverished if we refuse to
engage at all. Epistemology, especially in the
philosophy of religion, is inescapably about
‘knowing the difference’.
Notes
1 Donna Haraway, ‘A Manifesto for Cyborgs:
Science, Technology and Socialist Feminism
in the 1980s’, in Linda J. Nicholson (ed.),
Feminism/Postmodernism (London and New
York: Routledge, 1990), pp. 202-3 (first pub-
lished in 1985 in Socialist Review, no. 8).
2 Jean Francois Lyotard, The Postmodern Con-
dition: a Report on Knowledge, trs. G.
Bennington and Brian Maaumi (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1984).
3 Judith Butler, ‘Contingent Foundations: Femi-
nism and the Question of “Postmodernism” ’,
in Feminist Contentions, ed. Seyla Benhabib,
Judith Butler, Drucilla Cornéll and Nancy
Fraser (London and New York: Routledge,
WIDE).
4 Ernest Gellner, Postmodernism, Reason and
Religion (London and New York: Routledge,
1992).
5 Richard Swinburne, Responsibility and Atone-
ment (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).
6 Philip L. Quinn, ‘Swinburne on Guilt, Atone-
ment, and Christian Redemption’, in Alan G.
465
GRACE M. JANTZEN
Padgett (ed.), Reason and the Christian Rel-
gion: Essays in Honour of Richard Swinburne
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994).
John Hick, An Interpretation of Religion:
Human Responses to the Transcendent (Lon-
don: Macmillan, 1989), ch. 7.
See, for example, Luce Irigaray, Speculum of
the Other Woman (Ithaca, N.Y., and London:
Cornell University Press, 1985) for a sustained
critique of Freud; and Jacques Derrida, Spec-
tres of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of
Mourning, and the New International, tr.
Peggy Kamuf (London: Routledge, 1994) for
reflections on Marxist thought in the aftermath
of the Soviet Union and the Eastern Bloc.
Sigmund Freud, Totem and Taboo, in his The
Origins of Religion, tr. James Strachey (Pen-
guin Freud Library, vol. 13; Harmondsworth:
Penguin, 1985).
10 Luce Irigaray, ‘Divine Woman’, in Sexes and
Genealogies, tr. Gillian C. Gill (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1993).
ll Luce Irigaray, ‘Divine Women’, in her Sexes
and Genealogies.
12 Julia Kristeva, ‘Stabat Mater’, in her Tales of
Love, tr. Leon S. Roudiez (New York: Colum-
bia University Press, 1987); reprinted in Toril
Moi (ed.), The Kristeva Reader (Oxford:
Blackwell, 1986).
13 Jacques Derrida, Spurs: Nietszche’s Styles, tr.
Barbara Harlow (Chicago: Chicago Univer-
sity Press, 1978).
14 Ferdinand de Saussure, General Course in Lin-
guistics, tr. Roy Harris (London: Duckworth,
1983).
15 Roman Jakobson, Fundamentals of Language
(The Hague: Mouton, 1956).
16 The primary texts here are Ferdinand de
Saussure, General Course in Linguistics, and
Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Savage Mind (Eng-
lish tr.; London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson,
1966). For useful secondary literature see
Jonathan Culler, Saussure (London: Collins,
Fontana Modern Masters, 1976); John
Sturrock, Structuralism, 2nd edn (London:
Fontana, HarperCollins, 1993); Eve Tavor
Bannet, Structuralism and the Logic ofDissent:
Barthes, Derrida, Foucault, Lacan (London:
Macmillan, 1989).
ay, Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations For-
ever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1991), p. xxiii.
466
18 Julia Kristeva, Strangers to Ourselves, tr. Leon
S. Roudiez (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1993).
19 See, for example, Julia Kristeva, Revolution in
Poetic Language, tr. Leon S. Roudiez (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1993).
20 Jacques Derrida, Dissemination, tr. Barbara
Johnson (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1981).
21 See among others, Jean Baudrillard, Fatal
Strategies, tr. Philip Beitchman and W. G. J.
Niesluchowski (London: Pluto, 1990); The
Transparency of Evil: Essays on Extreme Phe-
nomena, tr. James Benedict (London: Verso,
1993).
22 Mark Taylor, Erring: A Postmodern A/theol-
agy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1984).
23 Luce Irigaray, Speculum of the Other Woman,
tr. Gillian C. Gill (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1985), pp. 191-240; and Julia
Kristeva, Tales of Love.
24 As I think it does, for example, in Mark Taylor,
Erring.
25 As for example in his essays in Michel Foucault,
Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and
Other Writings 1972-1977, ed. Colin Gordon
(New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1980).
26 Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony and Solt-
darity (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1989); and Mark Taylor, Evring. For a
discussion of Rorty, see Richard J. Bernstein,
‘Rorty’s Liberal Utopia’ in his The New Con-
stellation: The Ethical-Political Horizons of
Modernity/Postmodernity (Cambridge: Polity
Press, LOS);
27 Jacques Derrida, ‘Force of Law: the “Mystical
Foundation of Authority”’, in Drucilla Cornell
et al. (eds), Deconstruction and the Possibility
ofJustice (New York: Routledge, 1992).
28 For Lacan’s view, see his ‘God and the
Jouissance of The Woman’, in Juliet Mitchel
and Jacqueline Rose (eds), Feminine Sexual-
ity: Jacques Lacan and the Ecole Freudienne
(Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1982). The idea de-
rives broadly from Freud, of course, especially
his The Future of an Illusion.
29 Luce Irigaray, ‘Women, the Sacred, Money’,
in her Sexes and Genealogies, p. 75.
30 See for example David Crownfield (ed.), Body?
Text in Julia Kristeva: Religion, Women, and
Psychoanalysis (Albany: State University of New

York Press, 1993); Kathryn Bond Stockton,
God Between Their Lips: Desire Between Women
tn Irigaray, Bronte, and Eliot (Stanford, Cal.:
Stanford University Press, 1994); C.W.
51 Women’s Experience Revisited: the Challenge of the
Darker Sister*
Jacquelyn Grant
Although feminist theology has made an im-
portant critique
of the sexist limitations of the
dominant theologies of Europe and North
America, it is not without serious limitations,
especially when evaluated in the light of Black
women’s experience. What are these limita-
tions and how serious are they, especially as
they are related to Christology? In this chap-
ter, I will discuss these limitations and, in my
concluding remarks, point the way towards a
theology that is grounded in Black women’s
experiences.
A Limitations of Feminist
Theology
Feminist theology is inadequate for two rea-
sons: it is White and racist.
— —
2 Feminist Theology as Racist
It would be inaccurate to assert that because
feminist theology is White, it is also racist. To
be White does not necessarily mean to be rac-
* Prom White Women’s Christ and Black Women’s
Jesus: Feminist Christology and Womamnist Response
(Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 195, 199-
201, 209-10, 218-20. Reprinted with permission.
WOMEN’S EXPERIENCE REVISITED
Maggie Kim et al. (eds), Transfigurations:
Theology and the French Feminists (Minne-
apolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1993).
ist, though the behavior of Whites makes the
distinction difficult. Nevertheless, my claim
that feminist theology is racist is best sup-
ported by a definition of racism.
Racism, according to Joel Kovel, “. . . is the
tendency of a society to degrade and do vio-
lence to people on the basis of race, and by
whatever mediations may exist for this pur-
pose.” These mediations are manifested in
different forms, and are carried on through
various media: the psychology, sociology, his-
tory, economics and symbolism of the domi-
nant (White) group. Racism is the domination
of a people which is justified by the dominant
group on the basis of racial distinctions. It is
not only individual acts but a collective, insti-
tutionalized activity. As C. Eric Lincoln ob-
served,
[flor racism to flourish with the vigor it enjoys
in America, there must be an extensive climate
of acceptance and participation by large num-
bers of people who constitute its power base. It
is the consensus of private persons that gives
racism its derivative power. The power of rac-
ism is the power conceded by those respectable
citizens who by their actions or inaction com-
municate the consensus which directs and em-
powers the overt bigot to act on their behalf.
Even if some individual feminists are not
racists, the movement has been so structured,
and therefore takes on a racist character. In a
467
JACQUELYN GRANT
racist society, the oppressor assumes the power
of definition and control while the oppressed
is objectified and perceived as a thing.’ As
such, White women have defined the move-
ment and presumed to do so not only for
themselves but also for non-White women.
They have misnamed themselves by calling
themselves feminists when in fact they are
White feminists, and by appealing to wom-
en’s experience when in fact they appeal al-
most exclusively to their own experience. To
misname themselves as “feminists” who ap-
peal to “women’s experience” is to do what
oppressors always do: it is to define the rules
and then solicit others to play the game. It is
to presume a commonality with oppressed
women that oppressed women themselves do
not share. If White women’s analysis were
adequate, they would be more precise in nam-
ing their own movement and would not pre-
sume to name or define the experiences of
others. They have simply accepted and par-
ticipated in the racism of the larger American
society when they have done so. This partially
accounts for the negative response which Black
women have had with respect to feminism.
Brenda Eichelberger identifies five catego-
ries of reasons that lead to Black women’s re-
jection of White feminism.
(1) Class differences mean that while Black
women are dealing with “survival” issues,
White women are dealing with “fulfillment”
issues. (2) Negative imagery of Black women
derived from physical and cultural stereotypes
has resulted in the debased treatment of Black
women. (3) The naivety, or basic lack of
knowledge of Black women about the wom-
en’s movement results in their inability to see
the relationship between feminist issues and
the Black struggle. (4) Black women perceive
White feminists to be racists who are inter-
ested in them only in order to accomplish the
White women’s agenda. (5) There is a con-
cern that an alliance of Black women with
White women in a feminist agenda may be
“detrimental to Black men” and therefore di-
visive of the Black community.*
The hostility towards the feminist move-
468
ment elaborated by some critics focuses on its
implications for family life. Many view femi-
nism as a direct threat to Black family life.
Sociologist Iva Carruthers refers to feminism
as “one of the most serious assaults on Afri-
can familyhood.”® This feminist movement,
she maintains, is a “White-family affair” and
is therefore totally irrelevant “to the real needs
of Black women.”° Deborah Hines distin-
guishes between Black women’s reality and
White women’s reality.
Black women find it extremely difficult to ally
themselves with those who say, “We have all
suffered the same,” when we know it isn’t so.
We are being told that apples and oranges are
the same, when we can see that they are not.
You cannot easily substitute one for the other
in a recipe. Their odors are different. They ap-
peal to people differently. Even a blind person
can tell them apart. Yet, a steady stream of rheto-
ric is aimed at convincing Black women how
much alike their lives, experiences, wishes and
decisions are to those of our stepsisters.”
To say that many Black women are suspi-
cious of the feminist movement, then, is to
speak mildly about their responses to it. Put
succinctly, women of the dominant culture are
perceived as the enemy. Like their social,
sexual and political White male partners, they
have as their primary goal the suppression, if
not oppression, of the Black race and the ad-
vancement of the dominant culture. Because
of this perception, many believe that Black
feminism is a contradiction in terms.
B Towards a New Black
Women’s Consciousness
2 The Starting Point for Womanist
Theology
Because it is important to distinguish Black
and White women’s experiences, it is also im-
portant to note these differences in theologi-

cal and Christological reflection. To accent the
difference between Black and White women’s
perspective in theology, I maintain that Black
women scholars should follow Alice Walker
by describing our theological activity as
“womanist theology.” The term “womanist”
refers to Black women’s experiences. It ac-
cents, as Walker says, our being responsible,
in charge, outrageous, courageous and auda-
cious enough to demand the right to think
theologically and to do it independently of
both White and Black men and White women.
Black women must do theology out oftheir
tridimensional experience of racism /sexism/
classism. To ignore any aspect of this experi-
ence is to deny the holistic and integrated re-
ality of Black womanhood. When Black
women say that God is on the side of the op-
pressed, we mean that God is in solidarity with
the struggles of those on the under side of
humanity.
In a chapter entitled “Black Women: Shap-
ing Feminist Theory,” bell hooks elaborates
the interrelationship of the threefold oppres-
sive reality of Black women and shows some
of the weaknesses of White feminist theory.
Challenging the racist and classist assumption
of White feminism, hooks writes:
Racism abounds in the writings of white femi-
nists, reinforcing white supremacy and negat-
ing the possibility that women will bond
politically across ethnic and racial boundaries.
Past feminist refusal to draw attention to and
attack racial hierarchy suppressed the link be-
tween race and class. Yet class structure in Ameni-
can society has been shaped by the racial politics
of white supremacy.®
This means that Black women, because of
oppression determined by race and their sub-
jugation as women, make up a disproportion-
ately high percentage of the poor and working
classes. However, the fact that Black women
are a subjugated group even within the Black
community and the White women’s commu-
nity does not mean that they are alone in their
oppression within those communities. In the
women’s community poor White women are
WOMEN’S EXPERIENCE REVISITED
marginalized, and in the Black community,
poor Black men are also discriminated against.
This suggests that classism, as well as racism
and sexism, has a life of its own. Consequently,
simply addressing racism and sexism is inad-
equate to bring about total liberation. Even
though there are dimensions of class which
are not directly related to race or sex, classism
impacts Black women in a peculiar way which
results in the fact that they are most often on
the bottom of the social and economic lad-
der. For Black women doing theology, to ig-
nore classism would mean that their theology
is no different from any other bourgeois the-
ology. It would be meaningless to the major-
ity of Black women, who are themselves poor.
This means that addressing only issues relevant
to middle class women or Blacks will simply
not do: the daily struggles of poor Black
women must serve as the gauge for the verifi-
cation of the claims of womanist theology.
a
6 Challenges for Womanist
Christology
Although I have argued that the White femi-
nist analysis of theology and Christology is
inadequate for salvific efficacy with respect to
Black women, I do contend that it is not to-
tally irrelevant to Black women’s needs. I be-
lieve that Black women should take seriously
the feminist analysis, but they should not al-
low themselves to be coopted on behalf of
the agendas of White women, for as I have
argued, they are often racist unintentionally
or by intention.
The first challenge, therefore, is to Black
women. Feminists have identified some prob-
lems associated with language and symbolism
of the church, theology, and Christology.
They have been able to show that exclusive
masculine language and imagery are contrib-
uting factors undergirding the oppression of
women.
In addressing the present day, womanists
must investigate the relationship between the
469
JACQUELYN GRANT
oppression of women and theological symbol-
ism. Even though Black women have been
able to transcend some of the oppressive ten-
dencies of White male (and Black male) ar-
ticulated theologies, careful study reveals that
some traditional symbols are inadequate for
us today. The Christ understood as the
stranger, the outcast, the hungry, the weak,
the poor, makes the traditional male Christ
(Black and White) less significant. Even our
sisters, the womanists of the past, though they
exemplified no problems with the symbols
themselves, they had some suspicions about
the effects of a male image of the divine, for
they did challenge the oppressive and distorted
use of it in the church’s theology. In so do-
ing, they were able to move from a traditional
oppressive Christology, with respect to
women, to an egalitarian Christology. This
kind of equalitarian Christology was opera-
tive in Jarena Lee’s argument for the right of
women to preach. She argued “the Saviour
died for the woman as well as for the man.”?
The crucifixion was for universal salvation, not
just for male salvation or, as we may extend
the argument to include, not just for White
salvation. Because of this Christ came and
died, no less for the woman as for the man,
no less for Blacks as for Whites.
Ifthe man may preach, because the Saviour died
for him, why not the woman? Seeing he died
for her also. Is he not a whole Saviour, instead
of half one? as those who hold it wrong for a
woman to preach, would seem to make it ap-
peateny
Lee correctly perceives that there is an onto-
logical issue at stake. If Jesus Christ were a
Savior of men then it is true the maleness of
Christ would be paramount. But if Christ is a
Saviour of all, then it is the humanity — the
wholeness — of Christ which is significant.
Sojourner was aware of the same tendency of
some scholars and church leaders to link the
maleness of Jesus and the sin of Eve with the
status of women and she challenged this no-
tion in her famed speech “Ain’t Ia Woman?”
470
Then that little man in black there, he says
women can’t have as much rights as men, ‘cause
Christ wasn’t a woman! Where did your Christ
come from? Where did your Christ come from?
From God and a woman. Man had nothing to
do with Him.
If the first woman God ever made was strong
enough to turn the world upside down all alone,
these women together ought to be able to turn
it back, and get it right side up again! And now
they is asking to do it, the men better let them."
I would argue, as suggested by both Lee
and Sojourner, that the significance of Christ
is not his maleness, but his humanity. The
most significant events of Jesus Christ were
the life and ministry, the crucifixion, and the
resurrection. The significance of these events,
in one sense, is that in them the absolute be-
comes concrete. God becomes concrete not
only in the man Jesus, for he was crucified,
but in the lives of those who will accept the
challenges of the risen Savior the Christ.
For Lee, this meant that women could
preach; for Sojourner, it meant that women
could possibly save the world; for me, it means
today, this Christ, found in the experiences of
Black women, is a Black woman. The com-
mitment that to struggle not only with symp-
toms (church structures, structures ofsociety),
as Black women have done, but with causes
(those beliefs which produce and reinforce
structures) yield deeper theological and
christological questions having to do with
images and symbolism. Christ challenges us
to ask new questions demanded by the con-
text in which we find ourselves.
The second challenge for Black women is
that we must explore more deeply the ques-
tion of what Christ means in a society in which
class distinctions are increasing. If Christ is
among “the least” then who are they? Because
our foreparents were essentially poor by vir-
tue of their race, there was no real need for
them to address classism as a separate reality.
Today, in light of the emerging Black middle
class we must ask what is the impact of class
upon our lives and the lives of other poor Black
and Third World women and men.

Another way of addressing the class issue
in the church is to recognize the fact that al-
though our race/sex analyses may force us to
realize that Blacks and women should share
in the leadership of the church, the style of
leadership and basic structures of the church
virtually insure the continuation ofa privileged
class.
Contemporary Black women in taking se-
riously the Christ mandate to be among the
least must insist that we address all three as-
pects of Black women’s reality in our analy-
ses. The challenge here for contemporary
Black women is to begin to construct a seri-
ous analysis which addresses the structural
nature of poverty. Black women must recog-
nize that racism, sexism, and classism each have
lives of their own, and that no one form of
oppression is eliminated with the destruction
of any other. Though they are interrelated,
they must all be addressed.
The third and final challenge for Black
women is to do constructive Christology. This
Christology must be a liberating one, for both
the Black women’s community and the larger
Black community. A Christology which ne-
gates Black male humanity is still destructive
to the Black community. We must, therefore,
take seriously only the usable aspects of the
past.
To be sure, as Black women receive these
challenges, their very embodiment represents
a challenge to White women. This embodi-
ment (of racism, sexism, and classism) says to
White women that a wholistic analysis is a
minimal requirement for wholistic theology.
The task of Black women, then, is construc-
tive.
As we organize in this constructive task, we
are also challenged to adopt the critical stance
of Sojourner with respect to the feminist analy-
sis as reflected in her comment:
WOMEN’S EXPERIENCE REVISITED
I know that it feel a kind o’ hissin’ and ticklin’
like to see a colored woman get up and tell you
about things, and woman’s rights. We have all
been thrown down so low that nobody thought
we’ ever get up again, but we have been long
enough trodden now; we will come up again,
and now I am here....
...T wanted to tell you a mite about Wom-
an’s Rights, and so I came out and said so. [am
sittin’ among you to watch; and every once ina
while I will come out and tell you what time of
night it is.’
Notes
1 Joel Kovel, White Racism: a Psychohistory (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1984), p. x.
2 C. Eric Lincoln, Race Religion and the Con-
tinuing American Dilemma (New York: Hill
and Wang, 1984), pp. 11-12.
3 Kovel, White Racism, passim.
4 Brenda Eichelberger, “Voices of Black Femi-
nism,” Quest: A Feminist Quarterly, II1
(Spring), pp. 16-23.
5 Iva Carruthers, “War in African Familyhood,”
in Sturdy Black Bridges: Visions of Black Women
in Literature, eds. Roseann P. Bell, Bettye J.
Parker and Beverly Guy-Sheftall (New York:
Anchor Books, Doubleday, 1979), p. 9.
Omibideips9}
7 Deborah Hines, “Racism Breeds Stereotypes,”
The Witness, 65 (February 1982), p. 7.
8 bell hooks, Feminist Theory: From Margin to
Center (Boston, MA: South End Press, 1981),
js hs
9 Jarena Lee, Religious Experiences and Journal
of Mrs Jarena Lee (Philadelphia, 1849),
pp. 15-16.
10 Ibid., p. 16.
11 Sojourner Truth, “Ain’t la Woman,” in Femi-
nism, ed. Schneir, p. 94.
12 Ibid., pp. 96-8.
47]
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
52 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass*
Frederick Douglass
Appendix
I find, since reading over the foregoing Nar-
rative that I have, in several instances, spoken
in such a tone and manner, respecting reli-
gion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted
with my religious views to suppose me an
opponent of all religion. To remove the li-
ability of such misapprehension, I deem it
proper to append the following brief explana-
tion. What I have said respecting and against
religion, I mean strictly to apply to the
slaveholding religion of this land, and with no
possible reference to Christianity proper; for,
between the Christianity of this land, and the
Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest
possible difference — so wide, that to receive
the one as good, pure, and holy, is of neces-
sity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and
wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of ne-
cessity to be the enemy of the other. I love
the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christian-
ity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt,
slaveholding women-whipping, cradle-plun-
dering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of
this land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the
most deceitful one, for calling the religion of
this land Christianity. I look upon it as the
climax of all misnomers, the boldest of all
frauds, and the grossest of all libels. Never was
there a clearer case of “stealing the livery of
the court of heaven to serve the devil in.” I
am filled with unutterable loathing when I
contemplate the religious pomp and show,
together with the horrible inconsistencies,
* From The Classic Slave Narratives, ed. Henry Louis
Gates, Jr. (New York: Mentor Books, 1987), pp. 326-
ilk
472
which every where surround me. We have
menstealers for ministers, women-whippers for
missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church
members. The man who wields the blood-
clotted cowskin during the week fills the pul-
pit on Sunday, and claims to be a minister of
the meek and lowly Jesus. The man who robs
me of my earnings at the end of each week
meets me as a class-leader on Sunday morn-
ing, to show me the way oflife, and the path
of salvation. He who sells my sister, for pur-
poses of prostitution, stands forth as the pi-
ous advocate ofpurity. He who proclaims it a
religious duty to read the Bible denies me the
right of learning to read the name of the God
who made me. He who is the religious advo-
cate of marriage robs whole millions of its sa-
cred influence, and leaves them to the ravages
of wholesale pollution. The warm defender
of the sacredness of the family relation is the
same that scatters whole families — sundering
husbands and wives, parents and children,
sisters and brothers — leaving the hut vacant,
and the hearth desolate. We see the thief
preaching against theft, and the adulterer
against adultery. We have men sold to build
churches, women sold to support the gospel,
and babes sold to purchase Bibles for the poor
heathen! all for the glory of God and the good of
souls! The slave auctioneer’s bell and the
church-going bell chime in with each other,
and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave
are drowned in the religious shouts of his
pious master. Revivals of religion and revivals
in the slave-trade go hand in hand together.
The slave prison and the church stand near
each other. The clanking of fetters and the
rattling of chains in the prison, and the pious
psalm and solemn prayer in the church, may
 NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS
be heard at the same time. The dealers in the
bodies and souls of men erect their stand in
the presence of the pulpit, and they mutually
help each other. The dealer gives his blood-
stained gold to support the pulpit, and the
pulpit, in return, covers his infernal business
with the garb of Christianity. Here we have
religion and robbery the allies of each other —
devils dressed in angels’ robes, and hell pre-
senting the semblance ofparadise.
Just God! and these are they,
Who minister at thine altar, God ofright!
Men who their hands, with prayer and blessing,
lay
On Israel’s ark oflight.
What! preach, and kidnap men?
Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor?
Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then
Bolt hard the captive’s door?
What! servants of thy own
Merciful Son, who came to seek and save
The homeless and the outcast, fettering down
The tasked and plundered slave!
Pilate and Herod friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy! is that church which lends
Strength to the spoiler thine?
The Christianity of America is a Christian-
ity, of whose votaries it may be as truly said,
as it was of the ancient scribes and Pharisees,
“They bind heavy burdens, and grievous to
be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders,
but they themselves will not move them with
one of their fingers. All their works they do
for to be seen of men — They love the upper-
most rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in
the synagogues, .. . and to be called of men,
Rabbi, Rabbi. But woe unto you, scribes and
Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the king-
dom of heaven against men; for ye neither go
in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are
entering to go in. Ye devour widows’ houses,
and for a pretence make long prayers; there-
fore ye shall receive the greater damnation.
Ye compass sea and land to make one pros-
elyte, and when he is made, ye make him two-
fold more the child of hell than yourselves.
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypo-
crites! for ye pay tithe of mint, and anise, and
cumin, and have omitted the weightier mat-
ters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith;
these ought yet to have done, and not to leave
the other undone. Ye blind guides! which
strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Woe
unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye make clean the outside of the cup and
of the platter; but within, they are full of ex-
tortion and excess. Woe unto you, scribes and
Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto
whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beau-
tiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s
bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also
outwardly appear righteous unto men, but
within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.”
Dark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it
to be strictly true of the overwhelming mass
of professed Christians in America. They strain
at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Could any
thing be more true of our churches? They
would be shocked at the proposition of
fellowshipping a sheep-stealer; and at the same
time they hug to their communion a man-
stealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if
I find fault with them for it. They attend with
Pharisaical strictness to the outward forms of
religion, and at the same time neglect the
weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy,
and faith. They are always ready to sacrifice,
but seldom to show mercy. They are they who
are represented as professing to love God
whom they have not seen, whilst they hate
their brother whom they have seen. They love
the heathen on the other side of the globe.
They can pray for him, pay money to have the
Bible put into his hand, and missionaries to
instruct him; while they despise and totally
neglect the heathen at their own doors.
Such is, very briefly, my view of the reli-
gion of this land; and to avoid any misunder-
standing, growing out of the use of general
terms, I mean, by the religion of this land,
that which is revealed in the words, deeds, and
473
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
actions, of those bodies, north and south, call-
ing themselves Christian churches, and yet in
union with slaveholders. It is against religion,
as presented by these bodies, that I have felt
it my duty to testify.
I conclude these remarks by copying the
following portrait of the religion of the south
(which is, by communion and fellowship, the
religion of the north), which I soberly affirm
is “true to the life,” and without caricature or
the slightest exaggeration. It is said to have
been drawn, several years before the present
anti-slavery agitation began, by a northern
Methodist preacher, who, while residing at the ©
south, had an opportunity to see slaveholding
morals, manners, and piety, with his own eyes.
“Shall I not visit for these things? saith the
Lord. Shall not my soul be avenged on sucha
nation as this?”
A Parody
Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell
How pious priests whip Jack and Nell,
And women buy and children sell,
And preach all sinners down to hell,
And sing of heavenly union.
They’ll bleat and baa, dona like goats,
Gorge down black sheep, and strain at motes,
Array their backs in fine black coats,
Then seize their negroes by their throats,
And choke, for heavenly union.
They’ll church you if you sip a dram,
And damn you if you steal a lamb;
Yet rob old Tony, Doll, and Sam,
Of human rights, and bread and ham;
Kidnapper’s heavenly union.
They'll loudly talk of Christ’s reward,
And bind his image with a cord,
And scold, and swing the lash abhorred,
And sell their brother in the Lord
To handcuffed heavenly union.
They’ll read and sing a sacred song,
And make a prayer both loud and long,
And teach the right and do the wrong,
474
Hailing the brother, sister throng,
With words of heavenly union.
We wonder how such saints can sing,
Or praise the Lord upon the wing,
Who roar, and scold, and whip, and sting,
And to their slaves and mammon cling,
In guilty conscience union.
They’ll raise tobacco, corn, and rye,
And drive, and thieve, and cheat, and lie,
And lay up treasures in the sky,
By making switch and cowskin fly,
In hope of heavenly union.
They’ll crack old Tony on the skull,
And preach and roar like Bashan bull,
Or braying ass, of mischief full,
Then seize old Jacob by the wool,
And pull for heavenly union.
A roaring, ranting, sleek man-thief,
Who lived on mutton, veal, and beef,
Yet never would afford relief
To needy, sable sons of grief,
Was big with heavenly union.
“Love not the world,” the preacher said,
And winked his eye, and shook his head;
He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned,
Cut short their meat, and clothes, and bread,
Yet still loved heavenly union.
Another preacher whining spoke
Of One whose heart for sinners broke:
He tied old Nanny to an oak,
And drew the blood at every stroke,
And prayed for heavenly union.
Two others oped their iron jaws,
And waved their children-stealing paws;
There sat their children in gewgaws;
By stinting negroes’ backs and maws,
They kept up heavenly union.
All good from Jack another takes,
And entertains their flirts and rakes,
Who dress as sleek as glossy snakes,
And cram their mouths with sweetened cakes;
And this goes down for union.
 THE VALUE OF AFRICAN BELIEFS AND PRACTICES
Sincerely and earnestly hoping that this lit-
tle book may do something toward throwing
light on the American slave system, and has-
tening the glad day of deliverance to the mil-
lions of my brethren in bonds — faithfully
relying upon the power of truth, love, and jus-
53 The Value of African Religious Beliefs and Practices
for Christian Theology*
Mercy Amba Oduyoye
The “African” religious beliefs and practices
referred to in this paper are specifically those
of black Africa, that is Africa south of the Sa-
hara, excluding the racist white minorities of
the south and other immigrant groups. I am
also excluding the beliefs and practices of Is-
lam and non-indigenous religions like Hin-
duism and the Bahai faith. This is not to say
that I am unaware of what Mbiti calls “con-
tact religion.” Most Africans, says Mbiti, do
not see any contradiction in holding a mix-
ture of beliefs and practices. Indeed it is this
mixture that makes this paper possible.
Religious pluralism is found in Africa as else-
where on the globe. The popular description
of Africans as “notoriously” or “incurably”
religious is belied by Africans who call them-
selves atheists or humanists. Secularization is
a factor on the African scene. There are those
who are to a greater or lesser degree Islamized
or Christianized.
There is also a group that we may refer to
as “traditionalists.” Some of these are simply
theorists, but there are masses of people in
* From African Theology en Route: Papers from the Pan-
African Conference of Third World Theologians,
December 17-23, 1977, Accra, Ghana (New York:
Orbis Books, 1979), ch. 10, pp. 109-16. Reprinted
with permission.
tice, for success in my humble efforts — and
soemnly pledging my self anew to the sacred
cause — I subscribe myself,
Frederick Douglass
Lynn, Mass., April 28, 1845
Africa who hold to the traditional religious
beliefs and practices of their forebears to the
exclusion of the missionary religions. Their
religious customs blend with their social life
and are at the base of all their institutions and
festive celebrations. It is the traditionalists who
will form the subject of this study. It is their
religious beliefs and practices that we desig-
nate as “African.”
Modernization has had a disruptive and
weakening effect on African life and thus on
African religion. At the same time it is evident
that the missionary religions together with
modern technology have proved inadequate
to our needs. Since the old appears unable to
stand on its own and the new by itself is prov-
ing inadequate, we should expect some crea-
tive syncretism to develop in Africa.
A living Christian faith in Africa cannot but
interact with African culture. In fact there is
being developed an interpretation of Christi-
anity and specifically of Christian theology that
one may describe as African. The intention of
this paper is to draw attention to the fact that
the process needs to be accelerated if African
Christianity is to escape being a fossilized form
of nineteenth-century European Christianity.
475
MERCY AMBA ODUYOYE
African Religious Beliefs and
Practices
It is now accepted by most African Christians
that it is time to study the religion of our fore-
bears. This has arisen out of the recognition
of the poverty of the liturgy and theology
emanating from European and American
Christianity. They do not touch the African
soul at its depths. Here we will consider vari-
ous African traditional beliefs and practices,
giving particular attention to those relevant
to African Christian theology.
(a) African belief in the divine origin of
the universe is shared by Christianity. In Afri-
can religion, as in Christianity, God leaves
humankind in charge of the world, as a stew-
ard. In both African and Christian myths of
origins, humankind becomes the center of the
universe. But human beings wantonly exploit
the world’s physical and human resources to
an extent that even God cannot tolerate. The
African recognition of the divine spirit in na-
ture and of the community of spirit between
human beings, other living creatures, and
natural phenomena could reinforce the Chris-
tian doctrine of creation as well as contribute
to Christian reflection on ecological problems.
(0) Related to the belief that humankind
is the custodian ofthe earth is Africa’s convic-
tion that the past, present, and future genera-
tions form one community. Africans therefore
try to hold in tension the demands of the tra-
ditions of the elders and the necessity to build
for the future. This communal sense has far-
reaching implications, for example, in attitudes
toward land rights. In Africa there is nothing
so difficult to alienate as land; it has to be pre-
served for the coming generations. “I con-
ceive that land belongs to a vast family of
which many are dead, few are living, and
countless members are unborn.”? Ifimmigrant
European exploiters of Africa had understood
and respected this we would not today have
the horrible Bantustans in South Africa. If
Africans themselves had remembered that land
is the gift of God to the people, and thus in
modern times to the nation, development
476
projects involving land use would have had a
better chance of success.
Africans recognize life as life-in-community.
We can truly know ourselves if we remain true
to our community, past and present. The con-
cept of individual success or failure is second-
ary. The ethnic group, the village, the locality,
are crucial in one’s estimation of oneself. Our
nature as beings-in-relation is a two-way rela-
tion: with God and with our fellow human
beings. Expand the communal ideology of
clans and ethnic groups to nations and you
have a societal system in which none is left in
want of basic needs. It is an extension of this
belief that has led some African politicians to
declare that the independence of their own
countries means nothing as long as there re-
mains on African soil one state that is still
under colonial rule. This is one of the under-
lying principles of Pan-Africanism. We pros-
per or perish together as a people. Nkrumah,
in concluding his autobiography, said, “Our
task is not done and our own safety is not as-
sured until the last vestige of colonialism has
been swept from Africa.”?
The world is in need of religious tolerance,
based on a recognition of one God from
whom all movements of the spirit take their
origin. A belief in one God who is the source
of one human race renders all racism and other
types of ethnocentricity and exploitation of
persons heretical and blasphemous. With its
mythology based on African traditional be-
liefs, African Christianity may be in the van-
guard of this movement. Can African
Christians contribute new symbols and myths
for promoting justice and reconciliation? Can
covenant meals, symbols of sharing and of the
acceptance of communal responsibility, begin
to happen more meaningfully in the church?
Can more people “break bread” together not
only on their knees but in their homes, shar-
ing in the utilization of national resources?
The role of ancestors in the life of Africans
becomes important in enabling them to re-
member their source and history. To deny
history is to deny one’s roots and source of
self-identity. It is also to deny the fact that we
 THE VALUE OF AFRICAN BELIEFS AND PRACTICES
embody in ourselves both the past and the
future. Ancestral cults serve the purpose of
keeping people from becoming rootless and
purposeless, blown about by every fickle fash-
ion and ideology. The ancestral cults have
been the custodians of the African spirit, per-
sonality, and vivid sense of community dem-
onstrated in socio-religious festivals.
The teaching that God is the Originator of
all humanity and, as a corollary, that there is
one human family, is held by Christianity, but
it stands in dire need of reinforcement. The
movement from nationalism toward
universalism will be promoted by making avail-
able to the world Africa’s vision of the unity
of the individual person and of humanity. Af-
rica’s contribution can enable us to utilize
creatively the tension between the universal
and the particular and to develop the theol-
ogy of the unity of humankind.
(c) A sense of wholeness of the person is
manifested in the African attitude to life. Just
as there is no separation between the sacred
and the secular in communal life, neither is
there a separation between the soul and the
body in a person. Spiritual needs are as im-
portant for the body as bodily needs are for
the soul. This is basic to African medicine and
psychiatry. Moreover, for a wholesome life
people not only have to be at peace with them-
selves, but also must be fully integrated into
the community. The African contribution can
help purge the Christian religion of the sepa-
ration of the human being into body, soul,
and spirit.
(d) The International Women’s Year
stimulated a lot of discussion which to me was
basically an inquiry into whether women are
an integral part of humanity or merely append-
ages to the male. The present freedom of Af-
rican women to express dissatisfaction with
their secondary roles and often non-roles is
said to have been brought by Christianity and
westernization. I agree that there has been
some progress in economic activity and poli-
tics. But as far as the cultic aspect of religion
goes, women now as before are relegated to
the background. The cultic events in which
women take complete charge are few and far
between. The fact that women do the danc-
ing and cooking for festivals does not, to my
mind, compensate for their exclusion from the
“holy of holies” in the festivals. The limita-
tions placed on women’s participation in reli-
gious practices is further aggravated by the
irrational fear of blood. It is an area wide open
for study. Further work on women in African
religion will be a great contribution to global
women’s issues.
African women have a traditional belief in
the benefit of sacrifice for the community.
Sacrifice, taken seriously, can lead to social
reforms and to lifestyles that are less wasteful
and more mindful of humanity’s stewardship
of life and ultimate dependence on the Source-
Being. But I have difficulty in understanding
why it is the prerogative of only one sex to
sacrifice for the well-being of the community.
(e) Christianity will have to take seriously
the African belief that God delegates author-
ity to intermediary beings. In Africa there is a
widespread beliefin the “divine right of kings,”
which is often sanctioned by African religions.
The ruler is almost invariably a cultic person,
and his or her person is considered sacred.
Against this background, certain modern po-
litical leaders have instituted what have come
to be known as “benevolent dictatorships.”
Without the sanctions that provided the
checks and balances in the traditional system,
these have always ended in chaos. African or-
ganization had its own constitutional proc-
esses for removing rulers who abused tradition.
The divine rights of rulers worked in tradi-
tional Africa when belief in the Supreme Be-
ing was taken seriously and decision by
consensus was actively pursued. The people’s
role in their own development is slowly being
recognized by current African politicians. The
days when the ruler took a unilateral decision
to declare what the people needed are slowly
passing — one must say rather too slowly.
(f) Covenant-making isa characteristic of
African life. A ruler, for example, is always a
covenanted or constitutional monarch. There
is always a reciprocal oath-taking between the
477
MERCY AMBA ODUYOYE
ruler and the ruled, who are often represented
in the associated ceremonies by the elders of
the community.* There are also oaths and
covenants between friends and others that
bind members of exclusive clubs within the
community.
When these oaths are taken seriously they
are more binding than any signature made on
legal documents. A person who flouts
Nsamansew (the last will and testament of a
person) is sure to be called quickly to the spirit
world to render an explanation. The process
of oath-taking always contains a religious ele-
ment; one always swears by a divinity who thus ©
becomes the chief witness to the transaction.
Covenant meals seal reconciliation and puri-
fication ceremonies, since one cannot conceiv-
ably work to the disadvantage of another with
whom a kolanut has been shared. We should
investigate what makes African traditional
oaths and covenants more binding than the
Lord’s Supper.
(g) Africa has a realistic attitude toward
the power of evil. If we recognize that the col-
lective evil produced by humanity is strong
enough to “materialize” into a force to reckon
with, then we shall see racism and other kinds
of exploitation for what they are and be able
to develop the appropriate weapons to fight
them. Certain humanistic claims that human-
ity may be educated into eschewing evil leads
us down a very long road to the humaniza-
tion of our societies. What is evil is to be ex-
orcized. Here again is a possible meeting point
of Christian theology and African belief.
(h) Reconciliation has a central role in
African religion and practice. Broken relations
are never allowed to go unhealed. Sacrifices
are performed and communal meals held to
restore normalcy. In both African religion and
Christianity, when life is sacrificed, when it is
given back to God, it is made sacred and har-
mony is restored. This belief is embodied in
the Christian doctrine of atonement. A fresh
statement of this belief, which makes use of
African ideas of sacrifice and covenants, will
enable African religion to make another con-
tribution to the religious development of hu-
478
mankind. Here again, by analyzing the theo-
logical elements of Christianity and of Afri-
can religion, one can indicate areas where
African religion will be supportive of Chris-
tian theology and contribute to its restatement
in terms relevant to the African context.
(i) Most rites of passage performed by
Christians in Africa have been enriched by
African culture. Marriage, naming ceremonies,
and burials are good examples. Yearly festi-
vals involving cleansing and the driving away
of misfortune are current in Africa. There are
sacrifices to cleanse or to bless the individual
or group after a trauma — birth, death, dis-
ease, plague, accident, etc. These have been
woven into liturgies of Christians in the form
of thanksgiving services for almost any situa-
tion. On the other hand, Christians have shied
away from puberty rites and other rites ofini-
tiation into adulthood because they have mis-
givings as to whether a Christian’s allegiance
to the church (and Christ) does not conflict
with age-group allegiance and membership in
secret societies. Initiation to adulthood, how-
ever, is initiation into full responsibility in one’s
community; it is the culmination of a long
process of socio-political education. There
should be further discussion about the rela-
tionship of these initiation rites to Confirma-
tion and recognition rites prevalent in some
Christian denominations.
(7) Other traditional African liturgical
practices are most apparent among the Afri-
can Independent churches. These are the
churches that have been founded by African
Christians and that, not being bound by the
stately liturgies and theological sensitivities of
the West, have developed lively liturgies with
music and prayer forms that are authentically
African. Some of the older Christian congre-
gations, both Roman Catholic and Protestant,
have awakened to this and are fast renewing
their liturgies along the lines that are relevant
to African religiosity. Drumming, dancing,
extemporaneous prayer, dramatic methods of
conveying the word of God, and stunning
cultic robes are being observed among Afti-
can Christian congregations. More use is be-
 THE VALUE OF AFRICAN BELIEFS AND PRACTICES
ing made of symbols and of spiritual healing
and exorcism. There is a strong sense of com-
munity among members of the Independent
churches, and in the urban situation they be-
come the new “extended family.” The songs
that western Christians developed in their
nationalistic spirit and racial pride are drop-
ping out of the repertoire of African Chris-
tians as they become aware of the songs’
non-Christian character. For example:
Can we, whose souls are lighted with wisdom
from on high:
Can we to the benighted the Lamp oflife deny?
Such hymns are rarely heard in African con-
gregations today; they are being replaced by
African tunes with words that come out of
the depths of the African soul or from the
common source of Christianity — the Bible.
The African Theological Task:
Soteriology
The word “syncretism” has become a bogey
word, used to frighten all who would venture
to do Christian theology in the context of
other worldviews and religions. But is syncre-
tism not in fact a positive and unavoidable
process? Christian theology and practice have
always interacted with the religious and philo-
sophical presuppositions of the various peri-
ods. Practices like the observance of Sunday,
distribution of Easter eggs, and the festival of
the Nile in the medieval Coptic church are
instances of the acculturation of Christianity.
Evidence of this process is increasing in Af-
rica.
Since the theme of salvation features so
prominently in African religion, I would like
to offer some reflections on the question of
salvation for African Christianity. Both in the
New Testament and in the early church, the
way people interpreted the significance of
Christ was closely related to what they saw as
their greatest need. Christ was all things to all
men, to quote Paul. The names given to Je-
sus of Nazareth in the Bible were all titles that
held significant salvific content. He was the
Son of Man who came to take up the elect of
God. He was the Son of God, the Logos who
was at God’s right hand in bringing order out
ofchaos. He was Lord but, unlike our Caesars,
he was the suffering servant. To some he was
a Zealot, a nationalist, but one who forgave
his enemies and prayed for them. To the sick
he was a doctor and to the sinful he spoke as
God.
These and other titles were the responses
of those who had faith in his uniqueness or at
least in his significance for the development
of human history.
He attracted a wide variety of people, from
simple manual workers to the intellectuals of
the Jewish world. It was from soteriology that
Christology developed. I believe that for the-
ology to be relevant to African culture it has
to speak of salvation.
Our salvation theology has to feature the
questions of racism and liberation from mate-
rial need. It has to emphasize the need for
communal decisions as against totalitarianism.
Above all, salvation is to be seen as salvation
from evil, both individual and structural. At
several points our Christian theology can be
aided by African religious beliefs and practices.
The African Contribution
Africa’s approach to the basic religious prob-
lems facing humankind — creation, survival,
human relations, the existence ofaspirit world,
etc. — was as meaningful and relevant to the
pre-scientific age in Africa as were similar ap-
proaches all over the world. These approaches,
which we designate primal worldviews, are at
the base of all religions and effectively con-
tinue to influence the ordering of society and
of individual life. African religious beliefs and
practices have provided, and continue to pro-
vide, Africa with a philosophical fountainhead
for the individual’s life and for the ordering
of society. African traditional religion empha-
sizes the common origin of all humanity. It is
479
MERCY AMBA ODUYOYE
the source from which a person’s sense ofdig-
nity and responsibility flow. The search for
security invariably begins here and for many
it is also the last resort. Far from being redun-
dant or anachronistic, African religious beliefs
and practices have shown such a remarkable
ability for staying relevant that Africans have
a responsibility to share their basic tenets with
the rest of humanity. This will be a task of
recalling the peoples of the whole world to
basic principles of human community and the
religious basis of life even though some think
these principles have become outmoded or are
a hindrance to the advancement of humanity.
We must note that since “traditional” life
was permeated in all its aspects by religion,
any appeal we make to traditional values and
practices is ultimately religious. Also we must
bear in mind that the basic element in reli-
gion does not consist of practices of cultic
places and persons but the beliefs that are
manifested through them. So that even when
modernization has modified ceremonies and
other cultic practices, human beings will con-
tinue to depend on the beliefs as a rock on
which to build. So, for example, the belief in
the living-dead, in the existence of spirits, and
480
in magic and witchcraft are a part of the Afri-
cans’ recognition that life is not entirely ma-
terialistic. These beliefs are an expression of
the yearning for life after life. Since the Su-
preme Being is believed to be the Source of
Life, the search after the life-force is itself a
groping for a closer and more personal rela-
tionship with Being Itself.
To contribute more effectively to the reli-
gious development of people, African Chris-
tian theologians have a duty to theologize
from this context and incorporate the authen-
tic African idiom into Christian theology.
Utilizing African religious beliefs in Christian
theology is not an attempt to assist Christian-
ity to capture and domesticate the African
spifit; rather it is an attempt to ensure that
the African spirit revolutionizes Christianity
to the benefit of all who adhere to it.
Notes
1 Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana (Edinburgh: Nel-
son and Sons, 1959), p. 10.
2 Ibid., p. 240.
3 R.S. Rattray, Ashanti Law and Constitution
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1929),
p. 82.
 INDEX

Adams, Marilyn, 156, 250 basic belief, 265-6, 285-97, 452

Adams, Robert, 30-1, 401, 412 religious experience and, 290-1
African culture and religion, 433, 475-80 Basinger, David, 442-50
Al-Ghazali, 154, 190 Baudrillard, Jean, 461
Allen, Woody, 124 Beauvoir, Simone de, 465
Alston William, 63, 142, 266, 290, 390, 456 Berkeley, George, 380
analogy, argument by, 104 best possible world and divine freedom,
animal suffering, 216-18 30-41
Anscombe, Elizabeth, 133 Biko, Steve, 260
Anselm of Canterbury, St, 61-2, 65, 69-70, Boer, Steven, 229
75, 85-6, 123, 232 Boethius, 15, 42-4, 51
anthropic principle, 118-19 Bonjour, Laurence, 450
Aquinas, St Thomas, 3, 7, 14-15, 51, 53, Browne, Malcolm W., 280
56-7, 70, 84-5, 102, 110, 285-7, 358, Browne, Sir Thomas, 408
358-9, 368, 403 brute fact, 62, 89, 91
argument from evil, 153-6 Butler, Judith, 455
animal suffering and the, 216-18
chance and the, 211-15 Calvin, John, 285-8, 354
death and the, 221-2 Carruthers; Iva, 468
divine hiddenness and the, 246-50 Carter, Brandon, 118
“evidential” version, 153-4, 157-89 causation
the “Fall” and the, 222-3, 230-2 immanent, 380, 387-98
“G.E. Moore shift”, 161-2 mnemic, 384-5
“logical” version, 153 chance, 207-9
natural evil and, see natural evil Chisholm, Roderick, 25
original sin and the, 198 Churchland, Patricia, 126-8, 317, 375
replies to, see theodicies Clarke, Samuel, 85-6
and theodicies, see theodicies Clement of Alexandria, 222
Aristotle, 84, 368, 405 Clifford, W.K., 265, 269, 273-84
Armstrong, David, 127, 384 Continental philosophy of religion, 432,
atheistic arguments 455-67
argument from evil, see argument from evil cosmological argument, 62, 84-93
divine hiddenness, see divine hiddenness Pascal’s wager and, 311-12
Atkins, Peter, 110 the principle of sufficient reason and, 86-94
Augustine, St, 13-14, 51, 232, 361-4, 394, Cover, Jan, 315-16, 334
395-6 Creel, Richard, 55-6
Ayer, A.J., 126 Cupitt, Don, 455

481]
INDEX
Darwin, Charles, 102, 109, 110, 126-7, 174
Darwin, Emma, 109
Darwinism, 62, 63; see also evolution, theory
of
Davies, Paul, 118
Dawkins, Richard, 62-3, 109, 126-7
death, as an evil, 220-2
Democritus, 310
Dennett, Daniel, 110-11
Derrida, Jacques, 457-8, 461, 462, 463, 464
IWescartesmNcne tomo/5/ Omone
Design argument, see teleological argument
divine command ethics, 401-2, 412-27; see
also ethics; God: ethics and,
Euthyphro problem, 421-7
divine hiddenness, 156, 246-50
divine simplicity, see God: attributes of:
simplicity
Doore, Gary, 120-1
Douglass, Frederick, 472
Draper, Paul, 153-4, 164, 176-89
dualism, 317
and immortality, 367-86
arguments for and against, 375-9
Duff, Antony, 310-11
Dummett, Michael, 53
Edwards, Jonathan, 14-15, 34
Eichelberger, Brenda, 468
Einstein, Albert, 116-17
Estling, Ralph, 119-20
eternity, 5, 42-53, 53-7
and foreknowledge, 48-50
definitions of, 42-4
ethics, see God: ethics and
Euthyphro problem, 421-7
Euthyphro problem, 421-7
evidentialism, 265, 269-73, 273-84
evil, see argument from evil; natural evil;
theodicies
evolution theory of, 102, 114, 126-38
and cognitive reliability, 126-38
existence
as a perfection, 71
as a property, 71-2
necessary, see necessary existence
fact
brute, 62, 98, 91
hard, 18-26
soft, 18-26
faith and reason, 265-312; see also
482
evidentialism; basic belief
“Fall”, the
the argument from evil and, 222-3, 230-2
feminist theology, 467-71; see also gender and
religion
fine-tuning argument, 62-3, 114-24; see also
teleological argument: fine-tuning version
Fischer, John Martin, 20
Flew, Antony, 224
Fodor, Jerry, 128, 134
foreknowledge, 13-28
Foucault, Michel, 458
free will defense, see theodicies: free will defense
freedom
creation and, 30-41; divine, 32-4; evil and,
28-35; praiseworthiness and, 28
foreknowledge and, 13-27
human compatibility with foreknowledge,
13-27; evil and, 155, 170-3
Frege, Gottlob, 425
Freud, Sigmund, 280, 285, 291, 296,
457-8
Gale, Richard, 304-6
Galileo, 116
Gaon, Saadya, 154, 192
Gaunilo, 61, 66, 70
Geach, Peter, 53
Gellman, Jerome, 431-2, 441
Gellner, Judith, 455
“G. E. Moore shift”, 161-2
gender and religion, 432
God
arguments for the existence of, see theistic
arguments
attributes of, 3-5: eternity, 5, 15-16,
44-53, 53-7; existence, 71-2; freedom,
32-4, see also freedom: divine;
goodness, 4-5, 28-41; necessary
existence, 61; omnipotence, 3-4, 7-12;
omniscience, 4, 13-27; simplicity, 402,
424, 424-7
ethics and, 401-27: Euthyphro problem,
421-7
foreknowledge, 13-28
Goodman, Nelson, 18
goodness, divine, 28-41
Grandy, Richard, 130
Grant, Jacquelyn, 432-3, 467
Halevi, Judah, 304, 431, 435
Hanson, N.R., 241
 INDEX

Haraway, Donna, 454 liberation theology, 156, 258-62

hard fact, 18-26 Lincoln, C. Eric, 467
Hasker, William, 5, 53 Locke, John, 275, 387-91
Hick, John, 155, 222, 229, 442, 458, 464 Luther, Martin, 354
Hillel, 304 Luzatto, M.H., 307
Hines, Deborah, 468 Lyotard, Jean F., 455
Hobbes, Thomas, 404, 405
hooks, bell, 469 MacIntyre, Alisdair, 392
Housman, A.E., 113 Mackie, J.L., 224, 228, 250; 255;,256,-305,
Howard-Snyder, Daniel, 4-5, 35 308
Howard-Snyder, Frances, 4-5, 35 Maimonides, Moses, 303, 305
Hoyle, Fred, 118-19 Marx, Karl, 275, 280, 285, 291, 296, 457,
Hume, David, 62, 85, 88, 94, 100-1, 105-24, 458
120-1, 134, 161, 165, 176, 228, 315, Mavrodes, George, 9-12
320, 337-8, 339-41, 392 McCloskey, H.J., 228
Medawar, Peter, 126
immanent causation, 380, 383-5 Mill, John Stuart, 228, 255, 421-2, 425
immortality, 317 miracles, 315-16, 320-52
arguments for, 371-2 as evidence for theism, 345-50
near-death experiences and, 370-1 Hume’s objection to, 339-45
parapsychological arguments for, 369-71 as non-violations of natural laws, 342—5
and physicalism, 317-18, 379-86 as violations of natural laws, 338-9
resurrection and, 380-6 mnemic causation, 384-5
soul and, 317 Monod, Jacques, 119-20
Irenaeus, 155, 222-3 Moore, G. E., 161-2
Irigaray, Luce, 457, 458, 462, 463, 464 morality, see ethics
More, Thomas, 315, 330
Jakobson, Roman, 460 Moser, Paul, 172
James, William 92 Murray, Michael, 156, 241
Jantzen, Grace, 432, 454
Jay, Nancy, 461 natural evil, 155, 200-1, 210-22, 225-7,
Jeffreys, H., 307-8 233-6
John of the Cross, St, 360 naturalism, 125-38
Julian of Norwich, 257 arguments against, 63
and explanations of order, 62
Kant, Immanuel, 71-2, 288, 403, 458 and miracles, 344—5
karma, 373 near-death experiences, 370-1
Kenny, Anthony, 53-7 necessary existence, 72-83
Kepler, Johannes, 117 as a perfection, 77
Kovel, Joel, 467 necessity, accidental, 17-28
Kretzmann, Norman, 5, 44, 54, 401-2, 417 Newton, Isaac, 116
Kristeva, Julia, 457-8, 461, 462, 463, 464 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 457, 458
Kruger, Jimmy, 260 Nowell-Smith, Patrick, 401, 403

Lacan, Jacques, 457-8, 463, 464 Ockham, William of, 17-28

Warson, Cx; 309 Oduyoye, Mercy Amba, 433, 475
Lawrence, D.H., 411 omnipotence, 3-4, 7-12
Lee, Jarena, 470 omniscience, 4, 13-27
Lehrer, Keith, 122-5 ontological argument, 61-2, 65-83, 123
Leibniz, Gottfried, 85, 86, 310 and necessary existence, 61-2
Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 460 Descartes’ version, 70—7
Lewis, David, 132, 274 modal version, 75-84

483
INDEX
Origen, 358
original sin, 198
Otto, Rudolf, 256
Paley, William, 101, 110
paradox of the stone, 3-4, 9-13
Parmenides, 50-1
Pascal, Blaise, 266-7, 298, 391
Pascal’s wager, 266-7, 298-312
and the cosmological argument, 311-12
infinite utilities and, 306-7
many-gods objection, 304-6
and the teleological argument, 311-12
Pelagius, 232
pertect being, possibility of, 80-1
perfection, divine, 28-41
Phillipps, D.Z., 358, 457
physicalism, and immortality, 317-18
Piaget, Jean, 406-8
Pike, Nelson, 252
Plantinga, Alvin, 4, 13, 63, 120, 125, 175,
176, 195-6, 224, 228-9, 254, 265, 285,
287, 390, 452, 456
Plato, 50-1, 84, 275, 374, 401-2, 403, 411,
419
Plotinus, 50, 51
pluralism, see religious pluralism
Pollock, John, 133
Popper, Karl, 127-9
possible worlds, 75-9
best, 30-41
prayer, 316-17, 353-66
God’s goodness and the efficacy of, 357
Priest, Graham, 121-2
principle of sufficient reason, 62, 86-94,
308-10
as a presupposition of reason, 92—4
problem of evil, see argument from evil
Quine, W.V.O., 127-9, 187
Quinn, Philip, 31
race and religion, 432-3, 467-75
Reid, Thomas, 134, 137
religious diversity, see religious pluralism
religious experience
and basic belief, 266, 290
compared with sense experience, 63,
142-9
as grounds for theistic belief, 63, 139-49
intersubjectivity and, 145-7
naturalistic explanations of, 144-5
484
and religious pluralism, 445-54
religious pluralism, 431-2, 441-54
and religious experience, 445-50
resurrection, 317-18, 380-6
revelation, 318, 387-98
Rorty, Richard, 463
Rowe, William, 4, 28, 62, 84, 153, 157,
229
Russell, Bertrand, 88, 114, 127, 384
Santayana, George, 134
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 465
Saussure, Ferdinand de, 457
Savage, C. Wade, 3-4, 9
Schlesinger, George, 62-3, 114, 267, 302
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 70
sensus divimitatis, 189, 249, 287-97
Shipman, Pat, 280
Smart, J.J.C., 464
Smith, Ian, 258
Socrates, 232, 421-2
soft fact, 18-26
soul, see also dualism
and immortality, 367-86
Stich, Stephen, 128-9, 267, 300
Stump, Eleonore, 5, 44, 54, 155, 172, 227,
317, 358
Swinburne, Richard, 62, 100, 155, 171-3,
210, 229-30, 317, 367, 456
Taylor, Mark, 461, 463
teleological argument, 62-3, 94-124
analogical, 104-9
evolution and the, 102
fine-tuning version, 114-24: physical
constants and the, 116-18
Pascal’s wager and, 311-12
Teresa of Avila, St, 63, 139, 360
theistic arguments, 61-3
cosmological argument, 62, 84-93; see also
cosmological argument from miracles,
345-50
ontological argument, 61-2, 65-83; see also
ontological argument
Pascal’s wager, see Pascal’s wager
religious experience, see religious experience:
as grounds for belief in God
teleological argument, 62-3
theodicies, 190-240
animal suffering, 216-18
death and, 221-2
the “Fall”, 222-3
 INDEX

free will defense, 170-3, 192-5, 228-9 van Inwagen, Peter, 61-2, 69, 154-5, 195,
Irenaean theodicy, 155 265, 273, 380-5
liberation theology and, 258-62 Vorster, B.J., 258
natural evil, 200-1, 225-7, 233-6
Tillich, Paul, 157 Wainwright, William, 32
timelessness, see eternity Walker, Alice, 469
Trinkhaus, Erik, 280 Ward, Keith, 358
truth, 470 Wolsterstorff, Nicholas, 318, 387
Tutu, Desmond, 156, 257 Wykstra, Steven, 229, 442-50

Updike, John, 120 Zimmerman, Dean, 317-18, 379

485
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 “Representative in content, broad in scope,
information, this superbly crafted anthology is a
presentation of the philosophy of religion. It
anthology in the field.”
Keith Yandell,
coherent in structure, rich in
very useful and highly interesting
may well become the standard
University of Wisconsin-Madison

“Based on the variety of topics addressed and approaches taken by the essays’
authors, as well as the quality of the selections, there is not a better collection for
an upper-division philosophy of religion course to be found.”
Jon Kvanvig, Texas A & M University

Structured around a series of key issues, this superb volume presents a

comprehensive collection of classic and contemporary articles in philosophy of
religion.

In addition to traditional topics such as arguments for God’s existence, the

problem of evil, and divine attributes, it contains articles on divine hiddenness, the
nature of revelation, and the doctrine of hell. The text gives special attention to
very recent work in philosophy of religion and includes a special section devoted to
multicultural perspectives on contemporary philosophy of religion.

The result is an ideal text for use in courses in philosophy of religion and
metaphysics, at both undergraduate and graduate levels.

Eleonore Stump and Michael J. Murray

Eleonore Stump is Robert J. Henle Professor of Philosophy at St Louis University.

She has published widely in the areas of medieval philosophy, philosophy of
religion, and metaphysics. She is aiso the current president of the Society of
Christian Philosophers.

Michael J. Murray is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Franklin and Marshall

College, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. He works primarily in contemporary philosophy
of religion and in early modern philosophy. He is currently a fellow at the Institute
for Research in the Humanities at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

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