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Epistemology in a teacup

Over the last couple of months I have been writing a series related to the issue of epistemology, the study of knowledge and knowing. Epistemology attempts to answer questions like: “What do we know?”, “How can we know something?”, and of course, “How do we know what we know?” When discussing issues of faith and belief, a common topic of debate between people of faith and people of science, it is important to recognize the various epistemological positions in play. The words “faith,” “belief,” “truth” and “knowledge” often have very different meanings, and as a result the conversations often become meaningless haggling (for example, read nearly any series of 20 or more comments on a blog dealing with science vs religion).

I am writing about epistemology not because I am an expert, but merely because I tend to think about these things. Over the last couple of years I have engaged a number of people in discussions concerning the relationship between science and faith, and have learned a few things along the way (including the above revelation about meaningless haggling…). For what ever reason, a few months ago I came up with the Teacup Model, which so far has proven to be fairly accurate, at least as to how I am seeing the current materialist v non-materialist conversation.

Imagine a coffee table (you can imagine your coffee table, if you’d like).  Upon the coffee table sits a teacup and saucer.  Go ahead, use your imagination.  The teacup represents reality as defined by philosophical materialism, which is essentially that which is material: that which has physical properties and that can be experienced by our 5 senses and which can theoretically be measured.  Nothing outside of the teacup can be detected or measured by scientific or mathematical methods.  To the materialist, therefore, nothing outside of the teacup exists. Those believing in God or some other kind of non-material reality are delusional, as they cannot prove by the methods available within the teacup that anything outside of the teacup exists. This position is, as defined, a self-fulfilling hypothesis.

For the non-materialists, it is fairly obvious that the teacup is not hovering in space, but is resting on a coffee table, and also sits on a saucer. They, in fact, do not stay within the teacup, but move back and forth between the teacup and the saucer.  It is quite obvious to them that the materialists are at the very least, myopic.  So, we now have two conflicting worldviews (or teacup views): one sees only what is in the teacup, the other sees both inside and outside of the teacup. For non-materialists, there are actually a number of different points of reference, depending on where you stand on the continuum of points from the inside of the teacup to the outside- and all the way out to the coffee table. Christian moderns tend to be on the inside of the teacup, but either with a view outside, or simply a belief that what they’ve been told about the outside is true.

This teacup model supports my hypothesis that a modern worldview, i.e. life inside the teacup, is not compatible with true Christianity. As John Loftus says, “I call our modern ways of thinking the Achilles’ heel of Christianity.” Although, as I’ve said before, when John says it, he is implying that modernism is both superior and correct. However, I don’t believe either; modernism is a philosophy that works akin to the soil in the path in the parable of the sower, “When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in his heart.” (Matt 13:19)  Spending too much time immersed “in the teacup” – that is, looking at things from solely a modernist, materialist worldview – can result in blindness to things outside of the teacup. The logic that says that only the material is real seems reasonable, because by adopting a materialist, modernist worldview, all other input is discounted. The modernist worldview subjects any input, whether material or spiritual, to a rationalistic system of analysis that is only geared – at best – to deal with the material.  It is, again, a self-fulfilling exercise.

I am not for one moment saying that the teacup doesn’t exist. What I am proposing that a worldview which originates from within the teacup – that is, modernism and materialism – is inherently flawed as well as incompatible with Christianity. A proper worldview must see the teacup in its proper context; as I’ve pointed out in the past, Gödel’s Theorem (that a system cannot be properly comprehended from within the system) seems applicable to philosophical systems as well as to mathematical ones. And as Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Why a teacup?  I’m not sure; I don’t typically drink tea. However, if I had proposed a coffee cup, I would have been compelled to empty it.  ;-)

Written on 06 December 2008 by me under Epistemology, Philosophy with 3 Comments
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The question of unbelief 2.5

My friend David Hayward (a facebook friend, anyway…) has written a very interesting post on the 10 Movements of faith, most of which don’t sound very faith-like, using words like questioning, doubt, rejection, darkness, abandon and fear.  From a Western evangelical point of view, these are bad words, things that we either try to avoid, ignore, heal, or if nothing else fails, condemn.  However, perhaps David is right; perhaps we should not fear these, but recognize them as signs of growth.

I’ve seen these stages over the years in many friends and acquaintances.  I don’t know that everyone goes through all stages, at least concerning core beliefs. As I commented on David’s blog, I think the Western evangelical church is often geared towards keeping people at Stage 1, where people can be entertained, placated, and manipulated.  Growth  – as any parent can tell you – is often hard to deal with.  Then, some folks are just better at dealing with questions than others. And, as I have mentioned, it may not be our core faith that’s challenged, but the “baggage” that we often receive along with the Gospel, or perhaps even the nature of our faith.  Again, I think David is on to something: if we never go through these stages, we’re not growing.  As my favorite songwriter has written,

It’s not that hard
to figure it out
Where there’s no question,
there’s no doubt

- Glen Phillips, There Comes a Time

As we read through the Gospels, it seems that Jesus even encouraged questioning and doubt at times – consider the story of the Rich Young Ruler, for one, or the “eat my flesh” teaching.  A preacher that I heard many years ago said that God “offends the mind to reveal the heart.”  If we won’t challenge our own beliefs, sometimes God himself will.  The ancient church traditions – such as the Eastern Orthodox and Anglican – seem better able to deal with these stages of faith, and even anticipate and encourage them.  There is a wealth in the liturgical and mystical (speaking of the old mystical tradition, not what currently passes for mysticism) traditions that the evangelical church simply cannot understand; and perhaps it is this very issue – dealing with these “negative” stages of faith – that acts as a barrier between the old and new.

So, what happens when the church fails to recognize these stages as growth rather than “backsliding?”

At the close of his post, David asks

Can we consider the possibility that someone abandoning their faith and leaving the church could actually be a potential development in their spirituality, a stage where they are being beckoned to abandon their child-like faith to move toward a more mature and adult faith? And can we allow people to linger in any of these movements without time limits? I think these are important questions to consider.

Fundamentalism, and even more temperate versions of evangelicalism, leave no room for those who have to step outside of the program. If they fail to “experience” God like they are supposed to, or question some of the teaching, they are often condemned, or treated as immature (the “weak in faith”).  However, I think we need to ask ourselves, exactly who is “weak in faith,” those who dare risk their faith to deal with their questions, or those who insist on suppressing doubt?

Written on 01 November 2008 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt with No Comments
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The question of unbelief

How could you forsake the love of God that way
Don’t fade, you’re staying here with me
Don’t fade, I need to know that someone still believes
- Don’t Fade, Glen Phillips

A week or so ago John Loftus over at Debunking Christianity (a very interesting site) asked Christians to tell him why he didn’t believe:

But since you believe we will be punished by God in hell (however conceived) if we don’t believe, then you need to offer some explanations for why we don’t believe. Surely a good God like yours wouldn’t punish us if we weren’t deserving of it, right? And surely your God wouldn’t punish us for our disbelief without offering us a clear testimony with sufficient evidence to believe, right?

Now, John’s testimony is that he was a Christian, received a Th.M. from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, and studied under William Lane Craig. But, over time he came to unbelieve in God – an opposite response of what we’d generally expect. And, there are others who have similar stories.  John suggests three possible reasons for not being able to believe: ignorance, willful disobedience, and a failure to experience God – all good questions to consider.  Concerning the question of ignorance, is disbelief merely a matter of not enough information?  In John’s case, I would have to presume the answer is no; he’s got a theology degree, and I haven’t.

As far as disobedience goes, he asks a very profound question in response: “Who in his right mind would be willfully disobedient of that which he knows to be true, if the truth is that he will go to hell if he is?“  Of course, the question of being in one’s right mind is another issue. I suppose one could hypothesize that unbelief is a type of psychosis resulting from the inability to reconcile the sinful nature with a works-oriented theology, like Paul describes in Romans chapter 7.  It’s really an interesting thought, along the same lines as, “does OJ really think he’s innocent?”; but it’s not an idea I would pursue at this point.

I think that John’s 3rd option – a failure to experience God – deserves some real thought.  A hard-core double-predestination Calvinist would probably pick this option and write these atheists off as merely people whom God has rejected.  However, I’m not a Calvinist, and I don’t think the answer is that simple. On this question, John writes:

Have we just failed to experience God in our lives? Do we need to experience something that we didn’t? What kind of experience do you mean? A miracle? Well, whose fault is that? God knows what we need to believe, and if so, why doesn’t he provide it? If God did the greater deed, by sending his son to atone for our sins, then why doesn’t he do the lesser deeds by providing us the evidence and experiences we need to believe?

It’s somewhat interesting that John wrote this post last week, as I’ve been thinking about this question myself. Why, indeed, do some people appear to be blind to what seems to be the clear revelation of God?  I believe that God, indeed, has revealed himself, and quite clearly, as Paul writes in Romans 1:

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

Part of the answer, at least for some, might be answered by Loftus’ own proposition that modernism is the Achilles’ Heel of Christianity.  We differ, however, in that John believes modernism to be the superior worldview, whereas I take an opposite view.  Perhaps – at least in part – buying into modernism is tantamount to planting seed in a field of weeds; the clear result is that faith is choked out.

I began this post quoting Glen Phillips, who is perhaps my favorite singer/songwriter. He seems to understand faith and doubt in a way that I find quite remarkable, being he’s not a Christian, or even necessarily religious (per an interview in 2004; although, the song “Thank You” on his latest album implies he’s at least a Theist).  I’ll end this post with a verse from “Dam Would Break” that seems relevant to this discussion:

What is this ice that gathers round my heart
To stop the flood of warmth before it even starts
It would make me blind to what I thought would always be
The only constant in the world for me
And every hour of every day
I need to fight from pulling away
And if my mind could only loose the chain
The dam would break

Written on 19 October 2008 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt with 2 Comments
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An atheist who understands the importance of epistemology

This is one of the reasons l like John Loftus:

If I have a focus when it comes to debunking Christianity it is with control beliefs. Control beliefs are those beliefs that control how we view the evidence, and so my critique is generally philosophical and epistemological in nature. I’m interested in how we know what we know. How we view that which we know is the difference that makes all of the difference.

How we each look at the evidence is controlled by certain beliefs of ours. Since this is so, I want to know how to justify those control beliefs themselves. For me it’s all about seeing things differently. It’s not about more and more knowledge. It’s about viewing what we know in a different light. …

How do we decide which approach, which bias, and which set of control beliefs are preferrable when looking at Christianity? That’s the biggest question of them all! Why? Because the set of control beliefs we start with when looking at the Bible is usually the same set we will come away with.

After people like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris, this is a breath of fresh air.  In fact, if you look back through my posts and comments you’ll see that I’ve been saying the same thing.  Whether you talk about worldviews, paradigms, presuppositions, narratives or control beliefs, the point is this: if you don’t deal with the differences at this level, discussion about topics like the truth of Christianity are pointless. Yet, the majority of discussions and debates stay fixed on the minutia rather than at the “meta” level.  Words don’t even mean the same thing in different belief systems.

However, I still have major disagreements with Loftus on many of his control beliefs, and question whether he’s gone deep enough; perhaps there are presuppositions controlling his control beliefs. John is, without a doubt, a modernist, as he makes the point, “I call our modern ways of thinking the Achilles’ heel of Christianity.”

Here, again, I would tend to agree with Loftus. Modernism as a worldview is at the very least hostile to Christianity; it is a competing and contrasting worldview.  However, as it emerged at least partially from within the Roman Catholic church, it became over time the predominant worldview of the West, including that of the Western church.  Now, not all facets of modernism are necessarily bad; but, as modernism reframed how we look at the evidence, as Loftus talks about, and also redefined evidence itself, a Christianity whose apologetics (itself a modern concept) is framed within modernism is essentially cut off at the knees.

I believe the question of “Does God exist” or “Is Christianity true” can only partially be addressed without addressing the question of whether modernism is an accurate worldview.  While modernism certainly still has its adherents, especially those for whom modernism serves as a necessary foundation, it is generally held that modernism is a failed worldview. Whether it simply implodes or is transformed in a post-modern derivative remains to be seen. In any event I have a hunch that the discussions of the next generation will be quite different from those we have today.

Further into Loftus’ post he lists his control beliefs, which I believe are discussed more fully in his book. What I think John is saying is that essentially in order for him to really challenge Christianity, he needs to bring people completely into a modernist mindset.  As I indicated, I would tend to agree with him. My contention, however, is that to adopt a completely modernist mindset is already to abandon a Christian worldview. For those who try to maintain a set of Christian beliefs within a modernist worldview, I think it is quite easy to draw them away from Christianity. To try to maintain a dual worldview is difficult at best, and often requires some type of loss of intellectual integrity. Others take a compartmentalized view, such as Francis Collins; but this, too, seems like intellectual suicide.

Loftus concludes:

I just don’t see how Christians can refute any of these reasons for starting with a skeptical attitude, since they are all practically undeniable (and even obvious) to modern educated scientifically literate people. How much more is this so when these reasons are all taken together as a whole. So it is no surprise that I look at Christianity with the presumption of skepticism. And it is no surprise that I reject it.

While I think some (or perhaps all) of John’s points are able to be challenged from within modernism, I suspect that the more someone is inclined toward a totally modernist worldview, the more likely they are to find these points convincing.  However, I suspect that the opposite is also true: the more someone’s mind has been transformed (Romans 12:2) away from the “pattern of the world,” the less likely that these arguments will have that impact.  Modernism is but one of several philosophies that has challenged a Biblical worldview, as discussed in my series on Webber, and the current evangelical church has been weakened by more than just modernism.  I also suspect that someone whose worldview has been impacted by other contrary philosophies such as romanticism are more susceptible to challenges as their belief system is already impaired.

I appreciate Loftus’ level of thinking here; where many atheists today refuse to deal with worldview issues or discussions about presuppositions, Loftus appears to understand the importance of recognizing and identifying presuppositions, which is probably why people like Norm Geisler recommend his book. However, as I stated earlier, I don’t think Loftus goes deep enough in identifying presuppositions, which is possibly why he and William Lane Craig seem to talk past each other.

Written on 06 October 2008 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 7 Comments
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Romans and epistemology

I have been fascinated with the 1st Chapter of Romans for some time; while it serves as an introduction to the rest of the book, Paul says an awful lot in just a few verses.  Paul was, of course, writing to the church in Rome – that is, those in Rome who have been already converted to Christianity, which included both Jews and Gentiles. If I had been a member of that church, I think this line might have caught my attention:

14I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish. 15That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are at Rome.

Just what is he getting at here?  I would think that this would have sparked some discussion, especially since the Jewish and Greek (gentile) Christians often had trouble getting along, especially as the early Jewish Christians had trouble giving up Jewish practices such as the dietary laws (see Chapter 14).  Paul’s purpose, I think, in writing this letter was at least in part to emphasize and confirm the basic truth of the Gospel, and that it was the same for both Jews and Gentiles. He was probably speaking to the Jewish Christians specifically when he wrote,

16I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. 17For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: “The righteous will live by faith.”

While I don’t know that this was Paul’s intent, in this next section, Paul gets to the heart of his thoughts on epistemology. Many tend to focus on the subject of God’s wrath and sexual immorality, but that’s not my point here; let’s look at this passage and see what it tells us about Paul’s epistemology:

18The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of men who suppress the truth by their wickedness, 19since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. 20For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

21For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened. 22Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools 23and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

24Therefore God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts to sexual impurity for the degrading of their bodies with one another. 25They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator—who is forever praised. Amen.

Verses 18 and 19 clearly are directed to contemporaries, who Paul accuses of suppressing the truth, which Paul maintains is plainly evident; not that the presence of God is something they had to deduce based on vague clues. No, Paul is clear here: “God has made it plain to them.”  Continuing on, Paul goes on further, stating that from the time of Creation, God’s nature has been clearly seen.  He then develops what has happened historically; at least, verse 21 starts what appears in NIV to paint an historical picture of man’s fall from knowing God – not just being aware of God – to choosing to worship material objects. The story of the golden calf comes to mind here, as one example. More currently, we see the rise of philosophical materialism, which of course is simply exchanging belief in a Creator for a self-creating (or eternal) material world. As I’ve argued before, materialism is the philosophical foundation to much of modern science.  As Nietzsche said in On the Genealogy of Morals:

Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as science ‘without any presuppositions’; this thought does not bear thinking through since it is paralogical: a philosophy, a ‘faith,’ must always be there first of all, so that science can acquire from it a direction, a meaning, a limit, a method, a right to exist.

But, that’s a bit of a side-track, as interesting a quote as that is.

What stands out to me in the Romans passage is that the knowledge of God is not simply inferred by Creation; the knowledge of God comes initially by God as He reveals himself. This thinking parallels Jesus’ statement in John 6:44, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him.” As I said in a recent post, God is not an explanation, a belief derived from natural observation. This reduces the belief in God to a construct rooted in naturalism, which of course is fitting for those who wish to argue it away.  Rather, I am unapologetically a presuppositionalist as I view the world, having first had revelation of God. In other words, I need no further proof, although I see it all around me.

The knowledge of God, whether we look to nature, or logic, or science, or even the Bible, originates with God. This is, of course, theology, just in case you were wondering. But, if the knowledge of God only comes from God, then theology is where it’s at.

Now, this raises some very interesting questions, for which I don’t have answers.  One such question, which I would expect at least some atheists to ask, is “Why hasn’t God revealed himself to me?”  Just earlier this evening I read an interesting account of someone who tried for 20 years to believe, but finally had to admit he simply couldn’t.  Does God reveal himself to all?  Romans 1 would seem to indicate a “yes” answer. Then, why do so many claim to have never found him?  As I said, I don’t necessarily have the answer. It’s something to think about…

Written on 23 September 2008 by me under Philosophy, Theological Musings with No Comments

Bradley Monton: my new favorite atheist

In my prior post, I quoted from Bradley Monton, philosophy professor at the U of Colorado, Boulder. I stumbled upon Monton a few days ago, and enjoy him immensely, even if we disagree on some key issues.  I’ve been very critical of all of those dubbed the “new atheists” for their huffing and puffing and bad logic. Monton is different; he actually seems to have taken the time to examine and understand Theism, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t have the baggage that Dawkins, et al. have.

In the last couple of days Monton has been responding on his blog to posts Tom Gilson has up at Thinking Christian, and vice versa.  Monton started by asking a very perceptive question, “Do people really believe in God?”, in which he discusses apparent conflicts between professed belief and behavior. In his most recent post, he says:

… if Christians think that some people are saved and some are not, and there is something really worthwhile in being saved, and those who aren’t saved are really missing out, then why aren’t they spending more energy encouraging people to be saved? (One standard account is that the saved people go to heaven, while the unsaved don’t, but I recognize that different Christians differ on these details.) Yes, there are people who devote their lives, or at least significant portions of their lives, to missionary work and evangelism, and I admire them for following their convictions. It’s the Christians who don’t do this that I have trouble understanding. I know people who profess to be Christian and yet who live their lives pretty much like atheists do, except for the occasional trip to church, or prayer over dinner. For these people, their behavior is deeply at odds with their professed beliefs, and it makes me wonder if they really believe what they say they believe.

It seems that he may understand some things that most atheists, along with some Christians, don’t.

Written on 19 September 2008 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 6 Comments

God is not an explanation

One of the comments that I often read or hear from atheists as a reason for why they don’t believe in God is that since science has supposedly provided an explanation for things, there is now no reason to need God as an explanation.  Never mind, of course, that science still has no answer for the origin of life, and no real explanation for the Big Bang. The presumption is that science in time will provide these answers, too – what I have been calling the “science of the gaps” theory.  My response to all of this is that God is not an explanation.

The thinking that finding some other Cause is an argument against the existence of God is somewhat presumptuous: the presumption is that out of superstition, primitive man invented God as a cause for things he didn’t understand.  To further bolster this position, you’ll often hear Occam’s Razor invoked. Occam’s Razor, named after a 4th century Franciscan friar, William of Occam (or Okham), states that “entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily” (I’m not really in favor of multiplying entities in any event). Isaac Newton restated the rule as “we are to admit no more causes of natural things than such as are both true and sufficient to explain their appearances.” So, because various cosmological and evolutionary hypotheses can explain many things, God is superfluous. My response to this is:

  1. William was a Catholic friar who used the argument to argue, among other things, that the only entity that need exist is God.
  2. Occam’s Razer is only a tool for judging between competing hypotheses of equal merit; in other words, all things being equal, the simplest explanation it probably the best.
  3. Providing an explanation for how something happened does not preclude the possibility that the “how” was simply God’s method or design (in fact, showing order and consistency seems to fall in favor of God, not against).
  4. The concept of God is not advanced merely as a hypothesis to explain any effect; that thinking is somewhat backward.

Bradley Monton, one of my favorite atheists, says

Some who think that God exists think that God is directly epistemically accessible, through for example revelation, or some spiritual experience. But others who think that God exists think that God is only epistemically accessible via more tangential means. For example, they hold that the way to get evidence for the existence of God is by for example learning about the fine-tuning of the fundamental constants of physics, or investigating the structure of a biological system and learning that it is irreducibly complex.

Science, of course, deals with what is epistemically accessible – or does it?  Monton also has this to say:

Are quarks epistemically accessible? Are events in the distant future epstemically accessible? Is the beginning of the universe (if there was one) epistemically accessible? Scientists make claims about such things, though it is clear that the epistemic accessibility we have to such things is (at best) more limited then the epistemic accessibility we have to everyday aspects in our lives.

Those who are looking only for an explanation (cause) that satisfies the “Occam test” are of course starting with what is epistemically accessible – the effects – and working backwards until they are satisfied with the proposed cause, even though some cosmologists are now proposing that cause may not be necessary (based on quantum theory). This, of course, takes science into the nether regions, where most scientists are reluctant to follow.

I believe that it is somewhat counterproductive to advance the issue of the existence of God in such a fashion; if we propose that God exists because of the design inference, or fine-tuning, or whatever, then we have competing theories (though not necessarily equal theories). However, that’s not how God presents himself, and neither should we.  Is God evident in nature? Of course. But, do we believe in God because He is evident in nature, or as Monton puts it, by tangential means?

My position (and I think the standard Christian one) is no; God is directly epistemically accessible, to use Monton’s phrase. In other words, God is directly knowable. In fact, all knowledge of God comes from God; we do not find God, he finds us.  Now here we are definitely speaking theology, not science (for those of you who need to keep track). However, here science is epistemically inadequate; science really only deals with the tangential. I am not apologetic about this at all; I find no need to make God scientifically accessible.  There are those who have elevated science as the supreme means to knowledge (or at least, information); I would put science a bit lower on the heirarchy. In fact, I propose that science is actually inadequate, even to study the material world, in and of itself. It is a tool, a method, in need of a context.

God is not an explanation, God is The Cause, in every sense of the word.  In dealing with science, or anything else, I presume God, because God is known directly, not through science.

Written on 19 September 2008 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 4 Comments

How much should atheists know?

While I am by no means an expert, I do enjoy thinking about epistemological issues.  A few weeks ago, I started writing a series of posts on epistemology, appropriately entitled, “How do you know?“  It’s a theme I haven’t quite exhausted, as I’m not tired of thinking about it yet.  For the last week or so, I’ve been discussing similar issues with a couple of nice atheists over at my friend Mike’s blog. Mike started off the discussion with a post asking, “How much religion do we have to study?”, referring to how much atheists have to know about religion before they can proclaim the non-existence of God.

It’s a valid question, I think.  And, I have 2 answers, at the moment:

  1. None. You can choose not to believe in God at any time, even in a completely uninformed state.
  2. Enough to be intellectually honest.

I’m serious about both answers. Concerning answer #1, I think it is perfectly valid to simply not want to believe in God.  I am not about to tell my friend Mike or the others at his blog that they can’t be atheists. That would be silly. You can be an atheist simply because you don’t want to believe that there’s any type of god who you might need to answer to. In fact, I suspect that’s the type of atheism we usually see.  They’re probably not the ones who join atheist organizations and wear t-shirts with a big scarlet A on them, but they’re out there, quietly not believing in God.

Now, if you’re Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens, you’d better have something besides pompous idiotic rantings to back up your position. Even if you’re just some commenter on a blog, you’d better be ready to be intellectually honest and discuss your statements.  I think it’s fair to challenge blanket assertions like, “there’s no evidence for the existence of God.”  Seriously, anyone can say that. For some, it’s possibly the atheist version of “positive confession.” It certainly sounds authoritative, and most of the time, it probably goes unchallenged. But, what does it mean?

This is where the discussion on Mike’s blog ended up, with me asking for definitions of evidence and proof. “No evidence …”  What are they talking about?  What if I were to maintain that there’s no evidence for evolution (like some crazies might do).  Of course there’s evidence.  The question is not whether or not there’s evidence, but whether or not someone accepts the evidence as sufficient enough to conclude that it’s true. Of course, I am using the term in the legal sense, not with any implication that evidence equals proof.  Webster’s first definition for evidence is “an outward sign; indication.”  The 2nd definition is “something that furnishes proof.”

Now, proof is another matter entirely.  Can we ever prove anything?  My contention is that no, we can never really prove anything. We can only provide enough evidence or information for someone to choose to believe something. Belief is always a choice.  Even to believe that 2+2=4 is a choice, to some extent. However, mathematical and logical proofs are probably the only things that we can say are proven, by the respective laws of math and logic.  Every belief represents a decision – a Kierkegaardian leap, as it were – from collected information (including emotions, etc.) to that belief.

If we are to say that something has been proven to us, I think all we are saying is that we have sufficient information in order to make a certain leap to a belief.  What is proof, then, differs from person to person, and from decision to decision. If we are predisposed to not believing in God (for any number of reasons), I think the level of information necessary to believe in God is much higher than that necessary for the same individual to believe in no God. To be fair, the opposite would be true for someone who is more open to a belief in God.  Star Trek‘s Spock is about the only person I can think of who could possibly evaluate every decision equally. Of course, I am oversimplifying a number of things, but that’s the only possible way to deal with the issue in a blog post.

Peter (1 Peter 3:15-16) admonishes Christians to “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience…”  This is what I try to do, and hopefully do it with gentleness and respect.  All I ask of atheists is that they do the same with respect to their position.

Now, I’d like to see both Christians and atheists better educated in their respective beliefs, as there’s just a whole lot of ignorance going on. But, that’s a subject for another time.

Written on 15 September 2008 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with No Comments
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Communion, reality, Plato’s Cave and parallel universes

While I am not nearly as fond of Plato as some, I think I can understand why many Christians hold to somewhat of a Platonic Idealism; the belief that “the other side” is more real than the physical world seems to fit in with much of Christian thinking on the nature of reality.  I thought that C.S. Lewis did a marvelous job in exploring that concept in The Great Divorce, one of my favorite Lewis works.  I also can understand – in a sense – the belief that parallel universes exist. The idea that reality branches off in a decision tree, where all potentials are real somewhere, is intriguing, even if the theory is based on some questionable approaches to mathematics. Some of my favorite fiction is that which explores the nature of reality. It’s just fun to think about.

And then, sometimes I just encounter reality.

My neighbor, Randy, is pastor of one of the larger churches in our area, which I understand is one of the only 3 growing churches in town.  Randy’s a really great guy, we like him a lot. His church, on the surface, is one of those white, middle-class, conservative evangelical churches that I have a really hard time with.  However, this church is not your normal evangelical church, and Randy is not your normal evangelical pastor. He knows, for example, that life sometimes is very hard; a few years ago his son, still a teenager, simply died after a game of golf.  Randy never lost his faith, however the joy of golf is no more.

So, we visit Randy’s church on occasion.  He speaks truth, from the heart, and has no need for followers, or for your money. The church is on its 2nd huge building project in 6 years, but they only build what they have money for.  They don’t take an offering, people drop it in the basket on their way out.  The first time we visited, I confess I had a hard time dealing with the whole middle-class evangelical culture thing; while I sensed there was something more beneath the surface, I wasn’t sure that I had the patience to deal with the surface.  Then, of course, there’s evangelicalism itself…

While I have some difficulty with evangelical culture, I have perhaps more of an issue with evangelical theology; being self-consciously modern, they’ve done away with anything approximating mystery or the unexplainable, preferring to turn sacraments into mere memorials or “testimonies.”  They have, for the most part, accepted Plato’s dualism; they live life in the “cave,” looking for some future escape into a supernatural reality. Sometimes, in their attempts to bring some kind of faith element back into the sacraments, they become more like superstitions than anything else.  For this reason, I don’t take communion in the church we’ve attended for 7 years, or in most evangelical churches.

Surprised by Reality

This past Sunday, Randy’s church celebrated communion, which they tend to do once a month.  There, I had an experience of Reality. Rather than tack communion on at the end of the service as kind of the “weird uncle” of church practice, they center their morning around it. I was amazed… even Lutherans don’t put that much emphasis on communion.  Even though this is a regular practice for this church, Randy spoke at length about the meaning of communion as if they had never done it before, and I think what he had to say would have made most Lutherans feel at home, as well as most evangelicals.  As we took communion (even though they were little crackery things and grape juice), I encountered reality, or what is sometimes called the Real Presence.

I am not talking about any molecular changes or pseudo-cannibalistic superstitions, but a simple experience of Reality, a connection between parallel realities. It’s not a physical multiverse thing or even a Platonic vision of reality, neither of which I believe in.  I do believe that our material universe is entirely real, is not just a cave of shadows, but is “spiritual” in its own right. However, I do believe that there exists another reality, known theologically as the Kingdom of God/Heaven, and that God has provided a number of “contact points” by which this reality can be touched by those of us currently inhabiting our material universe. Communion is one such point, where – in a manner of speaking – Heaven touches Earth.

Being I was in a setting where I didn’t expect it, my epiphany, this sudden awareness of Reality, took me by surprise.

Is it mystical? You bet.  Is it detectable by any scientific means?  I don’t think so.  Is it irrational?  Not at all; such a reality is, as I’ve said, conceivable by better minds than mine.  To those who haven’t encountered Reality, it is indescribable.  However, for those of us who have encountered Reality, it is simply undeniable.

Written on 06 August 2008 by me under Church, Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 1 Comment
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The myth of postmodernism

Ask nearly anyone who claims to know the current trends, and they’ll tell you that we now live in a postmodern world.  Ask them what that means, and you’ll hear things like, “there are now no objective standards for truth” or “postmodernism is a rejection of the metanarrative.”  As I have mentioned in a prior post, postmodernism is hated and feared by theologians and scientists alike, as it undermines what is foundational for both: modern reason.  I do not claim to be an expert on the subject, though I have been reading and thinking about it for a good number of years.  What I have concluded so far is that not all of postmodernist thought is bad, not all postmodern thought is good, and it is for the most part not so much a departure from modernism as it is a neo-modernism.

First, postmodernism is a critique of certain aspects of modernism, which is badly needed. Modernism as a worldview is extremely narrow-minded, arrogant, anti-historical, and egocentric, if that term can be applied to a worldview. Modernism is constructed in such a way that in its own eyes, it can’t fail. One of its main errors is its faith in progress, that the evolution of society – and of man – is necessarily positive, and that every day in every way, we are getting better and better. More knowledge is always good, in spite of what Adam and Eve discovered. While imaging that we are rational to the utmost, and depending almost exclusively on man’s ability to reason, this belief in necessary progress is not itself based on reason.  Modernism, in many ways, is a fraud, and those calling themselves postmodern have found it out.  In spite of the incredible “progress” of technology, the average white-collar American works more hour per week than 30 years ago, and stress-related illnesses are on a rapid rise. Progress?

Postmodernism challenges the lie that everything is okay.  It also challenges the lie that everything fits into nice, neat boxes. Postmodernism recognizes that spirituality is important.  It challenges the scientific hold on truth, as well as religion’s hold on it. Postmodernism recognizes that what moderns accepted as a rule “was more of a guideline.” However, it has also adopted the same anti-historical arrogance; while it often pays homage to the past, it assumes that postmodernism is better. It has not thrown out all of modernism, just what it doesn’t like. Postmoderns, for example, are more addicted to modern technology than anyone. Apple is perhaps the first large postmodern corporation, and its product line it tailored specifically to that target market, using good old-fashioned modern marketing techniques. Do postmoderns rise up in rebellion?  Not in the least; in fact, the “Mac Guy” has become an icon.

William Lane Craig is the first author I have found who agrees with my conclusions. In a recent article in Christianity Today, he writes:

The idea that we live in a postmodern culture is a myth. In fact, a postmodern culture is an impossibility; it would be utterly unlivable. People are not relativistic when it comes to matters of science, engineering, and technology; rather, they are relativistic and pluralistic in matters of religion and ethics. But, of course, that’s not postmodernism; that’s modernism! That’s just old-line verificationism, which held that anything you can’t prove with your five senses is a matter of personal taste. We live in a culture that remains deeply modernist.

Otherwise, how do we make sense of the popularity of the New Atheism? Dawkins and his ilk are indelibly modernist and even scientistic in their approach. On the postmodernist reading of contemporary culture, their books should have fallen like water on a stone. Instead, people lap them up eagerly, convinced that religious belief is folly.

Is there a need for a true post-modernism?  Perhaps.  Or, perhaps what we need is rather a rediscovery of pre-modernism, a loosening of our anti-historical attitudes and the misplaced faith in progress. I’m not suggesting we give up the internet or stop thinking logically; I am, in fact, quite attached to many of the accomplishments of modern technology, as well as modern logic, which has its place.  However, I do think we need to recover some of what was lost in the iconoclasm of the “Enlightenment” in order to put modernism into some kind of context.  This, I think, is what is being attempted by much of postmodernism, but at the moment it still seems too egocentric – and modern – to be any more than just a new expression of modernism.

Written on 18 July 2008 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 3 Comments
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