There’s one customary question, though, that I’m no longer allowed to ask. In June, Gov. Rick Scott signed a law barring Florida doctors from routinely asking patients if they own a gun. The law also authorizes patients to report doctors for “unnecessarily harassing” them about gun ownership and makes it illegal to routinely document firearm ownership information in a patient’s medical record. Other state legislatures have considered similar proposals, but Florida is the first to enact such a law…

The measure was introduced in the state Legislature after a pediatrician in Central Florida dismissed a mother from his practice when she angrily refused to answer a routine question about whether she kept a gun in her house. The doctor, Chris Okonkwo, said at the time that he asked so he could offer appropriate safety advice, just as he customarily asks parents if they have a swimming pool and teenagers if they use their cellphones when they drive. He said that he dismissed the mother because he felt they could not establish a trusting doctor-patient relationship.

Aaron Carroll, a pediatrician, explains why he’s asking these questions.

I ask parents regularly if they have a gun in the home. If they tell me they do, I ask how it’s stored. I recommend that they think about not having a gun around children. If they must, I recommend that they keep it unloaded, locked up, with the bullets stored separately.

Why? Because in 2005, guns were were in involved in almost 85% of homicides and more than 45% of suicides in children aged 5-19 years, not to mention many accidents. I ask about guns because they are a major mechanism of childhood death. I’m trying to prevent that from happening.

I’m not judging my patients or harassing them, any more than when I ask them whether they use bike helmets, or whether they use car seats, or whether they let their kids cross the street unaccompanied by an adult. I’m trying to keep them from getting killed. That’s my job.

Dr. Carroll says that it’s his job to keep my children from being killed. That it’s his job to ask questions about how I instruct my children and what precautions I take. That it’s his job to oversee the general safety and security of my home and possessions.

I think that, in effect, makes him my parent. It puts me in a position of being answerable to him, of needing his approval of how I live and act. It takes away the responsibility that I have, for my children. He’s making them his responsibility.

This reminds me of the “Oath of Responsibility” that Residents of Grainne take, in the book Freehold.

I,, before witness, declare myself an adult, responsible for my actions, and able to enter contract. I accept my debts and duties as a Resident of the Freehold of Grainne.

It’s a simple oath, but a very deep one. Simply, it declares that I’m responsible for my own actions. Deeply, it means that I agree to accept any and all consequences for my actions—good or bad. There’s no one I can blame if things go disastrously wrong. There’s no one backstopping me if I start to veer into a ditch. There’s no one hovering over me, waiting to snatch me back from the brink of disaster.

It’s a sobering oath. If I take it seriously, it would mean that I have to slow down and carefully think through all of the potential consequences for the decisions I make. It means that I need to be sure, quite sure, before I act.

This is what being responsible looks like. This is what it means to be an adult. And this is the oath that I implicitly took when I moved away from home and, especially, when I got married. I did both of those things years before I read Freehold and read this oath. But this oath resonated with me, the first time I read it. It explicitly stated what I’d always implicitly assumed and lived by.

That’s why I resent these pediatricians who think it’s their job to look out for my children and who think that it’s their job to question and second guess my decisions. I took responsibility for my children long before I had them. I retain responsibility for them now. And I am not going to outsource that responsibility to anyone, no matter how well intentioned they may be.

No, Dr. Carroll, keeping my children safe and alive isn’t your job. It’s mine. You are not responsible to monitor whether (or when) my children wear bike helmets, when they stop using car seats, or when I let them cross the street unaccompanied by an adult. It’s my responsibility.

I have a dual responsibility: to protect them from harm and to teach them how to live responsibly. I have a responsibility to teach them how to distinguish something that’s truly dangerous (riding a motercycle on the highway without a helmet) from something that’s merely occasionally a little risky (riding a toddler bike on the sidewalk without a helmet).

I have a responsibility to teach them how to safely cross the street. Eventually, that will result in me letting them walk to the park unaccompanied by an adult. In doing so, they’ll cross one or two streets, unaccompanied by an adult. I have to teach them how to do that. Invevitably, they’ll end up doing it sooner than I think, at a time when I’m not prepared for them to do so. When that happens, I want them to already know how to do it safely—not to be completely unprepared because their pediatrician thought it was reckless and dangerous.

Dr. Carroll, if I ever come into your office, it’s because I want you to do the job I cannot do: the job of knowing which medicines and treatments will heal my kids after they get hurt or after they get sick. If you can do that, we can have a good, strong, relationship. If you try to take responsibility for my household and try to take authority that I haven’t given you, we’re going to have problems.

Perhaps the difference that most fundamentally separates true liberals and libertarians from others is that, to one degree or another, true liberals and libertarians are, unlike non-liberals and non-libertarians, dutiful sons and daughters of the Scottish Enlightenment. And one of the great lessons of that remarkable intellectual movement is the refinement of the understanding that state and society are not the same thing. Society is not created by the state, and the state’s activities not only do not define those of society but often diminish society’s activities.

Professor Don Boudreaux says this in the course of pointing out that FDR did much to destroy the private market for unemployment insurance. Prior to governments providing “free” unemployment insurance, many religious organizations, charities, businesses, and private societies provided it. People helping each other, reaching out, lending a hand to a neighbor in need. All of that was blown away and destroyed once the federal and state governments started providing unemployment insurance.

I found out today that it is possible to buy supplemental unemployment insurance to augment what the government provides. That’s welcome news but it’s a far cry from the vibrant assistance provided by society prior to the government’s take over.

Government has not brought us closer together by providing services that the private sector used to provide. Instead, it has pushed us further apart and made us less reliant on each other. That’s the exact opposite of the brotherly love and caring that President Obama constantly claims to want.

If you want a close knit society of caring people that look out for each other—slash government spending and get government out of the business of replacing society with bureaucracy.

Another common formulation of the “libertarianism is selfishness” argument is the claim that libertarians are narrow “individualists” who deny the importance of social cooperation. In reality, however, libertarian thinkers from John Locke to F.A. Hayek and beyond have repeatedly stressed the importance of voluntary social cooperation, which they argue is superior to state-mandated coercion. As Hayek (probably the most influential libertarian thinker of the last 100 years) put it:

[T]rue individualism affirms the value of the family and all the common efforts of the small community and group . . . [and] believes in local autonomy and voluntary associations . . [I]ndeed, its case rest largely on the contention that much for which the coercive action of the state is usually invoked can be done better by voluntary collaboration.

… In reality, however, the available evidence does not support the view that libertarians are, on average, more selfish than advocates of other ideologies. For example, Arthur Brooks’ research shows that supporters of free markets donate a higher percentage of their income to charity, even after controlling for both income levels and a wide range of demographic background variables. …

Some leftists claim that opposition to taxation or other forms of government intervention necessarily implies selfishness and indifference to the welfare of others. But that assumption simply ignores the possibility that anyone might sincerely believe that imposing tight limits on government power actually benefits the poor.

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It depends. It depends on which rights you’re talking about and on which rights the law covers.

There are two kinds of rights. The first kind is negative rights. Negative rights either permit you to be inactive or require someone else to be inactive towards you. For example, free speech is a negative right. It allows you to speak, or not, as you choose. It requires the government to be inactive whether or not you speak: the government may not force you to speak and the government may not prevent you from speaking. The right to a free press is another negative right. The government may neither force something to be printed in the press nor may it prohibit the press from printing something.

The second kind of rights is positive rights. Positive rights either require you to be active or require someone else to be active towards you. For example, universal education is a positive right. The government requires you to attend a school of some sort and the government requires someone to provide a school for you. Generally, the government directly provides schooling by forcibly requiring citizens to pay taxes and then using those tax dollars to pay for a school. The “right to health care” is another example of a positive right. If you are unable to purchase your own health care services, the government requires someone else to purchase them for you.

The positive right is distinguished from the negative right in that it requires you — or someone else — to be active. It places a burden on you or on someone else. Very broadly speaking, negative rights force others to stay out of your way, as you live your life and make decisions. Positive rights force others to provide for you (as needed), as you live your life and make decisions.

How does this apply to labor and labor law? Well, unions can either benefit from negative rights or positive rights. Under negative rights, individual workers are free to negotiate directly with employers for their pay and benefits. They are also free to associate with other individual workers and form a bargaining group. They are then free to attempt to negotiate as a group, for pay and benefits. They can invite others to join the group at any time and workers are free to leave the group at any time. The guiding rights principle is inaction: no worker can force another to join nor prohibit another from leaving.

Likewise, employers are free to negotiate with the group or to choose to negotiate with workers individually. Once again, the principle is inaction. No employee can force the employer to negotiate with the larger group. Likewise, no single employee can force the employer to stop negotiating with the larger group.

The negative right to labor allows both the worker and the employer to negotiate individually or through a group, whatever they both prefer. It prevents either side from coercing the other side.

Under positive rights, individual workers are not free to negotiate directly with employers for their pay and benefits. They must only negotiate as part of a larger group. All new workers must accept what the group has negotiated and must only negotiate through the group. No worker may negotiate individually as long as he stays in that job.

Likewise, employers are not free to bargain with individual workers. They must negotiate (active principle) with the group. They may not negotiate with any other group of employees — only with the original group. If the group of workers stops working (goes on strike), the employer may not seek out other groups of employees, to see if they would be willing to work for the original conditions, pay, and benefits. This gives the group a monopoly control over the employer’s supply of labor.

The positive right to labor forces both the worker and the employer to negotiate only through a group. It actively forces both sides into a specific association.

In Wisconsin, public employee unions are an example of labor law under positive rights. Employers are required to negotiate with the appropriate union and forbidden to negotiate individual contracts with workers. Employees are not required to join the union but they are required to pay all union dues that union members have to pay and are required to abide by the terms of the current collective bargaining agreement.

Take, as an example, an individual with a PhD in history who would like to work as a high school teacher in Madison’s public schools. Under the terms of the collective bargaining agreement with Madison Teachers Inc, the school district must pay that teacher a minimum annual salary of $41,036. (I think. The exact details of the salary portions of that agreement are not entirely clear to me.)

For most employees, this is probably a good thing. Most employees are eager to get the maximum possible salary. Most employees probably feel that even this salary is too low and that they deserve more. But that’s most employees in most scenarios.

Consider an alternate scenario. What if the district can’t afford another teacher at that level? The teacher may wish to work for less, in the interests of having a job. (Or, he may have other income to live on and may wish to take the job for less in the interests of melding the bright, young minds of tomorrow.) But he’s not free to work for a different salary and the school district isn’t free to pay him a different salary if he requests it.

Consider another alternate scenario. Consider a worker who does not agree with the political stance of her union, preferring different political goals and outcomes. Under current law, she is forced to contribute union dues to that organization anyway. (For a Wisconsin teacher, this can be $700-1000 a year.) Each year, she is forced to watch as the union gives that money to politicians that she disagrees with and uses that money to oppose politicians that she does agree with. Her co-workers’ positive rights to her union dues limit her negative rights to support candidates that she agrees with.

The positive rights to a union limit an employee’s negative rights to decide what terms to work under and what to support. I value negative rights far more highly than I value positive rights. For that reason, I believe unions do not increase the rights of the workers, they decrease them. I favor modifying labor law to restore workers’ negative rights.

Welcome back. We’re way off-schedule here, but still moving along. Here’s what we’ve covered so far in Geisler and Turek’s 12-point argument for Christianity:

1. Truth about reality is knowable. (Actually, we’ve shown it’s impossible to know if this is true, but also that it doesn’t matter, so Geisler and Turek are OK here.)

2. The opposite of true is false. (No argument from us.)

3. It is true the Theistic God exists, as evidenced by:

3a. the Cosmological Argument (I agree, but ironically the Bible doesn’t)

Meaning today we’re tackling the authors’ second line of evidence for God’s existence:

THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT

As Geisler and Turek tell it, the classic argument goes like this:

1. Every design has a designer.
2. The universe has a highly complex design.
3. Therefore, the universe has a Designer.

Some might quibble with the authors’ phrasing – Kyle Williams charges, “The words ‘design’ and ‘designer’ are so closely related that the first premise is a tautology, the second premise begs the question, and the conclusion, therefore, is meaningless.” – but I personally think the authors’ meaning is clear enough to where we can get on with it. After all, Geisler and Turek can afford to beg questions since they will be devoting the next three chapters to answering them.

Yes, you read that right: the next three chapters. Settle in, it’s going to be a long one.

Though to be fair, if any subject of Christian apologetics deserves such in-depth treatment, it’s undoubtedly the old T & A.

For at least two at least two big reasons:

First, if you Fundamentally believe and take literally the Bible’s Creation Account (previously discussed), you can’t let stand all the scientists’ talk of natural forces gradually building us into the species we are today. That would invalidate part of God’s Word, which would put the entirety of the Good Book in doubt. So I hear, anyway.

Second and perhaps more importantly, the Teleological Argument is vital theologically to every church save the Universalists’. Since the fact is that even if God did reveal himself through miracles to a bunch of Jews two or three years ago, He certainly hasn’t revealed Himself to everybody else, it’s necessary for God’s existence to be evident simply from the natural order of things. Otherwise, there’s no good reason for God (read: Christians) to blame them for not believing in Him. That’s not a big problem for “Calvinist” Christians, who at the end of the day don’t think a good reason is necessary to torture someone eternally, but it’s a serious issue for the rest of us.

So there’s an awful lot riding on whether Geisler and Turek can make a good case for the T.A.

Pity them for it, because there isn’t one to make. The Teleological Argument, as we shall see, is flawed to its very core.

THE ANTI-THEORY

The problem with the Teleological Argument is exemplified by the modus operandi of its main defenders in the United States, American Christians who comprise the “Intelligent Design Theory” (IDT) movement. The movement’s purpose – and I will try to give a neutral definition here that is nevertheless true – is to very pointedly use only scientific facts to back up its members’ belief in a higher being’s design of our cosmos, in hopes they can get God mentioned again in American school systems. A lot of IDT advocates believe in the Bible’s account of our world’s creation in seven days. Others believe God simply guided the natural processes which produced life here on Earth. Geisler and Turek’s I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist is actually a fair example of the approach, even though it doesn’t exclusively deal with scientific questions.

However, since Geisler, Turek, and their fellow Christians understandably have no idea where to begin explaining the mechanics of speech-triggered omnipotent power, the practical function of their work is to be what in politics you’d call a “party of obstructionism”, arguing against others’ solutions while having jack-all to contribute themselves. Less than a minute of subjecting any Christian to the Socratic Method should be enough to make clear their arguments all spring from the informal logical fallacy of arguing from ignorance. In short, they represent not theory but anti-theory.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but a great illustration was brought before the Kansas Board of Education during its semi-recent trial of the IDT. Advocates of the IDT were compared to those people who once theorized that, since we didn’t know how Egyptians could build the Pyramids with their primitive technology, aliens must have helped them.

As you might expect, believers in the IDT take issue with this characterization. The preeminent William Dembski claims to have “an explanatory filter” for pinpointing the fingerprints of our designer on this world – specified complexity – and IDT hero Michael J. Behe thinks he’s proven, a la Sherlock Holmes, that the Theory of Intelligent Design simply must be true because nothing else can account for what he’s named irreducible complexity. Geisler and Turek also raise the “Anthropic Principle” in Chapter 4. We’ll give all of it a fair hearing starting with this post.

And with all this introduction out of the way, let’s get to dissecting

CHAPTER 4: THE ANTHROPIC PRINCIPLE

Geisler and Turek’s argument in Chapter 4 is that the Anthropic Principle proves the validity of the Teleological Argument. According to them, the Anthropic Principle is:

just a fancy title for the mounting evidence that has many scientists believing that the universe is extremely fine-tuned (designed) to support human life her on earth.

But it’s actually:

the philosophical argument that observations of the physical Universe must be compatible with the conscious life that observes it.

If this doesn’t strike you as a brilliant insight, I don’t blame you; I’m not overly impressed either. Geisler and Turek find it revelatory, though, for just how precise conditions have to be to support the conscious life in question (namely, us). And they spend most of the chapter trying to drill into us an appreciation of same, using the famous story of the Apollo 13 crew’s survival to illustrate the “anthropic constants” (conditions required for our existence – for instance, Earth’s oxygen levels remaining at a steady 23%) necessary for us to live. They then climatically assert that the chance of 100+ of these conditions all simultaneously converging is virtually zero, so Someone must have planned it.

The short answer to all of the above is that it’s an argument from incredulity, which is only a variation of the argument from ignorance. Christians rightly object on this same ground when atheists calculate how many religions and permutations of those religions exist or have ever existed and then jeer at the improbability of a Christian’s beliefs being correct. But let’s address Geisler and Turek’s claim more thoroughly anyway.

There are multiple ways to do so. I might note that trying to mathematically divine the chances of highly complex events has always been bupkis, since the various factors’ relations to each other not only complicate matters, but often simplify them as well. For instance, I have no idea what the likelihood is of gravity existing (nor does anyone – so we’ve just put paid to the whole issue right there, haven’t we?), but I do know that the power of gravity makes it much more likely – even almost certain – that various materials will be pulled into orbit around larger bodies. The ramifications of other universal laws similarly preclude any conditions other than those we observe. And never mind the probability of these various principles existing in the same universe, Since we have no idea how they might relate to each other (scientists have long searched for a great “Theory of Everything” to explain it), we can’t say whether or not it’s improbable they’re all here. Maybe they’re a package deal.

I might also point out that just because it’s improbable conditions have developed in a manner suitable for our kind, that does not mean other conditions would have been unsuitable for any kind. Different rules might have just resulted in different lifeforms.

Putting aside the statistical stuff, though, I think it’s most important to call Geisler and Turek on how baldly they’re overselling this universe’s suitability for our people. The unique “anthropic constants” of Earth can be seen, in fact, as the exception that proves the rule of the cosmos’s lack of consideration for us. Our home represents almost nothing of the universe’s total, ever-expanding space, yet it’s the only hunk of rock of which we’re currently aware on which our species is capable of surviving – and even here, people seem to forget, it’s been a tough road to hoe. A lot of our planet isn’t inhabitable or is just barely so. When we arrived, it was also full of predators trying to eat us, and we could barely farm enough food to survive. Natural phenomena still knock down our homes and kill us by the thousand.

Earth is not the ideal homeland Geisler and Turek make it out to be. Things have only been as good as they are on this planet for a very limited time, too – a blink of an eye in geologic terms. For most of its existence, Earth has been completely uninhabitable, and forecasts are that it will be again “soon”. Unless we become a space-borne people before it does, the story of our species will parallel that of the short-lived sperm whale in Douglas Adams’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Of course, it shouldn’t be necessary for us to flee a planet designed expressly for us, so one should question why the Designer, if He exists, has done such a shoddy job. As Geisler and Turek are Christians, I feel comfortable their answer is that our world was designed to be perfect, but we ruined the design by sinning.

That “theory” is interesting to consider, since it reminds us of Christian theology I don’t think is really heard anymore. Man clearly lacks the power to modify his world through his own choices. What agent, then, changed the earth and its inhabitants after Adam and Eve sinned? The common summation of the process is that “Sin entered the world” (from Romans 5:12), implying that “Sin” in fact a malevolent, immaterial force. Just as God warned Cain, Sin was crouching at the door, waiting for us to crack it open so it gain access to Creation and ruin everything! But no: this is just fanciful anthropomorphizing of a concept. Sin is not simply one more member of Christianity’s rogues gallery.

A little more Bible reading leads us instead to the real culprit: God. His alterations to His own design are right there in Genesis 3:16-19:

To the woman he said,

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.”

To Adam he said, “Because you listened to your wife and ate fruit from the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You must not eat from it,’

“Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life.

It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.”

Not only does God clearly make it hard to earn a living on this planet in the above passage, but it can also be read as Him imposing the punishment of death on us all. This fits in with the prevalent idea of God meting out death as the going wage for sin.

If you don’t agree with that interpretation, you must at least agree God indirectly kills us in the next few verses:

3:22 And the LORD God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” 23 So the LORD God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.

But I am rabbit-trailing.

To review: materialist atheists believe this world is the result of impersonal cosmic phenomena, evolutionary processes, and natural selection. This is why the universe has made so little room for us and been so scandalously and unfairly brutal: it wasn’t made with us in mind. What we do enjoy of it, we enjoy because we have successfully adapted to it as a species.

Au contraire, say Geisler and Turek. Quite the opposite! This planet must have been made with us in mind, since we are so improbably suited to it – and the extent to which we are clearly not suited for it simply suggests the degree to which that Designer means to make things hard for us.

I don’t think there can be debate as to which of these two theories is more egocentric, but I’ll leave it to you which requires more faith.

I don’t really want to do that, of course, but I have no choice. I can’t reach through this screen and throttle you until you pick the obvious answer.

NEXT: We can actually move right along to Chapter 5, as the remainder of Geisler and Turek’s fourth chapter demands no rebuttal. The authors spend the remaining pages of it sermonizing on how contemplation of the vastness of space can help us understand, if only slightly, the majesty of God. They base this Sunday School lesson on Bible verses, even though they’re still quite a few steps from proving that source’s validity. If that sounds intriguing to you, you’ll have to buy the book.

Welcome back. Here’s where we’re at in Geisler and Turek’s 12-point argument for Christianity:

1. Truth about reality is knowable. (Actually, we’ve shown it’s impossible to know if this is true, but also that it doesn’t matter, so Geisler and Turek are OK here.)

2. The opposite of true is false. (No argument from me!)

3. It is true the Theistic God exists, as evidenced by:

3a. the Cosmological Argument. (I agree, but ironically the Bible doesn’t)

Now that they’ve proven the universe had a beginning, Geisler and Turek reach this chapter’s selling point. Quoth they:

“In light of all the evidence for a beginning of the space-time universe, the Beginner must be outside the space-time universe.” (92)

And according to them, that “Beginner” must be:

* self-existent, timeless, nonspatial, and immaterial (since the First Cause created time, space, and matter). In other words, he is without limits, or infinite.

* unimaginably powerful, to create the entire universe out of nothing

* supremely intelligent, to design the universe with such incredible precision (we’ll see more of this in the next chapter);

* personal, in order to choose to convert a state of nothingness into the time-space-material universe (an impersonal force has no ability to make choices).

What “Beginner” could possibly fit all these criteria?

Only God, of course – but that’s not particularly a problem for us, since of the four characteristics Geisler and Turek identify here, only the first is of any certainty. Sure, the First Cause must have been outside of our universe, but there’s no way to tell how “powerful” it was (a match isn’t very powerful on its own, but lying next to a tank of gas it commands respect). And Geisler and Turek won’t be showing us evidence for the universe’s intelligent design until Chapter 4, so they can scarcely cite it now. As for the idea that the First Cause must be intelligent because an unintelligent force couldn’t choose to create our universe, that’s simply silly; since we have absolutely no idea how our universe’s multiple dimensions interact with other dimensions, we have no way of knowing how necessary the ability to choose was for Creation.

As for what alternative to God might be “self-existent, timeless, nonspatial, and immaterial”, allow me to introduce you to:

THE MULTIPLE-UNIVERSE THEORY

There are multiple versions of the Multiple Universe Theory (As you might expect! Ha!), but the concept at its most basic is that our space-time universe is one of many and that other universes may have different laws governing them than we do. So while logic would seem to dictate that our space-time universe requires a beginning, it may well be that another universe is eternal, and that universe has given birth to ours (or given birth to a universe which has given birth to ours, etc.).

Actually, Geisler and Turek themselves introduce us to the theory in I Don’t Have Enough Faith, but they strangely wait until Chapter 4 to do so, rather than including it in this chapter’s list of atheist explanations for the Big Bang.

Which is not to suggest they don’t have an answer for it. They do:

“First, and most significantly, there’s no evidence for it! The evidence shows that all of finite reality came into existence with the Big Bang. Finite reality is exactly what we call ‘the universe’. If other finite realities exist, they’re beyond our ability to detect… That’s why this multiple universe idea is nothing more than a metaphysical concoction – a fairy tale built on blind faith…”

It’s just the most breathtakingly hypocritical answer you can possibly imagine.

I shouldn’t have to tell you why. In fact, I don’t even believe Geisler and Turek need to have it explained to them how, absent any other evidence, it’s just as easy to suggest an eternal, non-material, alternate universe as an eternal, non-material, omnipotent, omniscient being.

I do, however, think it’s worth explaining why it’s not simply just as easy, but easier to suggest another universe than a god. And for that, I’ll need to employ two tools: the Principle of Analogy and Occam’s famous Razor.

The Principle of Analogy, somewhat related to the Principle of Uniformity raised by Geisler and Turek (but not until Chapter 5), is basically a rule of thumb for judging the likelihood of claims about facts and events. The idea is we should compare any new claims to our own knowledge of past and existing trends. The claims which most conform to what we know already are most likely to be true.

Everyone uses this principle to navigate through life, of course, because there’s really no alternative yardstick to use. Everyone, of course, also ignores this principle at some point for volitional reasons. And yes, sometimes people follow the principle and are wrong, and sometimes people don’t follow it and turn out to be right. The principle of analogy’s just a rule of thumb, after all.

What’s more, it’s mildly subjective. Two people may have different experiences with a third person, giving them two different viewpoints on how likely it is that third person would do something wrong.

All those caveats made, however, it bears repeating: no alternative yardstick exists.

Occam’s Razor is even easier to explain as a concept: it’s the idea that the best explanation for anything is usually the simplest explanation accounting for the most evidence. Of course, accounting for evidence can make even the most simple explanation available to us very, very complicated, but there you have it.

OK: let’s apply these principles to the respective likelihoods of God and a different universe. What is immediately clear is that God is a more alien and complicated concept to our experience. We are at least certain that such a thing as a universe can and does exist. Yes, an everlasting universe with different physical laws does seem pretty out there, but every difficulty we encounter in conceiving one is also met when we try to conceive God, and in imagining Him we must also wrap our head around the existence of a personality of a far greater complexity than our own. Compare the number of question marks another universe creates versus the number brought up by a Supreme Being and there’s really no contest.

CONCLUDING CHAPTER 3

While Geisler and Turek manage to convince me the universe had a First Cause, so far they haven’t given any good reasons for why that First Cause must be a god. To be fair, though, we’re clearly not meant to take the Cosmological Argument as stand-alone proof, but as the first of four lines of evidence, with the other three to be detailed in Chapters 4-7. We’ll jump into the second line on Wednesday.

Ere we do, however, a few final notes on the chapter which I don’t feel are worth full blog posts.

Eins:

Since his name and likeness have become inseparably linked with Science itself in our culture, Dr. Albert Einstein’s personal beliefs about God have themselves become a “football” in the ongoing debate between theists and atheists, with each side arguing Einstein shared their world view – the illogical, but very human assumption being that whichever side Einstein was on, Science must be on. For the record, atheists were right. Einstein himself got so sick of theists misappropriating his name that he released this statement:

“It was, of course, a lie what you read about my religious convictions, a lie which is being systematically repeated. I do not believe in a personal God and I have never denied this but have expressed it clearly. If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.”

Chapter 3 of I Don’t Have Enough Faith… worrisomely begins, “It was 1916 and Albert Einstein didn’t like where his calculations were leading him.” So I felt grimly certain as I continued reading that they would make the infuriating error of suggesting he was a theist.

I wasn’t prepared for what I found instead. The following, merrily bizarre sentence made me laugh out loud:

“Although Einstein said that he believed in a pantheistic God (a god that is the universe), his comments and statements admitting creation and divine thought better describe a theistic god.”

Now, never mind that Einstein never claimed to be a pantheist, or admitted the existence of “divine thought”. What’s amusing is the petulant comment at the end that, even though the Avatar of Science regrettably wasn’t a theist, what he said sure sounds more theist than atheist.

Reading that, I just can’t help imagining a bitter girl muttering to another, “Fine, the dress is yours. But I look better in it.” It’s fabulous.

Zwei:

Speaking of misappropriation, Geisler and Turek also heavily suggest in this chapter that the Big Bang Theory is somehow theist property. In fact, just judging from what they’ve written in this section, you might be forgiven for thinking atheists have always found the Big Bang Theory as odious as they do Young Earth Creationism.

As someone who grew up in the same Southern Protestant culture the authors are representing, I don’t even have to do research to know that the divide presented by Geisler and Turek here – of Christians and the Big Bang Theory on one side, atheists with their Steady State on the other – is a complete fabrication. If you don’t want to take my word for it, though, just google the words “Big Bang Theory Christian view”. The top entries that come up will be articles by Protestants decrying the theory as one more lie from Satan.

Yes, the Big Bang Theory was first proposed by a theist – a Roman Catholic priest, in fact, who personally thought it a religiously neutral idea (and his church would later come to agree, thus displaying a commendable openness to evidence coupled with a lack of recognition for the need for consistency). He also did propose it at a time when most secularists believed in an eternal universe and yes, a number of disagreeing atheists accused him of injecting his theology into his science.

But begging your pardon, so what?

It’s one of the stranger ways Christians think that I’ve encountered, even as a Christian myself, but for some reason (or rather, no reason) they seem to think any scientific discovery made by a Christian is a feather in their faith’s cap, or even one of many “points” scored to be compared with the number of discoveries made by nonbelievers.

“Most Western science is built on discoveries by Christians!” you hear them say. “Copernicus? Christian. Galileo? Christian. Einstein? He sounded like one.”

Sometimes the point of their listing these names is to prove Christians are capable of good science. No atheist ever seriously charged otherwise, but there you have it. Other times the point seems to be that the discoveries of great thinkers are somehow inseparable from their beliefs about God, as if the Theory of Gravity only makes sense so long as you’re the same sort of monotheist as Sir Isaac Newton was. Which is bonkers.

By no logic is an atheist “borrowing from” Christianity by accepting the Big Bang Theory or any other concept previously understood by the religious. Yet that’s clearly what Geisler and Turek imply, again and again, in this chapter.

Drei:

Finally, Geisler and Turek cap off the whole chapter with the “really good question”: “If there’s no God, why is there something rather than nothing?” (94)

Another question shows how not-so-good it really is: “If there’s a God, why is there a God rather than no God?”

At some level, it’s all arbitrary, Guys.

Chapter 4 starts Wednesday.

Since we all know how hard it is after a good, long holiday to get back into the swing of things, let’s start this series’s return to form by refreshing ourselves on where we are in I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist‘s 12-point argument proving Christianity. Thus far we’ve learned:

1. Truth about reality is knowable. (Actually, we’ve shown it’s impossible to know if this is true, but also that it doesn’t matter, so Geisler and Turek are OK here.)

2. The opposite of true is false. (No argument from me!)

Leading us to their third assertion,

3. It is true the Theistic God exists, as evidenced by:

3a. the Cosmological Argument.

You’re probably already familiar with the Cosmological Argument. If not, Geisler and Turek ably summarize this very old proposition (Plato and Aristotle were using it) on page 75, using the following syllogism:

1. Everything that had a beginning had a cause.

3. Therefore the universe had a cause.

It goes without saying (but I’m going to say it anyway – I’m just that kind of person) that the “First Cause” which Geisler and Turek have in mind is God. Only at this identification do they actually part company with many atheists. Most nonbelievers today accept the validity of the C.A.’s conclusion, as well as the evidence Geisler and Turek use to support it.

Strictly speaking, this means I really shouldn’t have any problems with this step of their argument, right?

Here’s my dilemma. Technically, the answer is no. Geisler and Turek prove to my satisfaction the universe had a cause. Not only is their logic inescapable, but their proof at least seems undeniable to my eyes: the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the universe’s constant expansion, the observation of radiation from the Big Bang, and Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity all point to a beginning for our little reality.

But: while I don’t mean to spoil anything for you here, the twelfth and final assertion which Geisler and Turek will make in I Don’t Have Enough Faith… is this:

12. Therefore, it is true that the Bible is the Word of God (and anything opposed to it is false).

And if that’s so, then all of the evidence Geisler and Turek use in this chapter is nullified; the great climax of their 12-point argument pulls its own feet out from under itself.

Because the Bible’s account of Creation doesn’t agree with the Big Bang Theory. Not at all. Even in the slightest.

IN THE BEGINNING

There is perhaps no story in the Bible as badly understood by modern readers as the Book of Genesis’s tale of how our world was made.

This is in part a problem of education. For instance, when the very first verse in the Bible reads, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (NIV), the modern layperson should be forgiven for mistakenly thinking “the earth” refers to our planet or “the heavens” refers to God’s kingdom above.

But the larger problem is that we are taught to take the account as the unvarnished truth. Since none of us can do this (accepting the text as it’s written presents far too much difficulty for any educated adult today) but we also can’t call the account untrue (most people have too much invested in the Bible being right to allow for its being wrong), we “rewrite” the story in our heads so as to lessen the cognitive dissonance we have to experience in order to agree with it.

Let’s look again at the Bible’s first verse, and add to it the second.

1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters…

Taken completely literally, those verses already start raising questions for the modernist. If the earth was formless and empty, how is there water – especially “the deep”? But as a Christian, I didn’t mind because I easily (and I thought, reasonably) paraphrased the verses in my head in such a way that the troublesome terms became metaphors. “In the beginning God created our universe and our world. Back then, Earth wasn’t around. There was only the deep obsidian of starless Space. The Spirit of God hovered in this black ‘ocean’.”

Then I just completely ignored the fact that God never creates literal water in the story but is soon manipulating it and strangely putting storing some of it above a gigantic dome He calls “the sky”. Like most believers, I was really pretty apathetic about the particulars, at least whenever they weren’t under attack from skeptics, so my personal rationalization of the Creation Account didn’t require much polish. I just needed to figure it out enough to believe it.

My view of the text has since changed primarily because one day I gave myself permission to not believe it if it didn’t convince me, then set out to obtain an educated answer. It didn’t take much investigation afterward to learn that the reason God doesn’t create water in the Book of Genesis is because throughout the Middle East, it was once commonly held that water has always existed. “The lifeless waters of chaos” are the eternal, uncaused element in Sumerian, Babylonian, and Egyptian mythology. The task of the Creator(s) is always to master these waters and bring forth life in their midst. The Babylonian god Marduk, for instance, creates the world by killing the ocean goddess Tiamat and splitting her in half.

So assuming the Hebrews thought similarly to their neighbors, which is very likely considering both the text of Genesis and the influence those civilizations had on Israel and Judah, it’s pretty easy to imagine the Bible’s point of view on what the universe looked like before God created our “planet”: just pretend you’re underwater, and so deep there’s absolutely no light by which to guide yourself.

The light problem, of course, is the first to be fixed by God.

3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

4 God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.

5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

Then God creates some space in which to work:

6 And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.”

7 So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so.

8 God called the vault “sky.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

And now the Bible has just defined the parameters of our world; ours is the place in the universe God has protected from water with an occasionally leaky dome.

9 And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.” And it was so. 10 God called the dry ground “land,” and the gathered waters he called “seas.” And God saw that it was good.

The trick God pulls in verse 10 – bringing forth land out of water – is extremely important thematically for the rest of the Bible. When in the Book of Exodus a “sea of reeds” splits apart to allow God’s people passage, God is applying His signature move, the power over water which identifies Him as the Creator. It’s the ultimate expression of His divine authority and thus, a fitting finale for His war with the Egyptians.

But I’m in danger of digressing, probably because I like literature a lot more than I like science and philosophy a la carte.

Above is the proper interpretation of how the world began in the Bible, its plain meaning to anyone reading it without an emotional need to make it square with modern science. Geisler and Turek undoubtedly disagree, but they are wrong. Yet regardless, they haven’t mentioned the Biblical story of Creation in this chapter, only the Cosmological Argument, with which I can’t find any particular fault. So should I give them a pass?

If only for the sake of continuing this series, I suppose so – but more and more, I’m wondering if I’m justified in my suspicion that Geisler and Turek are basically trying to pull an “end run” here. Such a strategy would certainly square with their immature conception of philosophical argument in general.

If so, though, it won’t work. Logic can’t validate something that’s self-evidently false, as many Biblical assertions are. When logic seems to do so, you’ve only proven your logic’s faulty.

We’ll conclude Chapter 3 next post.

Author’s Note: Read comment after post.

First, some housekeeping.

The question of whether I’d be able to keep up my posting schedule on this series during Christmas vacation finally resolved itself for me today, when I realized that no, I haven’t a snowball’s chance in Hell of keeping it on track. So be it known that a one-week hiatus herein begins, hopefully concluding with a new post on the 29th.

If you’re Christian, think of this as one less atheist making war on Christmas.

And with that, let’s wrap up Chapter 2 of I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist.

WHEN LAST WE LEFT OUR HEROES…

As I mentioned when we began it, Drs. Geisler and Turek have devoted the bulk of Chapter 2 to simply explaining why logic and evidence are the best guides to one’s beliefs. They don’t really believe this, of course, but I do, so I’m not inclined to argue. There’s also some stuff in this section about agnosticism, but we’ve already covered that while talking about Chapter 1.

Strictly speaking, then, it’s unnecessary to talk about Chapter 2 at all, buuuuuuuuut Geisler and Turek happen to make within it a few by-the-side and implicit suggestions which, while lacking any real bearing on the authors’ main 12-point argument, are so wrongheaded they demand objection. So I’m, y’know, objecting to them.

The last of these suggestions involves a short anecdote on pages 54-55 involving internationally-renowned Christian apologist Dr. Ravi Zacharias. A professor confronts Dr. Zacharias and tells him that:

“…you’re using ‘either-or’ logic. In the East we don’t use ‘either-or’ logic – that’s Western. In the East we use ‘both-and’ logic. So salvation is not either through Christ or nothing else, but both Christ and other ways.” (54)

As you might expect, Dr. Z coolly proceeds to show the professor the error of his ways, proving that

“despite what the relativists believe, things work in the East just like they work everywhere else. In India, just like in the United States, buses hurt when they hit you, 2+2=4, and the same gravity keeps everyone on the ground… Truth is truth no matter what country you come from.” (55-56)

All simple, well, and good, you might say. But in taking time to refute “Eastern logic”, I think Drs. Geisler and Turek are not only engaging in typical misrepresentation of their enemies’ ideas, but also quietly denying an important fact about Christianity itself: that it is at root an Eastern religion, with an awful lot of so-called “Eastern logic” ingrained into it.

WESTERN LOGIC VS. “TRANSCENDENTAL NONCOGNITIVISM”

It’s easy to understand why most of today’s Christians don’t think of their religion as “Eastern”. Most of them are themselves born of the West, just for starters, and this has long been so. Today’s politics (not to mention our increased knowledge of world geography) have also resulted in the modern land of Israel becoming an honorary member of “the West”, much like Japan. And of course, Western ideas have had such an influence on Christianity’s development from such an early stage that whatever the religion may have been at its beginning, it’s probably only accurate to describe it as Western now.

Nevertheless, Christianity first sprang forth as a sect of Judaism, the religion of a people of the East, and consequently an awful lot of discussion in the early Christian church was devoted to trying to balance the Eastern-style theology of Christianity with the Western-style thinking of the people who ended up adopting it. In fact, one can trace the very origin of Christian apologetics to the need for early Christians to come up with responses to the questions and accusations of “Greeks” who found Christian concepts bizarrely illogical. One can also say that I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist and this corresponding blog series are part of the continuation of that same conflict. Our debates are the latest rounds in a long fight between the traditions of Athens and Jerusalem that apologists like Geisler and Turek are determined to marry, just as were their predecessors Origen, Justin Martyr, et al.

To see the family resemblance between Christianity and its Eastern cousins today, however, we need to know what “Eastern” logic really is. Geisler and Turek typically provide only enough information to fashion a straw man they can easily bat aside, so let’s look instead to a gentleman named James Quirk, who’s written a pretty good summary about what he calls “transcendental noncognitivism”. He writes:

A key theme of Eastern traditions, including Advaita Vedanta, Buddhism, and Taoism, is the idea that transcendental truth cannot be apprehended by the conceptual, logical, dualistic human mind…

Transcendental noncognitivism, then, is the recognition that the ultimate nature of reality, the Absolute, or “God” is fundamentally ineffable – beyond conceptual and logical comprehension. This conclusion itself, however, is not illogical – on the contrary, it is generally the culmination of an intensive logical process which brings logic and conceptual thought to the very limit of their applicability. To discover the trans-logical, trans-rational nature of reality is itself a logical and rational outcome. Under this approach, it is logic which leads to faith, rather than away from it, as it often does in the West. Far from being some strange process of magical thinking and incomprehensible occurrences as is often imagined by both Western critics and New Age adherents, the mystical process is in fact a deeply logical and rational one – at least until the very moment when logic and rationality must finally be transcended out of sheer necessity.

Am I the only one who sees a similarity between the above explanation and a number of things Christians say when they inexorably arrive at the limits of their ability to describe God and other divine concepts? I even recall our own webmaster Joe once pontificating: “If we could understand everything He did, would he be God?”

EXEMPLI GRATIA

No good? Maybe we need an example. Let’s talk about a core tenet of Christianity that is clearly contradictory in the same way as a number of “Eastern” religious ideas.

Frustrated by his perception I don’t understand the laws of logic, my reader Steve recently started listing the various laws in a comment. One of the laws he mentioned is the Law of Identity. To let him put it:

A is A and not non-A

Cat (A) is Cat and not non-cat (non-A)

Is this true or is this false? is a cat a pickle? is a cat a dog? is a cat a sandwiche? or is a cat a cat? This is the law of identity.

A neat and tidy summary, I think. In light of this Law of Identity, however, what are we to make of the person of Jesus Christ?

Because I am pretty much certain that Steve, being a Christian, believes Jesus Christ was both fully man and fully God – an idea theologians refer to as the Hypostatic Union. I can be sure of this because the concept is very mainstream: as much as Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox Christians disagree with each other, they’ll all nod their heads if you mention Jesus was and is simultaneously human and divine. And be sure to note: “Jesus’ two natures are not ‘mixed together,’ nor are they combined into a new God-man nature” (CARM). Neither is He a spiritual schizophrenic, a man possessed by God as some are said to be possessed by demons. No: Jesus possesses two natures commonly described as being “attached” to each other, yet He is the Word of God become flesh, which suggests transformation. In short, He’s 100% God, but He’s also just a guy.

There are no meaningful answers to the questions that raises. The folks over at CARM (Christian Apologetics Research Ministries) have tried to help us understand by including a table in their own article on the Hypostatic Union that’s meant to “help you see the two natures of Jesus ‘in action’”, but all it clarifies is the incoherency of the concept. Jesus knew everything (John 21:27) yet grew wiser as He became older (Luke 2:52)? The “fullness of the deity dwells in Him” (Colossians 2:9) but “He has a body of flesh and bones” (Luke 24:39)? It makes no sense, even after you’ve made all the distinctions between “natures” and “Persons” and “senses” and “essences” the apologists ask you to.

It’s only fair to note Geisler and Turek don’t agree. However, it’s also fair to note that when they briefly discuss Jesus’ two natures in I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist (in Chapter 13, and here let me apologize for getting ahead of the book; I’ll try not to do it again), they don’t provide any half-decent explanation either.

Know what, though? Many Christians I know are OK with that, just like they’re OK being monotheists worshiping a Trinity. There’s even an alternative term some of them use for the Hypostatic Union which gets across the incomprehensibility of their belief: “the mystical union”.

A term of which I suspect their Taoist cousins in religion would approve.

A LAST QUESTION

To recap, Messrs. Geisler and Turek take a few pages in this chapter to explain why “Eastern logic” doesn’t work, so it can’t be used as an excuse not to accept the “Western logic” they mean to deploy in favor of Christianity. However, they have either forgotten or wrongly believe Christianity doesn’t depend on a little “Eastern logic” of its own. The point at which “Eastern logic” becomes necessary is beyond the scope of their book, however, so this problem doesn’t derail our discussion of it.

It does, however, leave me a wee bit curious.

Here’s why:

With I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist, Geisler and Turek hope to prove the Bible is true by using only logic and evidence. If they can do that, of course, they don’t just win a debate over the doctrine of Biblical inerrancy; by default, they also win every other debate against Christianity, so long as the relevant points are easily identifiable within the Good Book. Right? Right. After all, if they’ve proven the Bible is true, they don’t have to prove God is good; they just have to show where the Bible says God is good.

Yet some Biblical doctrine, like the Hypostatic Union, is clearly illogical – or “transcendentally noncognitive”, don’t you know. So, is their plan simply to say of such things, “Well, we proved the Bible is true. So even though this doctrine is illogical, you have to believe it because we’ve logically proven the Bible is true?”

In other words, are Geisler and Turek hoping to use “Western logic” to prove the “Eastern logic” of their doctrine? It certainly seems like it.

Surely that creates an impassable loop of contradiction, though. The Bible cannot logically be true if it contains illogical ideas.

Which happens to be exactly the contradiction that Christian apologists like Dr. Zacharias like to throw in the faces of “Eastern logicians”.

As Drs. Geisler and Turek write on page 56:

People will try to tell you that logic doesn’t apply to reality, or logic doesn’t apply to God, or there are different types of logic, and so on. But as they say such things, they use the very logic they are denying. This is like using the laws of arithmetic to prove that arithmetic cannot be trusted.”

Well said.

NEXT: We start Chapter 3 on the 29th.

The question of whether I’d be able to keep up my posting schedule on this series during Christmas vacation finally resolved itself for me tonight, when I realized that no, I haven’t a snowball’s chance in Hell of keeping it on track. So be it known that a hiatus herein begins, hopefully concluding with a new post on the 29th.

The real kicker of this time-out, by the way, is that while I’ll never able to find the time on my current schedule to post this Sunday, I did manage over the last couple days to write yesterday’s post. But just before I was about to hit “Publish”, I flipped through I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist and realized I made the one error from which I’ve struggled to abstain since beginning this series: I got ahead of the book. I mean way, way ahead of the book. I’d jumped into stuff from Chapters 13-14, to be specific. D’oh.

So after thinking it over, I decided I’ll just store the post and hope I can salvage some of the hours of work I put in it when the chapters roll around.

(sigh)

Ah, well.

Sorry about being a day late, Folks. Traveling.

Last post, I endeavored to show why atheists, despite often being accused by Christians of having “volitional reasons” (ulterior motives beyond sound reasoning) for not believing in the Christian God, have far less motivation to believe what they do than your average churchgoer.

Many Christians, of course, will automatically discount the points I’ve made. What’s interesting, however, is that many of them will justify doing so by noting that I was clearly writing with strong emotion.

Why would that possibly matter? It’s not that they think strong emotions invalidate arguments. Rather, they have been taught, as a staple element of their religion, that all arguments for and against Christianity are ultimately beside the point.

In my first post concerning the central proposition of I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist, I expressed surprise that two believers in Biblical inerrancy would agree with skeptics that one should believe whatever theory best explains the available evidence. I was, of course, being facetious; I know that Geisler and Turek are just pretending that they think logic and evidence are the most important arbiters of belief. What they really believe, as do the overwhelming majority of Christians, is what preeminent apologist Dr. William Lane Craig proclaims in his own book Reasonable Faith, which is notably addressed to believers rather than I Don’t Have Enough Faith‘s more skeptical audience:

Unbelief is at root a spiritual, not an intellectual, problem. Sometimes an unbeliever will throw up an intellectual smoke screen so that he can avoid personal, existential involvement with the gospel… [Your attitude to the unbeliever] should be something like this: “My friend, I know Christianity is true because God’s Spirit lives in me and assures me that it is true. And you can know it, too, because God is knocking at the door of your heart, telling you the same thing. If you are sincerely seeking God, then God will give you assurance that the gospel is true. Now, to try to show you it’s true, I’ll share with you some arguments and evidence that I really find convincing. But should my arguments seem weak and unconvincing to you, that’s my fault, not God’s. It only shows that I’m a poor apologist, not that the gospel is untrue. Whatever you think of my arguments, God still loves you and holds you accountable. I’ll do my best to present good arguments to you. But ultimately you have to deal, not with arguments, but with God himself.”

Dr. Geisler is on record as agreeing with this view. He once said:

I commend to you that disbelief is not rational; it’s volitional. Disbelief is not because people don’t have enough brain power; it’s because they don’t have the will power.

So you see, when Messrs. Geisler and Turek say us nonbelievers “often” make their decisions based on volitional grounds, that’s just a bone thrown our way for the sake of continuing discussion. To their minds, we have nothing but volitional reasons which we’ve disguised with intellectual objections. Every argument against Christianity is in truth just a skeptic’s dishonest excuse for not bowing to God’s authority.

Thus, any exhibition of strong emotion only confirms to Christians like them that my resistance to Christianity is the result of some personal grudge. Perhaps, they think, this wound for which I am blaming God instead “giving it to Him” goes all the way back to the Lord not saving my parents’ marriage. Maybe it was His refusal to cure my grandmother. Or was I sexually abused? Y’know, it could be I would just feel so guilty about my sinful activities that I’ve decided to relieve myself of the pain by pretending God’s not real.

Thing is, the Christians aren’t entirely wrong here. If I’m honest, I do have a volitional reason for opposing Christianity.

That’s right, yeah: I admit it. Ya read it here first. I am ticked. Carryin’ around some hurt inside.

I’m mad – justifiably so – that I spent the first quarter-century of my life believing Someone existed who didn’t; that I put myself through a lot of anguish I didn’t have to endure because I thought that was what this Person wanted; that as a result I missed out on opportunities I will never have again in this one chance I possess to live; and that my former brothers and sisters in Christ can be so unfair as to suggest, after I did everything they asked, that my heart just wasn’t in it.

And this outrage isn’t solely directed at the Christian faith and its leaders, either. To some extent, I’m also put out with myself. I look back on my time in the church and I regret telling completely unloved wives they should stay with their deadbeat husbands. I regret when I dismissed nonbelievers’ experiences in the same way many Christians now dismiss mine. I contributed to other people’s pain in those instances, and fully believing I was right to do so at the time doesn’t absolve me. Let me tell you, there are several people to whom I feel I’m going to have to apologize next time we meet.

Conventional wisdom with which I basically agree says I should untangle myself from such negative emotions as soon as possible. Let it go. Put it in the past. Historian Diarmaid MacCulloch even writes in his introduction to Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years that he fondly remembers his time as a believer even as he continues to spend his life studying those ex-beliefs, which is a level of peace I find almost excessive but guess I wouldn’t mind achieving, if indeed my personality is capable of it. Regardless of what “peace” means for me, I think venting and investigating my thoughts about Christianity is in fact a step toward it. Everyone who has made peace with something started by talking about it.

So instead of doing something else with my time, I’m going to quote rather liberally from an article by Dr. Robert Price (entitled with typical cheekiness “By This Time He Stinketh”) to explain the folly of Craig, Geisler, Turek, et al.’s take on nonbelievers.

Craig… freely admits his conviction arises from purely subjective factors, in no whit different from the teenage Mormon door-knocker who tells you he knows the Book of Mormon was written by ancient Americans because he has a warm, swelling feeling in his stomach when he asks God if it’s true…

It almost seems Craig has embraced a variant of the Double Truth theory sometimes ascribed to Averroes, the Aristotelian Islamic philosopher… Can it be that Craig is admitting he holds his faith on purely subjective grounds, but maintaining that he is lucky to discover that the facts, objectively considered, happen to bear out his faith? That, whereas theoretically his faith might not prove true to the facts, in actuality (whew!) it does?

… But what might first appear to be a double truth appears after all to be a half-truth, for it is obvious from the same quotes that he admits the arguments are ultimately beside the point. If an “unbeliever” doesn’t see the cogency of Craig’s brand of New Testament criticism (the same thing exactly as his apologetics), it can only be because he has some guilty secret to hide and doesn’t want to repent and let Jesus run his life. If one sincerely seeks God, Craig’s arguments will mysteriously start looking pretty good to him, like speaking in tongues as the infallible evidence of the infilling of the divine Spirit.

Dr. Price identifies this as “[committing] the fallacy of ad hominem argumentation even while projecting it onto the opponent.”

He’s right. And it’s one Christian apologists need to drop if they are to be taken at all seriously by nonbelievers. Ad hominem assertions are not by definition wrong – sometimes it’s clear that a person is being dishonest about where he or she is coming from (like Geisler and Turek in I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist, just for example) – but to incorporate into your religion a blanket statement to that effect about everyone in the world who doesn’t agree with you, regardless of their countless different reasons, is transparently self-serving sophistry. Once you add to it the notion that evil spirits are probably involved in holding closed the doors to heathen hearts, you have a view of other people only slightly more respectable than a mental patient’s paranoid suspicion everyone around him is a robot.

To the credit of Drs. Geisler and Turek, they understand this at least well enough to only touch very lightly upon it in I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist. Thanks to their forbearance, we can at least pretend for the remainder of our reading that Geisler and Turek really do believe one’s beliefs should match the evidence at hand. A conceit on which both the book and this blog post series depends.