Is the Expression ‘Invisible Magic Being’ “Pejorative”?

Recently Christian apologist James Anderson visited my blog and, while posting some comments critical of one of my posts, he stated:

I’ve never understood why you feel the need to pepper your writing with playground pejoratives like “invisible magic beings”, which add nothing to your analysis.

James states that he “never understood why” I use this term, so I will take this opportunity to explain it. Other believers may benefit from this as well, as a number of Christians have apparently taken umbrage at the term. So hopefully after reading my reasons here, James and others will finally understand.

In a nutshell, I use the term “invisible magic being” because I think it accurately captures the imaginary personal entity that Christians and other religionists insist exists.

In fact, it seems dubious to me that any religionists would consider my use of this expression “pejorative.” After all, look at what they tell me to believe. Christians, for instance, claim that their god exists, and often refer to it as a “being.” They claim that their god is “the supreme being,” a “divine being,” an “infinite being,” etc. So I don’t know why Christians like James would find my use of this term bothersome.

Also, Christians claim that their god is invisible – that is, no one can see it, not even believers themselves. Van Til himself affirms that his god is invisible in The Reformed Pastor and Ecumenism when he favorably quotes Col. 1:13-20. In fact, the bible itself, upon which Christianity is (for some part anyway) based, tells us that its god is invisible in I Tim. 1:17. So again, I don’t know why a Christian would be disturbed by the use of this term.

The controversial element of the expression in dispute, then, must, by process of elimination, be the use of the adjective ‘magic’. But in my view, this term is wholly warranted. According to Webster’s dictionary, magic is:

“the use of means (as charms or spells) believed to have supernatural power over natural forces,”

or

“an extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural source.”

Do not Christians believe that their god has "supernatural power over natural forces," that it possesses "an extraordinary power or influence"? Is their god not said to be "a supernatural source"? Indeed, it seems that apologists are ruffled the most when others disbelieve their claims that a supernatural something exists in the first place. So again, it’s strange to me that Christians of all persons would resist my use of this term, or be offended by it, for they openly declare that their god is supernatural. According to the lexicon which I have consulted, magic is associated with that which is alleged to be supernatural. In particular, magic is said to be “an extraordinary power” which is thought to belong to “a supernatural source.” And this "extraordinary power," according to the Christian worldview for instance, spills over into the mundane world in which we live, permeating the believer's experience. According to John Frame, this is a biblical position:

Scripture teaches that believers in Christ know God in a supernatural way, with a certainty that transcends that obtainable by investigation.

It's pretty hard to debate someone who thinks he has magical knowledge!

So if someone asserts a supernatural being, they are in effect asserting a being which has such magical powers. And I’m not talking Houdini or the Amazing Randi here. By ‘magic’ I do not mean “the art of producing illusions by sleight of hand,” for such tricks can be performed by human beings who possess no supernatural powers and make no use of supernatural powers. If you slip him enough martinis, a magician might even divulge how he does his tricks. No, I’m talking about the stuff of story books, e.g., Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Harry Potter, the bible, etc. Since imagination can so easily dictate contents of story books, anything can happen in them. Some readers might even think such stories are true!

Moreover, the claim to magic frequently involves the designation of a personal agent whose consciousness has supernatural powers. According to its spokesmen, this magic-endowed personal agent can wish things into existence (cf. “creation ex nihilo”). Also, it can revise the identity of entities or substances (e.g., turning water into wine), or enable an entity to behave like an entity which it is not (e.g., men walking on unfrozen water), just by wishing. Oddly, we never get to see these amazing feats, but we've been assured that they are possible and that someone (who is unfortunately no longer around for questioning) has seen them.

The parallels here between magic and what Christianity claims about its deity, heroes and arch-villains, are indeed striking. Thus, so long as Christians want to claim that there is a supernatural being which stubbornly resides beyond the reach of our senses, I see no reason why the expression ‘invisible magic being’ does not subsume it. And contrary to what Anderson says, my use of this expression does in fact add to my analysis in that it covers more than just the Christian god; in addition to Christianity’s deity, it also includes any rival deity which non-Christian religionists might imagine. Thus the so-called Fristian god is also dispatched by analysis, should Christian apologists find themselves tempted to hide behind it. It also includes Christianity's angels, demons, devils, even old Scratch himself, for all these are at one point or another portrayed to possess supernatural endowments. Demons, for instance, are said to have the power to afflict an otherwise healthy person with disease. Angels are said to have the power to come to us in our dreams, bearing telegrams from the ruling consciousness itself. Thus by using an expression which encompasses more than just one alleged entity, we are able to include the entire pantheon of imaginary personal agents which are said to be real, powerful, and yet plainly invisible.

by Dawson Bethrick

Gods and Square Circles

I did a big no-no!

I compared belief in the Christian god to belief in square circles.

I know, you're probably wondering, "How dare he!" right?

Well, it's true: I admit that I did in fact do this, and I'm happy to report that I have good reason for doing so. You can read all about it in the latest addition to Katholon, my personal website:

Gods and Square Circles

For those who hath understanding, they can now say:

I don't believe there are any gods for the same reason I don't believe there are any square circles.

by Dawson Bethrick

Frame's Summary of Van Til's OMA

In his lecture outline The Thought of Cornelius Van Til, John Frame gives an informal overview of Van Til's reasoning for thinking that the Christian doctrine of the "trinity" is needed in order to solve the problem of universals. Here we have, from one of the master apologist's own star pupil's, a denuded rendition of the so-called "one-many argument," a variant of the "transcendental argument for the existence of God." In the brief sketch that Frame provides, we can spot several major misconceptions about the nature of abstraction, so much so that it reads essentially as a primer on how not to treat concepts.

Frame's lecture outline itself is quite long - spanning some 36 pages on my downloaded version. The section which appears below can be found on page 10 - under the sub-heading 4. Trinity of section V. Metaphysics of Knowledge . It consists of the following:

d. The Trinity and the One-and-Many

(i) We cannot identify particulars and distinguish them from one another, without uniting them by universal terms.
(ii) But the universal terms exclude particularities ("dog" and "Fido"). So they cannot explain all particularities.
(iii) We cannot define the universals, either, except by means of particularities. But particularities, individuals, are not universal; so whence comes universality?
(iv) So there are no pure particulars or pure universals.

(A) But if every universal is relative to particulars, how can it serve as an explanatory principle? Insofar as it is particular, it requires further explanation.
(B) And if every particular is defined by universals, how can it be distinguished from them so as to be explained by them?

(v) VT: the Trinity explains this situation.

(A) God is both perfectly particular and perfectly universal, many and one.
(B) The world is made in his likeness.
(C) The correlativity of one and many in the world is like the correlativity of these in God; hence there is mystery.
(D) Van Til's "solution" does not give us pure universals or pure particulars, or the kind of exhaustive knowledge that these would bring us. Rather, it calls us to trust that he has a perfect understanding, both of himself, and of his world.

Frame's basic procedure here has a simple two-step formula: first the nature of the problem (as Van Til-Frame conceive it) is presented, then the "solution" (namely the triune god of Christianity) is presented. In presenting the problem (premises i-iv), two of the premises (i & iii) are concerned with what we "cannot" do, and the remaining premises (ii & iv) provide us with a glimpse of the presuppositionalist understanding of the nature of universals and their relationship to particulars. In proposing Christianity's notion of the trinity as the solution to the problem outlined in premises i-iv, certain vague and dubious statements are provided to support the view that the problem of universals requires the Christian god to solve it, even though it is apparently stipulated that "mystery" rather than understanding is the final outcome so far as man is concerned.

In my analysis below I will show how the way in which the problem is conceived suffers from its own debilitating problems, thus calling into grave question the position that a theistic solution is required. Also, I will show how the solution that presuppositionalism proposes is arbitrary and thus useless.


The Problems with Van Til's Understanding of the Problem

To expose the fundamental errors of the Vantillian conception of the nature of universals, let us review the premises that Frame presents in outlining the problem as presuppositionalism conceives of it.

Premise (i):

We cannot identify particulars and distinguish them from one another, without uniting them by universal terms.

This is wrong. A child's initial verbal identifications are of particulars which he names specifically, either by proper names (e.g., Jack, Bill, Alice, Fido, etc.) or by titles (such as 'Mommy', 'Daddy', 'Uncle', etc.) which are used in the same manner as proper names (i.e., to name something specific rather than a class of entities united under one term). By use of proper names and titles, both of which are not universalistic, one can both identify particulars and distinguish between one and another. A child, for instance, can perceive his mother and his little brother, and he can distinguish between them by calling the one Mommy and the other by using his first name Jack. A child does not begin his task of identifying the objects around him with fully constituted concepts already in place. So I would have to contest what Frame states here rather strongly. Even as adults, we can identify and distinguish particulars from one another by use of proper names as opposed to universal terms. In fact, we use universal terms (that is, concepts) in order to treat a group of particulars as a group. And even when we use concepts to distinguish between particulars which those concepts subsume, we find that we must use qualifiers which isolate one particular from another or group of like objects. For instance, I might say "this book as opposed to that book" to identify and distinguish particulars. So even when we use universal terms to refer to specific particulars, we have to modify them. It is disappointing that Van Til-Frame could be so off on this point. And yet this is where the presuppositionalist starts his argument!

Premise (ii):

But the universal terms exclude particularities ("dog" and "Fido"). So they cannot explain all particularities.

This is wrong. Universal terms, if they are formed properly, include all particularities subsumed under the class of objects which they name. The concept 'dog' for instance includes specific animals such as Fido, Spot, Bowser, etc., as well as sub-classes, such as dachshund, beagle, golden retriever, etc. This is because the concept 'dog', when unqualified by context-specific modifiers (e.g., adjectives, adjectival phrases and clauses, specific context, etc.), includes in its scope of reference all dogs (and all kinds of dogs) past, present and future. Also, it is unclear what Frame has in mind when he wants to conclude (on the basis of this erroneous assumption or otherwise) that "universal terms... cannot explain all particularities." The purpose of concepts ("universal terms") is not to explain the objects which they name, but to enable a thinker to treat a whole class of objects, regardless of however many there might be, as a unit. These classes in turn can be used in informing explanations, but by themselves they are not intended to serve as explanations.

Premise (iii):

We cannot define the universals, either, except by means of particularities. But particularities, individuals, are not universal; so whence comes universality?

This is wrong: We can - and do - define universals in terms of other universals (save in the case of axiomatic concepts). Of course, to understand the purpose of definitions and the way in which they are properly formulated (for instance, there is a difference between a definition and a description), one needs a good understanding of concepts (I've asked Christians, to no avail, where such understanding might be found in the bible), and as part of the theory of concepts the recognition that essence is epistemological (religious philosophy tends to treat essences as if they were metaphysical). According to an objective theory of concepts, essence is a property of concepts, not of particular entities which exist independent of our consciousness of them. This theory holds that

the essence of a concept is that fundamental characteristic(s) of its units on which the greatest number of other characteristics depend, and which distinguishes these units from all other existents within the field of man's knowledge. Thus the essence of a concept is determined contextually and may be altered with the growth of man's knowledge. (Ayn Rand, Introduction to Objectivist Epistemology, p. 52.)

In defining a concept, the concern is to identify the nature of the units it subsumes and "to distinguish a concept from all other concpets and thus keep its units differentiated from all other existents." (Ibid., p. 40.) Thus it is appropriate to identify the essential characteristic which the units subsumed under a concept have in common, and doing this requires (except in the case of axiomatic concepts) the use of other concepts. How could we formulate a definition for the concept 'lemon', for instance, without using the concept 'fruit'?

It is encouraging to see Frame asking the question "whence comes universality?" for he will not find the answers to such questions in the bible. When it comes to such issues, religion provides no answers and leaves its adherents epistemologically stranded in the Dark Ages. The implication of presuppositionalism is that this is such a stumper question that we're all supposed to throw up our hands in bewilderment exclaiming "I donno!" and thus point to the Christian god as the "explanation."

From the foregoing, Frame seems to draw as a sub-conclusion his Premise (iv):

So there are no pure particulars or pure universals.

It is not clear what this statement is supposed to mean or how it is supposed to follow from what Frame has stated up to this point. What is a "pure particular" as opposed something that is not a "pure particular"? Similarly, what is a "pure universal" as opposed to something that is not a "pure universal"? Is a rock a "pure particular" or something other than a "pure particular"? Is the concept 'rock' a "pure universal" or something other than a "pure universal"? It's not apparent what these expressions could possibly mean, and I wonder if Frame explains them anywhere. Perhaps Frame simply does not understand what distinguishes a particular from a universal, or maybe he hopes his readers don't. Any specific rock, like the one I dug up in my garden last week, is a particular object, not a partially particular object, not a quasi-particular object, not a half-particular, half-non-particular object. Also, the unqualified concept 'rock' applies to all rocks, and in this sense, that is in the sense of referential scope, it is wholly universal. So again, it's not clear what Frame means here, but I admit that it's quite difficult to shake the impression that he's simply trying to muddy the waters to make them appear deep.

Frame offers the following two points, either as somehow supporting the sub-conclusion that "there are no pure particulars or pure universals," or at any rate as implications to be reckoned with:

(A) But if every universal is relative to particulars, how can it serve as an explanatory principle? Insofar as it is particular, it requires further explanation.
(B) And if every particular is defined by universals, how can it be distinguished from them so as to be explained by them?

Here we see Frame repeating the notion that universals are intended to explain the particulars which they name. But as I pointed out above, this is not their purpose. The purpose of concepts is to provide man's consciousness with the economical means he needs in order to expand his consciousness beyond the perceptual level. Concepts accomplish this task by providing him a conscious means of treating all members of a class of entities, attributes, actions, qualities, relationships, etc., as a single unit, thus equipping his mind with a kind of mental shorthand which can be used in referencing an open-ended range of units both perceived and unperceived, whether they exist in the present, in the past or in the future. The concept 'man', for instance, is not intended to "explain" either one man or all men; rather, its purpose is to allow the human mind to treat all men - regardless of their number or individual attributes - as a unit unto its own.

Moreover, it is unclear what Frame means by universals being "relative to particulars." Objectively formed concepts are based ultimately on the objects which we perceive firsthand. Thus the tie between our knowledge, which takes the form of concepts, and the reality to which our knowledge relates, is a faculty which in fact has an objective nature. That is, perception is not informed volitionally; we do not get to choose what we perceive. We perceive what we perceive, whether we like it or not. It is in this sense - i.e., in the sense that perception is not an invention of consciousness - that it has an objective nature. Our volition comes into play when we make the choice to think or to evade thinking. We also make choices when it comes to forming concepts as well, whether to integrate the objects we perceive into mental units, or to remain stranded at the perceptual level (cf. concrete-bound), attempting to identify each particular object with its own specific title, and never graduating beyond the mentality of a toddler.

Next Frame asks a question which turns on the assumption that particulars are "defined by universals." This, too, is mistaken. We define concepts, not the specific entities or attributes which they name. We are not defining the particular entities or attributes that we name when we include them in a larger, mental unit that includes similar entities or attributes; these things do not need us to define them, since they exist independent of consciousness. To exist already means to be something specific, so the notion of "defining a particular" makes no sense: an entity is distinct from other entities, not by virtue of some conscious act of defining it, but by virtue of the fact that it exists. Definition, on the other hand, is the final step in concept-formation, and pertains to entity classes and other abstractions residing on the higher rungs of the conceptual hierarchy. An objective conceptual theory, then, must be consistent with an objective metaphysical orientation.

(Related to this is the common error among theists and other thinkers who treat meaning as if it were metaphysical. On the contrary, meaning is epistemological, that is, having to do with the content of our concepts, their relationship to the objects to which they refer, and the statements we build from them. Just as definition is a property of (properly formed) concepts rather than of particular entities which exist in the universe, the concept 'meaning' applies to visual and verbal symbols we use to represent concepts in our thought and communication. Another common error is to confuse the concept 'meaning' with other concepts, such as purpose or significance.)

Frame's concern at this point is in distinguishing particulars from universals. In fact, this constitutes an insuperable problem for theists, and it is interesting that Frame even comes so far as to pose the question in the first place. The reason why distinguishing particulars from universals is problematic for theists is the same reason why Vantillian apologists so habitually confuse "presuppositions" with metaphysical conditions. The problem originates in the blurring of the subject-object relationship, a bad habit which lies at the very core of the religious view of the world. By reversing the orientation of the subject-object relationship, thereby granting metaphysical primacy to the subject side of the relationship (cf. an omnipotent consciousness which creates existence and can manipulate the nature of entities at will), theism starts off on the wrong footing from the very get-go, booby-trapping the cognitive operations of those who accept its false premises, thus fatally undermining truth and every valid concept in one fell swoop at the very beginning of the philosophical enterprise. Basing philosophy on the recognition that the primacy of existence is absolute and incontrovertible, a genuinely rational philosophy avoids these kinds of problems. By recognizing the proper orientation of a subject to its objects, the primacy of existence consistently acknowledges the distinction between the metaphysical (the world of concrete particulars which exist independent of consciousness) and the epistemological (the means by which man's consciousness identifies and integrates what he perceives into open-ended classes or mental units).

Frame, of course, wants to point to the Christian god as the "solution" to these alleged problems (which, it should now be clear, are the result of dramatic misconceptions). Isn't it nifty how apologists always find the solution to problems in the god they imagine?


An Arbitrary Solution to an Arbitrarily Conceived Problem

When apologists point to the Christian god as the solution to philosophical problems associated with universals, we need to keep in mind the fact that claims about invisible magic beings are ultimately untestable and incapable of being validated, essentially because they are at root arbitrary. An arbitrary claim is one which constitutes a fundamental departure from reality. One can claim anything he wants about an entity that no one can perceive; how is one to confirm what he says about it? How is one to disconfirm whatever he says about it? How can one reliably distinguish between what a theist claims and what he is only imagining? Theists of every stripe and creed will insist that they are not merely imagining, emphatically asserting that what they claim is not only actually true, but also binding on all human beings.

With these points in mind, consider the Vantillian "solution" to the problem of universals as presuppositionalism characterizes it.

Claim:

God is both perfectly particular and perfectly universal, many and one.

Statements like this ultimately come to us on an "I'll take your word for it" basis; they are claims which are intended to be accepted uncritically on the speaker's say so, not examined for their sensibility. There is no way to look out at reality and observe something which confirms the claim that Frame states here.

That having been said, one can understand the idea of something being both particular and universal from an objective standpoint. (This of course rules out subjective worldviews which premise reality on the intentions of an invisible magic being.) For instance, Objectivism's very starting point - 'existence exists' - subsumes every particular and applies universally, literally all particulars in a single plenum, the ultimate many in the one. Existence is particular in the sense that to exist is to be something specific, i.e., particular. Existence is universal in the sense that anywhere you go in the universe, you'll find something that exists. We can say this because 'universe' means the sum total of all that exists. Thus by definition existence exists everywhere in the universe. Also, the axiomatic concept 'existence' is a universal including every entity and attribute that exists (by virtue of the fact that those entities and attributes exist), and the axiom 'existence exists' applies universally (e.g., there is no place in the universe where this is not true). So as rational thinkers, Objectivists begin with a fully informed one-and-many that is perfect in the sense that there are no exceptions in reality to which its fundamental truth does not apply.

But can any of this be said about the Christian god? Again, one can claim anything about something that resides only in one's imagination, for in this fake environment it is very easy for the arbitrary to serve as one's guide and standard. If one is determined not to be constrained by facts and reason, what is to serve as a barrier to his concoctions? Since theism constitutes a fundamental departure from facts and reason, effectively severing the mind of the believer from the reality in which he lives, we know that a theistic worldview's pronouncements cannot be true. Does it make sense to claim that a single entity is both particular and universal? If these concepts are formed on the basis of imaginative fabrication as opposed to objective inputs, why not? After all, doesn't Bugs Bunny look quite at home in his cartoon universe, a universe where a master designer has final say on what exists and what happens?

Claim:

The world is made in his likeness.

Affirmations such as this indicate that those who want to stand by them do not fully grasp what it is they are saying. For one thing, the subjectivist implications are difficult to miss. It is essentially saying that the world is a product of conscious activity - that a subject created it, that the world is a product of the unconstrainable wishing of a cosmic, omnipotent consciousness. What could possibly serve as evidence for such a position? Theists have throughout history attempted to concoct some way of finally substantiating such claims, but from what I have examined they all fail to deal with the question at hand: How can consciousness can hold metaphysical primacy over its objects? Theists have to assume the opposite, in effect borrowing from a non-Christian viewpoint, to assert and defend such a view as truth, since the concept 'truth' is squarely premised on the principle that the entities we perceive exist independent of a person's wishing. On Christianity's premise of granting primacy to a subject of consciousness, one has no objective basis to make any truth claims. He has basically pulled the rug out from underneath himself.

To investigate the Christian claim that the world was "made" in the likeness of the Christian deity further, we can compare what the world is like to the claims theists make about their god, and see if in fact there is any "likeness" which obtains between the two in some way. But this exercise will certainly spell death for such theistic views. For this likeness would have to be borne out on a general level in order to be signifant enough to give any credibility to such a claim, and yet it is precisely on the level of general characteristics that such a likeness simply does not exist. For instance, observe the fundamental antinomies between Christianity's "God" and the world in which we exist:

• "God" is said to be infinite, but the world is not infinite
• "God" is said to be immaterial, but the world is not immaterial
• "God" is said to be supernatural, but the world is not supernatural
• "God" is said to be incorruptible, but the world is not incorruptible
• "God" is said to be perfect, but the world is not perfect
• "God" is said to be immutable, but the world is not immutable
• "God" is said to be divine, but the world is not divine

With such dramatically contrastive opposites as these (and others could be cited, e.g., the Christian god is said to be both omniscient and infallible, but the world is neither of these, etc.), the notion that the one was made in the likeness of the other is quite far-fetched, to say the least. Where is the "likeness"? The world is full of deficiencies. Theists themselves, in their attempts to argue for their god, regularly point to the world as a ever changing place of "constant flux," while their god is said to be the diametric opposite of this. Given these fundamentally divisive incongruities, how can one say it was "created" by a "perfect creator"? How can one say that this world, made of dirt and rock and other crude elements which break down and reform into new shapes and relationships, is in any way "like" the god of Christianity? Is the god of Christianity like a barren desert, an overgrown jungle, or an inhospitable polar ice cap? That's what we find in the world. At best, the Vantillian can claim some highly abstract "likeness" - one which allows him to ignore these vast and pervasive dissimilarities, and settle in his mind that this abstract "something" - again a phenomenon which cannot be reliably distinguished from his imagination - connects this world to the supernatural consciousness he wants to worship.

Frame wants to say that

(C) The correlativity of one and many in the world is like the correlativity of these in God; hence there is mystery.

But as should be clear now, the correlativity between concepts and the objects they identify and integrate has nothing to do with the Christian god. Indeed,it is a mathematic relationship, akin to the relationship between a variable term in an equation and an integer which can stand in its place. With an objective understanding of concepts, there is no mystery here. In fact, if all that Christianity can do in the end when attempting to offer a solution to the problem of universals amounts to throwing up one's hands and saying "it's all a mystery!" what good is that solution? It gets one no further than where he started.

Frame concludes his summary of Van Til's apologetic use of the problem of universals with the following:

(D) Van Til's "solution" does not give us pure universals or pure particulars, or the kind of exhaustive knowledge that these would bring us. Rather, it calls us to trust that he has a perfect understanding, both of himself, and of his world.

Van Til's "solution" brings us no closer to an understanding of how the human mind forms concepts than if presuppositionalists simply took a vow of silence. Indeed, a genuine understanding of how the mind works is not something they want men to have. On the contrary, so long as their minds remain mysterious to themselves, men will be in a better position to be seduced and controlled by those who seek to catch them in their nets. Van Til's "solution" calls for "trusting" in an invisible magic being, precisely because it offers no enlightenment to begin with. Those who are enlightened do not need to put their trust blindly in the hands of an invisible magic being which refuses to show itself, hold a rational dialogue with those who are supposed to be willing to sacrifice their very lives for it, or simply allow human beings to live for their own sake. Van Til's "solution" requires us to accept religious sloganeering in place of critical thought. It is not intended to be understood, it is intended to be accepted unquestioningly. If it is such a worthy solution, why doesn't Van Til-Frame offer something better?

by Dawson Bethrick

Christianity: The Imaginary Friend's Network

I have already shown how Christianity requires its adherents to renounce their adult minds and revert to childish tendencies. Without avail, I have also asked (for instance, see here and here) believers who want to defend their god-beliefs to explain how a reasonable person like myself can reliably distinguish between what they call "God" and what they may merely be imagining. And in the past I have observed how integral the believer's imagination is to the devotional formula of the Christian faith, as this explains the endurance of narrative writings like Genesis, the gospels and the book of Acts.

Such writings provide the eager reader with a world of graphic inputs which allow him to visualize their heros and the adventures and predicaments in which such stories portray them. Like non-biblical stories, stories like those found in the book of Genesis naturally invite the reader to imagine the people, places and events that they describe. I imagine Noah, for instance, clothed in a heavy, weathered gown with a ruddy, bearded face busily knitting his brow and contorting his lips as he struggles to seal the hull of this enormous ark that his god has commissioned him to build. I imagine him working with his three sons coordinating their movements to reposition a warped plank of gopher wood on one of the vessel's lower decks. In my imagination of the story, I can "hear" the sound of hammers and primitive cutting tools chopping into the wood frame. I can "hear" the animals as they are assembled and herded into the ark's bosom. I can "hear" the laughter and ridicule of Noah's neighbors who will soon be drowned by the coming mighty flood. The story comes to life in my imagination as I piece the narrative together in my mind and supply mental images aroused by the story's elements. Without this activity on the part of the reader, Genesis would be little more than a printout of random blotches and strokes appearing in neatly defined rows.

For the believer, however, the reading of "the Book" is not merely a form of entertainment to pass the time and assuage his boredom with life. On the contrary, it is an act of obedience allowing "the Book" to "minister" to him, for it is read as if its author were present, aware and caring. Not only is it read with the assumption that everything it contains is true, but also that it is vital to life as such. This motivates the believer not merely to read its stories, but to create the world they describe in his imagination as he takes it all in.

When reading the Gospel according to Luke, for instance, the believer imagines the angel appearing to a fearful Zacharias to tell the aging priest that his barren wife will conceive a child who is to be named John. He imagines the angel appearing to the virgin Mary, and telling her that she will be inseminated by a spirit-being which will enter her (apparently whether she likes it or not) and her virgin-born son will assume the throne of David. The reader "sees" these things taking place in his imagination as he reads the story and thinks about it, and this is how the stories come to life in his mind. And as he does this with desire to think these stories are actually true, the distinction between reality and imagination becomes blurred, inviting fantasy to replace fact as a life-guiding influence. An active imagination is alive and well in the mind of the bible-believer. Of course, when he's reading about these individuals who are said to have "found favor with God," he is not also reading that this same god is "no respecter of persons."He reads about that at another point in the long, unwinding yarn, after he's lost immediate sight of such story elements. Thus the imagination is a profoundly agile filtering device.

Now, in and of itself, an active imagination is not a bad thing. In fact, we need our imagination in order to plan even our most mundane daily activities. We imagine that twisting the valve on our kitchen faucet will release a stream of water into the sink below. We imagine that if we tilt a jug of orange juice, that the juice will flow from it and into the glass below. We imagine that putting a load of laundry through a cycle in a washing machine will rid the clothes of its soils and odors. We guide our choices and actions by imagining the outcomes that they will create. Of course, it is not foolproof, for our imagination does not set the terms of reality. On the contrary, a healthy imagination is one which allows reality to set its own terms and which works in accordance with those terms.

The problem comes when the imaginer fails to distinguish between what he imagines and what is actually the case. It is because this is such a crucial difference that I ask believers to explain to me how I can distinguish between what they call "God" and what they are merely imagining. When they fail to give any substantial guidance on this point, I have the option of taking what they

According to this source,

An imaginary friend is a made-up person, animal or character that is created in the minds of some people, especially young children, and is sometimes seen in those with autism. Despite an imaginary friend being unreal, the child will act as if the imaginary being is physically present by talking to it, playing with it, or even attempting to feed it. Of course, to another person it will seem as though the child is talking into thin air. If told that there is nothing there, the child will often retaliate in a defensive manner by stating that the so-called imaginary friend is invisible.

Ever watch a Christian pray to Jesus? It certainly looks like he's talking to thin air. In fact, that's all he's really doing. Only he wants you to believe that there is really a person there, just as a child wants his imaginary friend to really be there. Both find it comforting to have a private friend who knows their feelings and sees what they go through. But in the case of Christians, however, instead of trying to feed their imaginary friend, they actually think they're consuming him, both his body and his blood! And if they are told that their imaginary friend Jesus does not really exist, they often become agitated and retaliate in a defensive manner, just as a child might, and may even attempt to develop proofs for his existence. That is when we learn that an imaginary friend can have all kinds of amazing qualities and abilities. We even learn that this friend has done all sorts of awe-inspiring feats which, unfortunately, we never get to see firsthand.

A church, then, is essentially an imaginary friend's network. Congregants regularly attend church services in order to have their imaginary friend validated and confirmed, and in so doing their fantasy is positively reinforced by group-think, and they are seduced into assuming that all their fellow congregants are worshipping the very same imaginary friend, simply because they're attending the same church services and everyone picks the same name for his own imaginary friend. But of course, since this indulgence is founded on abandoning reality, there is nothing to keep churchgoers from investing the imaginary friend that they dream up with different characteristics and attitudes. This has resulted in sometimes bitter divisions among those who nonetheless continue using the same name to refer to their imaginary friend. The differences usually seem superficial and petty to outsiders, but to believers they are deep and serious. But what they have in common is that they act as if their imaginary friend, whom they unanimously call Jesus, is real, though the degree to which they do this varies from congregant to congregant and from situation to situation, just as it does with children. And depending on the community, more or less emphasis may be explicitly put on the importance of believing that this imaginary friend exists. In those communities where towing the party line is of supreme importance, you will find a proclivity for surveillance and suspicion among those who otherwise claim to "love" each other on account of their "love" for their imaginary friend.

The same article states the following:

Often times children will dismiss the imaginary friend once they find real ones or become old enough to realize that their friend is fictional. Parents shouldn't be worried about their children having an imaginary friend, as it often helps a child realize the difference between reality and fantasy, as well as give them some form of self-esteem. However, sometimes kids know that their "friends" are imaginary, but they might just be bored, or have seen imaginary friend-related stuff on TV.

It is true that children typically grow out of their imaginary friend habit after a while. Unfortunately, Christians are encouraged to revert back to the level of a child and start all over in life as part of the "born again" regimen. So even if they abandoned their imaginary friend in childhood, as adults they return back to take up the habit again, and this time they do so systematically as part of a larger worldview program. And while it may be maintained by some, as the article suggests, that "having an imaginary friend... often helps a child realize the difference between reality and fantasy," quite the opposite is the case when the habit is taken up in adulthood. Unfortunately, many parents actually promote this habit, having bought into the lie that belief in an imaginary friend is vital to "living right" - that is, under the approval of said imaginary friend. So many children grow up believing that belief in their imaginary friend is actually healthy and proper.

The same source also gave a link to Invisies™, "the invisible friend certification program." According to its own website, Invisies™ is "designed as a public service to help you prove the previously unprovable: that your invisible friend is, indeed, for real." I strongly suggest that believers who want to prove that their Jesus is real visit this site and take advantage of this wonderful service. The site asks "is your friend for real?" This site will help settle the matter for those who are frustrated by those who don't believe that their imaginary friend actually exists. Ironically, the site also asks: "Sick of unsaved seats and eye-rolling skeptics?" and promises that "the Invisies™ is for you." In the case of Christians, however, it's not "unsaved seats" that get them worked up, but "unsaved skeptics," particularly those who ask believers all kinds of menacing questions about their invisible friend. Of course, in the imaginary friend's network of Christianity, "unsaved" is code for those who have chosen not to play along with the charade. Spoilsports one and all!

Invisies™ has an online form that any visitor can fill out to apply in order to have his or her invisible friend officially certified by their program's very own "Invisible Friend Certification task force." Curious about what kind of response I would get, I decided to apply on behalf of Christians everywhere. The Invisible Friend Certification task force must receive a lot of inquiries, for it took almost two weeks for them to get back to me. And when they did get back to me, Christians everywhere will be happy to learn that I was not let down!

The brief online form asks visitors wishing to register their imaginary friend to answer an assortment of questions about the imaginary friend they want to certify. Here they are, and along with them I did my best as a non-Christian to fill it out as a Christian would:

1. Invisible Friend's First Name: Jesus
2. Invisible Friend's Middle Initial: H (I guessed)
3. Invisible Friend's Last Name: Christ
4. Invisible Friend's NickName: Lord
5. Gender: Male
6. Does your invisible friend eat? Sometimes
7. Does your invisible friend ever get sick? No (I don't recall Jesus ever getting sick in the gospels)
8. Does your invisible friend sleep? Sometimes (I recall the scene in the garden of Gethsemane)
9. Is your invisible friend good at math? Yes (Jesus is omniscient and infallible, right?)
10. Does your invisible friend lie? No (that's what the bible says, isn't it?)
11. Does your invisible friend know that he/she/it is invisible? Yes (certainly Jesus would know this, wouldn't he?)
12. Does your invisible friend make you laugh? No (I don't recall any laughter in the stories about Jesus, so I answered no here)
13. Does your invisible friend get jealous of you? Yes (per the first commandment - see Ex. 20:5)
14. Does your invisible friend go places without you? Yes (he's "omnipresent" - so he's "there" even before we go there)
15. Has your invisible friend seen you cry? Yes (he "sees all" right?)
16. Does your invisible friend influence your decisions? Yes (aren't believers supposed to ask "what would Jesus do?" when they face moral dilemmas?)
17. Does your invisible friend get lonely? I don't know (I thought to answer yes, since many who believe in Jesus say that human beings were created so that Jesus would have someone to love)
18. Is your invisible friend happier than you? I don't know (this will depend on the individual believer; the gospel stories do not make Jesus seem very happy, but a lot of believers seem unhappy as well)

The form concludes with a few details about yourself, such as your e-mail address, your gender, your age, and asks if you want to receive e-mail updates. There's also a free-text field where you can enter your own comments if you desire.

I submitted the form with the above inputs, and a couple weeks later I received a reply! It stated the following:

Thank you for participating in our program.

After careful evaluation of your Invisible Friend profile, our Invisible Friend Certification Agent has declared your Invisible Friend certified REAL.

Tell all your friends- visible and invisible- the good news.

Our best to you and Jesus,

The Program Director
Invisies Invisible Friend Certification Program
www.invisies.com

Naturally I was overjoyed for Christians everywhere! All this time Christians and non-Christians have been debating the reality of Jesus for centuries using arguments and counter-arguments, baits and lures, personal testimonies and words of wisdom. And all we had to do was register Jesus in the Invisible Friend Certification Program!

Now, there is one small problem, and I went back to the Invisies™ program director about this to get his professional opinion. I wrote back to the program director explaining that Jesus wants me to hate my family, friends and neighbors, even my wife, otherwise he will depart from me and design a horrible eternal fate for me. Unfortunately, I don't hate anyone, especially my wife, family and friends. And I can't make myself hate them, either. (I wouldn't want to even if I could.) So I asked the program director what one should do when faced with such a dilemma: either my wife, family and friends, or my imaginary friend.

Which would you go with?

by Dawson Bethrick

Responding to Chris

Christian commenter Chris posted some comments to my blog Theism and Its Piggyback Starting Point. He wrote:

Oh Dawson, you've incinerated me. I admit that I cannot keep up with you. Your verbal gymnastics are extraordinary.

Thank you, Chris. I aim to incinerate.

Chris writes:

I suppose I should be flattered that you felt the need to devote an entire post to little ole me. My wife will be jealous. Better cut it out. Of course your brilliance is only surpassed and mightily dimmed by your arrogance. Perhaps you can put down your verbal sword and have a civil discussion?

I run a blog, and I reserve the right to post anything on my blog that I see fit. I had not posted anything since July 12, and, given the little time I have to devote to blogging, a response to Chris was also an opportunity to post a new blog. If Chris opened up his own blog, he could do the same.

I had hoped that Chris would consider the points that I posted in response to him. But given what he wrote back to me in the comments section of Theism and Its Piggyback Starting Point, it does not appear that he has pondered on my points very deeply. He does not demonstrate that he has grasped what I have presented, nor does he interact with what I have stated. Instead, he accuses me of arrogance and complains over the prospect that I might think that I “have it all figured out.” I don’t claim to “have it all figured out,” but so what if I did? I know that I don’t believe in any gods. And I know why. Chris has not shown that my reasons for disbelieving theistic claims are flawed or insufficient. His reaction to what I have provided suggests that he is in fact frustrated. But this can hardly be due to incivility on my part, even though he wonders if we could “have a civil discussion.” I come prepared for a civil discussion. I have defined my terms and have traced the course of reasoning supporting my conclusions and verdicts. I am patient and willing to teach. I am willing to consider what Chris presents. When I think Chris is wrong, I point it out. Am I being uncivil? How so? Does Chris want me to go along with where I think he’s mistaken, just to be chummy? I won’t. Friends don’t let friends drink and drive. Friends don’t let friends mismanage their premises, either.

Chris writes:

If theism is not useful in man's natural desire to know why he exists, what is? Do you not seek greater understanding of life's many mysteries? Are science and philosophy your religion? Are you confident that in time you will be able to figure it all out? Or perhaps you already have? Yes, I think that must be it, because your steadfast foreclosure of all things theistic is a clear indication that you have it all figured out.

Falsehood and arbitrariness are not useful to any legitimate need that man has. “Mysteries” is just another term for the gaps in our knowledge where mystics want to say their preferred source of mystical knowledge exists. These persisting “mysteries” are nothing more than shadows where the cockroaches of the intellect hide. Shine the light of reason, and they scurry to find another shadow to hide in as they scamper to find another gap in man's knowledge which can be claimed to be inhabited by their god. Chris’ response to my post is a superb example of this. I’m interested in knowledge, not in “mysteries.” And what’s more, I’m interested in leading an honest life, not in pretending to have a knowledge from beyond that I don’t really have.

Chris writes:

You must know something that I don't know (other than all those neat words and verbal deconstructions), otherwise you wouldn't spend so much time telling me I'm wrong for believing as I do.

There are many things I know, and there are many things that Chris knows. Some of what he knows I know, some I don't know. And vice versa. I use my blog as an opportunity to tell my readers what I know. Chris is welcome to take a look and examine it, or to spout off in unintelligent reaction to it. The choice is his. One thing that I do know is that he has not refuted anything I have presented. In fact, it does not even appear that he has tried to do so. Rather, he seems to be upset that I have confidence in my verdicts. But calling me "arrogant" does not refute my verdicts.

Chris writes:

The universe existing is not in question. The questions are why it exists and how did it come to exist? I believe you made the claim, perhaps it was someone else, that the universe is eternal. It doesn't have a starting point. That claim can be nothing more than a statement of faith, since no evidence is offered to back it up.

So that my readers can understand where I’m coming from, let’s consider Chris’ questions one by one:

1. Why does the universe exist?

This kind of question is invalid because it commits the fallacy of the stolen concept. The fallacy of the stolen concept occurs when a thinker makes use of a concept while denying or ignoring concepts or conditions on which that concept depends. As such, it constitutes a breach of the knowledge hierarchy. For example, suppose someone told you that geometry is a valid science, but basic arithmetic is always wrong. The problem here is that geometry builds on the truths of basic arithmetic. So if arithmetic is always wrong, how can geometry, which makes use of arithmetic principles, be valid? Suppose someone makes the claim “There is no such thing as consciousness.” Would you accept this claim? Does not the individual making that claim need to be conscious in order to make that claim? Do his hearers not have to be conscious in order to hear and consider his claim? In fact, he is performatively affirming the concept 'consciousness' by forming and making a statement, but his statement is denying the existence of the faculty which makes this possible.

Now consider the question “Why does the universe exist?” Let’s focus first on the nature of questions which ask “why” something happened or is the case. Typically these are purposive inquiries: those who ask them are seeking to discover the purpose or motivation of an action or decision. We can ask, for instance, why did Billy stay home from school today? Naturally we suppose there is some rationale behind Billy’s decision to stay home from school, but not knowing what it is, we ask the question. There’s purpose here: Billy tells us that he was sick, and he stayed home to recuperate. We can accept this because Billy is a human being, and human beings possess the faculty of consciousness capable of conceptual thought, and are thus capable of making purposive decisions like this. What’s clear here is that Billy has to exist in order to make any decisions, and he exists in the context of other things existing around him in making decisions. So existence is obviously a precondition to purposive action, and therefore also of questions inquiring about purposive action.

But when we get to the universe, are such questions valid? Well, what is the universe? I have already stated what I mean by this term. The universe is the sum total of all that exists. If something exists, it is by virtue of its existence a member of this sum totality called the universe. To ask why the universe exists is to ask why the sum totality of everything that exists, exists. But since questions of purpose can only be meaningful in the context of what exists, such questions can only apply within the universe, not to the universe itself. The universe exists by itself; it does not exist within something greater than itself. This follows from its definition as the sum totality of what exists. Since the question applies purposive inquiry to the universe as a whole, it ignores the fact that the universe is all there is, thus committing the fallacy of the stolen concept. If the universe is everything that exists, there's nothing outside the universe to satisfy the question on its own terms.

Also, the question “why does the universe exist?” begs the question against the position affirming the eternal universe by assuming what the advocate of the non-eternal (or "created") universe is called to prove, namely that the universe is here to satisfy or fulfill some extra-universal purpose. Where does the theist validate this assumption? Indeed, he seems unaware that this assumption is built into his question, and yet it is plainly there.

2. How did the universe come to exist?

I think questions like this are also clearly invalid. Since the universe is everything that exists, the question ignores that the only alternative to the universe is non-existence as such, which is nothing. Such questions ignore the fact that no matter what exists, if it exists, it exists within the totality of all that exists. So, the question requires that we start with non-existence - i.e., with nothing, since it does not allow anything to already be existing. At this point we have an unsolvable problem: if nothing exists, what can happen? Action requires something that exists to do the acting, so postulating any action necessarily assumes that something exists to do the acting so postulated. Theists are always telling us that the universe could not have created itself. I agree with this, but for slightly different reasons. I don’t think that the totality of all that exists could have brought itself into existence, for an act of bringing anything about requires that something exist to do the bringing about in the first place. But since I start with existence, not with non-existence, I do not partake in the theist's unsolvable conundrum.

The theist does not have a problem with something existing eternally, so long as it is a form of consciousness, namely his deity. But if a deity exists, it would merely be a part of the totality of what exists, by virtue of its existence, whether hypothetical or actual. That is, it would be a part of the universe, since the universe is the totality of what exists. But the theist finds this unsatisfying, not for intellectual reasons (for we will see that an eternal universe is intellectually valid), but for emotional reasons. The alternatives to his god-belief are considered depressing, therefore he will deny all reasoning which conflicts with his god-belief claims.

And yes, I do affirm that the universe is eternal. My reasons for supposing this are already suggested in the foregoing. But an additional point which even many atheists overlook or misunderstand is the fact that time is not metaphysical, it is epistemological. I do not accept the idea that the universe is "a space-time continuum." Time is not a thing existing out in the world that we find and pick up and hold in our hands; figurative expressions such as "I have a lot of time on my hands" notwithstanding. On the contrary, time is a measurement of motion, and requires a fixed standard, such as the earth's revolution around the sun. One revolution around the sun we call a year, and this standard is taken as a unit and broken into various subdivisions to give us the calendar and the clock. When we get to the universe as a whole, however, it's clear that there can be no relationship which can be taken as a standard. The universe is not revolving around some other object to provide a basis for temporal measurement. Time simply does not apply to the universe itself, it only applies within the universe. The universe thus exists outside of time, i.e., eternal.

That's my position, and Chris is free to dismiss it or make fun of it or anything else he likes. I don't really care.

Chris wrote:

I understand that you don't buy the theistic reasons for creation, because your mind requires evidence and a logical progression of cause and effect. You cannot contemplate a Divine hand in creation because it is not tidy, it is not mathematical, and it is not sensory based. You require facts, evidence, and logic. Nothing short of God revealing himself to you personally will do. So you retreat to the discernable universe and instead of asking the questions of why and how, you make yourself comfortable with the notion that it just is.

I have not given as reasons against god-belief that “it is not tidy” or that “it is not mathematical.” Tidiness is not a condition that I put on claims, and I do not tend to measure claims for their mathematical accuracy unless of course they involve mathematical calculations (such as reconciling an inventory turn-over report or validating my mobile phone bill).

However, I have no choice about my reliance on sense perception, because this is part of my nature. My awareness of the world is made possible by sense perception. Everything I know about the world finds its ultimate basis in sense perception. Theists want to play a little game at this point, asking something like “Did you perceive with your senses the fact that everything you know about the world finds its ultimate basis in sense perception?” But if they practice a little more care in grasping what my statement says, they should see that I did not claim that every truth I know is a truth that I perceive directly. The ultimate basis of knowledge is sense perception, but through the formation of concepts I can build a body of knowledge upon that basis. Because I am able to form concepts, I am not bound to the perceptual level of awareness; I am able to develop broad abstractions which take the perceptual awareness of the world as their basis. I need this perceptual basis in order to build a body of knowledge in the first place. Knowledge of what? Knowledge of the world, of reality, of things that exists. Knowledge requires reason, which is the faculty which integrates and identifies what we perceive. It is not bound exclusively to the empirical level, for concepts are not empirical.

Yes, I do require facts, evidence and logic, because knowledge of the world is based on facts, evidence and logic. I want knowledge, so I go by the facts, the evidence and the logic that connects them together. I have found no gods there. Theists tell me that I need something in addition to these, namely something they call 'faith', which they treat as a kind of faculty like reason, but which operates completely mysteriously, even to the user. What’s noteworthy is that the products of faith contradict the products of reason, so there’s no valid way to integrate the two. Also, different people claim to know different things by means of faith, so those who claim to know things by faith quite often tend to disagree with each other, unless of course they're reciting from the same playbook. Since it remains completely unclear what faith's 'processes' are (supposing it has any processes to begin with), there’s no way to determine whether a mistake has been made, or whether its basis is true, or whether its conclusions (if they can be called that) in fact rest on their stated basis in a rightful manner (we can’t say “validly” here because validity is a property of rational thought, not of faith-mongering). So appeals to faith only complicate things, and bring us no closer to actual knowledge of the world. Besides, if one is honest, he has no need to resort to faith to substantiate his position. Either he knows on the basis of reason, or he simply doesn't know - he merely "believes," and even this is questionable.

As for the Christian god revealing itself to me... Well, it allegedly did this for Saul of Tarsus, did it not? The Christian god doesn’t play favorites, does it? It seems that, if the Christian god exists and wants me to believe it exists and become a devoted follower and witness, it is free to do for me what it did for Saul of Tarsus. In fact, according to the legends we find in the New Testament, Saul was a violent persecutor of Christians. I’m quite the opposite: I’m trying to help Christians. Perhaps if I become a persecutor like Saul of Tarsus, the Christian god will pay me a visit?

Chris writes:

To answer your challenge of how I am aware of my God (to spare my jugular), my spirit attests to his spirit. My heart knows God, even as my mind struggles to keep up. I have felt God’s spirit in my life. I have felt his directing hand. I have felt his assurances. When I become agitated, my appeals to him for relief are answered. This of course, is unsatisfactory to those whose requirements for belief are completely captive to the “sense modalities”.

All of this suggests that Chris is “aware” of his god by directing his attention inwardly, by consulting some internal impulse or set of feelings which are in fact not a means of acquiring and validating knowledge of the world. By saying "my spirit attests to his spirit," Chris gives us nothing that we can examine and understand, unlike what we can know of the process of reason. He does not identify what he means by "my spirit," or "his spirit," or the process by which the one "attests to" the other. He says that his "heart knows God." But this gives us no further understanding of how he could know what he claims to know. What does he mean by "heart" in this context, and what is the means by which it "knows God"? Without an understanding of the process by which this alleged knowledge is to be acquired and secured, how does Chris know that he hasn't made an error? Or, is "error" simply not possible in such a case, because there is no actual process here? John Frame says "We know without knowing how we know." (Presuppositional Apologetics: An Introduction (Part I)) Now, that's not very helpful, nor does it give me any confidence that John Frame really knows what he claims to know. He knows no how, that is, without method, process, understanding or assuredness. This is by definition what we mean by a baseless claim.

What's noteworthy is that adherents to different religions claim their truths on a similar non-basis, saying that they "know" by some internal testimony which we're expected to accept on their say so. And when we don't, they get upset at us, sometimes calling us names, condemning us to imaginary realms of eternal punishment, sometimes even taking up arms against us for the threat of doubt and non-belief that we represent. If what they claim is all so true, why do we get such attitude when we express doubts or question their claims?

Also noteworthy is the fact that Chris does not enlighten us on how we can distinguish what he calls "God" from something he is merely imagining. This was my other question to him. To make matters worse for him, he appeals directly to his feelings when he says "I have felt God’s spirit in my life. I have felt his directing hand. I have felt his assurances." Basing one's knowledge on his emotions is called subjectivism. Essentially it is the claim that something is true because we want it to be true. Typically subjectivists are not so openly brazen about their reliance on emotions as their epistemological rudder, seeking instead to camouflage their noetic vice.

But I do thank Chris for his comments here, for they strongly confirm the conclusion I came to in my blog Carr vs. Cole, namely that Jesus is a mood, not an actual person. His god-belief is merely a set of feelings, not a set of truths.

Chris concluded his comments, writing:

You say that the universe is neither a cause nor an effect. Again, I say that a statement like that requires faith, because you cannot present evidence supporting it. I say that God is the cause and the universe is the effect. Evidence? Plenty, but none to your satisfaction. Again, I assert impasse.

Yes, I say that the universe is neither a cause nor an effect, and I have given substantial reasoning to say this. This has to do with what we mean by 'universe'. I have given my definition for this term; Chris has yet to give his. By universe I mean the sum totality of all that exists. Since the concepts 'cause' and 'effect' both presuppose existence as a necessary condition, they can only have meaning within the universe. They cannot refer to the universe as a whole. My reasoning is my evidence, and crucial to understanding my reasoning is an understanding of my definitions. If the universe is everything that exists, how can one say that it is an effect of something beyond it? The sum totality of what exists is the sum totality of what exists, i.e., nothing exists outside that sum totality.

Chris says he has "plenty" of evidence to support his claim, whose "truth" he apparently "knows" by means of consulting his internal feelings," that "God is the cause and the universe is the effect." From what I have seen, he has not presented his evidence for this claim, and what he has stated gives me no confidence to suppose that he has any objective evidence to present in support of it, and what he has left unstated (namely how we as his hearers can confirm that he is not mistaken or how we can distinguish between what he calls "God" and what he may merely be imagining) gives little confidence that even he truly believes these claims deep down.

by Dawson Bethrick

Theism and Its Piggyback Starting Point

This post continues a conversation between myself and a Christian named Chris which began in the comments section of John W. Loftus' blog What Do You Think? The discussion gravitated from a debate on whether or not the universe is eternal to a comparison of respective starting points. I have already written much on this topic and would suggest that Chris familiarize himself with my position by reading this.

Responding to one of the other commenters in the combox, Chris stated:

It's not logical to assume that the universe has not been caused.

And in response to this, I asked Chris to indicate what he means by the term 'universe'. But instead of answering this, he seized on a statement of mine, namely:

Since I start with existence, there's no validity to the idea that existence needs to be explained.

In response to this, Chris reacted by declaring my starting point is "arbitrary," and though I asked him to present an argument to support this charge so that I can see how he came to this conclusion, he did not offer one. Perhaps it is not a conclusion to prior reasoning and thus has no argument. It may simply be a baseless charge. Chris gives nothing to rule out this possibility.

I had also pointed out that:

Existence is irreducible.

Chris complained:

You're repeating what you previously stated. It is your starting point. You make this statement definitively as if it requires no proof.

It should not be difficult to see why existence is irreducible. By irreducible I mean it cannot be analyzed or broken down into something more basic than itself. What is more basic than existence? Meta-existence? What is that? Does it exist, or not? Since I do not see any need to multiply distinctions beyond necessity, I would see the postulation of something called 'meta-existence' as ad hoc, merely an attempt to offer something instead of my position in order to be able to claim a difference. But is there a difference? Would "meta-existence" be irreducible? Why couldn't there be something like 'proto-meta-existence'? We could continue fabricating ever more primitive levels ad nauseum, but would that gain us more understanding of reality? I don't think so. In the end, either something exists, or it doesn't. There is no in between here.

Also, an objective starting point by definition does not need to stand on proof. All proof assumes the truth of my starting point. Proof is a process by which we make explicit the logical relationship between something that is not perceptually self-evident to that which is perceptually self-evident. That which is perceptually self-evident does not need to be proven. When you see a tree, you see it, you don't need to prove that it is there. A proof of existence would be superfluous. And to what would its premises refer, if not to things that exist? Blank out.

Chris:

I say that God is irreducible.

In a prior comment I had asked Chris to identify the means by which he is (allegedly) aware of what he calls "God." He has not done this. Why? He is aware of his god, is he not? If so, there must be some identifiable means by which he has this awareness, no? Most theists say that their god is invisible, and object to us rejecting their god on the basis of our inability to see it because we accept all kinds of things that we cannot see. For instance, theists have pointed to wind as an example of something we do not see, but accept as real nonetheless. True, we often do not see wind, and let's grant for argument's sake that we can never see wind. That's fine. But we need to remember that vision is only one of our five available sense modalities. We can feel the wind against our skin, as when we walk out into it. In fact, I've experienced some wind that was so strong it almost knocked me down. Wind is physical and scientifically measurable, so wind is a very poor analogy for theism to draw on, unless of course theists are ready to admit that their theistic arguments are full of a lot of wind. (Memo to self: Ask theists hypothetical question: Can God break the perfect wind?)

Chris wrote:

You require proof of me to make this claim.

I know better than to ask a theist for a proof of his god. Instead I went for the jugular by asking Chris to identify the means by which he thinks he is aware of his god. I also asked how I can distinguish between what he calls "God" and what he may be merely imagining. Theists claim that their god is invisible, it's not part of this world, it can do all kinds of amazing things which we can all imagine one way or another. But they can point to no objective basis to support what they claim. I'm simply being honest when I point out that I do not believe that the Muslim's Allah exists, and I'm simply being honest when I point out that I do not believe that the Lahu's Geusha exists. Likewise, I'm simply being honest when I point out that I do not believe that the Christian's god exists. It doesn't bother Christians when I don't believe the Muslim and the Lahu, but it bothers him when I don't believe him.

Chris stated:

I require proof of you to make your claim.

The validation (which is broader than a formal proof) of my starting point is that it has to be true in order for Chris to deny it. For Chris to deny existence, he would have to exist, thereby refuting his own denial. Also, since his claim "God exists" piggybacks on my starting point by affirming the fact of existence, my starting point would have to be true in order for him even to contemplate what he calls "God." For Chris to contemplate the existence of his god or anything else, he would first have to exist. This alone is sufficient to validate my starting point. He then tries to make off with my starting point by smuggling it across the divide between atheism and theism, and attempts to enlist its service in support of theism. It is at that point that he swears allegiance to the primacy of consciousness metaphysics by affirming the view that the objects of consciousness ultimately find their source in a consciousness, as I have explained here and here.

Meanwhile I can deny Chris' god, just as I deny the Muslim's Allah and the Lahu's Geusha, while remaining true to my starting point. But Chris cannot affirm his god without begging and borrowing from my starting point.

I wrote:

Don't you have a concept which includes everything, including your god?

Chris responded:

Of course not. God is apart from everything.

But since he affirms that this thing he calls "God" exists, he automatically includes it ex hypothesi in the class of things which exist. The universe is the sum total of things that exist. (This is in direct keeping with Webster's, which defines 'universe' as "the whole body of things and phenomena observed or postulated.") Therefore, if Chris' god exists, it exists as part of the sum of all that exists, which means: it is member of the universe. If Chris maintains that his god is not a member of the universe, then it is not a member of the class of things that exist. Which means: Chris is telling us that his god doesn't exist. There, we have agreement. And he said "we are at an impasse"!

Chris continued:

Including God in the definition of the universe, is to make him subject to it instead the Causer of it.

Here Chris is telling us that he has reasoned from undesirable consequences. Essentially he's saying "I don't want to use a concept that includes both everything in the universe and my god because I don't like what this might imply. My god's bigger than anything, dammit!" It's like a kid on a schoolyard insisting that his GI Joe is bigger than everyone else's, and therefore should be excused from all contests. He exhibits no concern here for conceptual integrity for he slashes himself off from a perfectly good concept and offers none in place of it. Thus he divides existence into two categories, the actual (which is represented by the finite universe of real objects) and the imaginary (which is represented by his god and arbitrarily elevated above the actual, as if the actual found its source in the imaginary).

Chris stated:

The bible says he is without beginning or end, from time indefinite to time indefinite.

This is not an argument. Also, if Chris learned about his god from the bible, then he is acknowledging that his god could not be his starting point. He had awareness of the physical material making up his copy of the bible before he had awareness of its content. Ignoring this fact and asserting that the god he imagines came prior to and is responsible for creating the materials which make up his copy of the bible and everything else we find in the universe of real objects, is just an expression of frustration with the actual universe prompting a retreat into a realm of his own imagining where his god rules over all. Meanwhile, he continues to make use of my starting point, but does not explain where he got it. So he stands before us red-handed, his mouth full of cookies and the cookie jar lying broken on the kitchen floor. What does he say for himself? He does what all Christians eventually do: he appeals to the bible and hopes that serves as an adequate surrogate for an explanation to exonerate himself.

Chris asserted:

The name Jehovah means 'causes to become'.

This too is not an argument. And to the extent that it is true, it is at most trivial and uninteresting. The name of the Lahu's deity is Geusha. It has numerous meanings, such as "before the before," "the one before all," "the supreme ever," etc. So what?

Chris claims:

He is the First Cause.

But the concept 'cause' does not make sense outside the context of the universe - i.e., outside the context of that which exists. Since Chris refused his god membership in the sum total of existence, he commits the fallacy of the stolen concept by referring to his god as a cause, whether foremost or collateral.

Chris wrote:

You prefer to relegate this concept to "the universe" or existence itself. Again, you have no evidence of this so therefore you must have faith that your argument is correct, as I do.

This misconstrues my position. I do not posit a "first cause." I have not identified the universe as a "first cause." Nor is the universe an effect; to call it an effect would commit the fallacy of the stolen concept. Why would one do this, unless he doesn't care about the logical implications of his position?

Also, since I have awareness of my starting point by directly perceiving it with my senses, no faith is needed to affirm its true. Everything that exists is evidence of itself, which means: my starting point is ubiquitously attested.

by Dawson Bethrick

Slam Dunk!

John Loftus wrote:

According to Calvinists I don’t believe because God has determined from the beginning of time that I should not believe.

In response to this, Paul Manata stated:

John, you confuse causes and reasons for unbelief. At least get our position correct.The cause of your unbelief is God's determining that you'd be blinded. The *reasons* for your unbelief are, well, nill.

To which John then replied:

Paul, according to you then, the cause of your belief is God's determining that you'd believe. And according to me, the *reasons* for your belief are, well, nill.

Touché, John!

If "God controls whatsoever comes to pass," as Calvinists maintain, then even the believer's own "beliefs" are out of his own control. On the basis of their "worldview presuppositions," there would be no "reasons" underlying their own beliefs, because their beliefs were determined by an invisible magic being, not by logic and reason. They are not held on the basis of a supporting, rational context, for there is no autonomy in the cartoon universe of theism. Their own teaching denies them the rational basis of their beliefs that they so often claim to have. So they may "believe," but they do not know.

Let the theists talk, for therein is the entertainment.

by Dawson Bethrick

A.S.A. Jones on the Age-Old Rock Question

A friend of mine recently asked if I had seen this site:

http://www.ex-atheist.com/index.html

Wouldn't you know, it's another Christian apologetics site! This one is by A.S.A. Jones, who "deconverted" from atheism to Christianity. The landing page at her site has a quote at the top which states:

It isn't a matter of validating or invalidating arguments. It's about being able to see those same arguments from a different perspective. . . What I discovered was an intellectual riddle that couldn't be solved by the logical mind. It had to be solved by the intuitive heart.

I gather from this that Jones prefers to look at theistic arguments from a perspective other than one that is concerned with whether or not they are valid. And if they are arguments for a position that consists of "an intellectual riddle that couldn't be solved by the logical mind," then I can see why someone confessionally invested in the position they are offered to defend would choose to look beyond the invalidity of its supporting arguments.

So I took a look and poked around. I found that Jones thinks that J. P. Holding "is the most thorough researcher and honest apologist I have ever read." They say that another sucker is born again every minute.

I also found a small article devoted to the age-old perplexing question Can God create a rock that is so big that He wouldn't be able to lift it? I've seen many treatments of this conundrum, and this one is quite typical. Jones rushes to call it an illogical question. But what exactly makes the question itself illogical? Jones never makes this clear as her effort is spent on analyzing surrogate rephrasings of the original question, and when it comes to actually answering the question on its own terms, we'll find that she affirms both horns of a contradiction anyway. Let's take a closer look.

Jones compares the original question to the following:

A genius is so smart that he should be able to successfully pass any test, including a test that would qualify him as an idiot.

For one, this is a statement, not a question, so already Jones is bleeding off the page. Also, this statement equivocates on the word 'test', since it is implied to mean one thing in the main part of the statement, but something else in the follow-up phrase. It is thus a play on words. Cute and clever, but hardly equivalent to the question being considered in the article. Indeed, what would a test intending to qualify those who pass it as idiots look like? And what would count as passing it?

Jones then says that the question on whether or not her god can create a rock so big that it cannot lift it "contains a contradiction." But where does the question do this? What's so contradictory about the question itself? Jones says that it is "the same type of contradiction that is made when we say that someone has accomplished the impossible." I don't think so. On the contrary, Jones is begging the question at this point by assuming what she needs to prove. On the face of it, I don't see anything at all impossible or contradictory about the proposal that someone can create something so big that he cannot lift it. After all, human beings do this all the time. Human beings create grand pianos, assemble heavy construction vehicles, build tall skyscrapers, etc., things that their creators and builders cannot themselves lift because they're far too heavy. So I don't see where the question itself contains any contradictions or inherently affirms that the impossible is possible. Consider this question:"Can a person assemble an object that is so big and heavy that he cannot lift it?"Obviously the answer is yes: we do this all the time. So where's the contradiction? Is it in the question? Or, is it in the idea of an omnipotent god? On my worldview, I have no problem answering the question I have posed, so the problem is not in my worldview.

Jones then wants to rephrase the question again. This time the concern is to tackle the following rendition:"Is God so powerful that he can successfully do anything, including things that he couldn't do?" This question is markedly different because the use of "anything" here makes the question open-ended, whereas the original question was specific. The apologist is using the new version to exploit the open-endedness afforded by swapping out the specifics of the original question and replacing them with "anything," which allows Jones to double-back against it, thus purporting to show that the original question is similarly contradictory. Jones needs to resort to sleight of hand to shore up the claim that the original question "contains a contradiction," even though we already saw that the original question itself is not inherently contradictory, for it is very possible for a personal agent to create something so big and heavy that he cannot lift it.

Jones then tentatively offers the answer "no," sticking with the safety of the tautological statement "God cannot do those things that God cannot do," which departs from all specificity that might tarnish the expedience hopefully gained with frequent rephrasings. After all, theists certainly don't want to take a stand that they will later regret. All of this is powered by having slipped into the imagination gear: "No matter how big a rock is created, God will always be able to move it. God is not powerful enough to compromise His own power."

But giving a definitive answer such as this is unsettling for god-believers, because they want their god to still come out on top. At this point, she is affirming a deficiency: her god is all-powerful lite - that is, really really powerful, not so powerful that it can create a rock so big that it cannot lift it. That's because any rock it creates, it will be able to lift it. This actually suggests that the dimension at which the rock would become too heavy for Jones' god to lift cannot be reached by its creative powers. It's not her god's lifting abilities that are deficient, but its ability to create a rock whose weight exceeds its lifting ability. Thus it remains possible to suppose that there might be a point at which a rock becomes too heavy even for Jones' god to lift, but its creative powers would never allow it to create something quite that big. Its creative powers thus have a limit: whatever it creates will still be within its ability to move, lift, toss around, juggle, etc. So, this is emotionally unsettling for the theist, because it exposes a limitation on her god that she finds intolerable. At this point, she's like a little kid who insists that her favorite superhero is invincible no matter what. And she'll ball up his fists to anyone who tries to challenge her beyond the limits of her own reasoning ability.

So Jones then says that it is possible to answer "yes" to the question after all! She says, however, that we need to "get beyond the deficiency of language in order to understand the concept behind the question" first. But what "deficiency of language" does she have in mind here? And what exactly is the "concept behind the question" that can be understood only if we "get beyond the deficiency of language"? This is all a set-up for toning down the meaning of "all powerful" (again), which is what Jones needs to do in order to finally address the question. A theist's claims about the powers of her god always come with an inexhaustible list of reservations. The term 'all powerful' now becomes "hyperbole," not intended to "be carried to hyper-literalism that renders it incomprehensible." Is this an admission that the statement "my god can do anything!" is really incomprehensible? That's what it sounds like to me at this point. Jones tones it way down to mean "the most powerful thing that can possibly exist." But what specifically "can possibly exist"? Such a question involves a lot of "presuppositions" - that is, prior assumptions which would factor into assessing what is possible. For the theist, she's drawing not only from subjective assumptions (since she's already granted primacy to the subject by affirming the existence of a god in the first place), but also off her own imagination (for everything she's talking about when she talks about what her god can do or has done is grounded in what she imagines, not in something she has witnessed firsthand). The question is thus reduced to a trivial thought experiment whose inputs are imaginary and whose outcome will inevitably be useless anyway.

At this point Jones summarily disarms himself:

Can the most powerful thing that can possibly exist create a rock so large that it could not lift it? Yes, it certainly could.

So what has Jones gained through this article? She answered the question both no and then yes, after calling it contradictory. Thus she's affirming two horns of a contradiction. She should have just done this in the first place instead of trying to provide an analysis which only succeeds in making her more confused than when she started.

However, at this point, Jones is still not entirely comfortable, for she wants to change the topic to questions about motivation: "we may ask why, and if, it would choose to do such a thing, it would still remain the most powerful thing that exists." This of course was not the original question, and it is not at all germane to whether or not a personal agent can create something so big that it cannot lift it. But the theist, always on the run from the light of reason that she cannot ever fully escape, needs to throw this out there in order to camouflage her commitment to a contradiction. One can think of many reasons why a personal agent might create something too big for it to lift it, but we must remember that when a man does this, he is not setting out with this outcome as an end in itself. Rather, this is simply one of many consequences of his efforts to meet his goals. When he builds a skyscraper, for instance, he's not building it so that he can say "Look! I created something too heavy for me to lift!"

When we get to goals and motivations, what goals and motivations could a god have? It has no needs, and anything it could possibly want (to the extent that it would even be sensible to say that it has any wants in the first place) could be provided just by wishing for it. But of course, the Christian god is characterized as both angry and unchanging, which suggests that it must be eternally miserable anyway. So its wants could never be satisfied anyway.

Jones ends by giving a roundabout admission that her analysis up to this point is worthless, saying that she would "still prefer the answer, 'I can't give a smart answer to a dumb question'!" But then again, where did she establish that the question is dumb in the first place? Ah, that's right, her 7 year old daughter told him this.

Well, as you can probably tell, I'm not very impressed. In fact, if I were a theist, I'd point out that the question illicitly assumes that the Christian god is beholden to the effects of gravity. I would add to this that my god is so powerful that it can turn gravity on and off as it pleases, and be done with it. I don't think I've ever seen a Christian deal with the question in this manner, but I think this would be more appropriate given the magical powers they ascribe to their god. After all, gravity would simply be an effect of the cartoon universe it created. And what cartoonist is bound to the effects he puts into his cartoons? Blank out.

by Dawson Bethrick