Presuppositions, definitions, and purpose: This article presupposes the metaphysical first principles of non-contradiction, sufficient reason, and causality, which I defended earlier in a Strange Notions article.

By the principle of sufficient reason, I mean that every being has a sufficient reason for its being or becoming. This principle is recognized by virtually all mankind as essential to reality’s intelligibility.

By causality, I mean that every effect (a being whose sufficient reason is not totally intrinsic) has immediate dependency on a cause (an extrinsic sufficient reason). This also I defended in a more recent Strange Notions article. While that article employed common macroscopic examples of simultaneous causality, metaphysical first principles – since they are principles of existence, not of some particular essence – apply equally to submicroscopic physical realities. Nanosecond delays in field propagation between interacting particles do not avoid the metaphysical necessity for contiguity and simultaneous mutual causation between those fields. Nor do claims on behalf of modern physics undermine the classical metaphysical analysis of causality taking place in time as normally understood.¹

Since non-being cannot ever produce being, and since the effect, as such, is in continual existential dependence on another for some accidental quality and/or its very existence in being, no effect can survive ceasing to be actively caused – even if that causal agency ceased only a nanosecond ago. Physics is inherently incapable of penetrating the depths of this metaphysical insight about being and causality.

Causes of being and coming-to-be: Metaphysics requires thinking of everything in terms of being, since it is the science of being considered precisely as being. Proper distinctions must be made. For many scientists, because of Hume’s influence, the term, “cause,” means merely an “antecedent” – something always coming temporally before an alleged “effect.” This entails that the antecedent as such cannot be the true cause, since it could cease to act or even to exist before the alleged “effect” appears, which is impossible in terms of principles of being. That is because every true cause must be simultaneous with its effect, since a cause is an extrinsic sufficient reason, and therefore, as St. Thomas says, “To take away the cause is to take away the effect.”²

Yet, an “antecedent” sounds like a cause of coming-to-be. Nonetheless, a true cause of becoming must be simultaneous with that which comes to be. It is not antecedent to it. Thus, a falling dominoes series is an invalid example of a series of simultaneous moved movers, since the first domino may be down before the last one starts to fall. Bearing in mind observations about submicroscopic physical causes made above, a valid example of simultaneous causation of becoming might be a series of contiguous gears in motion simultaneously, so that the earlier move the later in what is, in effect, a single motion. If the earlier gears quit moving, so do the later ones. Even more evidently, if a builder quits building a house, the house does not “finish itself.”

Causes of being appear intuitively more simultaneous, since they do not entail motion which takes place through time. But physical examples are sometimes challenged as being instances of becoming and, alternately, metaphysical instances require philosophical proof, for example, the argument St. Thomas makes that things which can possibly be or not be must be caused to exist.³

The key takeaway from all this is that it simply does not matter whether one is talking about causes of being or of becoming: the causes in both cases must be simultaneous with their effects. When the cause of coming-to-be ceases causing, the coming-to-be of the effect ceases – just as when the cause of being ceases causing, the being effected ceases to exist. Properly understood, causal series of becoming are just as temporally simultaneous as those of being.

Extrinsic causes may be efficient or final. Proper causes are those precisely required to produce a specific effect and prescind from accidental or causally non-relevant associations with either cause or effect. The purpose of this piece is to prove, not God’s existence, but solely that no proper causal regression to infinity is possible. In contrast, a merely accidentally ordered regression, such as the procreative one leading back through all our ancestors, could potentially go on to infinity – as Aristotle appears to say with respect to the possible eternity of species.

Since proper causes must be simultaneous with their effects, temporal causal regressions are irrelevant – including even nanosecond prior submicroscopic “events” that no longer exist. Proper causal regressions at issue are hic et nunc “vertical” -- in the present, not “horizontal” through past time.

Yet, it appears that even such “vertical” regressions can go to infinity. Consider a series in which the being of A is the final effect and B the sufficient reason for A, with C the reason for B, and D for C, and so forth. Since B explains A, and C explains B, and D explains C -- as long as the causally prior reasons regress to infinity, every link in the chain is explained, since each one is explained by the prior link. Since the whole chain is nothing but the sum of all the links and every link is explained, the entire chain is explained and there appears to be no need for a first sufficient reason for the being of A.

Or again, consider such a series from the standpoint of causality as such. We have a final effect which is explained by a regression of intermediate prior proper causes. Other than the final effect, every prior cause is intermediate, since each one is followed by an effect and preceded by its own proper cause. (Remember all causal links exist and act simultaneously in accord with proper causality.) Is there anything about an infinite regression of such intermediate causes that requires a first cause?

Each intermediate cause has two aspects: it is “intermediate” and it is a “cause.” But the term, “intermediate,” refers merely to a subsequent effect and a prior cause. It says nothing about a first cause. And “cause” refers only to a subsequent effect. As long as the causality of each intermediate cause is fully explained by a prior intermediate cause, and as long as the causal regression does not have a beginning point, each intermediate cause is fully explained. Since the whole chain is nothing but the sum of the intermediates, and each intermediate is explained by its prior intermediate, the whole chain appears to be explained without any need for a first cause.

Yet, to understand the opposing and correct side of the argument, imagine a surgical incision in the process of being cut. Since surgeons don’t make incisions with their fingers, a scalpel is needed – essentially to convert blunt motion into cutting motion. Since scalpels don’t normally do surgery by themselves, a hand is needed to move and direct the motion of the scalpel. And an arm is needed to move the hand. While this example is deliberately abbreviated, its initial elements are instructive.

The scalpel, hand, and arm are all intermediate causes. But, what makes them intermediate? What does each contribute to the causal chain? The scalpel contributes sharpness, the hand contributes “holding the scalpel,” and the arm directs the hand. But none are called “intermediate” in virtue of what they contribute of their own nature or role in the series. With respect to what they contribute, they actually act as something of a “first cause,” since what they contribute, they originate for the process.

On the other hand, they are called “intermediate” precisely because of what they do not contribute to the surgical process – something from a prior cause that they simply pass on to a subsequent effect. Each intermediate cause entails two distinct aspects: something they contribute originally to the chain and for which they are something of a “first cause,” and, critically important, something that they do not contribute of their own nature, but which they merely pass on from a prior cause and for which they themselves are termed “intermediate causes.” In the example, it is the motion that passes through the whole chain. As long as nothing but intermediate causes are operative in the chain, each contributes something original – but, and here is the key, none of them contributes that chain of causation or motion that passes through the whole chain and, with respect to which, they are properly called “intermediate causes.” If all such causes are merely intermediate, then some causal activity is passing through the entire chain, but no member of the chain can explain it. Whether the intermediate causes are limited or unlimited in number, they cannot alone explain the causal process that runs through the entire chain. Solely a first cause that initiates the entire chain can do that – a first cause uncaused.

Now, to reconsider that chain of intermediate reasons described above, we see that the same problem arises. The problem is that each prior reason is not really sufficient unto itself. If it were, it would be a first reason, not an intermediate one. It is called intermediate precisely because it is passing along a reason that it itself does not fully explain. Otherwise, the chain would stop right there. If one looks for the sufficient reason of A, it is not fully in B, since B depends on C to fulfill its own reason. If one regresses to infinity in looking at intermediate reasons, the fully sufficient reason will never be found, since none of the intermediate links provides the complete reason for the final effect. Each one leaves some of the needed reason lacking. If one regresses the chain to infinity, the total sufficient reason is never found – and thus, the final effect lacks a sufficient reason. But that is impossible. Thus, there must be a first sufficient reason, which is its own reason – otherwise the principle of sufficient reason itself would be violated.

As for the regression in the chain of intermediate causes, the problem is the same. The argument claims that “as long as the causality of the intermediate cause is fulfilled,” and as long as you never exhaust prior causes, no need exists for a first cause. But the catch is that the causality of each intermediate is not fulfilled in its prior cause, since that cause, too, is dependent on yet a prior cause to fulfill its causality. Regression to infinity means that the causality never gets completely fulfilled, and thus, the chain fails for want of an uncaused first caused.

Let me offer an easily evident example, even if it entails an accidental temporal aspect that is irrelevant in this case. Imagine six people going to a theater together. Imagine that they buy six tickets and walk toward the ticket taker. As the first person reaches the ticket taker, he tells him that the person behind him has his ticket. The next one does the same, and so on until the last person arrives and hands all six tickets to the taker. All is well.

But imagine a different scenario, one in which every person reaching the ticket taker tells him that the person behind him has the ticket. But this time the line of “referrers” is infinite! This means that there are actually no tickets, since no individual person has any tickets! The theater becomes overfilled and bankrupt at the same time!

That is the essential problem with an infinite regress of proper causes. The intermediate causes don’t have any “tickets.” They exist and act only in virtue of passing on some causal process that none of them ultimately originates or completely explains. As causes, they are an ontological welfare class. Whether they are finite or infinite in number, they explain nothing of the thread of causation that runs through them all and links them all together as a causal chain.

Each intermediate cause may contribute something novel to the final effect. Still, what denotes it as an intermediate cause is not what it originates or contributes to the final effect. Rather, it is called “intermediate,” because of what it does not originate or explain of its own nature. It is called “intermediate,” because of what it does not contribute to the final effect -- but rather merely receives from its immediately prior cause and merely passes on to the next cause or final effect.

One could literally write a book on this topic with many more examples and complex distinctions.⁴ Still, this is essentially the problem of infinite regress among any type or order of intermediate proper causes. Such a regression is simply impossible. One has to arrive eventually at a first cause that has no ontologically prior cause. For an excellent recent peer reviewed article supporting this same conclusion see here.

Again, this is not presented as proof of God’s existence, but merely as proof that an infinite regress among essentially subordinated causes is metaphysically impossible.

Still, if an infinite regression among proper causes of existence (extrinsic sufficient reasons) is impossible, then such a regression, if demonstrated, would require a first cause (extrinsic sufficient reason) which is its own sufficient reason for being – since nothing is prior to it. In other words, the universal principle of sufficient reason would then necessarily imply that at least one thing must be its own sufficient reason for existing. Such a first sufficient reason that fully explains its own existence would be, of course, not a brute fact, since a brute fact is alleged to have no reason at all – either within itself or from another.

An infinite regress among proper or essential causes is metaphysically impossible. And, yes, this conclusion may henceforth be employed as a universally true principle in any proposed demonstrations of God’s existence.

The classical proofs for God’s existence, particularly St. Thomas Aquinas’ Five Ways, employ the notion of causality – both efficient and final. In that context, many misunderstandings arise concerning the true metaphysical meaning of the principle of causality.

This article will assume the validity of the metaphysical first principles of non-contradiction and sufficient reason, which were established as true in my previous Strange Notions article on the first principles – and will not be reargued herein. These principles will be employed as instruments with which to explore the genuine meaning of causality.

No modern philosopher has had more impact on the understanding of causality than David Hume. Hume conceived causality as an habitual association of mental impressions, arising largely through constant conjunction of previous experiences – connected through contiguity or temporal succession.¹ Since induction alone could never assure the necessity of such associations, he maintained that the “law of causality” cannot be rationally proven. Influenced by Hume, modern science translates causality to a formula, such as “given event A, event B will necessarily and subsequently follow.” Effectively, this becomes a matter of predictability. Since event B can always be interfered with, strict causality can never be assured.

While Thomist metaphysicians would not accept the idealistic implications of Hume’s epistemology, they would agree that finite causes cannot be guaranteed to produce any given effect for much the same reason.

Still, the metaphysical principle of causality starts from the other end: from the effect – and reasons back to the cause. The universally true metaphysical principle of sufficient reason states that every being must have a sufficient reason for its being or coming-to-be. Logical division tells us that this reason must be found either within the being in question (intrinsically) or not within that being (extrinsically). If a being is not its own sufficient reason, it necessarily follows that something else, called a “cause,” must be its reason.

Thus, an effect is a being whose sufficient reason is not intrinsic. A cause is an extrinsic sufficient reason. The principle of causality states that every effect necessarily requires a cause. The principle of causality is simply a subset of sufficient reason – that part of it that deals with beings that are not their own sufficient reason, and thus, need a cause. From this, it follows that an Uncaused First Cause, namely God, would have no need for a prior cause, since he would be his own sufficient reason for being.

But what if we have something that partially explains itself? In that case, the formula is elucidated by saying that to the extent that a being does not explain itself, it needs to have an extrinsic reason, or cause, to account for whatever it does not explain of itself. For example, while water’s nature may explain why it is wet, it does not explain why it is hot. Thus, its heat, which is extrinsic to its nature, must be explained by some extrinsic agent, such as a hot stove. In sum, adding both intrinsic reasons to extrinsic reasons, the totality of the being in question must be fully explained (whether all such reasons are fully known or not).

Moreover, just as a reason must be sufficient, a cause must be proportionate to its effect. You cannot have something that is totally dependent, and yet, is adequately explained by a cause that accounts for only part of its effect’s existence.

Thanks to David Hume, we are used to thinking of a cause as something that invariably precedes its effect in temporal sequence, just as we expect that parents come before their children. This leads people to think of the causal regresses in St. Thomas’ Five Ways in terms of a series of causes going back in time. But this is entirely wrong.

The meaning of an effect is measured in terms of its being existentially dependent upon its cause. Simply put, you cannot remove an extrinsic sufficient reason (cause) on which something depends, and still expect the effect to continue to be. St. Thomas affirms this principle many times, as when he says “… with the cessation of the cause, the effect also ceases….”² Or again, “…removing a cause is to remove that of which it is a cause.”³

Since the logic of this principle flows so immediately from that of sufficient reason, one might think that no confusion could arise as to its use, especially in the proofs for God’s existence. Still, in practice, the principle appears often badly understood, despite its critical role in such demonstrations. Thus, we see endless arguments as to whether causal chains can go back in time to infinity, or whether the world must have had a temporal beginning – all of which are entirely irrelevant to the actual proofs, at least those of Thomas Aquinas.

Thomist metaphysicians usually mark this immediate dependence of effect upon cause by saying that the cause must be simultaneous with its effect. Still, many people remain confused about the proper application of this principle to practical examples.

Consider the following scenario: Someone uses dynamite to remove a tree stump, taking care to leave the scene before the explosion. How does “simultaneity” work here? How does taking away the cause always take away the effect?

First, the dynamiter must light the match to light the fuse. He rubs the match over sandpaper to cause the heat needed to start the reaction between the oxidizing and reducing agents in the head of the match. Sometimes the match does not light because the friction fails to generate enough heat to start the reaction. When the match stops running over the sandpaper (cause), the heat stops (effect). So he tries again. This time the heat causes the chemicals in the head of the match to initiate their mutual causation on each other, resulting in an exothermic reaction of fire. But sometimes the oxidizing and reducing agents are consumed before the carbon in the wood of the match catches fire. The match fizzles out. When the mutual agents were exhausted (cause), the incipient fire ceased (effect).

But, let us assume that the match head fire reaches the kindling point of the wood in the match and the match ignites. What then keeps it burning, since the match head is now exhausted? It is the mutual agency of the carbon in the wood with the oxygen in the air, causing the burning of the match – a process that continues only as long as there is sufficient wood and oxygen to causally interact. Then, the match is put to the end of the fuse. If it ignites, the black powder in the fuse burns with the oxygen in the air as long as there is powder to burn and no longer. If the fuse is exhausted before the dynamite is ignited, it simply goes out and nothing happens. When the cause ceases causing, the effect ceases.

Finally, the dynamite goes off, creating a massive explosion that removes the tree stump. But why does not the explosive force go to infinity? How does the dynamiter know how much dynamite to use? He can in fact calculate the amount of explosive to use in order to cause the desired effect – knowing that for every gram molecular weight of the explosive agents he will almost instantly produce 22.4 liters of gasses, thus creating the powerful, but predictably limited, desired effect. When the cause ceases causing, the effect ceases.

Yet, was not the person who lit the dynamite the true cause of the later explosion? Yes, but in a different order of causation than the physical one that I have described in detail. He is the cause as a moral agent, using intelligence to oversee the entire causal process. His physical causation ended when he put the lighted match to the fuse. But his moral responsibility for the final explosion remains after the explosion itself. He is not physically able to remove the stump with his own muscles, but he can intelligently use the physical forces of nature to do so.

In every moment of this detailed description, the universal causal principle was upheld. Every time the physical cause ceased causing its direct effect ceased being effected.

Proper understanding of exactly what a cause is actually causing proves no exceptions to the causal rule. But I use this complex physical “case study” to show how easily one could make the mistake of thinking that “the cause is gone, but the effect remains.” At every moment, careful understanding will show that present effects are explained solely by present, not past, causes. And yes, the physical remains of the blast are sustained, not by the earlier causes of coming-to-be, but by the physical structure of the resulting wood chips, the ground holding them up, while gravity holds them down, and the rest of operative physical and metaphysical causes presently effecting their continued existence in the manner in which they are.

The universal validity of the principle of simultaneity in causation is derived from the principle of sufficient reason, and so it applies to all being, both material and spiritual. Still, I have offered careful explanation of a physical scenario, since most misunderstandings about causation arise from physical examples in which it appears, superficially, that the cause precedes its effect in time – a mistake apparently made even by Hume.

Still, does not Einstein’s special theory of relativity prove that objective simultaneity is illusory? As philosopher Dr. Edward Feser points out, causation that concerns the same event in the same place – such as removing that tree stump, renders irrelevant an objection based on judgments made by different observers in diverse spatial locations.⁴

While Thomists usually insist upon “simultaneity” between cause and effect, a more exact expression of the causality principle is that the effect is immediately dependent upon its proper cause, which is a cause directly ordered to a specific effect. “Simultaneity” is a concept properly predicated of things in the physical world, since they exist in time.

This principle applies, not only to the physical world, but to the spiritual world as well, since its universal and transcendental character arises from its nature as a law of existence itself – just like the other metaphysical first principles. Clearly, things that no longer exist or have no immediate impact on the effect, cannot remedy its existential dependency. Only a true and immediately acting proper cause can.

For the above reasons, every effect requires an immediate, proportionate, and proper cause. Such causation is the focus of St. Thomas’ Five Ways.

Today, certain lines of attack against classical proofs for God’s existence, such as St. Thomas Aquinas’ Five Ways, seek to undermine foundational metaphysical first principles such as causality, sufficient reason, or even non-contradiction.¹

Such attacks employ, for example, claims that (1) David Hume’s critique of causality is definitive, (2) the existence of the cosmos is simply a “brute fact,” needing no explanation, and (3) modern physics shows that the principle of non-contradiction is routinely violated at the submicroscopic level.

While some “self-evident first principles” appear to hold good for the macroscopic world of everyday experience, they are said to fail in the world of submicroscopic subatomic particles. The famous wave/particle experiments are said to prove that a photon can manifest both as a wave and as its contradictory particle at the same time and in the same place. Some physicists thereby claim that submicroscopic reality regularly violates this most basic metaphysical axiom: that a being cannot both be and not be at the same time and in the same respect.

Yet, these very experiments presuppose the universal validity of said principle, both at the macroscopic scale and at the submicroscopic scale–the latter of which being the level at which it allegedly reveals it is violated. That is, at the submicroscopic scale, the scale at which experimental readings are being taken, the principle is implicitly accepted as inviolable. If a photon manifests as a particle, the experimenter notes that it is a particle. He does not simultaneously allow that it might not manifest as a particle, but as a wave. Observations must be read as they are, not as possibly the opposite–or else, no inferences could be drawn from the experiments. The intelligibility of the wave/particle experiments presuppose the submicroscopic validity of the very principle claimed to be violated. Whatever the actual explanation, no inference against the principle of non-contradiction can be intelligible, since the submicroscopic observations on which the inference is based presuppose its validity.

Others deny the metaphysical principle that from nothing, nothing comes to be, by claiming that particles can pop in and out of existence out of nothing according to Quantum Mechanics (QM). Some speculate entire universes can be so created out of a quantum vacuum. But, according to QM, a quantum vacuum is not really nothing. It is merely the lowest energy state of a quantum field. By “nothing,” the philosopher really means nothing, nothing at all–not the relative “nothing,” which is actually the “something” of the quantum vacuum. Once clarified, the truth that you cannot get something from nothing becomes undeniable.

Still others assume Hume’s notion of “causality” as being a necessary association of mental impressions. Applied to modern science, this is seen as meaning that “given event A, event B will necessarily follow.” Granted, no such universal predictability exists, since something could always interfere with event B. Still, Hume’s notion simply is not the classical metaphysical understanding of causality. In classical metaphysics, if a being or event lacks a sufficient reason for its existence or coming-to-be within itself, then some extrinsic agent must be posited to account for what is lacking in self-explanation. That extrinsic agent is called a cause. Attacking a “causality” that is simply not the one being used by classical metaphysicians in no way furthers the argument of atheists.

Many atheists assume that the universe is its own explanation, and thus, a transcendent deity is unnecessary. More radically, some simply refuse to admit that the cosmos’ existence needs any explanation at all. Of course, the whole point of proofs for God is to disprove such claims and to demonstrate that finite being is unintelligible without an Infinite Being.²

Atheist Kai Nielsen writes, “It is certainly very natural to reject the principle of sufficient reason and to say that it has not been established that there must be … an explanation for everything.”³ The practical problem with Nielsen’s move is that we then have no way of knowing when anything at all needs an explanation. If some things have no explanation, perhaps, nothing has an explanation–thereby rendering all reality unintelligible, including the universal explanations of phenomena offered by modern science. The intellectual suicide of denying all reason is far worse than the claim that the cosmos simply explains itself–a claim of aseity, which can be dispatched by proper use of the proofs for God’s existence.

Attacking metaphysical first principles, modern atheists and agnostics reject the foundational insights of any proof for God’s existence. The natural metaphysics of human intelligence seeks to understand the created world in terms of the intelligibility of finite being. In attempting to grasp the “why” of finite phenomena, proofs for God’s existence arise naturally, since the mind of man rightly suspects that the things of this world do not fully explain themselves, and thus, need extrinsic explanation. Human intelligence follows the path from finite effects, searching for an adequate causal explanation. Metaphysical reasoning inevitably demands assent to the existence of an Ultimate Cause of all creatures, a Cause that is quickly recognized in terms of the classical understanding of God.⁴

The ultimate irony lies in skeptics attacking first principles used in such proofs, when these same atheists and agnostics necessarily use these same principles themselves in everything they say and do. Every statement in atheist arguments claims to express some truth. Yet, it is a basic principle of logic that the same predicate cannot both be affirmed and denied of the same subject at the same time. This is simply the principle of non-contradiction expressed in logical form. If any interlocutor wishes to make an argument against the proofs for God, he must do so in terms allegedly true. He cannot simultaneously be affirming that said claims are equally false. In a word, all arguments against God’s existence must obey the metaphysical principle of non-contradiction, or else, they are rendered meaningless. As in the case of the wave/particle experiments cited above, the attacks on the principle of non-contradiction presuppose the validity of the very principle they attack. So much for claims made against the principle of non-contradiction.

As to the need for reasons or causes, anyone making a philosophical claim must give reasons for his claim. No one can simply make a claim and expect it to be accepted just because he said it. The question instantly arises, “Why do you make this claim?” The claimant must give reasons for his claim, and the reasons must be adequate–or else, no one will listen to him. In other words, the reasons given for a claim stand as causes of the truth of the claim in the hearer’s mind. Absent adequate and sufficient reasons being given, the initial claim will be dismissed as warrantless–and properly so. Philosophical claims require adequate reasons for their truth. They do not stand of themselves. As such, they stand as effects of causes, which causes (or premises) are the extrinsic reasons for the claims’ truth being known in the mind.

Ironically, David Hume, the philosopher most famous for attacking the principle of causality, apparently could not write a book in English without using the word, “because,” or some equivalent expression, throughout–constantly explaining, as we all must do, why what he is saying ought to be believed.

In a word, the principles of non-contradiction, sufficient reason, and causality are all presupposed by those atheists or agnostics attacking their application in the proofs for God’s existence.

But is this merely a matter of linguistics? No. The reason we seek explanation of the truth of philosophical claims is precisely because we want intellectual assurance that the claims made are supported by reasons that reflect a real world foundation for their claimed truth. Otherwise, philosophical arguments would become nothing but the ravings of lunatics, bearing no relation whatever to extramental realities. If the laws of thought do not reflect the actual laws of being, then the mind becomes utterly useless as an instrument with which to know the real. More importantly, unless everything has a reason, we could never tell whether a thing has a reason or not–thereby effectively destroying the connection between thought and reality, since there would be no necessary reason why reality need correspond to thought. Science would be irrational, since no explanation for anything would ever be required.

A being lacking sufficient reason has no explanation for existence either within or outside itself, which means nothing differentiates it from non-being. Yet, the actual act of existence of every being does differentiate it from non-being. Since such self-contradiction is impossible, every being must have a reason for being.

How can we be sure of the truth of these first metaphysical principles, which permeate the foundations of, not only the proofs for God’s existence, but all aspects of the real world? Consider again the basic truth that from nothing, nothing comes to be. Does anyone genuinely doubt its validity once we remove the false concept of “nothingness” proposed by Quantum Mechanics? Its truth is immediately evident to every human intellect that is not playing games with words. We “see” clearly that absolute non-being provides no reason whatever for the coming-to-be of anything–and that is why it cannot come to be. Why do we see this so clearly? How can we be so sure?

The explanation of this absolute certitude about this basic principle of being is that the human intellect is designed to “see” being with perfect certitude, just as the sun naturally illuminates the sky. Were it otherwise, all the logic in the world could never assure us of any knowledge of reality whatsoever. The mind sees being, even if we cannot account for how its nature enables it to do so. Similarly, sight enables us to see even though there is no adequate explanation as to how this is actually possible. (Biological explanations alone do not actually explain sensory experience.) Once the human intellect first encounters any being whatever, it forms a concept of being that endows it with immediate grasp of its universal application–an application possessed with absolute certitude.

What if we were told that there is something on the other side of the cosmos of which we know absolutely nothing, even as to whether it exists or not? What could we say about it? Nothing? Not so. We instantly would know that either it exists or not. And, if it does, it is what it is, it cannot both be and not be, it needs a reason for existence, and lacking a full reason for existence within itself, something else must exist to make up for whatever is not fully explained by itself. These are immediately known first principle certitudes that we can and do, with apodictic assurance, apply validly to this hypothetical unknown entity on the other side of the cosmos.

As with Kant, these principles hold good for all possible experience; unlike Kant, these principles are transcendentally valid, that is, they apply universally to all being in itself. That is because they are based on the intellect’s grasp of the universal nature of being or existence itself–not on some limited essence which applies to only a certain limited expression of existence, such as “macroscopic,” “intramental,” or “phenomena.”

Once one encounters and grasps what is essential to water, that knowledge holds good for all possible water. Still, one might encounter some non-water, whose essence would be unknown. But, once one grasps what is essential to being, that knowledge holds good for all possible being. One will never encounter non-being.

Nor is there another system of philosophy or method of natural science that escapes the basic truths stated above, since every system or method asserts claims in absolute terms and must give reasons for its claims. Even claims that such and such is merely probable or possible assert in absolute terms the claim itself. To say that something is possible is to affirm absolutely a condition of reality compatible with it happening. He who says anything less says nothing at all. Philosophers love to affirm that they are right and everyone else is wrong. That itself is to accept the principle of non-contradiction. The moment they concede the need to give reasons for their brilliant insights, they thereby also concede the principles of sufficient reason and causality. Following the principle of non-contradiction, either the intellect is a trustworthy cognitive power or it is not. If it is not, then all knowledge is a useless charade–and even this inference itself is meaningless. Unless the intellect actually reflects being itself, it bears no relation to reality–again, making it utterly worthless, even less so than the subjective reality of an hallucination.

How is all this possible? Simply because the mind or intellect is made to know being, and to know it with certitude in terms of its basic principles. How is it made this way? We haven’t a clue. To know the answer to this would be to be the One who made the intellect, and we are not He.

But, if we cannot explain how the intellect comes to possess this immediate grasp of being, how can it actually be relied upon? Consider the example of skipping down the stairs two at a time. Presuming we can do this successfully, we know we are doing it in the very act of doing it. But, do we know exactly how we are doing it? Do we reflect on how we do it at that precarious moment? Likely not! Or else, we would doubtless wind up in the emergency room. In other words, skipping down the stairs and knowing that one is doing it are not identical to being able to explain precisely how we do it. Yet, that does not lessen the fact that we are doing it and know with immediacy the truth that we are performing the act–even though, at that same time, we cannot possibly be reflecting on how we are doing it without risking breaking our necks!

So, too, the intellect knows immediately, from the concept of being (which it forms from its very first experience of anything at all), the metaphysical first principles that (1) contradictions are impossible, (2) things must have reasons, and (3) failing to have reasons of themselves, things need extrinsic reasons or causes to explain themselves. These self-evident metaphysical first principles are necessarily employed even by those who deny their existence, and most certainly, validly apply to the Five Ways of St. Thomas Aquinas as well as to other legitimate metaphysical proofs for God’s existence and to any and all aspects of the real world.

On Monday, the New Yorker suggested that “the bizarre finale to Sunday night’s Oscar ceremony brought to mind the theory—far from a joke—that humanity is living in a computer simulation gone haywire.” Lest you think that such a self-evidently absurd theory is a mere cry for attention from a dying publication, the idea that we’re all in the Matrix was actually seriously debated at the American Museum of Natural History’s 2016 Isaac Asimov Memorial Debate. The list of those partial to this theory include some of the most prominent scientific voices in our culture, and the debate was moderated by one of the most famous:

Moderator Neil deGrasse Tyson, director of the museum’s Hayden Planetarium, put the odds at 50-50 that our entire existence is a program on someone else’s hard drive. “I think the likelihood may be very high,” he said.

So how do people this smart end up advocating a theory this absurd? Simply put, because they’re atheistic materialists smart enough to see the implications of their own religious and philosophical views. Three errors in particular are at the root of this:

Mistake #1: Reducing the Mind to a Computer

If you’re a materialist – that is, if you think that matter is all that there is – then two conclusions follow: (a) the “mind” is really nothing more than the brain; and (b) the brain is really nothing more than a highly-advanced computer. You can’t be a materialist and still believe in things like a soul or an immaterial mind. And so, you’re left with arguments like this one, from Oxford’s Nick Bolstrom:

One thing that later generations might do with their super-powerful computers is run detailed simulations of their forebears or of people like their forebears. Because their computers would be so powerful, they could run a great many such simulations. Suppose that these simulated people are conscious (as they would be if the simulations were sufficiently fine-grained and if a certain quite widely accepted position in the philosophy of mind is correct). Then it could be the case that the vast majority of minds like ours do not belong to the original race but rather to people simulated by the advanced descendants of an original race. It is then possible to argue that, if this were the case, we would be rational to think that we are likely among the simulated minds rather than among the original biological ones.

In other words, if there’s no principled distinction between us and computers, then there’s no reason to think that we’re not computers. In fact, there would be good reason to believe that we are. Technology is rapidly advancing, and there are predictions that computational speeds for personal ($1000) devices will surpass the human brain by about 2025 or so:

Continuing that trend into the future, the argument goes, it won’t be long before we will be able to create “Sims” that have the full range of human intelligence. These Sims would have no idea that they weren’t real, and we could create a virtually limitless number of them. So the odds that such a culture has already done that to us means that the mathematical odds that we’re amongst the nearly-limitless Sim population dwarfs the likelihood that we’re real.

Clara Moskowitz, writing in Scientific American, explains:

They [members of this advanced civilization] would probably have the ability to run many, many such simulations, to the point where the vast majority of minds would actually be artificial ones within such simulations, rather than the original ancestral minds. So simple statistics suggest it is much more likely that we are among the simulated minds.”

There are two things to point out about this theory. First, it follows logically from materialism. Second, it’s utterly ridiculous.

If human minds are nothing more than advanced computers, then current computers are nothing less than simple minds. Shouldn’t human rights (or at least animal rights) activists start advocating on behalf of abused laptops? By this reasoning, is there any moral difference between owning an iPhone and owning a slave — and if there is, is it just that the iPhone isn’t smart enough yet?

As far back as 1983, Robert and Mueller were asking, Would an intelligent computer have a “right to life”? And the EU parliament just voted in January in favoring of granting personhood rights to AI, a conclusion promoted by a study sponsored by the U.K.’s Department of Trade and Industry some ten years ago. So that’s where this line of reasoning leads. Or more ominously: once computers become more advanced than human brains (in terms of computational powers), this logic would suggest that human rights ought to be considered inferior to robotic rights. (Ray Kurzweil, one of the leading futurists advocating this, openly recognizes this possibility).

So let’s make a few things clear. First, human life isn’t reducible to consciousness (you’re alive even when you’re unconscious), and consciousness isn’t reducible to computational ability (you’re self-aware, and a calculator is not). These distinctions are true in principle, not just based upon current technology. In other words, the exact moment that Bolstrom’s argument goes wrong is here: “Suppose that these simulated people are conscious (as they would be if the simulations were sufficiently fine-grained and if a certain quite widely accepted position in the philosophy of mind is correct).” Bolstom has aptly (if advertantly) demonstrated why a materialist philosophy of mind can’t be true without leading to absurd conclusions.

Computers might get (and are already getting) very good at mimicking human conversation and thought processes, but that doesn’t mean that they’re actually persons. The mind is not reducible to the brain, and the brain isn’t reducible to a computer. These bad assumptions are built into Bolstrom’s model, and the model suffers as a result.

Mistake #2: Materialism Can’t Account for the Human Person

Closely related to the last point, materialism reduces the human person to a collection of information, or an internal processor, or a collection of cells. Carl Sagan put it this way:

I am a collection of water, calcium and organic molecules called Carl Sagan. You are a collection of almost identical molecules with a different collective label. But is that all? Is there nothing in here but molecules? Some people find this idea somehow demeaning to human dignity. For myself, I find it elevating that our universe permits the evolution of molecular machines as intricate and subtle as we.

But if that were true, if you’re only a collection of molecules, consider what follows. Over the course of your life, you’ve expelled far more molecules (sweating, using the restroom, shedding skin, and the rest) than you currently possess. So why don’t we consider those assorted, discarded cells as the “true” Carl Sagan, or the “true” you?

And you equal the collection of molecules that happen to exist within your body at this exact moment, that collection has only existed for a fraction of a second, and already doesn’t exist by the time you finished reading this sentence. So it follows that you don’t exist, or at least, you’re actually a different person than the one who started reading this. In other words: if materialists are right, you are only a few moments old, and have simply inherited somebody else’s memories.

This problem is nothing new. The seventeenth-century philosopher David Hume argued that minds are “nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement.” As a result, he was logically forced to deny the existence of himself:

For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception.

This also led him to claim he doesn’t exist when he’s asleep:

When my perceptions are remov’d for any time, as by sound sleep; so long am I insensible of myself, and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my perceptions remov’d by death, and cou’d I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate after the dissolution of my body, I shou’d be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive what is farther requisite to make me a perfect non-entity.

Of course, Hume’s argument is self-refuting: if I don’t exist, how is there is neither an “I” capable of stumbling (and certainly not “always” stumbling), nor a stable “myself” upon which to stumble.

In other words, any attempt to reduce human beings to mere matter will always fail, because our matter is in flux. We eat things, we digest, etc. If we don’t have something immaterial like a soul, there’s simply no coherent way we can speak of enduring human consciousness.

Or to put it another way, there is a you that is made up of cells, and has certain information in your brain, and contemplates things mentally, and which has grown and changed in countless ways. You’re not reducible to any of these processes, or to any of the stages of any of these processes, because these are things happening in you and to you.

Mistake #3: Refusing to Consider God as a Possibility

One of the strongest arguments in favor of the “we’re living in a computer simulation” argument is that the universe is filled with evidence of design. Scientific American points out:

And there are other reasons to think we might be virtual. For instance, the more we learn about the universe, the more it appears to be based on mathematical laws. Perhaps that is not a given, but a function of the nature of the universe we are living in. “If I were a character in a computer game, I would also discover eventually that the rules seemed completely rigid and mathematical,” said Max Tegmark, a cosmologist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). “That just reflects the computer code in which it was written.”
 
Furthermore, ideas from information theory keep showing up in physics. “In my research I found this very strange thing,” said James Gates, a theoretical physicist at the University of Maryland. “I was driven to error-correcting codes—they’re what make browsers work. So why were they in the equations I was studying about quarks and electrons and supersymmetry? This brought me to the stark realization that I could no longer say people like Max are crazy.”

These scientists have rightly seen that the universe appears to be mathematical, rational, and designed in a way that a randomly self-creating universe wouldn’t. Considering the universe to have randomly come-into-being despite its clear order and structure is a bit like assuming that the book you’re reading is the product of a series of random ink spills that happened to produce the letters in just such an order. (And a great many of the New Atheists’ arguments amount to saying, “this book couldn’t have been written, because I didn’t like Chapter 3!”)

Cosmologists like Tegmark and physicists like Gates, each of whom regularly bump into evidence of designedness in the course of their daily jobs, rightly recognize that “the universe just happened” is a bad explanation. It doesn’t account for the design at all. And yet, materialists refuse to accept even the possibility that this might point to the existence of a Divine Creator. The evolutionary biologist Richard C. Lewontin (himself an atheist) lets the cat out of the bag in an essay for The New York Review of Books:

What seems absurd depends on one’s prejudice. Carl Sagan accepts, as I do, the duality of light, which is at the same time wave and particle, but he thinks that the consubstantiality of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost puts the mystery of the Holy Trinity “in deep trouble.” Two’s company, but three’s a crowd.
 
Our willingness to accept scientific claims that are against common sense is the key to an understanding of the real struggle between science and the supernatural. We take the side of science in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs, in spite of its failure to fulfill many of its extravagant promises of health and life, in spite of the tolerance of the scientific community for unsubstantiated just-so stories, because we have a prior commitment, a commitment to materialism. It is not that the methods and institutions of science somehow compel us to accept a material explanation of the phenomenal world, but, on the contrary, that we are forced by our a priori adherence to material causes to create an apparatus of investigation and a set of concepts that produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive, no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. Moreover, that materialism is absolute, for we cannot allow a Divine Foot in the door.

So no matter how strong the evidence may be, materialists refuse to accept the possibility that the right answer might be a Divine one. And so, if you recognize that the universe is designed, but refuse to accept God as a possibility, you’re forced to come up with ever-more-convoluted explanations instead. That’s how you end up with amusing moments like Neil deGrasse Tyson, one of the smuggest popular opponents of religion, openly wondering if we live in a computer. Or this line from the philosopher David Chalmers:

And if someone somewhere created our simulation, would that make this entity God? “We in this universe can create simulated worlds and there’s nothing remotely spooky about that,” Chalmers said. “Our creator isn’t especially spooky, it’s just some teenage hacker in the next universe up.”

Part of the hilarity of these absurd explanations is that they’re so short-sighted. The “teenage hacker in the next universe up” apparently lives in a universe just as designed and mathematically-structured as our own, enabling him to code and omnisciently govern this universe. So why is that universe designed? This explanation just kicks the can down the road one step. The attempt to avoid God as an answer succeeds in creating foolish theories, but fails in eliminating the need for God.

In other words, the conversation has gone more or less like this:

Scientists: “You know there’s a lot of evidence that this universe was designed…”
 
Materialists: “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!! You’d have to be an idiot to believe that!”
 
Scientists: “… maybe it was an alien or a teenage hacker?”
 
Materialists: “Oh, those are valid theories! Let’s consider them carefully!”

There is a more rational explanation, guys. Just let the Divine Foot in the door already.

I have to admit, when I first opened Sean Carroll's new book, The Big Picture: On the Origins of Life, Meaning, and the Universe Itself (Dutton, 2016) I immediately flipped to chapter 25, titled "Why Does the Universe Exist?" For many thinkers, ancient and modern, this is the philosophical question: why is there something rather than nothing? Your answer to this question drives your answers to most other big questions, including those about God, meaning, morality, and more. So I was interested in Carroll's response, especially in light of his "poetic naturalism."

(For an introduction to poetic naturalism, see past posts in this series.)

Does the Universe Need Outside Help?

Carroll begins the chapter with a glib anecdote from Sidney Morgenbesser, a philosophy professor at Columbia. Morgenbesser was once asked, “Why is there something, rather than nothing?” and purportedly answered, “If there were nothing, you'd still be complaining” (195). This, of course, is non-sense. If there were nothing, there would be nobody to complain. But thankfully, Carroll doesn't stop with the witticism (though one wonders why he quoted it at all—it certainly doesn't help his case.)

Carroll breaks the main question down into two sub-questions. First, he asks whether the universe could "simply exist". Could it just be a "brute fact" with no outside explanation, or does it require one? Second, he wonders, if the universe does in fact require an explanation, what is the best explanation (196)?

Let's start with his answer to the first sub-question. He writes, "The progress of modern physics and cosmology has sent a fairly unequivocal message: there's nothing wrong with the universe existing without any external help" (196). A few pages later he writes, "To the question of whether the universe could possibly exist all by itself, without any external help, science offers an unequivocal answer: sure it could" (201).

Note the double use of the word "unequivocal", which means "admitting of no doubt or misunderstanding; having only one meaning or interpretation and leading to only one conclusion."

It's worth pausing here to note that in a previous chapter titled "Accepting Uncertainty", Carroll writes (emphasis mine):

"It is this kind of [religious] stance—that there is a kind of knowledge that is certain, which we should receive with docility, to which we would submit—that I'm arguing against. There are no such kinds of knowledge. We can always be mistaken, and one of the most important features of a successful strategy for understanding the world is that it will constantly be testing its presuppositions, admitting the possibility of error, and trying to do better." (128)

But apparently, this open-minded prescription only applies to religious believers, and not poetic naturalists like Carroll, since as noted above, he twice admits to being "unequivocally" certain (i.e., without any doubt) that the universe could exist all by itself.

Carroll's confidence here should cause the discerning reader to naturally wonder, "How and where has modern science determined the universe could exist all by itself? Which experiments or calculations have proved that?" Unfortunately, Carroll never explains in this book. He just asserts that modern science has settled the issue and hopes readers trust his confidence.

One problem with this is that science simply can't say anything about why or how the universe exists since, by it's own limitations, the sciences are constrained to questions about the natural world (i.e., that which exists within the universe). It can't ask, or answer, or even weigh in on metaphysical "why" questions like "Why does the universe exist?" or "Why is the universe this way, and not that way?"

The Kalam Argument for God

So we're not off to a good start in the chapter. To his credit, Carroll doesn't stop here, though. He next considers the Kalam argument for God, made popular by Evangelical philosopher William Lane Craig. The argument's first premise says that whatever begins to exist has a cause for its existence (implying "out of nothing, nothing comes"). The second premise holds that the universe came into existence (i.e., it has not existed eternally in the past.) From those two premises we can conclude that the universe has a cause, and from there we can deduce different qualities of that cause.

If the Kalam argument is sound, then it shows the universe has a cause outside of itself, and therefore Carroll would be wrong in his "unequivocal" assertions. But is the argument sound? Assuming the terms are clearly defined and the logic valid, the only way to show that the argument is unsound is to refute one of its premises.

Carroll agrees. Surprisingly, he seems to accept the second premise, that the universe began to exist: "There seems to be no obstacle in principle to a universe like ours simply beginning to exist" (201). But it's the first premise he disagrees with. Specifically, Carroll thinks the ancient principle ex nihilo, nihil fit (out of nothing, nothing comes), which is implied in the premise, is indefensible. Even though, as he admits, the principle is "purportedly more foundational even than the laws of physics" (201) and that most philosophers throughout history have believed it, even ancient skeptics like Lucretius, Carroll says it is "perhaps the most egregious example of begging the question in the history of the universe" (202). Why? He writes:

"We are asking whether the universe could come into existence without anything causing it. The response is, 'No, because nothing comes into existence without being caused.' How do we know that? It can't be because we have never seen it happen; the universe is different from the various things inside the universe that we have actually experienced in our lives. And it can't be because we can't imagine it happening, or because it's impossible to construct sensible models in which is happens, since both the imagining and the construction of models have manifestly happened." (202)

There is a lot of confusion here, and it would take several articles to unpack all of it. But in essence, Carroll thinks the principle ex nihilo, nihil fit is false for three reasons: first because since the universe as a whole is "different" than things within the universe, the universe doesn't necessarily follow the same metaphysical principles as things within it; second because we can imagine something coming into being from nothing; and third because it's possible to construct "sensible models" in which something comes from nothing. Let's consider each proposal.

First, Carroll thinks the universe may have come into being without cause, even if nothing else in the universe has, because the universe is simply "different." But how does this follow? Metaphysical principles, such as the one under consideration, are independent of scale. Mice and men are "different", yet they both follow the same principle. So why think everything in the universe follows the principle but not the universe itself, which is nothing more than the collection of everything within the universe? (And lest you think this falls into the fallacy of composition, read Dr. Edward Feser's reply to that suggestion.)

Second, Carroll thinks it's possible to imagine something coming from nothing, which therefore refutes the principle. This argument goes back at least to David Hume but has famously been discredited, even by many Hume supporters. Why? Because it's impossible to conceive of the act of moving from non-being to being. Sure, we can imagine "nothing" at one moment—though I'm skeptical we can even do that—and then another moment picture something suddenly there, but this is not to imagine something coming from nothing. It is simply imagining two successive states of being, one first and then the other. It doesn't demonstrate that it is ontologically intelligible (or possible) for something to come into existence from nothing.

Third, Carroll points to "sensible models" in which something comes from nothing. What are these models? He never says, so it's hard to explore them. This is the last remaining reason to plausibly deny the principle, yet sadly Carroll provides no specifics.

Note again that Carroll doesn't engage with any counterarguments to his position, such as those supporting the principle. For starters, if something can come into being from nothing, then why don't we see this happening all the time? Why would it only happen once in time, with a single universe, rather than with many other universes or multiple things within our own universe? Why don't things just pop into existence all the time? Carroll never responds.

(Karlo Broussard wrote an excellent article covering five reasons the universe can't just exist by itself.)

Well, Why Not?

Carroll finishes this section by offering one more dismissive anecdote:

"In the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, an online resource written and edited by professional philosophers, the entry on 'Nothingness' starts by asking, 'Why is there something rather than nothing?' and immediately answering, 'Well, why not?' That's a good answer. There is no reason why the universe couldn't have had a first moment in time, nor is there any reason it couldn't have lasted forever, even without the benefit of any external causal or sustaining influence."

Here again we see a lot of confusion. So let's break it down into parts.

First, as far as I can tell, Carroll never engages in this chapter the second question about whether the universe needs a sustaining cause. This is disappointing because for many thinkers, including Aristotle and Aquinas, this is the main reason they believe in a First Cause of the universe. The universe may or may not have needed a cause to get it going, but it certainly needs one to keep it in existence, here and now. Carroll never weighs in on the question.

Second, he concludes all his previous remarks in regards to the first question—does the universe require an initial cause?— with an answer (a "good answer"), which is essentially an appeal to authority. He references an encyclopedia edited by "professional philosophers" at Stanford, presumably to suggest they should know what they're talking about. But the answer he cites isn't really an answer—it's a dismissal of the question. Worse, it fails to engage or even acknowledge any of the arguments against the view that something can come from nothing.

This is really disheartening, especially for someone as bright as Carroll. I can't imagine he would be comfortable with that answer to any other serious question. For example, I'm guessing he would be frustrated if he asked me, "Why are there so many different species of life on earth?" or "Why is space itself expanding?" and I responded, "Well, why not?" That's not a good answer; that's avoiding the question. Carroll would be frustrated by such dismissals, and for the same reason, his readers should be frustrated by his answers to the much more interesting and foundational questions about the universe.

If the Universe Has an Explanation, What Is It?

In the final few pages of the chapter, Carroll switches gears. He assumes, for the sake of argument, that the universe does require an explanation for its existence. But in that case, what is the explanation?

According to Carrol, "The answer is certainly 'We don't know'" (202). Notice again his striking assurance. He's certain we don't know the answer—not confident or convinced, but certain. How did he arrive at such certainty, especially when earlier in the book he cautions against being certain about anything? He doesn't say. And how can we be certain that "we" (whatever that means) don't know something? Isn't there a chance that someone, somewhere knows the answer even if some, most, or all the rest of us are confused? I would think so.

But certainty aside, why exactly does Carroll think we don't know what would explain the universe (if it had an explanation)? Mostly because he finds none of the current proposals satisfying. Modern theories of gravity may be a popular choice, but as Carroll observes, "that can't be the entire answer" since the theories don't explain themselves, and still demand an outside explanation (203). They only kick the question up a level. The same is true about other theories relying on the laws of physics as an ultimate explanation.

The only other possible candidate would be God. But Carroll thinks that explanation fails since it fails to answer the question, "Why does God exist?" It kicks the question up just as other proposals do. Of course, Carroll admits, theists reason that God is by definition necessary since his nature is to exist (unlike our own human nature, which doesn't necessitate existence.) But Carroll doesn't buy that. God, if he exists, can't be a necessary being. Why? Because, Carroll says, "there are no such things as necessary beings" (203). Talk about an egregious example of question begging!

With not a little irony, Carroll counsels just a couple sentences later, near the end of the chapter, "We can't short-circuit the difficult task of figuring out what kind of universe we live in by relying on a priori principles" (203). Would that he take his own advice!

In the next post in this series, we'll examine Sean Carroll's thoughts on whether free will is real or imaginary. Stay tuned!

If God is a God of miracles as theists claim, then why doesn’t he perform more to stop evil?

I must admit this is one question I’ve wrestled with in solidarity with my atheist friends.

My initial response is to recall the words of the prophet Isaiah: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the LORD” (Is. 55:8). While I acknowledge this as true, it leaves me dissatisfied.

As a Christian I believe, with St. Paul, that God “works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28), but I’m still often left wondering if there is any sense in God not performing more miracles to stop evil.

Though this is a mystery, I think we can make some sense out of it.

Is God Really Idle?

Let’s begin by distinguishing between moral evil and physical evil. Moral evil is evil caused by the abuse of human freedom, i.e., sin. Physical evil refers to any sort of suffering, decay, or corruption caused by nature.

Now, if speaking of evil in general  (moral and physical), one response is to wrongly assume God hasn’t done anything. It may well be that God has already prevented and is preventing horrendous crimes or natural catastrophes that could wipe out the entire human race. There is simply no way, given our spatial and temporal limitations, to know he hasn’t already done this. As Norris Clarke says, “Our ignorance cannot be a basis for blaming God for what he is already doing” (The One and the Many: A Contemporary Thomistic Metaphysics, 288).

Let’s Not Obscure Things

If the question concerns physical evil in particular, one possible answer is that an overwhelming presence of miracles might obscure the supernatural character of the miraculous.

Consider a scenario where miracles are as common as rain. In such a scenario, it would be difficult (though not impossible) to distinguish between the supernatural and the natural, since we can only know the supernatural by contrast with the natural.

As philosopher Edward Feser points out in his lecture for the symposium “God, Reason, and Reality,” such difficulty lends itself to either of two extremes. One extreme is an occasionalist view of the world, a view that holds that God does everything directly without the cooperation of any natural causes. The other extreme is the view that there is no order to the universe at all, which has the potential to lead to an extreme David Hume–like skepticism, or even atheism, since causal regularity is needed to reason to God’s existence as manifested in St. Thomas Aquinas’s five ways.

So, one may conclude that God doesn’t will a more overwhelming presence of miracles to stop physical evil for the sake of not obscuring the distinction between the natural and supernatural orders of reality.

God Values Choice

What about moral evil? Why wouldn’t God perform more miracles to stop moral atrocities in the world?

One response is that it would violate his divine wisdom. Why would God make man with the capacity to choose good or evil in order to merit man’s eternal reward and then rob him of that capacity the second he chooses to exercise it? It doesn’t make sense.

This would be analogous to someone installing an air conditioning system in his or her home and then turning the system off every time it turns on to cool the house. (Having lived in Southern Louisiana the majority of my life, I can affirm this would be a stupid thing to do.) One might be inclined to ask, “Why did you install the air conditioning system in the first place?”

Similarly, it seems contrary to reason for God to create human beings with the capacity to choose for him or against him and then take away that capacity every time they choose to exercise it against him.

“But,” you may say, “perhaps God doesn’t have to take away man’s capacity to choose evil but could stop the evil effects of man’s bad choices—like changing a fired bullet into butter.”

The answer to this question is that God values the power of choice with which he created man. If God never allowed the choices of man to have bad effects, there would be no real value in man’s ability to do good or evil.  In this case the alternative of a bad choice would never be a real alternative. Why give humans the capacity to choose evil if there would never be any real effects from that choice? One might summarize the argument as follows:

If no real effects are possible from man’s choice, then there is no value in man’s power to choose good or evil.

But God values man’s power to choose good or evil.

Therefore, there must be real effects that arise from man’s power to choose good or evil.

It’s reasonable to conclude God doesn’t ordinarily perform miracles to stop bad effects caused by bad choices because he values the power of choice he desires man to have.

Conclusion

These answers by no means fully dispel the darkness of the mystery of why God doesn’t perform more miracles to stop evil. However, they do shed a bit of light that may help one navigate the darkness.

In his newest book, Proofs of God: Classical Arguments from Tertullian to Barth (Baker Academic, 2016), leading theologian Matthew Levering presents a thoroughgoing critical survey of the proofs of God's existence for readers interested in traditional Christian responses to the problem of atheism.

Beginning with Tertullian and ending with Karl Barth, Levering covers twenty-one theologians and philosophers from the early church to the modern period, examining how they answered the critics of their day. He also shows the relevance of the classical arguments to contemporary debates and challenges to Christianity.

Today, I sit down with Dr. Levering to discuss some of the thinkers highlighted in his book and whether it's possible to actually prove God exists.
 

 
BRANDON: Let's start with a basic question. Why this book? And how would you classify it? Is it apologetics? Theological history? A little of both?

DR. MATTHEW LEVERING: I wrote this book because I know personally the pain of not merely not knowing whether God exists, but not knowing what the word 'God' is supposed to mean. For many people whom I knew during my childhood, 'God' has just as much meaning as 'the Great Pumpkin'. In case the reference needs explaining, in the 'Peanuts' comic strip authored by Charles Schultz, the character Linus believes fervently in the existence of the Great Pumpkin who each year, according to Linus, rewards the most sincere pumpkin patch by manifesting himself there. There is no way to disprove the existence of the Great Pumpkin, nor is there really any way to speak rationally about him—one either believes or one does not.

My view from experience is that many atheists see belief in God as precisely such a belief for which there is nothing rational to say. It is for this reason, I think, that serious discussion of whether or not God exists is now almost completely absent from elite universities, and is largely missing from the philosophy and theology departments of even many Catholic universities and colleges.

If one reads such publications as The New York Review of Books or other journals of elite culture, books that argue for the existence of God are generally not to be found, whereas a number of high-culture (and low-culture) figures weigh in with admiration of atheism. I notice that a number of recent high-culture books on death, for example, simply take it for granted that the universe is an absurdity and death an annihilation. Thus, it seemed important to examine the arguments for God's existence.

In my book, I examine the Western tradition of arguing for and against the possibility of demonstrating the existence of God. So I'd say that the book is neither apologetics nor theological history, because the goal of the book is to survey clearly and accurately the demonstrations (or counter-demonstrations) of God's existence set forth from 21 great thinkers, many of whom were philosophers.

In my introduction, I treat the Greco-Roman philosophical arguments about God, and then turn to the biblical witness (including Wisdom of Solomon and Romans). I then show that the first Christian theologians—the Fathers of the Church—were proponents of certain fundamental arguments for demonstrating the existence of God. I move from there through the centuries, treating not only proponents of the proofs but also philosophical critics such as William of Ockham, Michel de Montaigne, David Hume, Immanuel Kant, and Martin Heidegger.

The purpose is to encourage students of theology as well as educated readers in general to think seriously about this topic. And the purpose is also to show that belief in the existence of God is rationally justifiable

BRANDON: You titled your book Proofs of God. What do you mean by "proof"? Is it really possible to prove God exists?

DR. LEVERING: When we think of 'proof', we often think of mathematics or of natural science. In these ways, of course, one cannot prove that God exists. But there are demonstrations that begin with the finite or limited modes of existence that we see around us, and then reflect upon what is needed in order to be able to account for the existence of finite things, both in themselves and in their orderly relations. I will not rehearse these arguments here, but they are quite powerful ones.

I show in the book that Montaigne and Hume have to rely upon an absolute skepticism—the view that our intellects simply cannot know what is real about things—in order to undermine the arguments for God's existence. Unfortunately, modern scientists such as Stephen Hawking and Richard Dawkins do not have any idea what the classical arguments for God's existence were, and they present these arguments in laughably ignorant ways.

Even a great thinker such as Immanuel Kant is cut off from the classical tradition and misrepresents it gravely, despite the fact that his skepticism about our ability to know anything in itself (as distinct from in our minds) would have meant that he would not have accepted the demonstrations. Kant, however, does argue that God's existence is necessary for the working of practical reason, and this argument is not as negligible as some might think, though it is certainly not the most persuasive path.

It should be said that the kind of demonstration of God's existence that succeeds does not define or 'comprehend' in an exhaustive sense: God always remains transcendent mystery, even though we can demonstrate that he exists.

BRANDON: Many people dismiss proofs like these because they attempt to prove only a thin slice of God, the God of "classical theism" or the so-called "God of the philosophers." But do some of the arguments prove more?

DR. LEVERING: To know rationally 'that God is'—namely that an infinite cause and source of all things exists, that sheer infinite To Be (something we cannot conceive) is at the root of everything finite—is to know the 'God of the philosophers'. This God is testified to in Scripture both in Wisdom 13 and Romans 1. In this sense, the 'God of the philosophers' is biblically attested. There is nothing wrong with knowing even a very little about God. It is actually quite exciting. So I wouldn't say that the demonstrations reach only a 'thin slice of God'. They reach the living God, since if there were a 'God' who is not infinite To Be (pure, unrestricted, simple actuality), such a 'God' would merely be another finite thing in the cosmos or multiverse of finite things.

The arguments do not establish a personal relationship between us and God, and so in this regard they are tantalizing but far from enough. If we knew that God existed but this God never reached out to us, never personally acted so as to make himself intimately known, we could only be in a state of deep frustration.

Fortunately, there is no reason to think that the 'God of the philosophers' is not also the living God who has revealed himself as supreme love and supreme mercy.

BRANDON: What can we know about God solely from reason? For what do we need revelation?

DR. MATTHEW LEVERING: We can know that God exists and that God is not composite in being or restricted in being in any way. God is infinite, perfect, the fullness of actuality and thus infinite wisdom, goodness, life, eternal presence, and so forth. We need revelation to know that God is one infinite 'essence' in three distinct Persons and thus is perfect communion, without ceasing to be supremely one (not 'one' among many, but 'one' as undivided). We need revelation to know that God the Trinity is the provident Creator who makes all things with the Incarnation as the guiding pole: that is to say, God the Trinity from the outset wills to draw creatures into union with his very own life of Trinitarian communion.

Humans are not meant to live apart from an unfathomably rich personal sharing in the divine life. The generosity of this God is utterly stunning. Even more so when we consider that we are 'bent' away from God, insofar as we often really don't want anything to do with God or with anything but a self-serving love that is not truly love at all. We sometimes imagine that the amazing vastness of space and time shows that 'God', if he exists, could not really care this much for us.

But what the vastness of space/time and the incalculable multiplicity of creatures actually confirms is the wondrous generosity of God; he loves so much into existence. Material existence requires material decomposition, but God has not made all this for everlasting nothingness. His love meets our personal yearning for communion—our yearning to be known and loved and to know and love—and goes further than we would ever be willing to go.

The universe superabundantly manifests the greatness of God, but so does the smallest human cry for interpersonal communion. The truth is that we are always underestimating God, because we try to measure God on our scale, when we can't even measure the universe or even the complexity of a living organism on our scale.

BRANDON: When Christians and atheists debate proofs for God, they often focus on a small group of prominent thinkers such as Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Anselm, and Aquinas. But your book widens the discussion, offering a panoramic view that includes many other figures. Who are some of the thinkers who often get ignored in this discussion?

DR. LEVERING: The early Church Fathers deserve mention, because one sometimes finds an absurd dichotomy between (for example) the Greek East and the Latin West, or between the patristic period and the scholastic period, as though the latter in each pair had succumbed to rationalism. Indeed, Aquinas's best arguments are all found in Gregory of Nazianzus and John of Damascus, so it is a mistake to jump from Aristotle to Augustine and Aquinas. Sometimes the demonstrations of God's existence are thought to be a distinctively Thomist enterprise, and that is an error. If one is dealing with philosophical skepticism (i.e. in cases where the contention that we can know the real in itself is a non-starter), then Blaise Pascal and John Henry Newman provide helpful ways for getting out of the morass.

To my mind, it is important to actually know the arguments of Hume and Kant, especially Hume. One will then be able to see their weakness and the way in which they prop up the arguments of the more serious atheistic philosophers today.

BRANDON: In the book, you explore nearly two dozen approaches to proving God's existence. Which do you consider to be the strongest proof for God? What are some common objections to it?

DR. LEVERING: I think that Aquinas's five ways are the strongest proofs for God, but in saying this I should repeat that they are found already in the Greek Fathers. Objections to the five ways include the notion that 'being' is not real but rather is a mere predicate of an essence. To appreciate why Aquinas approaches 'being' as he does, one needs to consider two things: first, something cannot be and not be in the same way at the same time (this shows that 'being' refers to a reality not merely to a nominal predicate); second, the things we see around us are intrinsically analogous in their modes of being (a rock 'is' in a lesser way than a living tree, a tree 'is' in a lesser way than a living and self-moving frog, etc.). Aquinas's reflections on why finite things must have a non-finite source of their being are priceless, as are his reflections on the order found in non-rational things.

BRANDON: You don't just focus on theistic arguments in your book. You also cover major critics of these arguments such as David Hume. Why did Hume take issue with traditional arguments for God? Do his criticisms hold up?

DR. LEVERING: For an adequate presentation of Hume's views, I should point the reader to the book itself. But Hume's arguments depend upon denying that every effect has a cause. In Hume's opinion, we see effects that seem to have causes, but we have no grounds for extrapolating from this and deducing that all effects must have causes. Hume is aided in this opinion—which at bottom means that we know nothing about anything (radical skepticism) since all we know are the appearances of things—by a merely logical view of being, which allows him to get away with not analyzing what the deepest relationship of an effect to its cause involves.

BRANDON: You devote considerable space to thinkers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In fact, you describe it as "disproportionate treatment...by comparison with the other eighteen centuries." What are some of the key proofs from this period?

DR. LEVERING: The great thinkers of the first eighteen centuries are fairly well identified, or at least representative figures can be chosen. But it is in the last two centuries that atheism and the response to atheism emerges in full force within mainstream culture. In the last century, furthermore, it became fashionable among theologians (Catholic and Protestant) to dismiss demonstrations of God's existence as wrongheaded and not helpful.

So I found it important to direct attention to a relatively wide array of perspectives from the last two centuries, including influential but forgotten Catholic perspectives (Maurice Blondel and Pierre Rousselot, who argue that Aquinas's five ways would be enhanced by starting not with mere finite things but with the experientially known dynamisms of volition and intellect). Heidegger, Wittgenstein, and Barth have been so incredibly influential among theologians that they had to be treated. Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, though now generally seen as the pillar of a discredited preconciliar theology, restates Aquinas's five ways in a clear and intelligent way in critical dialogue with modern thinkers, and so he also deserved attention—especially since I think that the five ways remain the most persuasive paths.

BRANDON: What's the one message you hope readers take away from your book?

DR. LEVERING: God is worth thinking about. Don't be an atheist without pursuing every rational discussion of God, not with the goal of resolving all mystery but with the goal of testing the mind's true limits and the possibility that reality is greater than the empirical.
 
 

Skeptics argue that miracles are impossible because the laws of nature are necessary. A miracle, they argue, involves a violation of a law of nature. But the laws of nature cannot be violated. Therefore, miracles must be impossible.

One modern skeptic of repute who argues this is Richard Dawkins. In his book The God Delusion, he says, “[M]iracles, by definition, violate the principles of science” (83).

Dawkins and other modern skeptics derive this argument from philosophers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. For example, Baruch Spinoza, the seventeenth-century Dutch philosopher, argued:

"[I]f miracles are, strictly speaking, all above nature, then you must admit a break in the necessary and immutable course of nature; which is absurd." (Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, c. 6)

In the eighteenth century, Scottish skeptic philosopher David Hume wrote:

"A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is an entire as any argument from experience can possibly be imagined." (An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, sec. X)

I'd like to offer two responses to these objections.

Response 1: Miracles are not violations of nature’s laws

We should at first challenge the understanding of a miracle as a violation of the laws of nature. In order to understand why miracles do not violate the natural order God created, it is necessary to understand what laws of nature are.

Laws of nature are not mere descriptions of causal regularities (e.g., When A, then B) that a miracle would disprove. The laws of nature express what things are capable of exhibiting by virtue of their inherent causal tendencies or dispositions. In other words, the laws of nature are descriptive of what objects are capable of producing given the powers they have by virtue of their nature.

So, for example, the law of nature that tells us water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit is simply a description of the nature of water having a tendency or disposition to freeze when the temperature reaches 32 degrees. The law of nature that tells us fire burns is a description of the inherent power fire possesses given its nature.

The laws of nature, therefore, describe laws of natures—essences with inherent dispositional properties that manifest themselves when certain conditions are met. One could say the phrase “laws of nature” is shorthand for speaking about causal powers inherent in the nature of things.

It is this understanding of the laws of nature that allows one to see how miracles are not violations of the laws of nature (proving a law to be false) and thus not a violation of the natural order set by God.

Miracles are extraordinary sensible effects wrought by God that surpass the power and order of created nature. Miracles are occurrences that can be brought about only by God’s direct causal activity and not by natural forces operative in created objects. As such, a miracle does not prove a law of nature to be false but simply indicates a cause beyond the natural causal powers of a thing is at work, and such causal power is divine.

For example, the natural forces operative in a human body cannot produce the effect of the body rising anew in living health after it has died. But God can produce such an effect by directly giving life to a dead body. When he does this, as he did in the case of Jesus, it does not disprove the law of nature that states that dead bodies stay dead. It still remains true that dead bodies have no inherent power to come back to life.

God can also suspend an inherent power from manifesting itself without proving a law of nature to be false. Consider, for example, the miracle involving Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in Daniel 3. The fire into which they were thrown did not burn them.

Does this disprove the law of nature that states fire burns? No. God simply willed that the inherent power of fire not manifest itself in this particular situation. Fire still retains its natural tendency or disposition to burn, and thus the law of nature involving fire remains valid.

God has not only the power to suspend an object’s inherent disposition from manifesting itself but also the power to give an object a new property it doesn’t have by nature. Jesus’ miracle of walking on water is an example of this (Matthew 14:22-23).

Water does not have power within its nature to allow a human being to walk on it. But Jesus, being God, can give water such a property in a particular circumstance. This doesn’t disprove the law of nature that states you will sink if you try to walk on water, because water still lacks within its nature a property that would suffice to hold up a human being.

So miracles do not violate the natural order created by God because they do not violate the laws of nature—they are not contrary to nature but above or beyond nature.

Response 2: Laws of nature are not absolutely necessary

The second response to these objections is that they confuse hypothetical necessity with absolute necessity.

The skeptic assumes the laws of nature are absolutely necessary—that is to say, the phenomena they describe must always occur no matter what. Just as God cannot make a square-circle or make a triangle with four sides, God, even if he did exist, could not suspend the laws of nature.

But this is simply not true. The laws of nature have what philosophers call hypothetical necessity, which means they will hold on the condition that no external cause intervenes. As the prominent Christian apologist William Lane Craig writes:

"[N]atural laws are assumed to have implicit in them the assumption 'all things being equal.' That is to say, the law states what is the case under the assumption that no other natural factors are interfering." (Reasonable Faith: Christian Truth and Apologetics, 263)

For example, the law of gravity tells us a rock will fall to the ground every time when I drop it. But it is not an intrinsic contradiction to imagine someone quickly catching the rock before it hits the ground. The law of gravity will hold provided nothing else happens, i.e., all things being equal.

As with the law of gravity, all laws of nature are hypothetically necessary and not absolutely necessary. They are not inviolable in the sense their violation—or, more properly speaking, their suspension—implies a contradiction.

Since the laws of nature are merely hypothetical, it follows the laws of nature cannot preclude God’s causal activity in miracles. Any denial of miracles based on the laws of nature, therefore, is unjustified.

Conclusion

This understanding of miracles and their relation to the laws of nature dispels the myth that one has to abandon science in order to accept miracles. Skeptics often pit miracles and science against each other, claiming you have to choose one or the other. But this is a false dichotomy.

There is no need for a scientist to give up his own research that shows water has no surface tension to support a human body because, as shown above, a miracle doesn’t prove water has such an inherent property. The scientist’s scientific knowledge remains secure. As such, there is no need to abandon science in order to believe in the miraculous.
 
 
(Image credit: Jagannath Puri HKM)

Should I believe in miracles? This question doesn’t pertain to whether I should believe in this miracle or that miracle. It has to do with whether I’m rationally justified in believing in miracles as such.

David Hume's Wisdom for the Wise

The eightenth-century Scottish skeptic philosopher David Hume argued the wise man should not believe in miracles. The basis for his assertion was what might be called the “repeatability principle”—evidence for what occurs over and over (the regular) always outweighs evidence for that which does not (the rare). Since miracles are rare and contradict our uniform experience, Hume argues the wise man ought never to believe in miracles.

While it’s true that a wise man should base his belief on the weight of evidence, it’s not true that evidence for uniform experience always outweighs evidence for what is singular and rare.

We know this for several reasons, but I’ll give you four.

Why Uniform Experience Doesn't Make Belief in Miracles Irrational

First, if Hume’s principle concerning uniform experience were correct, then we would have to deny many things we hold as true. For example, the Big Bang was a singular event that is unrepeatable. Have you experienced any Big Bangs lately? I would also venture to say you haven’t experienced anybody landing on the moon in recent times.

Now, if we hold to Hume’s principle, it would be irrational to believe the scientific account of the Big Bang and the historical fact that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, since these occurrences contradict our uniform experience. But this is absurd. The Big Bang is one of the most rigorously established theories in all of science, and all who are not obsessed with conspiracy theories hold Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon is a historical fact.

Moreover, Hume’s principle nullifies science itself. As an inductive discipline, science necessarily presupposes the possibility of discovering new things that may contradict uniform experience. Scientific laws are revised all the time based on new contrary evidence. But if Hume’s principle were correct, scientists would never have reasonable grounds to revise laws, and thus replacing the Newtonian view of the universe with Einstein’s view would have been irrational. No skeptic can hold this and still be seen as intellectually credible.

A third reason why Hume’s argument from uniform experience fails is that it sets the standard for authenticating a miracle too high. It views rarity as that which disqualifies rational belief, yet rarity is of the essence of a miracle. A miracle, by definition, is an unusual event, something contrary to the ordinary course of things. So, according to Hume’s view, every miracle is disqualified from the start, because every miracle is a rare event.

This is analogous to making a fifty-foot bar the qualifying height for a good high jumper, when no jumpers can even clear an eight-foot bar. It is simply unreasonable to set a standard so high that no one can ever reach it. If skeptics desire Christian beliefs to be subject to falsification, then they ought not set standards where Christian beliefs cannot be proven true.

A fourth critique of Hume’s argument is it commits the fallacy of special pleading, a fallacy in which one deliberately ignores aspects unfavorable to his point of view. Hume is basing his argument on his experience, or perhaps the experiences of those he knows. Perhaps there were people in Hume’s time, or even people of the past, whose common experience involved miracles. This is precisely the claim of the early Christians. While Hume is within his rights to speak authoritatively about his own experience, he cannot do so with regard to others. His own uniform experience cannot be used to exclude the testimony of another person’s experience.

The Improbable is Too High a Hurdle to Jump

A skeptic may not articulate his or her skepticism about miracles as does Hume but simply might express the inability to overcome the hurdle of accepting something so improbable. A skeptic might say, “The miracles in the Bible are just too far-fetched for me to believe—a man rising from the dead? Blind people seeing? You expect me to believe that?”

While I can sympathize with someone who has a healthy skepticism when it comes to improbable events, we can’t reject something outright simply because it’s improbable.

First, an event might be improbable when considered relative to our general background knowledge, but, relative to other specific knowledge or evidence, improbability can decrease.

For example, it’s highly improbable that the winning number for the California Lottery would be 6345789. If the newspaper, however, says this is the winning number, then the probability changes, making the odds for it being the winning number higher. Furthermore, if the news anchor broadcasts it as the winning number on the nightly news, then the odds for it being the winning number become even higher.

Similarly, miracles, like Jesus rising from the dead, are improbable relative to our background knowledge—men don’t usually rise from the dead. But the improbability decreases when it’s considered relative to specific evidence, namely, eyewitness testimonies. If the testimonies are sound, then belief is rational despite the event’s improbability.

A second response to help a skeptic overcome the high hurdle of a miracle’s improbability is Hume’s principle:

"[N]o testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the miracle be of such a kind, that its falsehood be more miraculous, than the fact, which it endeavors to establish." (David Hume, Of Miracles).

Many skeptics consider only how improbable a miracle is but hardly ever consider the improbability of a miracle not occurring despite the testimony.

Take for example the Resurrection of Jesus, to which the early Christians testified. Skeptics rightfully consider this event as improbable and are rational when they exercise caution concerning the testimonies of it. But very seldom do skeptics consider how improbable the alternative explanations are.

For example, it’s much more improbable that the early Christians stole the body and lied about the Resurrection only to gain death. People don’t die for what they know to be a lie. Furthermore, it’s highly unlikely the apostles would give simple, nondramatic accounts—not to mention giving women the role as first witnesses—if they were lying about the Resurrection.

Another improbable alternative to the literal Resurrection of Jesus is that the Christians hallucinated. It’s improbable because St. Paul records Jesus appearing to many different people on several different occasions as well as appearing to more than 500 disciples at the same time (see 1 Cor. 15:6)—occurrences not typical of hallucinations.

So, when facing the obstacle of improbability, the question should not be “Should I believe in miracles as such?” but “Is there sufficient evidence to believe this or that miracle?” If the evidence for a particular miracle is trustworthy—say, the resurrection of Jesus—then belief in that miracle would be reasonable, even though it’s an improbable event.

The wise man surely needs to exercise caution when confronted with accounts of the miraculous. But the wise man should also be open to following the evidence where it leads, no matter how extraordinary and improbable it is.

St. Justin Martyr, a second century philosopher and Christian apologist, once reflected that Platonic philosophy added “wings” to his mind.¹ He was referring to the way that Plato’s theory of ideas freed his reason, allowing his thoughts to rest not just upon the sensible things of this earth, but rather permitting him to contemplate the unseen yet essential realities that undergird and give meaning to all of existence.

Justin is a witness to the way that truth can lift our minds and let us soar to the heights of wisdom. However, according to Pope Benedict XVI, the prevailing approach to truth today resembles a windowless bunker more than it does the freedom of a bird soaring in open skies.²

We are an intellectually one-sided society. While we pride ourselves (and rightly so) on the great achievements we have made in the fields of science, especially the trifecta of biology, physics, and chemistry, we have forgotten what St. Justin Martyr and other great thinkers like St. Augustine knew so well and found so life-giving: truth is much broader, deeper, higher, and richer than mere scientific fact.

Today we are guilty of thinking that the highest form of truth is data. This mentality is evident in our informal conversations and can be especially found in the works of the New Atheists like Richard Dawkins, who, for example, reduces the intellectually fruitful idea of human love to a chemically-induced brain state.³

We are more dedicated to dividing things into their smallest quantifiable units than with learning what they mean as a whole.

This is the bunker into which we have put ourselves, a myopic view of human reason that considers scientific certainty and practicality alone to be worthwhile and valid, while all other modes of thought, like philosophy and theology, are considered to be ambiguous and inconclusive enough that it is better not to waste time with them anyway.

Our understanding of reason’s scope is severely limited. We have a concrete roof over our heads that prevents our minds from rising to contemplation of God, and at the same time the walls of our bunker shield us from the deeper questions of meaning that constantly assault our consciousnesses, justly demanding our attention. But how did we get into this intellectually intolerant, close-minded bunker mentality? And, more importantly, how do we get out?

How We Got into the Bunker

Probably one of the single most significant intellectual events of human history was the 18^th century Enlightenment, which brought about a number of exciting advances in the technological fields and opened up broad new avenues of scientific exploration. But the Enlightenment was also the point at which human thought began taking decisive steps down the stairway which leads to the bunker of reason that we live in today.

Especially under the influence of Rene Descartes, thinkers like David Hume and, later, Auguste Comte, declared the age of “speculative thought” (metaphysics and theology) at an end; they considered themselves the harbingers of a new age of the primacy of science. Science, they said, was at last gaining the competency to adjudicate moral matters and provide direction for man’s true purpose: the mastery of nature and of himself. Each of these three thinkers represents a step further down into the bunker of restrictive reason in which we live today.

Descartes’ rationalism is a constitutive piece of Enlightenment thought and is one of the first steps into today’s bunker of reason. He advocated the “practical philosophy” of math and science with the aim of making men “lords and masters of nature”.⁴ Descartes prized the role of human thought more in its capacity for making than for meaning.

Then, in a philosophical move sometimes known as “Hume’s fork”, Scottish Enlightenment philosopher David Hume took human thought on a second step into the bunker of reason when he argued that all the objects of human reason or enquiry can be divided into two kinds, “Relations of Ideas” and “Matters of Fact”. The former category contains the sciences of geometry, algebra, and arithmetic. The latter category contains synthetic propositions based on experiences to which one is accustomed, such as, “The sun will rise tomorrow.”

However, all Matters of Fact are dependent upon relationships between cause and effect, and Hume holds the skeptical position that there is no real logical necessity that certain observed effects will always come from associated causes. Therefore, according to Hume, there is in fact no real way of knowing anything other than the first category of reason, the sciences.⁵ Hume is one of the founding fathers of empiricism, an approach to human reason that says that truth can only be found when there is empirical (sensible) evidence to apprehend.

Aided by the growing influence of the intellectual trends of the Enlightenment, a third and decisive step into the bunker of reason was taken by the 19^th century French thinker, Auguste Comte. Comte proposed what he called “positive philosophy”, an approach to reason which recognizes as truthful only those pieces of knowledge that are positive facts. For Comte, logic is the sole vessel of truth.

Comte claimed that the history of human thought moves through three general states. First, there is the theological state, then the metaphysical, and finally the positive state. It is only in the third state that humans can actually be said to have knowledge and get at the truth.⁶ Theological and metaphysical ideas belong to an age when humans didn’t know any better and basically made up ideas about the universe since they were without the aid of science.

According to Comte, theology is the innocent but ignorant childhood of the human mind, while metaphysics represents the slightly more serious—though no less empty—youth of human thought. And the positivistic approach to reason is, of course, adulthood, human reason come to full stature. Comte concludes, “All competent thinkers agree with [Francis] Bacon that there can be no real knowledge except that which rests upon observed facts.”⁷

With this succession of thinkers, human thought has been gradually narrowed down such that it consists only of science and logic when it once was directed to responding to questions of ultimate meaning. We have entered the bunker of empirical fact and slammed the door shut behind us, sealing ourselves off from thoughts of heaven and from any type of rationally inquiry that does not yield factually certain results.

How We Can Get Out of the Bunker

The first step necessary for getting out of the bunker of restrictive reason is to realize how the thinkers who got us in here are wrong.

Therefore, when looking at the conclusions of the rationalists, skeptics, empiricists, and positivists, we should ask: is this really the great achievement of human reason—that it is no longer concerned with anything but dry facts? Can science really answer all of man’s exigent questions? Are all non-scientific questions ultimately meaningless or unanswerable?

In truth, the life of every man and woman is marked by questions and challenges that are deeper and of far greater significance than practical questions of science and math. Questions about the meaning of death, love, and the existence of God are part of the heritage of human thought not because pre-historical humans did not have modern scientific tools but because these questions belong to human nature and thus stretch across the boundaries of time.⁸

By emphasizing practical thought over reflective thought, Descartes and his successors displaced certain important human questions. For example, the meaning of death used to be an important point of reflection for humans, but today death is often just thought of as a biological fact. Yet, those who are committed to intelligent, contemplative thought about human existence cannot let such a significant reality be swept aside so easily. After all, death is not just a biological phenomenon irrelevant to human meaning but is, in the words of Pope Benedict, a “human phenomenon of all embracing-profundity.”⁹

Death raises questions of human purpose: Why must we die? Does anything happen after death? How do I interpret the death of a loved one? These questions occupy our thoughts; they define our relationships with others, the scope of our plans, our sense of meaning in life, and thus our very existences. So to offhandedly reject death’s philosophical and theological relevance as we often do today is intellectually reprehensible.

Hume and Comte put all their trust in empirical data and the pure objectivity of the rational subject, but one must have pre-scientific notions of truth before one can trust empirical facts. G.K. Chesterton writes, “Reason is itself a matter of faith.”¹⁰ That is, I only trust that empirical facts are true because I believe that I am capable of knowing the truth. This conclusion is not scientific but philosophical. So there is a priority of philosophical—even creedal—truth over empirical fact. The former precedes the latter and cannot be blithely ignored.

Philosophy must ground science and oversee it, or else science becomes detached from questions of meaning and its own purpose. The reflective question, “What is truth?”—and all that comes with answering it—is deeper than the fields of biology, physics, and chemistry, since our work in those scientific fields must be grounded in our understanding of truth and the meaning of our endeavors.

How many of us today spend any amount of time considering the attainability of truth and other questions of meaning? Perhaps we remain in the bunker of safe, certain, scientific reason and neglect such questions simply because they are hard to resolve. Or perhaps it is because modern technological means can provide us with thousands of answers to these questions. And the plurality of available answers is almost overwhelming enough to cause one to believe that there simply are no answers and that he or she must choose a path arbitrarily or ignore questions of meaning entirely. We sometimes think, “If no one can agree on it, there must be no good answer.”

However, when tempted by this intellectual apathy, perhaps we can learn from St. Justin Martyr, who not only found liberation in discovering answers to many of his questions but was pushed to seek for truths even deeper than Platonic philosophy. And he eventually found them.

In Laudato Si, Pope Francis shows us how we can begin to follow the path of St. Justin and free our minds from the bunker of restrictive scientific reason. He writes that we must refuse to resign ourselves to the dull, calculative approach to the world that prevails today and must instead “continue to wonder about the purpose and meaning of everything.”¹¹ To be really human is to wonder at the meaning of our lives and the beauty and tragedy that surrounds us. Wonder bursts the prison of calculative reason and sets before us the exhilarating questions of human existence: “Who am I?” “Why do I exist?” “Where am I going?”

This blog post is not the place to offer answers to man’s great questions of meaning, but it is the place for me to urge you not to believe the lie that there are no answers to be found. These questions don’t belong to just a certain body of “intellectuals” but to every man and woman. So let’s allow ourselves to be awash in wonder at everything that is incalculable in human life and reclaim the place of reflective thought. Let us together step out of the bunker of restrictive reason and into the light of day, stretch our wings, wonder, seek, and find.
 
 
(Image credit: Inhabitat.com)