On Christ's Divinity

From G.K. Chesterton's The Everlasting Man:

"There is a sort of notion in the air everywhere that all the religions are equal because all the religious founders were rivals, that they are all fighting for the same starry crown. It is quite false. The claim to that crown, or anything like that crown, is really so rare as to be unique. Mahomet did not make it any more than Micah or Malachi. Confucius did not make it any more that Plato or Marcus Aurelius. Buddha never said he was Bramah. [...] The truth is that, in the common run of cases, it is just as we should expect it to be, in common sense and certainly in Christian philosophy. [...] Normally speaking, the greater a man is, the less likely he is to make the very greatest claim. Outside the unique case we are considering, the only kind of man who ever does make that kind of claim is a very small man; a secretive or self-centered monomaniac. Nobody can imagine Aristotle claiming to be the father of gods and men, come down from the sky; though we might imagine some insane Roman Emperor like Caligula claiming it for him, or more probably for himself. Nobody can imagine Shakespeare talking as if he were literally divine; though we might imagine some crazy American crank finding it as a cryptogram in Shakespeare's works, or preferably in his own works. It is possible to find here and there human beings who make this supremely superhuman claim. It is possible to find them in lunatic asylums; in padded cells; possibly in strait waistcoats. [...] [A delusion of divinity] can be found, not among prophets and sages and founders of religions, but only among a low set of lunatics. But this is exactly where the argument becomes intensely interesting; because the argument proves too much. For nobody supposes that Jesus of Nazareth was that sort of person. No modern critic in his five wits thinks that the preacher of the Sermon on the Mount was a horrible half-witted imbecile that might be scrawling stars on the walls of a cell. No atheist or blasphemer believes that the author of the Parable of the Prodigal Son was a monster with one mad idea like a cyclops with one eye. Upon any possible historical criticism, he must be put higher in the scale of human beings than that. Yet by all analogy we have really to put him there or else in the highest place of all. [...] If Christ was simply a human character, he really was a highly complex and contradictory human character. For he combined exactly the two things that lie at the two extremes of human variation. He was exactly what the man with a delusion never is; he was wise; he was a good judge. What he said was always unexpected; but it was always unexpectedly magnanimous and often unexpectedly moderate. Take a thing like the point of the parable of the tares and the wheat. It has the quality that unites sanity and subtlety. It has not the simplicity of a madman. It has not even the simplicity of a fanatic. It might be uttered by a philosopher a hundred years old, at the end of a century of Utopias. Nothing could be less like this quality of seeing beyond and all round obvious things, than the condition of the egomaniac with the one sensitive spot on his brain. I really do not see how these two characters could be convincingly combined, except in the astonishing way in which the creed combines them. For until we reach the full acceptance of the fact as a fact, however marvellous, all mere approximations to it are actually further and further away from it. Divinity is great enough to be divine; it is great enough to call itself divine. But as humanity grows greater, it grows less and less likely to do so. God is God, as the Moslems say; but a great man knows he is not God, and the greater he is the better he knows it. That is the paradox; everything that is merely approaching to that point is merely receding from it. Socrates, the wisest man, knows that he knows nothing. A lunatic may think he is omniscience, and a fool may talk as if he were omniscient. But Christ is in another sense omniscient if he not only knows, but knows that he knows."

De Futilitate

From C.S. Lewis' "De Futilitate":

"There is, to be sure, one glaringly obvious ground for denying that any moral purpose at all is operative in the universe: namely, the actual course of events in all its wasteful cruelty and apparent indifference, or hostility, to life. But then, as I maintain, that is precisely the ground which we cannot use. Unless we judge this waste and cruelty to be real evils we cannot of course condemn the universe for exhibiting them. Unless we take our own standard of goodness to be valid in principle (however fallible our particular applications of it) we cannot mean anything by calling waste and cruelty evils. And unless we take our own standard to be something more than ours, to be in fact an objective principle to which we are responding, we cannot regard that standard as valid. In a word, unless we allow ultimate reality to be moral, we cannot morally condemn it. The more seriously we take our own charge of futility the more we are committed to the implication that reality in the last resort is not futile at all. The defiance of the good atheist hurled at an apparently ruthless and idiotic cosmos is really an unconscious homage to something in or behind that cosmos which he recognizes as infinitely valuable and authoritative: for if mercy and justice were really only private whims of his own with no objective and impersonal roots, and if he realized this, he could not go on being indignant. The fact that he arraigns heaven itself for disregarding them means that at some level of his mind he knows they are enthroned in a higher heaven still. I cannot and never could persuade myself that such defiance is displeasing to the supreme mind. There is something holier about the atheism of a Shelley than about the theism of a Paley. That is the lesson of the Book of Job. No explanation of the problem of unjust suffering is there given: that is not the point of the poem. The point is that the man who accepts our ordinary standard of good and by it hotly criticizes divine justice receives the divine approval: the orthodox, pious people who palter with that standard in the attempt to justify God are condemned. Apparently the way to advance from our imperfect apprehension of justice to the absolute justice is not to throw our imperfect apprehensions aside but boldly to go on applying them. Just as the pupil advances to more perfect arithmetic not by throwing his multiplication table away but by working it for all it is worth."

(Hat tip to VR.)

"The Supreme and Serene Blessing of a Jealous God"

From Chesterton's The Everlasting Man:

"It is often said with a sneer that the God of Israel was only a God of battles, 'a mere barbaric Lord of Hosts' pitted in rivalry against other gods only as their envious foe. Well it is for the world that he was a God of Battles. Well it is for us that he was to all the rest only a rival and a foe. In the ordinary way, it would have been only too easy for them to have achieved the desolate disaster of conceiving him as a friend ... stretching out his hands in love and reconciliation, embracing Baal and kissing the painted face of Astarte, feasting in fellowship with the gods.... It would have been easy enough for his worshippers to follow the enlightened course of Syncretism and the pooling of all the pagan traditions. It is obvious indeed that his followers were always sliding down this easy slope; and it required the almost demoniac energy of certain inspired demagogues, who testified to the divine unity in words that are still like winds of inspiration and ruin. The more we really understand of the ancient conditions that contributed to the final culture of the Faith, the more we shall have a real and even a realistic reverence for the greatness of the Prophets of Israel. As it was, while the whole world melted into this mass of confused mythology, this Deity who is called tribal and narrow, precisely because he was what is called tribal and narrow, preserved the primary religion of all mankind. He was tribal enough to be universal. He was as narrow as the universe. In a word, there was a popular pagan god called Jupiter-Ammon. There was never a god called Jehovah-Ammon. [...] If there had been, there would certainly have been another called Jehovah-Moloch. Long before the liberal and enlightened amalgamators had got so far afield as Jupiter, the image of the Lord of Hosts would have been deformed out of all suggestion of a monotheistic maker and ruler and would have become an idol far worse than any savage fetish; for he might have been as civilised as the gods of Tyre and Carthage. [...] [T]he world's destiny would have been distorted still more fatally if monotheism had failed in the Mosaic tradition. [...] [T]he world would have been lost if it had been unable to return to that great original simplicity of a single authority in all things. That we do preserve something of that primary simplicity that poets and philosophers can still indeed in some sense say an Universal Prayer, that we live in a large and serene world under a sky that stretches paternally over all the peoples of the earth, that philosophy and philanthropy are truisms in a religion of reasonable men, all that we do most truly owe, under heaven, to a secretive and restless nomadic people; who bestowed on men the supreme and serene blessing of a jealous God."

The Great Iconoclast

From C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed.

The Fine-Tuning Argument and the Anthropic Principle Objection

Not ten years ago, physicist Paul Davies claimed, “There is now broad agreement among physicists and cosmologists that the universe is in several respects ‘fine-tuned’ for life.”[1] If the universe were just slightly different in one of many respects – if, for instance, the mass of the neutron were increased by 1/700 its actual mass – then life would almost certainly not exist.[2] Consequently, that the universe is capable of supporting life has led some to believe that the universe was “fine-tuned”: specifically designed or created for the purpose of supporting life, in particular human life. According to proponents of this line of thinking, the odds that the universe just happened to be capable of supporting life – the odds that the universe would be capable of supporting life without having been fine-tuned to do so – are so minuscule that we ought to believe that the universe was fine-tuned by God, and thus that God exists. In Alvin Plantinga’s words,

It’s as if there are a large number of dials that have to be tuned to within extremely narrow limits for life to be possible in our universe. It is extremely unlikely that this should happen by chance, but much more likely that this should happen if there is such a person as God.[3]

Following Robin Collins, we can formulate this fine-tuning argument for the existence of God more explicitly as follows:

1.     The existence of apparent fine-tuning is not improbable under theism. (Premise)

2.     The existence of apparent fine-tuning is very improbable under atheism. (Premise)

3.     The existence of apparent fine-tuning provides strong evidence in favor of theism over atheism. (1, 2, prime principle of confirmation)[4]

 (3) follows from (1), (2), and the prime principle of confirmation, which states that an observation counts as evidence in favor of one hypothesis over another if it has a higher probability under that hypothesis.[5]

Like any philosophical argument, the fine-tuning argument has its detractors. In this essay, I will consider the merits of a key objection raised by opponents of the fine-tuning argument – what Collins calls the anthropic principle objection – and argue that this objection does not mitigate against the argument.[6]

Before we address the anthropic principle objection directly, it is helpful to reflect on what exactly the fine-tuning argument is designed (as it were) to achieve. As Collins notes, the argument itself does not purport to prove theism; it only purports to provide strong evidence in favor of theism, all else being equal. Just how strong that evidence is can be determined by using Bayes’ Theorem, which allows us to calculate how the epistemic probability of a hypothesis (in this case, the theistic hypothesis) is affected by specific evidence (in this case, apparent fine-tuning). Let us, then, “plug in” the fine-tuning argument to Bayes’ Theorem.

Suppose that P(T), the prior probability of theism (i.e., the probability of theism without taking apparent fine-tuning into consideration), is 0.5. (As a result, of course, P(~T), the prior probability of atheism, is also 0.5.) Suppose further that P(F|T), the probability of apparent fine-tuning under theism (i.e., the probability that the universe is apparently fine-tuned if God exists), is 0.5, and that P(F|~T), the probability of apparent fine-tuning under atheism (i.e., the probability that the universe is apparently fine-tuned if God does not exist), is 0.1. Then, according to Bayes’ Theorem, P(T|F), the posterior probability of theism (i.e., the probability of theism after apparent fine-tuning has been taken into consideration), is [P(T) x P(F|T)]/[P(T) x P(F|T) + P(~T) x P(F|~T)] = [(0.5)(0.5)]/(0.5 x 0.5 + 0.5 x 0.1) = 0.25/0.3 ≈ 0.83, or 83%. Therefore, if our values for P(T), P(F|T), and P(F|~T) are correct, then the existence of apparent fine-tuning increases the probability of theism substantially, by approximately 33%.

This claim, in essence, is the claim of the fine-tuning argument. In Bayesian terms, the fine-tuning argument states that the values of P(F|T) and P(F|~T) are such that P(T|F) is significantly higher than P(T): If P(F|T) is much higher than P(F|~T), then P(T|F) will be markedly higher than P(T), and apparent fine-tuning will serve as strong evidence for theism.

Recasting the fine-tuning argument in these Bayesian terms is useful because it makes clear how one ought to go about responding to the fine-tuning argument: namely, by ascertaining the relative values of P(F|T) and P(F|~T). If one can demonstrate that P(F|~T) is not appreciably lower than P(F|T), then the fine-tuning argument loses its force. (Presumably, one could also respond to the argument by questioning the applicability of Bayes’ Theorem to the argument, but the use of that theorem in this case has not been a main point of contention.) In addition, the Bayesian formulation of the argument makes clear how one ought not to go about responding to the argument. In particular, any response to the fine-tuning argument that does not consider the relative values of P(F|T) and P(F|~T) misses the point.

Unfortunately, some responses to the fine-tuning argument either do not focus on these values or confuse them with other values. Most notable of these inadequate responses is the aforementioned anthropic principle objection:

According to the weak version of [the] so-called anthropic principle, if the laws of nature were not fine-tuned, we would not be here to comment on the fact. Some have argued, therefore, that the fine-tuning is not really improbable or surprising at all under atheism, but simply follows from the fact that we exist.[7]

The objection’s underlying intuition is simple: If the universe were not apparently fine-tuned, then life would not exist, and we would not be able to observe any apparent fine-tuning. But we are able to observe apparent fine-tuning; our ability to do so follows from our existence as living things. Why, then, should we be surprised at the existence of apparent fine-tuning in our universe?

This intuition can be restated in terms of the relationship between two values: P(L), the probability that life exists in the universe, and P(F), the probability that the universe is apparently fine-tuned. Roughly speaking, the intuition seems to be that P(L) = P(F). If P(L) were 0 – that is, if life did not exist in the universe – then P(F) would also be 0. (After all, if life did not exist in the universe, then we would have no evidence to support the claim that the universe was apparently fine-tuned for life!) On the other hand, if P(L) is 1 – if life does exist in the universe – then P(F) is also 1, because apparent fine-tuning is necessary for life to exist.

The problem, of course, is that neither P(L) nor P(F) factors into the Bayesian formulation of the fine-tuning argument. That P(L) and P(F) both equal 1 says nothing in and of itself about the values of P(F|T) and P(F|~T). As far as I can tell, then, those who employ the anthropic principle objection have erred simply by confusing P(F) with P(F|~T): They have attempted to refute the fine-tuning argument by demonstrating that P(F) is very high (which, though true, does nothing to undermine the argument) instead of demonstrating that P(F|~T) is very high (which would undermine the argument). The important thing to realize, though, is that P(F) is largely irrelevant to the fine-tuning argument. Even if P(F) equals 1, P(F|~T) can still be very low – and if P(F|~T) is very low (and lower than P(F|T)), then the fine-tuning argument retains its thrust.

To understand how P(F|~T) can be very low even if P(F) is 1, and to understand the confusion behind the anthropic principle objection, Collins provides a firing squad analogy.[8] Suppose that I am a prisoner scheduled to be executed by a firing squad of fifty expert marksmen; when the time comes for me to be executed, however, all fifty marksmen miss me. What should I conclude from the fact that all fifty marksmen missed me? As Collins notes, it would be extremely odd for me to say, “Of course I survived! If I hadn’t survived, I wouldn’t be alive to observe my survival!” On the contrary, I would probably react to my survival by concluding that the marksmen were (for whatever reason) trying to miss me.

Why is the latter reaction by far the more natural and reasonable reaction? We can answer that question by analyzing my thought process in terms of specific probabilities. Assume that I believed before my failed execution that there was a 10% chance that the marksmen would intentionally try miss me. If the marksmen were in fact trying to miss me, then there was a 99.9% chance that they would miss me – but if the marksmen were not trying to miss me, then there was only a 0.1% chance that they would miss me. Thus, P(I), the probability that they would intentionally try to miss me, is 0.1; P(M|I), the probability that they would miss me if they intentionally tried to miss me, is 0.999; and P(M|~I), the probability that they would miss me if they did not intentionally try to miss me, is 0.001. From these three pieces of information, we can again use Bayes’ Theorem to conclude that P(I|M), the probability that the marksmen intentionally tried to miss me in light of the fact that they did actually miss me, is  [P(I) x P(M|I)]/[P(I) x P(M|I) + P(~I) x P(M|~I)], or approximately 99.1%.

Notoriously absent from these considerations is P(M), the probability that the marksmen actually missed me. Obviously, P(M) = 1: They did, in fact, miss me. Nonetheless, the fact that they missed me does not entail that they had to miss me – remember, the men in question are marksmen – nor does it entail that they were not intentionally trying to miss me. Consequently, to determine whether or not they were intentionally trying to miss me, we must consider P(I), P(M|I), and P(M|~I) – not P(M).

What is the point of this analogy? Just as P(M|~I) can be quite low even if P(M) = 1, P(F|~T) can be quite low even if P(F) = 1. Just as the fact that the marksmen missed me does not entail that they had to miss me or that they were not intentionally trying to miss me, the fact that life exists in the universe does not entail that life had to exist in the universe or that God did not fine-tune the universe. Just as P(I|M) does not at all depend on P(M), P(T|F) does not at all depend on P(F). Returning to the original objection therefore, the proponent of the fine-tuning argument can say the following:

I do not dispute the weak version of the anthropic principle: If the universe were not apparently fine-tuned, then we would not exist to discuss fine-tuning. But we should still be surprised by the fact that there is apparent fine-tuning in the universe, because we should still be surprised by the fact that we exist. Granted, we couldn’t possibly observe any possible universe in which there was no apparent fine-tuning and in which life did not exist. However, those other universes, unobservable though they would be, still could have existed – and since they all could have existed, our existence and the apparent fine-tuning of our universe are still both much more improbable under atheism than under theism.

If that thinking is correct, then the anthropic principle objection poses no threat to the fine-tuning argument.

Obviously, in spite of the shortcomings of the anthropic principle objection, other objections to the fine-tuning argument remain. Although Collins lists four kinds of fine-tuning that suggest that P(F|~T) is quite low – the fine-tuning of the laws of physics, the fine-tuning of the constants of physics, the fine-tuning of the initial conditions of the universe, and the fine-tuning of certain higher-level features of the universe – other physicists, such as Victor Stenger, have challenged the low value assigned to P(F|~T) by proponents of the fine-tuning argument.[9]^,[10] Of course, as a non-scientist, I am not well equipped to adjudicate disputes over the precise value of P(F|~T). (That being said, I do find it telling that even Stephen Hawking, a committed skeptic, agrees that “the values of [the dimensionless fundamental physical constants] seem to have been very finely adjusted to make possible the development of life,” implying that life would not exist in the vast majority of possible universes.)[11] Nevertheless, the anthropic principle objection itself, insofar as it fails to take P(F|~T) into direct consideration, does not mitigate against the fine-tuning argument.

---

[1] P. Davies, “How bio-friendly is the universe?”

[2] J. Leslie, Universes

[3] A. Plantinga, “The Dawkins Confusion; Naturalism ad absurdum”

[4] R. Collins, “God, Design, and Fine-Tuning.” For the sake of simplicity, Collins’ original argument has been modified slightly.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] V. Stenger, “The Anthropic Principle”

[11] S. Hawking, A Brief History of Time

Van Inwagen's "Quam Dilecta"

I thought I had posted it before, but I don't think I have. It is well worth the read. I hope someday to be the sort of person who "[shines] with the same, dearly familiar, uncreated light that shines in the pages of the New Testament."

Lewis on Fern-seed and Elephants

An excellent address given by C.S. Lewis originally entitled "Modern Theology and Biblical Criticism," nicely summarized here.

Fish Tank Post: Magic

Here it is.

The Importance of Insight

A miraculous story is not terribly difficult to fabricate. I imagine that considerations like that explain the ease with which many people reject the historicity of the Resurrection and other supernatural claims made in the Bible.

To a point, I am sympathetic to such skepticism; the Bible itself warns against false prophets and instructs us to test the spirits (1 John 4.1). But I ultimately find myself less than compelled by such worries, because other features of the Gospels do not strike me as the sort could be easily fabricated.

One such feature is the remarkable moral insight of the Gospels and New Testament writings. It does not take a genius to devise the Golden Rule - or even a particularly good man. But what the Apostle Paul says about (for example) godly sorrow and worldly sorrow - how contrition, in and of itself, is meaningless and even dangerous - is something that I have found to be remarkably true in my own life, and also something that I never would have understood on my own. What the Bible has to say about pride has struck at the central problem of the human condition unlike anything else I have ever known. And such wisdom, I think, is not the mark of "cleverly devised myths" (2 Peter 1.16), but of the Truth.

Believe It or Not

My favorite parts:

"The most venerable metaphysical claims about God ... start ... from the fairly elementary observation that nothing contingent, composite, finite, temporal, complex, and mutable can account for its own existence, and that even an infinite series of such things can never be the source or ground of its own being, but must depend on some source of actuality beyond itself."

"It is not logically requisite for anyone, on observing that contingent reality must depend on absolute reality, to say then what the absolute depends on...."

"Above all, Nietzsche understood how immense the consequences of the rise of Christianity had been, and how immense the consequences of its decline would be as well, and had the intelligence to know he could not fall back on polite moral certitudes to which he no longer had any right. [...] He understood also that the death of God beyond us is the death of the human as such within us."

(Hat tip to RGD.)

Evil as Privation?

There is a long tradition in Christian thought of describing evil as nothing more than a privation of good.

The thought that always comes to mind: What about pain? Pain is not a lack of a good experience, but a (sometimes quite powerful) experience all its own. There is a difference between experiencing a lack of pleasure and experiencing pain. But pain, ceteris paribus, is evil.

James on Skepticism

From William James' The Will to Believe:

"We cannot escape the issue by remaining skeptical and waiting for more light, because, although we do avoid error in that way if religion be untrue, we lose the good, if it be true, just as certainly as if we positively chose to disbelieve. It is as if a man should hesitate indefinitely to ask a certain woman to marry him because he was not perfectly sure that she would prove an angel after he brought her home. Would he not cut himself off from that particular angel-possibility as decisively as if he went and married some one else? Skepticism, then, is not avoidance of option; it is option of a certain particular kind of risk. Better risk loss of truth than chance of error. [...] To preach skepticism to us as a duty until 'sufficient evidence' for religion be found, is tantamount therefore to telling us that yielding to our fear of error is wiser and better than yielding to our hope that it may be true. It is not intellect against all passions, then; it is only intellect with one passion laying down its law."

"To take a trivial illustration: just as a man who in a company of gentlemen made no advances, asked a warrant for every concession, and believed no one’s word without proof, would cut himself off by such churlishness from all the social rewards that a more trusting spirit would earn, — so here, one who should shut himself up in snarling logicality and try to make the gods extort his recognition willy-nilly, or not get it at all, might cut himself off forever from his only opportunity of making the gods' acquaintance. This feeling, forced on us we know not whence, that by obstinately believing that there are gods (although not to do so would be so easy both for our logic and our life) we are doing the universe the deepest service we can, seems part of the living essence of the religious hypothesis. If the hypothesis were true in all its parts, including this one, then pure intellectualism, with its veto on our making willing advances, would be an absurdity; and some participation of our sympathetic nature would be logically required. I, therefore, for one, cannot see my way to accepting the agnostic rules for truth-seeking, or willfully agree to keep my willing nature out of the game. I cannot do so for this plain reason, that a rule of thinking which would absolutely prevent me from acknowledging certain kinds of truth if those kinds of truth were really there, would be an irrational rule. That for me is the long and short of the formal logic of the situation, no matter what the kinds of truth might materially be."

(Hat tip to JAM.)

Searle on the Overriding Question

From Searle's Freedom & Neurobiology:

"There is exactly one overriding question in contemporary philosophy. [...] How do we fit in? [...] How can we square this self-conception of ourselves as mindful, meaning-creating, free, rational, etc., agents with a universe that consists entirely of mindless, meaningless, unfree, nonrational, brute physical particles?

For the scientific naturalist, the answer is, 'Not very well.'"

(Hat tip to CoW.)

Fish Tank Post: Atheistic Moral Realism?

Here it is.

Chesterton on Christmas

And another one, from Chesterton's excellent The Everlasting Man:

"No other story, no pagan legend or philosophical anecdote or historical event, does in fact affect any of us with that peculiar and even poignant impression produced on us by the word Bethlehem. No other birth of a god or childhood of a sage seems to us to be Christmas or anything like Christmas. It is either too cold or too frivolous, or too formal and classical, or too simple and savage, or too occult and complicated. Not one of us, whatever his opinions, would ever go to such a scene with the sense that he was going home. He might admire it because it was poetical, or because it was philosophical or any number of other things in separation; but not because it was itself. The truth is that there is a quite peculiar and individual character about the hold of this story on human nature; it is not in its psychological substance at all like a mere legend or the life of a great man. It does not exactly in the ordinary sense turn our minds to greatness; to those extensions and exaggerations of humanity which are turned into gods and heroes, even by the healthiest sort of hero worship. It does not exactly work outwards, adventourously to the wonders to be found at the ends of the earth. It is rather something that surprises us from behind, from the hidden and personal part of our being; like that which can sometimes take us off our guard in the pathos of small objects or the blind pieties of the poor. It is rather as if a man had found an inner room in the very heart of his own house, which he had never suspected; and seen a light from within. It is if he found something at the back of his own heart that betrayed him into good. It is not made of what the world would call strong materials; or rather it is made of materials whose strength is in that winged levity with which they brush and pass. It is all that is in us but a brief tenderness that there made eternal; all that means no more than a momentary softening that is in some strange fashion become strengthening and a repose; it is the broken speech and the lost word that are made positive and suspended unbroken; as the strange kings fade into a far country and the mountains resound no more with the feet of the shepherds; and only the night and the cavern lie in fold upon fold over something more human than humanity."

(Hat tip to CDK.)

Fish Tank Post: Thoughts on Omnipotence

Here it is. Interested in what people have to say.

Lonergan on Gnosticism

From The Way to Nicea, by Father Bernard Lonergan, C.C., S.J.:

"From the time of Harnack it has frequently been said that the Gnostics were the first Christian theologians, since it was they who first used the psychological analogy, and the notions of consubstantiality and of procession. What is one to make of such an assertion? In the first place, we must note that there is a great difference between the dramatico-practical pattern of experience, common to all men, and the intellectual, or theoretic, or scientific pattern of experience.... Further, the drive towards theory has first to develop and become manifest, before one can learn how to guide and control it by logic, by scientific method, and so on. So the cult of numbers preceded the science of mathematics, astrology preceded astronomy, alchemy preceded chemistry, legend preceded history and theogony precede theology. Viewed from this point of view, what happened when heretics borrowed some elements of the Christian faith should cause no great surprise, but one does not have to call the resulting speculation Christian theology."

It's an interesting thought; I'm not sure, however, how far it can be taken.

Communion: December 13, 2009

It was my honor today to provide the Communion message at church. Per the request of a friend, here is the written-down version of what I said:

"Hi. My name is Joseph Porter, and I am a sophomore at Harvard College. I’d like to share briefly about some of what the cross means to me.

How many of you guys are stressed out about finals right now? I know I am; I have three in the next week. It’s tough, isn’t it? When I’m studying for a final and I’m lonely and it’s three in the morning, it’s hard to feel like God loves me. I’m literally too tired to feel loved by God.

Of course, finals aren’t the only thing that can make it hard for us to feel loved by God. There are times when we can be too hurt to feel loved by God, too depressed to feel loved by God, too outraged to feel loved by God. There are times when we can want nothing more than to cry, to forget, to escape, to scream, Why? Why did my girlfriend break up with me? Why did I lose my job? Why did my husband die in Iraq? Why does my kid have cancer?

I think about some of the things I have seen happen to people around me. I remember when I was seven years old and I found out that I was leaving the United States and all of my friends and everything I knew for a different country. I remember crying and asking my mom if I could hang out with my best friend one last time. I remember crying when I visited an orphanage for children with cerebral palsy. Their bodies were stunted and they were crying for their mothers, and I just couldn’t bear it. Why? Why should I trust You, God? How can this suffering all be worth it?

God could have just given us a point-by-point answer to these questions. He could have simply said, 'Trust me, it’s for the best. My ways are higher than your ways; it’ll all work out.' But He did something much, much better instead: He gave us His Son.

Why should we trust God that it will all be worth it? My answer is the cross. The cross, to me, says this: 'I love you, and I know that you are suffering. So am I. I know that you are wounded. So am I. I know that you are broken-hearted. So am I. How do you know that I love you? This is how you know: Jesus Christ laid down his life for you.'

What’s crazy isn't that an all-powerful God would let mankind suffer. What’s crazy is that an all-powerful God would let Himself suffer. That is why the cross is the ultimate proof of God’s love; as John 3:16 famously says, 'For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son.'

As many of you know, Jon and Rachel were engaged yesterday, and Jay and Alex were engaged just a couple weeks ago. Because of all the recent engagements, I’ve been thinking about what it means for the Church to be the Bride of Christ.

Let’s fast forward to Jay and Alex’ wedding. (I’m going to pick on Jay since he’s my cousin.) It’s a beautiful day outside, Jay’s in a nice tux; Alex is wearing a beautiful white dress. Alex walks up to the altar and Jay begins his vow: 'I, James, take you, Alexandra, to be my lawfully wedded wife: to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, but not for worse; for richer, but not for poorer; not in sickness, only in health.' That’d be a pretty pathetic vow. (Hopefully Jay realizes this.)

We all know that that’s not how marriage works. The beauty in a marriage vow doesn’t come from the commitment to someone for better; the beauty comes from the commitment to someone for worse, for poorer, in sickness. The beauty comes from the commitment of the lover to suffer for the beloved. And Jesus is the most reckless lover in history. Romeo doesn't have anything on Jesus. Because Jesus committed to his Bride when doing so meant dying on a cross for his Bride.

There will be times when life will seem hopeless and unfair, when the pain will feel unbearable, when we may want to hate God or to plead with Him: 'My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?' When those times come, remember that Jesus was there, too. Jesus felt the same way. And he endured all that pain and all that God-forsakenness simply because he loved us.

On August 23, 2006, I was baptized into Christ in Davie, Florida. I became Christ’s bride, and this was the vow made to me:

'Your present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in you. I am for you; who can be against you? Who shall separate you from my love? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? No, in all these things you are more than a conqueror. For neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate you from my love.'

As we prepare for Communion, let us remember that vow and that love."

Fish Tank Post: The Criterion of Modernity

Here it is.

Pruss, Rasmussen, and the Kalām Cosmological Argument

In my opinion, Pruss' thoughts and Rasmussen's shore up many concerns about the Kalām cosmological argument.