The Prior Probabilities of Theism and Naturalism

According to (what I think is) the right theory of intrinsic probability, there are three primary criteria which determine the prior of any given hypothesis:

1. Modesty: How little a hypothesis says about the world. 
• Example: "There is a living thing in my room" is a more modest claim than "there is a human being in my room," which in turn is more modest than "Richard Swinburne is in my room." More modest theories have more possible ways of being true: "There is a living thing in my room" could be true in any number of ways, "There is a human being in my room" in fewer ways, "Richard Swinburne is in my room" in only one way. Thus, more modest theories get a higher prior probability.
2. Coherence: How well the parts of a theory fit together, raising (or at least not lowering) one another's conditional probabilities.
• Example: "All Asian ravens are black and all non-Asian ravens are black" is a more coherent hypothesis than "All Asian ravens are black and all non-Asian ravens are white." (This is Draper's example.) Finding out that all Asian ravens are black increases the conditional probability that all of the non-Asian ravens are black, and vice versa. However, finding out that all Asian ravens are black reduces the conditional probability that all of the non-Asian ravens are white, and vice versa. So the parts of the first hypothesis raise one another's probability, while the parts of the second theory reduce one another's probability.
3. Brute limitations: Theories with arbitrary, inexplicable limitations should receive a lower prior than theories which lacks such limitations.
• Example: Consider two possible worlds, n and m. World n consists of a single particle moving at a constant finite velocity, while world m consists of a single particle moving at a constant infinite velocity. These two worlds seem to be equally modest and coherent: they both posit a single substance, behaving in a simple, uniform manner. Yet world m seems (to me at least) to be more intrinsically probable than world n. Why is this? The answer, I think, is that world n contains a brute limitation: why is the particle moving at the particular finite velocity that it is? Why not slightly faster, or slightly slower? World m, by contrast, has no such arbitrary limits. As such, it has a higher intrinsic probability.

(Note that this theory is largely a combination of Draper 2016 and Poston 2020.) It seems that if these three criteria are correct, then theism will always have an advantage over naturalism in terms of prior probability. The reason is this: the naturalist has to choose between coherence and a lack of brute limitations, whereas the theist can have both. Consider: if naturalism is true, then either every possible universe exists (i.e. there is something like a Lewisian multiverse), or else not. If not (i.e. if only one or some possible universes are realized), then the naturalist's theory will suffer from serious brute limitations. Why are these particular laws and physical structures instantiated, instead of all the other conceivable laws and physical structures which there could have been? Alternatively, if there is a Lewisian multiverse, then the naturalist's theory will avoid arbitrary limits, but only at the cost of an extreme lack of coherence (the Lewisian multiverse is just about the least uniform way that reality could conceivably be).

The upshot is that the naturalist faces an inevitable trade-off between coherence and a lack of brute limitations. The theist, however, faces no such difficulty: theism is both a highly coherent hypothesis (it posits a being with all possible perfections, which is a very uniform array of properties), and it is largely lacking in brute limitations (since God's properties are infinite). If all of this is correct, then it seems as though theism should get a relatively high prior as compared to naturalism.

Why Would God Make a Complex Universe?

While perusing Alexander Pruss' blog, I came across a post in which he offers this quote from Aquinas:

Hence we must say that the distinction and multitude of things come from the intention of the first agent, who is God. For He brought things into being in order that His goodness might be communicated to creatures, and be represented by them; and because His goodness could not be adequately represented by one creature alone, He produced many and diverse creatures, that what was wanting to one in the representation of the divine goodness might be supplied by another. For goodness, which in God is simple and uniform, in creatures is manifold and divided and hence the whole universe together participates the divine goodness more perfectly, and represents it better than any single creature whatever. (ST 1.47.1)

It occurs to me that this line of thinking could be used to support Swinburne's inductive cosmological argument, which goes like so: let "h" be theism, "e" be the existence of our universe, and "k" be our background knowledge (which in this case will consist only of logically-necessary truths). Since the physical universe is extremely complex, it is a priori very improbable that it should exist. However, Swinburne claims that God would have very good reason to produce such a universe, since he would be motivated to create embodied rational creatures, and such creatures would need a universe to live in. So P(e|h&k) is relatively high, while P(e|~h&k) is very low. Hence, P(h|e&k) > P(h|k).

Aquinas' aforementioned reasoning can, it seems to me, be used to substantially strengthen this argument. It does so by explaining why God would want to make a complex universe (such as we observe) rather than a very simple one, suited simply to the purpose of playing host to embodied rational agents. If all goodness involves participation in God (which it does), then (as Aquinas notes) the particular perfections of each individual type of creature can model the divine goodness in unique ways. This plausibly gives God good reason to make a varied and complex universe. This in turn raises P(e|h&k), thus strengthening the argument.

The Kuzari and Resurrection Arguments

Jewish apologists commonly employ what has come to be known as the "Kuzari argument," which purports to show that the Jewish people really did receive a public revelation from God at Mount Sinai. Philosopher Tyron Goldschmidt formulates the crucial principle underlying this argument like so:

The Kuzari Principle: A tradition is true if it is (1) accepted by a nation; and describes (2) a national experience of a previous generation of that nation; and (3) the national experience would be expected to create a continuous national memory until the tradition is in place.

Note that the Sinai story appears to meet all three of these criteria: it was historically accepted by the Jewish nation as a whole, it describes a national experience of a previous generation of Jews, and it is such that, if it happened, one would expect the story to have been passed down (indeed, Goldschmidt notes that Exodus 13:3-10 explicitly commands Jews to "tell your son" about how God freed their people from Egypt). Hence, as philosopher Samuel Lebens argues, "The Kuzari Principle, especially given an antecedent commitment to theism, gives us prima facie evidence that such an event [i.e. the revelation at Sinai] likely occurred" (2020, 198).

On a similar note, Christian apologists commonly appeal to the resurrection argument for the truth of Christianity. The basic argument is simple: it is historically probable that shortly after Jesus' death, (1) his body went missing from his tomb, and (2) multiple people independently claimed to see him alive, including the apostle Paul, a former enemy and persecutor of the Christians. (The first of these data points is highly probable, while the second is as certain as a historical claim can be.) The best explanation of these facts is that God raised Jesus from the dead. The most thorough defense of this argument by an analytic philosopher of religion is that of Swinburne (2003). The relevant historical facts are scrutinized by Allison (2021).

Now, here is something noteworthy: both the Sinai revelation and the resurrection of Jesus stand at the very root of their respective revelatory traditions. The entire body of Jewish scripture and religious literature derives its legitimacy from the experience of Sinai, while the entire body of uniquely Christian scripture and religious literature derives its legitimacy from the resurrection of Jesus. Of course, Christians believe that both the Jewish scriptures (the Old Testament) and the uniquely Christian ones (the New Testament) are genuine revelations.

Now, if Christianity is not true, then it is highly surprising that the foundational events of both portions of the Christian scriptures can be defended by plausible historical arguments. Nothing similar can be said for any other religion (save Judaism itself): there is no comparably good historical case for the miracles of the Buddha, or for the divine inspiration of the Quran. I conclude that we have here a very strong argument for the truth of Christianity.

(A possible objection: Why take this argument to support Christianity over Judaism? After all, the Kuzari is principally an argument for the latter. Response: Christianity wins out over Judaism because the former has two good arguments where the latter has one. The Kuzari counts in favor of both religions, since they both accept the revelation at Sinai. The resurrection, however, is exclusively an argument for Christianity.)

Protestantism and the Suitability of the Reformers

Here's a brief and plausibly sound argument:

1. If Protestantism is true, then the reformers (e.g. Luther and Calvin) were specially selected by God to renew his church.
2. The reformers were not specially selected by God to renew his church.
3. Therefore, Protestantism is not true.

(Note: By "Protestantism," I do not simply mean "anything other than Catholicism and Orthodoxy"; I mean adherence to the traditional solae of the Reformation, such as sola fide, sola gratia, and sola scriptura.) 

Premise (1) seems obviously true: if the Protestant Reformation really was what Protestants claim it was, then it must be the case that God specially raised up the reformers in order to effect the restoration of the apostolic faith.

Premise (2) is motivated by the obvious moral and doctrinal faults of the reformers. Luther tolerated polygamy by Christians, doubted the canonicity of various New Testament books, and (most serious by far) openly called for the persecution and murder of Jews. John Calvin was a minor tyrant, who played an important role in the execution of Michael Servetus for heresy. These actions and beliefs simply do not reflect what we would expect to see from men specially raised up by God.

One might object that God frequently uses sinners to achieve his purposes. Moses was a murderer, while St. Paul persecuted Christians and approved of St. Stephen's being stoned. But the difference is that these men engaged in these sinful actions before their calling, and there is evidence of their having subsequently changed their ways. Indeed, St. Paul's letters are filled with self-condemnations and proclamations of remorse concerning his former behavior. By contrast, the reformers' awful statements and actions took place after they had made their break with the Catholic Church, thus beginning the Reformation. So we would have to assume that these men, having already been raised up by God, were continuing to make serious moral and theological errors. That seems implausible.

One could also point out that many Catholic authorities have done horrible things. After all, if we are going to condemn Calvin for the execution of Servetus, should we not also condemn the Catholic Church for the killing of many thousands of heretics? The difference here is that the conduct of Luther and Calvin strikes at the root of the Reformation: these were the men who, if Protestantism is true, were selected by God to be his instruments of restoration. The Catholic authorities who persecuted heretics simply do not play as important a role in Catholic history as the reformers do in Protestant history.

In brief, I find it simply impossible to believe that the reformers were what Protestantism requires them to have been. This seems like a serious objection to Protestantism itself.

Thoughts on Utilitarianism and Interpersonal Trust

There seems to be a deep intuitive connection between morality and interpersonal trust: if you knew somebody to be morally perfect, then you would trust them to keep their promises, not steal your possessions, not harm or kill you in your sleep, etc. But note that if utilitarianism is true, then this connection breaks down: there may be enumerable situations in which promise-breaking, theft, or even physical violence (up to and including murder) could serve to maximize utility. So if utilitarianism is correct, then you cannot necessarily trust the morally perfect person not to do these things. This is deeply unintuitive: one should not need to "sleep with one eye open" around a morally perfect person.

Here's another way of thinking about this: suppose Joe finds himself stranded with a group of strangers on a desert island. If Joe finds out that these people are morally perfect, should he feel more safe, or less safe? If utilitarianism is true, then the answer is far from clear: after all, total utility might be maximized by their killing and eating Joe, or even by their exploiting him for pleasure (assuming their group is large enough for the total utility generated by their pleasure to outweigh his suffering). It would be more in Joe's interest for the group to be made up entirely of radical deontologists. But if utilitarianism is right, then this is surely backwards: Joe should not be hoping that his fellow island-refugees are seriously mistaken about fundamental morality.

One might object that in the vast majority of cases, the aforementioned behaviors will not contribute to the maximization of utility. But this depends on highly contingent sociological facts: for example, whether or not murdering me in my sleep to take my organs would maximize utility depends on whether there are friends to mourn my death, police to apprehend my killer, and so on. These don't seem like the sort of considerations that ought to motivate a morally perfect person not to slit my throat.

Three Pragmatic Arguments for Theism

"You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You." - Saint Augustine, Confessions 1.1.1.

Introduction

Pragmatic arguments for theism are often given rather short shrift, treated as mere rationalizations and wishful thinking. I find this rather puzzling; after all, if one is trying to decide what to believe, it seems perfectly rational to incorporate considerations about the effect that one's decision will have on the rest of one's life. With that said, I'd like to consider three underappreciated arguments for theistic belief.

Forgiveness and the Moral Life

The first argument is from the nature of human moral psychology. When we have done wrong, we tend to crave forgiveness; indeed, a human being who did not desire forgiveness following serious wrongdoing would be regarded as psychologically defective. But note that if God does not exist, then many acts of human wrongdoing are literally unforgivable, in the sense that nobody could possibly have standing to forgive them. After discussing the case of those who took part in crimes against humanity, Peter Hacker writes:

It seems evident in these cases that no human being could possibly have the right to forgive them. Though they are not more evil than someone who tortured a single child to death, the magnitude of the evil they have done is monstrous. No one could possibly stand in a special relationship to the vast number of dead that would give them the locus standi to forgive such monsters as Enver and Talaat, Hitler and his henchmen, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and so forth. The survivors of such holocausts may be able to forgive their persecutors, but it is not evident that they ought to. But be that as it may, they can forgive only for themselves – they cannot forgive in the name of the thousands, hundreds of thousands, or millions of dead. Indeed, it lies so far beyond the bounds of intelligibility that it is altogether opaque what would count as forgiving the perpetrators, as opposed to asking for mercy for them. (2021, 148-149)

It is not only genocidaires who face such a predicament; even more ordinary offenders may find themselves in a similar state. For example, suppose that Thomas' grandmother is suffering from Alzheimer's, as a result of which she is rather hard to be around. He neglects to visit her, thereby failing in his familial obligations. After her death, Thomas comes to regret his behavior, and wishes to seek forgiveness. But who can offer it to him? His grandmother is dead, and no other human being has standing to offer absolution. So he is stuck in his guilt, unable to be forgiven.

Of course, if God exists, then there is a potential source of forgiveness. Traditional theistic religions assert that God is the primary aggrieved party in every case of human sin. What is more, since he stands in a particular unique relationship to all creatures (i.e. that of being their creator), he plausibly has standing to forgive offenses committed against them. He is also believed to be omnibenevolent and perfectly loving, ready and willing to offer absolution to whoever might want it. 

The upshot of all of this is that without God, the human moral life is ultimately, to some extent, absurd. Only belief in God can allow us to make sense of our own need for forgiveness, and thus, insofar as one thinks that human life is ultimately comprehensible, one has reason to affirm the truth of theism.

One can also present the argument in terms of our obligation to seek forgiveness. Alexander Pruss presents a version of the argument which goes as follows:

1. If one has done a wrong, one ought to ask someone for forgiveness of it.
2. If God does not exist, there are some wrongs (e.g., the murder of someone who has no friends or relatives) that one cannot appropriately ask anyone for forgiveness of.
3. If one ought to do something, then one can appropriately do it.
4. Therefore, if God does not exist, there are some things one ought to do but cannot appropriately do. (By 1 and 2)
5. Therefore, God exists. (By 3 and 4)

Personally, I prefer to formulate the argument in terms of our own deeply-felt need for absolution in the wake of sin. That said, I find Pruss' formulation to be interesting as well.

The Desire for Life

The second argument is from the rationality of the desire for continued life. It is obvious that human beings (when they are sane and healthy) typically desire the continuation of their lives, and that they are entirely right to do so. A human being who did not have this desire would be regarded as psychologically ill, unless they were in very special circumstances (consider the case of St. Ignatius, who sought a martyr's death at the hands of pagan Rome).

The difficulty is that if God does not exist, then it is hard to explain how our desire for life could be rational. For plausibly this desire can be rational only if it is reflective, where "my desire to engage in some activity A is reflective only if there are strong reasons to believe that A is a worthwhile activity" (De Ray 2023, 685). But why should we believe that our continuing to live is worthwhile? After all, "for every instance of good in any given life (happiness, desire satisfaction, success), there is a corresponding instance of evil (sadness, desire-frustration, failure), and it is practically impossible to show (to oneself or to others) that the former outweigh the latter" (ibid., 687).

So it seems that the atheist is stuck with a substantial difficulty: they do desire to live, and it is evident that this desire is rational; however, they are unable to account for how this desire could be rational. The theist, on the other hand, has an easy response: they believe that the universe is providentially ordered by a perfectly loving creator, who would be both willing and able to ensure that the lives of rational creatures are worthwhile. 

Christophe de Ray (2023, 683) summarizes the aforementioned argument like so:

1. The desire for life is rational.
2. The desire for life is irrational, unless it is reflective.
3. If naturalism is true, the desire for life cannot be reflective.
4. Therefore, if naturalism is true, the desire for life is irrational.
5. Therefore, naturalism is false.

The upshot is that our own desire for continued life is only comprehensible if theism (or something very much like it, such as some form of axiarchism) is true.

Pascal's Wager

The third argument is among the most unfairly maligned in all of philosophy. I speak of course of Pascal's Wager, which the man himself presents as follows:

“God is, or He is not.” But to which side shall we incline? Reason can decide nothing here. There is an infinite chaos which separated us. A game is being played at the extremity of this infinite distance where heads or tails will turn up... Which will you choose then? Let us see. Since you must choose, let us see which interests you least. You have two things to lose, the true and the good; and two things to stake, your reason and your will, your knowledge and your happiness; and your nature has two things to shun, error and misery. Your reason is no more shocked in choosing one rather than the other, since you must of necessity choose... But your happiness? Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering that God is… If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation that He is.

While for many years the philosophical consensus was that Pascal's Wager is "almost entirely worthless" (Oppy 1991, 159), more recent writers have breathed new life into the argument. In particular, Elizabeth Jackson has done an enormous amount of valuable work on the topic (see e.g. her 2016, 2023a, 2023b, 2023c, forthcoming). A very useful defense of Pascal's Wager is provided by Jackson and Rogers (2019), who provide a plausible way to do decision theory involving infinite utilities, which renders the Wager a perfectly kosher piece of decision-theoretic reasoning.

The upshot is that one ought to endeavor to believe in and practice the religion to which one assigns the highest credence, which will in most cases mean accepting a belief in God.

Conclusion

I believe that the three arguments discussed above are highly cogent, and deserving of a great deal more attention than is commonly paid to them. I hope that the reader will examine the existing literature on these arguments (some of which I have linked to above), and will ponder them deeply.

Happy New Year to all who read this, and God bless you and yours.

Christophe de Ray's Conceptual Cosmological Argument

Introduction

This argument is due entirely to Christophe de Ray, and is presented in his excellent paper "Existence exists, and it is God" (2022). This post is effectively a summary of the argument as I understand it, and is written largely as a way to help me organize my own thoughts on the matter. I highly encourage all who read this to check out de Ray's original paper.

Summary of the Argument

The argument may be summarized as follows:

1. All particular things exist in virtue of their having or sharing in something, which we call Existence.
2. Existence could not enable particular things to exist unless it itself exists.
3. Therefore, Existence exists.
4. If Existence exists, then it is a supremely excellent being.
5. Therefore, Existence is a supremely excellent being.

(1) is motivated by the typical arguments for existence as a first-order property (e.g. the inability of the Frege-Russell view to properly analyze singular existence statements). (2) seems self-evident, while (3) follows logically.

Motivating (4): "If Existence exists, then it is a supremely excellent being"

(4) is the most substantive premise, and obviously stands most in need of defense. The idea here is that we need to give some account of how Existence itself is able to exist. After all, if all particular things receive their being from Existence, then how can Existence itself exist? Surely it cannot bestow being on itself, for this would require that Existence be ontologically prior to itself (which is surely incoherent). Hence, it seems that we must say that Existence itself exists in a different way from how other things exist: while all other things exist in virtue of their standing in a certain "sharing" relation to Existence, Existence itself is a paradigm existent, the existence of which consists in its self-identity. De Ray proposes the following account of existence:

Paradigm Theory (PT): x exists if and only if either x is identical to the paradigm existent, namely Existence, or x bears the ‘sharing’ relation to Existence.

In order to make sense of this account, de Ray proposes an analogy. There are two ways in which something might satisfy the predicate "is a The Starry Night painting": one way is to be a copy or imitation of the original van Gogh painting, while another way is simply to be the original van Gogh painting. The copies satisfy the predicate in virtue of their standing in the "being a copy" relation to the original painting; however, the original van Gogh satisfies the predicate simply of virtue of its self-identity. Similarly, while all other things exist in virtue of their standing in the "sharing" relation to Existence, Existence itself exists in virtue of its self-identity.

So, Existence is a paradigm existent. But what kind of thing would a paradigm existent be? Plausibly, to be a paradigm F is to be a "perfectly good or true instance of F. [...] Obviously, no particular F could be better or more truly F than the paradigm F, since if it [was], then it would be the paradigm. For example, it is impossible for any painting to be a better or truer The Starry Night painting than van Gogh’s original" (de Ray 2022, 6). "

This analysis implies that there can be better or worse ways of existing, with the paradigm existent being a perfect instance of existence. "This accords with our intuition that while both humans and oysters are real, the existence of the former is superior to that of the latter, in virtue of some of the attributes that humans have and that oysters lack, such as self-awareness, creativity, the ability to form relationships, etc. [...] But if the paradigm existent is a perfect instance of existence, and thus exists in a perfect way, then it follows that Existence must possess all the excellence that it is possible for a being to possess. This must surely include consciousness, intelligence, rationality, and indeed maximal power, knowledge and moral goodness, to name only some. Whatever the exact nature of such a being, it is surely appropriate to call it a supremely excellent being" (ibid., 6-7). Hence, (4) is true, while (5) follows logically from (1)-(4).

A Potential Objection (and its Resolution)

Are there any objections to all of this? Here is one: before an object can instantiate a property, it must first exist. But on this account, objects exist in virtue of their standing in a certain relation, i.e. that of imitating the paradigm existent. "It could therefore be objected that our account is incoherent, because imitation can never be prior to the existence of the imitator" (ibid., 12).

De Ray argues that this difficulty is best resolved by considering more carefully what it means for a particular thing to imitate the paradigm existent. Consider again the van Gogh case: what it is for a copy of The Starry Night to stand in the imitation relation to the original painting is simply for it to be modelled on the original, i.e. for it to be created in a certain way by a creative agent. It does not have to exist before it can be a copy of the The Starry Night; rather, it just is a copy of The Starry Night for as long as it exists, in virtue of its having been made in a certain way.

Returning to the case of existence, if we think of the imitation relation as a kind of creation, "the objection at hand vanishes, because it is clear that the existence of a created thing is not ontologically prior to its being created. It would be strange indeed to argue that ordinary existents are created by the paradigm because they exist, and far more plausible to say that they exist in virtue of being created" (ibid., 12).

It is also useful to note that while in the van Gogh case the creation is done by a "third party" (i.e. the painter), who is distinct from the paradigm case (i.e. van Gogh's painting) and the created imitations, in the case of existence there can be no third-party, since everything other than the paradigm existent is an ordinary existent. Any creative agent other than the paradigm existent itself "would thus need to create [itself] to resemble the paradigm existent, which is absurd. Thus, it is the paradigm itself that would need to do the creating, modelling ordinary existents after itself" (ibid., 12). We thus have the result that Existence is a supremely perfect being, which is responsible for creating all other things. "And this," as Aquinas put it, "everyone understands to be God."