Why argue about anythiing?

learning even in the preface

Speaking of Mere Christianity (see last post) Spotify now offers it for free on the Be Good Broadcast. I was listening this afternoon to the preface where something really caught my ear. Lewis was explaining how he sent his manuscript out to different pastors and clergy to get their thoughts if they could agree this was indeed the simplest version of Christianity that all Christians share. Of course, there was some Catholic pushback about the downplaying of the role of the sacraments, and Methodists (myself) though there was not enough stress on Faith. At the end, all agreed though the basic tenets of Christianity was there, which all true Christians share.  But what caught my ear was CS made an interesting point about birth control, which was obviously more of a contentious issue in the 1940's. Lewis explains that he would not offer an opinion on birth control because there is no way he could truly understand the pain, difficulties and challenges a woman grappling with whether they should take birth control or not, did (and do).

I thought this was appropriate for 2022. 

The merest (and simplest) Christianity

 

R.I.P., Thomas Howard

after a hiatus - coprophagia and God

I have decided to try to write here more often, so for the three to 300 people that read this blog, hopefully you come back and take a look.

I am now a tenured associate prof (Virgina Commonwealth University) and felt the urge to discuss a bit about Donald Hoffman (UC-Irvine). Hoffman champions the fitness-beats-truth theory (FBT), which, to be frank, is extremely compelling and perhaps equally alarming. Thinking the world is just a construction of the observer has been an idea championed by some of the greatest thinkers (Locke, Berkeley for two) and the hardcore version of this is called solipsism (only our minds likely exist). One immediate problem with this idea for me is how could, based on this thinking, our minds exist if we perceive them (i.e. look at neurons under a microscope). But I digress.

 Most people who think about whether objects really exist do not think solipsism is correct-- mostly because it is so counter-intuitive (e.g. stand in a room with another person and a chair, close your eyes, and you still bump into the chair, and, furthermore, with your eyes close, the other person can still see that chair). However, this does not by any means prove any object like the one we perceive as a chair exists. It may mean we need to take it seriously (like we need to for we perceive as a venomous snake), as our senses certainly sense it to exist. But that says nothing at all about what actually exists in that space we perceive a chair. Again, while it is very intuitive that the sun and your television exist, there is no evidence that what we perceive are veridical. Hence, why thinkers come down on both side of the fence (if it exists) on this. 

FBT is a scientifically compelling conclusion we unfortunately (i suppose, depending on what you believe) must accept. Evolutionary game theory for one has all but proven FBT to be true. That is, if one accepts evolutionary theory to be true (like I do) and since we evolved to have grandkids and not to see things are they truly are- evolutionary game theory has demonstrated practically without a shadow of doubt that truth would have not co-evolved with fitness.  Hoffman's latest book,  The case against reality: How Evolution hid the truth from our eyes, uses examples of game theory to demonstrate how this is so, and i won't get into it here.

Anyone that owns a dog knows what coprophagia can look like- some animals and even plants, thrive off eating poop from (mostly) other animals. We can see the divergence in people- not only is this disgusting to us, it would make us extremely sick.  Since it is not good for us (decreases our fitness), our senses have developed accordingly, to react viscerally to it. On the other hand, coprophagous animals have no such reactions. Of course, since it helps them survive (increases their fitness), they likely derive pleasure from it. We may think of it was a matter of taste but that would be missing the point; besides, there are real tastes perceived from mind-- we use words like "bitter" and "sweet"- that would be almost certainly discordant with how coprophagous animals detect the taste.  

How is it that there could be such diverging sensual responses to something, to us, and many plants and animals, to something as disgusting as that? How about thermophiles that think 120 degrees is a bit breezy?  Or maggots that feel at home in a deer carcass? 

The answer simply is different organisms have evolved to perceive things that happen to correspond to how they evolved to give them the most fitness points. Although painstakingly counter-intuitive, there is no good reason whatsoever (and on the contrast, almost mathematically certain) that we have evolved with very little true information about how the external world objectively is. 

Now, I have no idea what Hoffman's worldviews are, and, as these are metaphysical in nature, don't belong in a science book of any sort.

But of course, thinkers like Lewis and Plantinga have made metaphysical leaps here based on similar but less severe (and less scientific) accusations. Essentially they argue, if our brains evolved over time through natural selection there is no good reason to suspect they have true perceptions and perceive things as they truly and objectively are, nor can evolving brains be relied on to understand, say, where that matter came from in the first place. While this may seem like a similar conclusion one could draw metaphysically from FBT, I would disagree. If FBT was accepted, I suppose if this was 1962, Lewis could go much further to support his metaphysical claims. Namely,  it seems to me FBT could move the argument from "no good reason to suspect" to "is not possible". 

Then what now? How could a naturalist dig his heels in here? I have to admit this: the ramifications of FBT alone would seem daunting to me if I had a naturalistic worldview. 

more about John Wright's conversion

A philosopher goes where the truth leads, and has no patience with mere emotion.

But it was impossible, logically impossible, that I should ever believe in such nonsense as to believe in the supernatural. It would be a miracle to get me to believe in miracles.

So I prayed. "Dear God, I know (because I can prove it with the certainty that a geometer can prove opposite angles are equal) that you do not exist. Nonetheless, as a scholar, I am forced to entertain the hypothetical possibility that I am mistaken. So just in case I am mistaken, please reveal yourself to me in some fashion that will prove your case. If you do not answer, I can safely assume that either you do not care whether I believe in you, or that you have no power to produce evidence to persuade me. The former argues you not beneficent, the latter not omnipotent: in either case unworthy of worship. If you do not exist, this prayer is merely words in the air, and I lose nothing but a bit of my dignity. Thanking you in advance for your kind cooperation in this matter, John Wright."

Supernatural conversions interest me, and as the great Golden Eagle Peter Kreeft would call these "part of the argument from religious experience", always interesting to read. The natural part of John Wright's conversion is almost as interesting. It has very familiar parts to it in the intelligentsia of 2018: 1) an ardent atheist who for presuppositions or other (like love of a particular sin, anger towards God for life's hurts, etc) refuse to even entertain the belief in God; 2) an eventual unquenching thirst for truth and 3) someone in their life that is meaningful whom is a Christian on the outside and inside.

I highly recommend reading about it, in John Wright's words at

https://strangenotions.com/wright-conversion/

Conversions

I just got finished listening to a delightful little book by an ex-Syracuse English professor, who converted to Christianity somewhere following tenure (“The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert”). As someone influenced by the anti-Christian spirit that can be found in some academic institutions (I’ve never encountered this anywhere I have been, including Harvard which was probably the most spiritual academic place I have been, and I got my doctorate AT a Christian college). It got me to think, what are some of the most distinct and dramatic conversions I am aware. Here are eight that pop into my mind, and, like life, are diverse.

1)    CS Lewis. Lewis is probably the most influential Christian writer of the last 500 years. His conversion from a devout Atheist at Oxford was centered on one of the most essential reads of all Christian writings, GK Chesterton’s The Everlasting Man.

2) Anthony Flew. Antony Flew was the 2^nd if not most prominent Atheist philosopher of the 20^th century. Several years before his death, the Brit lost his Atheist faith based on the realization that life is here by accident is ludicrious. (see “There is a God” by Anthony Flew).

3) John C. Wright, acclaimed science fiction writer

“I prayed. ‘Dear God, I know… that you do not exist. Nonetheless, as a scholar, I am forced to entertain the hypothetical possibility that I am mistaken’

Soon after, Wright over a series of days had a number of visions and physical encounters with Biblical figures.

4) Edward Feser   One of my favorite contemporary philosophers, Edward Feser converted to Catholism in his 30’s.  Feser is a prolific and highly-skilled writer. “The Last Superstition” is a contemporary philosophical masterpiece refuting the new (recycled) atheism from the likes of Harris and Dawkins. It was classical theistic viewpoints from Augustine and Aquinas that convinced Feser of the truth of theism.

5) Alister McGrath. Another leading philosopher, Alister McGrath was a product of the 60’s British attitudes towards God, particularly in academia. When he had to consider theism as part of his educational process, he dreadfully at first, realized that it had explanatory power that atheism was completely void of. He has since become a leading philosopher in Theism, and is also a prolific writer and critic of Dawkins and Harris.

6) My favorite conversion is of the great 20^th century evolutionary biologist, George Price. In a remarkable recount of his life, “The Price of Altruism” explains how Price realized that good in this world was outside of any explanatory power, and dedicated the last years of his life fully entrenched in helping the poor. He died of despair, killing himself because of the pain he felt of the people suffering in this world. One of the most remarkable people to live, his story is unforgettable.

7) The best looking person on this list, by far (sorry Alistair), Olivia Wilde. Olivia Wilde was an ardent materialist, and preparing for a film a few years ago, she was led to read NY police records of alleged exorcisms that took place. She came to think the reports as utterly true, and is now a theist.

8) M, via E.  I met M through E at Harvard. E was a very bright, extremely well-behaved and sincere young Christian who is now in her medical residency. She was married to M, who was an atheist, until meeting E. He is now training as a Ph.D. student in philosophy. However, M becaome a Christian because E is an incredibly generous and caring person, not because an intellectual awakening. These are the best conversion stories, I think, in the eyes of the Almighty.

Bayesian probability and God

Thomas Bayes was an 18th century mathematician, philosopher and Presbyterian preacher.  In what has become a pretty popular concept even in biology (I remember when I was interviewing for faculty positions four years ago a chair of an oncology department at a university in Boston asked me what I thought about using Bayesian probability to develop cancer treatments, and I deflected for a couple obvious reasons) I came across an interesting use of Bayesian probability by Don Page, who is considered by people in the field to be one of the top theoretical physicists in the world (and got his Ph.D. under Stephen Hawking).

Page, although its clear not the reason he is a Christian, uses Bayesian probability to justify his belief in God, and specifically the Christian God. Bayesian probability is a system of probability that incorporates traditional measurements of probability (frequency and chance) with components of propositional logic, to form a system where proposition and hypothesis can be combined with frequency and chance. This can in turn be used for things like what are the statistically best cancer treatments for a cancer when much of the figuring out which treatment is best is based on uncertain hypothesis, or, as Page uses it, for a worldview.

Page reasons it out something like this: Given even just a low probability that an intelligent Creator is responsible for our universe and us, the historical evidence of Jesus Christ and the Resurrection event moves it from the overall chance for God from a low probably to a high and very likely probability.

It is obviously completely devoid of any philosophical arguments for God, and as such, is catered towards those inclined to think about God in purely mathematical terms. I personally believe that it is warranted (as I have written about) to consider belief if God a, as Alvin Plantinga would categorize it, proper belief (a belief that needs to be assumed to make sense of anything, in particular sense itself), but that will not satisfy many, not even the most open-minded. I also believe, as you would imagine, that de novo the chance of God (meaning an intelligent Creator) is very high, as I think at this point of our understanding a matrix-like reality is the only plausible alternative to a reality created by an intelligent Creator. But to the credit of Page, he has assigned a very conservative value to the existence of God, and put the onus on the evidence of Jesus and His Resurrection as the major probability mover. And I like that. It also forces anyone taking Page seriously on this to take an equally serious look at the evidence for the Resurrection and genuine start of Christianity (as I’ve noted in the past, a thoroughly convincing case is laid out in N.T. Wright’s “The Resurrection of the Son of God”). I believe this is where the real strength of this approach is, from an evangelical standpoint. This will hardly matter for hard and ardent atheists who have fully closed their heart to the possibility of God (which, as I’ve said in the past, has nothing to with the reasons, per se, for God, but like all of us, are highly influenced by other factors). But for those with open minds and hearts to the possibility, it very well could turn the tide. And that is what good evangelizing is: gentle, respectful, genuine urging to share in the greatest story every told; which just happens to be true.  

Tolstoy's tired but true message

"My life is a stupid and spiteful joke someone has played on me"    English translation "A confession", Leo Tolstoy


If you as literary critics or just people that read a lot, Leo Tolstoy will be listed somewhere towards the top of their list as the greatest writers that have lived.  Even myself, who only in the last ten years or so has become a reader,  unlike, for instance. my sister, who has been a fervent reader all her life,  has read at least bits and pieces of some of his works. But I was recently turned on to his most personal writing, part auto-biographical and part philosophical, Tolstoy wrote "A confession" ten years after War and Peace and two years after Anna Karenina. 

Although over 100 years old, his evaluation of people who by all accounts have reached high levels of success remains poignant. My years in academia observing those that are my older and more "successful" peers have already suggested to me what he in many ways corroborated.

He writes of these revelations "all this befell me at a time when all around me I had what was considered completely good fortune. I was not yet fifty; I had a good wife who loved me and whom I loved, good children, and a large estate... I was respected by my relations and acquaintances... I was praised by others...."   Yet, one of the most respected people and "fortunate" people among his peers, Tolstoy, like many of his peers, was miserable. He was smart enough to understand what the majority intelligentsia worldview actually meant to things like purpose, ethics, love, integrity and meaning.

It is anecdotal, because getting the degree of honesty (and this by itself is complicated by the degree of shielding we naturally do to protect ourselves) needed would be probably impossible, but my experiences would agree: I don't know anybody (and in the world of academia-- while I love it and my peers00 we are probably the most clear-cut population of intellectual snobs so I feel particularly qualified to speak) that are actually happy. Think about that for a second.

 Of course, I can't crawl into their heads and see if they are happy or miserable. Of course, there are clear moments of elation (a discovery!), a newborn baby in the family, a prestigious award, the joy of laughter after I tell them a mostly inappropriate joke, that bring moments of fleeting pleasure.

But in the colleagues I know the best, it always and totally, seems to come crashing down. And like in Tolstoy's world of the elite artists and poets and writers, and in the world of the successful engineers and lawyers and elite businesswomen and men, I strongly predict it is all the same as it is in academia: consciously or subconsciously, there is a baseline of unhappiness and misery that can be traced to the most obvious of all causes, one that we alone among all species suffer: a lack of (perceived) purpose in the prevailing worldview of intelligentsia.

And Tolstoy is just as sharp on what exactly the knee-jerk solutions are. The first stage is to submerge yourself in things that you think could bring satisfaction and purpose: For him it was writing, and teaching, and rubbing shoulders with the most powerful and intelligent. For most of us, it is working disproportionately and trying to find greater satisfaction with career success.  When all this miserably fails, like it inevitably does with everyone, he moved on to his family, again, like many of us also do. Maybe he could find purpose in his marriage, and then his kids, and then giving his kids the best opportunities he could and setting them up for the best life he could think of. But his mind kept moving back to the questions: Even if so, then what? How is this at all purpose if it just drags the same problems to them? And so this is always a dead-end for him -- and us -- as well.

There were no answers in any of these things. We also try other things. As I've written before, given the immense ease to do so with today's amazing technology, distraction is the lazier answer. Fantasy sports, traveling, hobbies, binge watching the Ozarks (great show by the way, my wife and I successfully binge-watched this weekend in between taking care of 4 kids), buying more and more stuff (this has become such an issue know you can binge-watch shows on minimalism!), getting heavily involved in national and state policy, living on facebook, etc. The list goes on and changes from generation to generation. But the point is Tolstoy was fortunate enough to be bright and diligent and persistent enough to get to the answers of the questions he was asking and realize the dead-end of it all, many of which people never live long enough to realize themselves.

The next step, and because Tolstoy was among the intellectual elite it was easier for him, was to access the leading thinkers, philosophical and scientific and such, and, well, lay down on the proverbial couch and see if they had any answers. After his inquiries, it should not be surprising that nobody had any satisfactory answers for Leo Tolstoy.

Living out the rationalists' worldview, with Jesus Christ at the centerpiece, was the only solution for Leo Tolstoy. By all accounts Leo Tolstoy was a much happier man after his conversion, a man that was able to live with purpose and integrity, when he adapted worldviews, and, subsequently, was adopted as a son of God.

Happiness and Christianity are over and over mistakenly married together: as a Christian, in my experience, life is even more miserable. It's not that you have to play with a different set of rules as most others, although that does not help, but your eyes are open to the misery that everyone holds (which would be non-consequential in itself), but, like a demasking agent, your heart is open as well, leading to feeling the misery of others. Frustration, in my experience, increases dramatically-- you see others' misery is often self-inflicted, and there is nothing you can do to help them. Trying only exacerbates the frustration: if it is family, it is even worse, because there is that sense of obligation. It is hard to learn to just let go and let them be.

But these examples are not the same Misery (capital M) that Tolstoy is concerned with, and it is not the ultimate misery that many of the most intelligent and honest people see the most vividly. To paraphrase the remarkably simple and true words of Tim Keller, If we came from no purpose and meaning, and we are, as all accounts point, headed to a collective total demolition when the sun burns out, there can logically be absolutely no meaning and purpose in between. Even if we found a way to live forever on this planet, whatever forever means, there still would be no purpose: There is nothing truer than that.

Tolstoy went in every direction (I suppose today we would do most research online, travel to different regions of the world, etc., but the same questions and ideas behind the voyage remain the same) many of us go to find meaning and purpose. As luck would have it, for him, he greatly outlived the average lifespan of a Russian in the late 19th century which enabled him the time to find that purpose and meaning; not subjective meaning, that existentialism falsely offers,  but objective and logical purpose and meaning.

One other point: if Tolstoy had found it earlier in his life, would he have been as great of an artist? Would Anna Karenina exist? I dont know. This is akin to people that may ask the question if Ryan Adams was never addicted to heroin, would Love is Hell be as great as an album as it was? We don't know enough scientifically about how the truly creatives' brains work. But this is not the point at all. In fact, it is just another distraction at getting to the truly meaningful answers, so im sorry i wasted your time reading this paragraph.

I hope your journey ends as well as Tolstoy's did, where I suspect he is enjoying eternal meaning and joy, and writing up a storm.

Missing Catholicism, but focusing on adding and not subtracting

I remember when I was a postdoc fellow, and I went with another fellow, who was and is Catholic, to stations of the cross in a historic church in the Charlestown neighborhood of Boston. It was the first time I was in a Catholic church for many years, and while I expected mixed feelings (and got it), the strongest was one of necessary sadness. Like seeing an old friend whom you couldn't see for really good reasons.

The Catholic church, in my mind, is at its best during Lent. Not even in a high Episcopalean church can, in my view, you get the experience the Catholic church offers. Stations of the cross puts you into Easter, where you can begin to feel all that Jesus went through.

Last Sunday, I was in D.C., where there is a strong Catholic presence, with beautiful, large and vibrant Catholic churches. I went to one. (No, I didn't go to National Cathedral). And, as much as I love the Methodist church, and as much as I prefer simple, low churches, it again made me long for the Catholic Lenten experience.

But, there is something about Lent in the Catholic church that I think embodies a lot of the reason I am Protestant, and something I cannot figure out for the life of me.

In the Catholic tradition, believers are encouraged to give up something. The spirit of it is easy to understand of course; we are almost uniformly inadequate at putting God in his rightful place, first above all other things.

But i always thought it peculiar, and, moreover, thought it would be much more beneficial to, instead of give something up, add something.

Maybe visiting the relatively forgotten in hospitals, or stopping to talk to those living on the streets. Maybe making an effort to read a chapter of Scripture a day, or make an extra effort to understand other people's point of views that you just can't quite figure out how they could think or act like that (say Donald Trump's).

For me, it tends to place in this category: forgiveness.

Forgiveness is perhaps the hardest of all Jesus' commandments. To really, really bear down to think through how you could deeply forgive someone who has hurt you significantly, repeatedly, and, without awareness, care or remorse, is an extraordinary challenge. It's one that is very draining, particularly because going into it you know its a one-way street, a unilateral effort, a task that there is no satisfaction, except knowing that you are following your King.

To add the act of forgiveness is, in my mind, a great way to expend Lenten energy. It requires hanging onto Scripture. It requires remembering the extraordinary story of Easter. It requires actively believing in Jesus as Lord, Savior, and priority. Ultimately, it is not about the person you are pardoning for hurting you. It is about God pardoning us through an almost inconceivable act, one that is as impossible to believe as it is impossible to ignore. When we choose to forgive, something in fact, I trust and feel, happens. When we forgive, that bridge from disbelief in an outrageous story of God coming down to Earth in ancient times that only insane people would believe, is drawn and lowered. And it allows us to pass to the realization that this enormously silly story is something more. Something  true, something miraculous, and the cornerstone of the story of humanity.

You have proof of God existing? No thanks. I rather have hope.

“You know me, you don’t mind waiting, you just can’t show me, but God I’m praying, that you’ll find me, and that you’ll see me, that you run, and never tire.” Ryan Adams, “Desire”

Perhaps the biggest genius in the past 100 years, Kurt Godel, posthumously, published his proof of the existence of a God. Indeed, his spouse recounts the most brilliant logician of his time spent his Sunday mornings in bed reading Scripture.

Obviously, as someone fully qualified to match intelligence with Dr. Godel, I find myself cringing at these proofs, or those of maybe even greater minds, Aquinas. Not that they may not be correct or probably correct, but because the modern Theists’ understanding of God, and the modern Christians’ understanding of God in particular, should be offended by these proofs, for two primary reasons:

1)    The first is it assumes a conversation can occur where whether God exists or not is meaningful in any sense. As I have written in the past, I fully agree with the likes of Anscombe and Plantinga, whom basically say this: in order to have a conversation where our minds can be trusted to analyze any argument, belief, declaration, sentence, etc., particularly one that involves any of our senses (i.e. the tree is green, bumpy and exists) it has to assume the underlying causes of existence is an intelligent being that lives outside of this existence (i.e. what we call God).  Furthermore, to argue about anything would presuppose that a belief can be held, or even more so, changed, therefore presupposing free will. None of these things are possible in a non-Theistic world. It’s just not. And I think this is one of the single most important revelations women and men can have.

2)    For those of us in the Abrahamic Faith (Muslim, Jew, Christian being the primary make-up), Faith is the cosmic currency, the only real “pay-back” we can provide, both through action and thought. With any kind of proof, like with God writing “I exist” in the sky tonight, faith is squeezed out; and along with it, in my estimation, the Christian Faith implodes.

Instead of “proofs”, I think signposts pointing to God is a better why to discuss the many cumulative things that send us to Faith. The existence of mathematics, its ability to perfectly describe the natural sciences, why there is a mysterious impulse in nature to exist, why nature argues through instinct life is better than death. These are some of the brightest signposts I see. Others, like some of the other English philosophers of Anscombe’s time, saw things like beauty as the most compelling. And there is of course love. And then, then there is the hunt.

In one of Ryan Adams’ earliest songs after Whiskeytown, the lyrical genius sums it up, in a prayer to God, which I am convinced, is answered every moment of each of our lives, from the first primate that crossed the boundary to human: “You know me, you don’t mind waiting, you just can’t show me, but God I’m praying, that you’ll find me, and that you’ll see me, that you run, and never tire.”

In our limits of vocabulary and humanity, the notion of God running and never tire to me, is still remarkably perfect. With a God that created free-will creatures, God leaves it up to us to nurture our Faith. But God also, like a mother separated from her child, manically runs and shouts and searches frantically, never to cross over God’s created boundaries, for each of his sons and daughters. Even to the ones whom through a mix of genes and environment are sociopathic. Even to the ones whom are among the most loving and giving, yet self-satisfying. And everyone in between. This hope trumps proof. This hope sustains hope against hope, that even the ones whom have lived a life denouncing God and his followers, may at some point be tracked down.

It is to this God I pray.

As one who has loved ones running out of time that have lived with their backs turned away and minds closed off from God, my great hope is  we do not have a God that exists with proof but without maniacal lust for his created, but, rather, a God that exists without proof but frantically runs without tire toward his prodigal children.

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