Theism and abundant theories of properties

On abundant theories of properties (whether Platonic universals or tropes), for every predicate, or at least every predicate satisfied by something, there is a corresponding property expressed by the predicate.

Here is a plausible sounding argument:

1. The predicate “is morally evil” is satisfied by someone.

2. So, on an abundant theory of properties, there exists a property of being morally evil.

3. The property of being morally bad, if it exists, is thoroughly evil.

4. So, on an abundant theory of properties, there exists something that is thoroughly evil.

5. If theism is true, nothing that exists is thoroughly evil (since every entity is the perfect God or created by the perfect God).

6. So if theism is true, an abundant theory of properties is false.

If I accepted an abundant theory of properties, I would question (3). For instance, maybe properties are concepts in the mind of God. A concept of something morally evil is not itself an evil concept.

Still, it does seem to me that this argument provides a theist with a little bit of a reason to be suspicious of abundant theories of properties.

Theism and Natural Law

One occasionally wonders what theism adds to Natural Law ethics. Here is one example.

• Q1: Why are artistic endeavors good?

Here, Natural Law answers by itself, without any help from theism:

• A1: Because they fulfill the human nature.

We can ask another question:

• Q2: Why do artistic endeavors fulfill the human nature?

Again, Natural Law answers by itself in a not very informative way:

• A2: Because necessarily the human nature teleologically directs its possessors to artistic endeavors.

But we can now ask a different question:

• Q3: Why are there beings with a nature that teleologically directs its possessors to artistic endeavors?

Natural Law by itself has no answer. Theism can go on to answer Q3:

• A3: God created beings with such a nature because artistic endeavors imitate God, who is the Good Itself.

One might say that Q3 is an etiological rather than normative question, and hence lies beyond the scope of value theory. But A3 also answers a value-theoretic variant of Q3:

• Q3a: What is it about artistic endeavors that makes them apt for being intrinsically good for a being, apt for being the telos of a nature?

To see the force of Q3a, imagine that we meet aliens and they spend a lot of time and energy on some activity that does not seem to conduce to or constitute any biological end of theirs, and does not seem to promote any end that we can understand. We ask the aliens about why they do this activity, and they say: “It’s good for us in and of itself, and our observation of your culture shows that you have no concept of this type of good.” They are otherwise smart and morally sensitive, so we trust that the activity is good for them, that it is a telos of their nature.

But even after we have learned that the activity is a telos of their nature and hence intrinsically good for them, we would be puzzled by the activity, and what makes it apt for being a good for them. A theistic story about how this good imitates God provides an answer to this kind of a question.

The question suggests, too, that not everything is apt for being good for a being, that not everything is apt for being the telos of a nature. And that, too, seems right. It does not seem that one could have a being for which the production of ugliness or the promotion of the suffering of others is intrinsically good. But I think only a theist can say something like that.

Indeed, this last point suggests another way in which theism helps Natural Law. Consider this objection to Natural Law:

• Cruelty would be wrong even for beings whose nature it was to be cruel, but according to Natural Law, if a being’s nature were to be cruel, cruelty would be right for that being.

But the theist can do something to help with this: cruelty is just not the sort of thing that a nature could aim at, since it is counterimitative of God. So the conditional about beings whose nature is to be cruel is a per impossibile one. And it is not surprising if strange results follow from impossible suppositions.

The inhumanity problem for morality

When a state legislates, it often carves out very specific exceptions to the legislation. Sometimes, of course, one is worried that the exceptions are a sign that the legislators are pursuing special interests rather than the common good, but sometimes the exceptions are quite reasonable. For instance, you shouldn’t possess child pornography… except, say, if you are involved in the law enforcement process and need it as evidence to get the child pornographers. There is something ugly about carving out exceptions, but the point is to make society work well rather than make the laws elegant. Special-case clauses seem to be unavoidable in practice, given the messiness and complexity of human life. Elegant exceptionless legislation—with some important exceptions!—is apt to be inhuman.

I kind of wonder if an analogous thing might not be true in the case of morality, and for the same reason, the messiness and complexity of human life. Could it be that elegant exceptionless moral laws would necessarily have to be inhuman?

What solutions are available to this problem?

Well, we might just dig in our heels, either optimistically or pessimistically.

The optimistic version says: yes, we have elegant exceptionless moral laws, and they do work well for us. One way of running the optimistic variant is to make the moral laws leave a lot to human positive law. Thus, there are going to be exceptions to any prohibition of theft, but perhaps morality leaves the specification of this to the state. Or perhaps one could be really optimistic and have moral laws that do not leave a lot to positive law, but nonetheless they work. Act utilitarianism could be thought to provide this kind of solution, having a simple rule “Maximize utility!”, but its problem is that this rule is just wrong. Rule utilitarianism provides a nicer solution by having the elegant meta-rule “Do those things that fall under a utility-maximizing rule”, but I think the technical details here are insuperable.

The pessimistic variant says: yes, we have elegant exceptionless moral laws, and we’re stuck with that, even though it doesn’t work that great for us. That might be a better way to take act utilitarianism, but such pessimism is not a very attractive approach.

But what if we don’t want to dig in our heels? One could think that there are just brute (perhaps metaphysically necessary) facts about the moral rules, and many of these brute facts have specific exceptions: “Don’t lie, except to save a life or to prevent torture.” I think bruteness, and especially inelegant bruteness, is a last resort.

One might think that moral particularism is a solution: there are general elegant moral laws, but they all have unspecified exceptions. They say things like: “Don’t torture, other things being equal.” There is still a fact of the matter as to what to do in a particular situation, a fact that a virtuous agent may be able to discern, but these facts cannot be formulated in a general way, because any finite description of the particular situation will leave out factors that could in some other case trump the described considerations. There are exceptionless moral rules on such a view, but they are infinite in length. Unless some story is given as to where these infinite rules come from, this seems like it might be just an even worse version of the brute fact story.

Divine command theory, on the other hand, could provide a very nice solution to the problem, exactly analogous to the legislative solution. If God is the author of moral laws, he can legislate: “Thou shalt not kill, except in cases of types A, B and C.”

Natural law could also provide such a solution, at least given theism: God could select for instantiation a nature that has a complex teleology with various specific exceptions.

Where do I fall? I think I want to hold out for a two-level theistic natural law story. On one level, there is a simple, single and elegant moral rule embedded in our nature: “Love everything!” However, the content of that love is specified in a very complex way by our nature and by the circumstances (love needs to be appropriate to the specifics of the relationships). This specification is embedded in our nature by much more complex rules. And God chose this nature for instantiation because it works so well.

A bad argument from hiddenness

Consider the following variant of the argument from hiddenness:

1. If God exists, no mature human is ignorant of God’s existence through no fault of their own.

2. Some mature humans are ignorant of God’s existence through no fault of their own.

3. So, God doesn’t exist.

It’s occurred to me that premises like (3) are either nonsense, or trivially false, or far beyond our capacity to know to be true.

For to evaluate whether some x is ignorant of God’s existence through no fault of their own requires asking something like this:

4. Would x still have been ignorant of God’s existence had x lived a morally perfect life?

But it does not seem likely that there is a sensible positive answer to (4). Here is a quick argument for this. Those who deny Molinism are going to say that either the proposition asked about in (4) has no truth value or that it is trivially false. And even some Molinists will say this about (4), because Molinists are committed to there being conditionals of free will only when the antecedent is maximally specified, while “x lived a morally perfect life” is too unspecified. The question is much like:

5. Had Napoleon been born in South America, would he still have been a great military leader?

There are many ways for Napoleon to have been in South America, and they are apt to result in different answers to the question about whether he was a great military leader.

But even if (4) has a truth value, perhaps because (4) is to be interpreted in some probabilistic way or because we have an expansive version of Molinism that makes (4) make sense, it is far beyond our epistemic powers to know the answer to (4) to be true. Here is why. Our lives are full of wrongdoing. Our lives would likely be unrecognizable had they been morally perfect. To ask what we would have thought and known in the counterfactual scenario where we live a morally perfect life is to ask about a scenario further from actuality than Napoleon’s being born in South America.

Now, that said, there are times when we can evaluate counterfactuals that involve a massive change to the antecedent on the basis of certain generalities. For instance, while we have no answer to (5), we do have a negative answer to:

6. Had Napoleon suffered a massive head injury rendering him incapable of interpersonal communication, would he still have been a great military leader?

Similarly, if an atheist had suffered a head injury removing the capacity for higher level thought, the shape of their life would have been very different, but at least we can say that they wouldn’t have been an atheist, because they wouldn’t have had the concepts necessary to form the belief that there is no God. So, indeed, sometimes counterfactuals that take us far afield can be evaluated sensibly on general grounds.

But I do not think we have good general grounds for a positive answer to (4), unless we have independent grounds to doubt the truth and rationality of theism:

7. There are no good grounds for reasonably believing in God, and a person who lives a morally innocent life won’t believe things groundlessly, so they won’t believe in God.

8. There are people who grow up in societies where there is no concept of God, and they would not be aware of God no matter what the shape of their lives would have been.

Obviously, (7) requires independent grounds to doubt the rationality of theism. And if God exists, then for all we know, he has a general practice of making those who are morally perfect be aware of him, so (8) is dubious if God exists.

Of course, an atheist might think (7) is true, but this is unlikely to be a helpful move in an argument against the existence of God. After all, similarly, a theist might think the following is true:

9. God will ensure that every morally perfect mature human is aware of him.

Indeed, a typical Christian thinks that there have only ever been one or two people—Jesus and maybe Mary—who have been morally perfect, and both candidates were aware of God.

Projection and the imago Dei

There is some pleasing initial symmetry between how a theist (or at least Jew, Christian or Muslim) can explain features of human nature by invoking the doctrine that we are in the image of God and using this explanatory schema:

1. Humans are (actually, normally or ideally) F because God is actually F

and how an atheist can explain features attributed to God by projection:

2. The concept of God includes being actually F because humans are (actually, normally or ideally) F.

Note, however, that while schemata (1) and (2) are formally on par, schema (1) has the advantage that it has a broader explanatory scope than (2) does. Schema (1) explains a number of features (whether actual or normative) of the nature of all human beings, while schema (2) only explains a number of features of the thinking of a modest majority (the 55% who are monotheists) of human beings.

There is also another interesting asymmetry between (1) and (2). Theist can without any damage to their intellectual system embrace both (1) and a number of the instances of (2) that the atheist embraces, since given the imago Dei doctrine, projection of normative or ideal human features onto God can be expected to track truth with some probability. On the other hand, the atheist cannot embrace any instances of (1).

Note, too, that evolutionary explanations do not undercut (1), since there can be multiple correct explanations of one phenomenon. (This phenomenon is known to people working on Bayesian inference.)

Anthropomorphism and theism

Sometimes theists are accused of anthropomorphism in their concept of God. But it is important to note that theists hold that God is the entity least like humans. Rocks are closer to us in intellectual capacity than God is. Amoebae are more like us in love than God is. Wet noodles resembles us in power more than God does. All creatures are more like one another than they are like God.

Of course, even if God is the entity least like humans, humans could be the entities most like God. But typical religious theists think even that is false: the angels are more like God than humans are.

None of this denies that there are particular (and controversial) theological views that may suffer from an undue anthropomorphism. I suspect certain motivations for taking God to be mutable to be like that.

Humean metaphysics implies Cartesian epistemology

Let’s assume two theses:

1. Humean view of causation.

2. Mental causalism: mental activity requires some mental states to stand in causal relations.

If I accept these two theses, then I can a priori and with certainty infer a modest uniformity of nature thesis. Here’s why. On mental causalism, mental activity requires causation. On Humeanism, causation depends on the actual arrangement of matter. If the regularities found in my immediate vicinity do not extend to the universe as a whole, then they are no causal laws or causal relations. Thus, given causalism and Humeanism, I can infer a priori and with certainty from the obvious fact that I have mental states that there are regularities in the stuff that my mind is made of that extend universally. In other words, we get a Cartesian-type epistemological conclusion: I think, so there must be regularity.

In other words, Humean metaphysics of nature plus a causalist theory of mind implies a radically non-Humean epistemology of nature. The most plausible naturalist theories of mind all accept causalism. So, it seems, that a Humean metaphysics of nature plus naturalism—which is typically a part of contemporary Humean metaphysics—implies a radically non-Humean epistemology of nature.

So Humean metaphysics and epistemology don’t go together. So what? Why not just accept the metaphysics and reject the epistemology? The reason this is not acceptable is that the Cartesian thesis that the regularity of nature follows with certainty from what I know about myself is only plausible (if even then!) given Descartes’ theism.

Spiritual but not religious

A lot of people identify as spiritual but not religious. It would be interesting to have statistics on how common this is among professional philosophers. There are lots of naturalists and a significant minority of theists of definite religion, but I just haven’t run across many in between. But shouldn’t one expect that there be a lot of philosophers like that, convinced by argument or just intuition that there is much more to the world than science could possibly get at, but not convinced by the arguments for any particular religion? Maybe it’s because as a profession we prefer definite views? Or maybe there are many philosophers in this category but they just don’t talk about it that much?

I do think it’s important not to downplay the intellectual bona fides of the “spiritual but not religious”. The arguments that there is more to the world and to life than there is room for in naturalism, that there is something “spiritual”, are very strong indeed. (Josh Rasmussen’s and my forthcoming Necessary Existence is relevant here, as are considerations about the meaning of life, the narrow space for normativity and mind on naturalist views, the implausibility of holding that there be a whole category of human experience that is never veridical, etc.) I think there are strong arguments that this something “spiritual” includes God, and there are strong arguments that Catholic Christianity is correct. But it should be very easy to imagine being convinced by the arguments for a spiritual depth to the world but not being convinced by the further arguments (I am not taking a stance in this post on whether it would be rational full stop to be in this position—I do, after all, think the arguments going all the way to Catholicism are strong).

The needs of the human community

Andrea Dworkin argued that sexual intercourse between a man and a woman is always wrong because it involves a violation of the woman's bodily integrity. She concluded that until recent advances in medical technology, it was impossible for humans to permissibly reproduce. The antinatalists, on the other hand, continue to hold that it is impossible for humans to permissible reproduce. Such views lead to an incredulous stare. It is very tempting to levy against them an argument like this:

1. Coital reproduction is necessary for the minimal flourishing of the human community under normal conditions.
2. Whatever is necessary for the minimal flourishing of the human community under normal conditions is sometimes permissible.
3. Coital reproduction is sometimes permissible.

The condition "under normal conditions" is needed for (2) to be plausible. We can, after all, easily imagine science-fictional scenarios where something immoral would need to be done to ensure the minimal flourishing of the human community.

Reproduction is not the only case where issues like this come up. For instance, the destruction of non-human organisms, say plants, seems necessary for our flourishing. And I suspect that under normal conditions the killing of non-human animals is necessary, too (if only as a side-effect of plowing fields, say). Taxation may be another interesting example.

I have heard it argued that (2) is in itself a basic moral principle, so that killing non-human animals as a side-effect of vegan farming is permissible because it is permissible to ensure minimal human flourishing. But that seems mistaken. Rather, while (2) is true, it is not a moral principle, but a consequence of a correlation between (a) fundamental facts about what moral duties there are actually are and (b) facts about what is actually needed for minimal human flourishing under normal conditions.

This leads to an interesting and I think somewhat underexplored question: Why are the moral facts and the facts about actual human needs so correlated as to make (2) true?

Theists have an elegant answer to this question: God had very strong moral reason to make humans in such a way that, at least normally, minimal flourishing of the community doesn't require wrong action. Non-theists have other stories to tell. These stories, however, are likely to be piecemeal. For instance, one will give one evolutionary story about why we and our ecosystem evolved in such a way that eating persons wasn't needed for our species' survival, and another about why we evolved in such a way that morally non-degrading sex sufficed for reproduction. But a unified answer is to be preferred over piecemeal answers, especially when the unified answer is compatible with the piecemeal ones and capable of integrating them into a single story. We do, thus, get some evidence for theism here.

Even more on simplicity and theism

Some naturalists say that theism needlessly complicates our view of the world by positing that

• in addition to the material concrete contingent things, there is something immaterial, necessary and concrete.

But the naturalist needs to say that the naturalist needlessly complicates our view of the world by being committed to the claim that

• in addition to the dependent concrete contingent things, there is something independent, concrete and contingent.

(Say, the Big Bang or the universe as a whole.)

Does talking of needless complication get us ahead here?

Simplicity and theism

I have argued elsewhere, as my colleague Trent Dougherty also has and earlier, that when we understand simplicity rightly, theism makes for a simpler theory than naturalism. However, suppose I am wrong, and naturalism is the simpler theory. Is that a reason to think naturalism true? I suspect not. For it is theism that explains how simplicity can be a guide to truth (say, because of God's beauty and God's desire to produce an elegant universe), while on naturalism we should not think of simplicity as a guide to truth, but at most as a pragmatic benefit of a theory. Thus to accept naturalism for the sake of simplicity is to cut the branch one is sitting on.

Pascal's Wager in a social context

One of our graduate students, Matt Wilson, suggested an analogy between Pascal's Wager and the question about whether to promote or fight theistic beliefs in a social context (and he let me cite this here).

This made me think. (I don't know what of the following would be endorsed by Wilson.) The main objections to Pascal's Wager are:

1. Difficulties in dealing with infinite utilities. That's merely technical (I say).
2. Many gods.
3. Practical difficulties in convincing oneself to sincerely believe what one has no evidence for.
4. The lack of epistemic integrity in believing without evidence.
5. Would God reward someone who believes on such mercenary grounds?
6. The argument just seems too mercenary!

Do these hold in the social context, where I am trying to decide whether to promote theism among others? If theistic belief non-infinitesimally increases the chance of other people getting infinite benefits, without any corresponding increase in the probability of infinite harms, then that should yield very good moral reason to promote theistic belief. Indeed, given utilitarianism, it seems to yield a duty to promote theism.

But suppose that instead of asking what I should do to get myself to believe the question is what I should try to get others to believe. Then there are straightforward answers to the analogue of (3): I can offer arguments for and refute arguments against theism, and help promote a culture in which theistic belief is normative. How far I can do this is, of course, dependent on my particular skills and social position, but most of us can do at least a little, either to help others to come to believe or at least to maintain their belief.

Moreover, objection (4) works differently. For the Wager now isn't an argument for believing theism, but an argument for increasing the number of people who believe. Still, there is force to an analogue to (4). It seems that there is a lack of integrity in promoting a belief that one does not hold. One is withholding evidence from others and presenting what one takes to be a slanted position (for if one thought that the balance of the evidence favored theism, then one wouldn't need any such Wager). So (4) has significant force, maybe even more force than in the individual case. Though of course if utilitarianism is true, that force disappears.

Objections (5) and (6) disappear completely, though. For there need be nothing mercenary about the believers any more, and the promoter of theistic beliefs is being unselfish rather than mercenary. The social Pascal's Wager is very much a morally-based argument.

Objections (1) and (2) may not be changed very much. Though note that in the social context there is a hedging-of-the-bets strategy available for (2). Instead of promoting a particular brand of theism, one might instead fight atheism, leaving it to others to figure out which kind of theist they want to be. Hopefully at least some theists get right the brand of theism—while surely no atheist does.

I think the integrity objection is the most serious one. But that one largely disappears when instead of considering the argument for promoting theism, one considers the argument against promoting atheism. For while it could well be a lack of moral integrity to promote one-sided arguments, there is no lack of integrity in refraining from promoting one's beliefs when one thinks the promotion of these beliefs is too risky. For instance, suppose I am 99.99% sure that my new nuclear reactor design is safe. But 99.9999% is just not good enough for a nuclear reactor design! I therefore might choose not promote my belief about the safety of the design, even with the 99.9999% qualifier, because politicians and reporters who aren't good in reasoning about expected utilities might erroneously conclude not just that it's probably safe (which it probably is), but that it should be implemented. And the harms of that would be too great. Prudence might well require me to be silent about evidence in cases where the risks are asymmetrical, as in the nuclear reactor case where the harm of people coming to believe that it's safe when it's unsafe so greatly outweighs the harm of people coming to believe that it's unsafe when it's safe. But the case of theism is quite parallel.

Thus, consistent utilitarian atheists will promote theism. (Yes, I think that's a reductio of utilitarianism!) But even apart from utilitarianism, no atheist should promote atheism.

An argument for evolution and an argument for supernatural beings

Consider:

1. Many instances of F have explanations fitting an evolutionary explanatory schema.
2. There are no instances of F that we have good reason to think lacking an explanation fitting an evolutionary explanatory schema.
3. So, probably, all instances of F have an explanation fitting an evolutionary explanatory schema.

For instance, F can be biological diversity or non-initial biological complexity. Now compare:

4. Many instances of G have explanations fitting an agential explanatory schema.
5. There are no instances of G that we have good reason to think lacking in an explanation fitting an agential explanatory schema.
6. So, probably, all instances of G have an explanation fitting an agential explanatory schema.

For instance, G can be orderly complexity or usefulness or value. But there are instances of orderly complexity, usefulness and value with the property that if they have an agential explanation, they have an agential explanation involving supernatural beings. The orderly complexity, usefulness and value in the laws of nature is like that, for instance.

I am not inclined to think either of the arguments above very strong, however.

Sceptical scenarios and theism

There are many large-scale sceptical scenarios: brains in vats, evil demons, anti-inductive worlds, evolutionary scenarios that lead astray, mathematical faculties out of touch with Platonic reality, Boltzmann brains, the five minute hypothesis, etc. I'll just call these "sceptical scenarios". The crucial feature of a sceptical scenario is that some doxastic faculty of ours is completely out of whack with reality in such a way that we have no way of correcting for the error by using this and other faculties.

Now, most people aren't in any sceptical scenario. I am not claiming I know this (though in fact I think I do know this), but only that it is true. What explains the striking fact that most people aren't in any sceptical scenario? For any particular sceptical scenario, the naturalist can try to explain why most people aren't in it. That explanation may or may not be very good. But the theist can explain all at once why most people aren't in any sceptical scenario: God is unlikely to create a world where most people are in a sceptical scenario. This is a significant explanatory advantage of theism.

Notice also what happens when a new sceptical scenario is invented, such as my scenario that all the apparently random processes in our world are probabilistically non-measurable, but look like they were measurable. The theist's explanation automatically extends to cover it. But the naturalist may well need to scramble to create a new explanation or posit yet another brute fact.

Naturalism and the problem of pain

Here's one way to formulate the argument from pain against theism: "Granted, beings like us need an intense sensation normally triggered by damage that in turn normally triggers strongly aversive behavior. But if God were designing us, we would not expect this sensation to be painful. We would instead expect some intense non-painful sensation to be triggered by damage that in turn triggers strongly aversive behavior. Hence God did not design us." This version of the problem of pain is based on the Possibility Premise:

(PP) It would be possible to have a non-painful sensation that normally has the same triggers as pain and normally leads to the same aversive behavior.

Now, the typical atheist is a naturalist and the best naturalistic theories of mind are functionalist theories on which mental states are defined by their functional interconnections. If functionalism is true, PP is unlikely to be true. This creates a dialectical problem for the typical atheist running the above version of the argument from pain.

Here's one way to see the dialectical problem. Either there is good reason to believe in PP or there isn't. If there isn't, then the theist shouldn't be saddled with PP either. Nothing in theism commits one to PP. It's true that the typical theist is a dualist, and dualism does make PP plausible, but even that is a fairly weak "make plausible": it is easy to be a dualist who denies PP. This is especially true if what pushes one to dualism is not the problem of consciousness but the problem of mental content. Now if there is good reason to believe in PP, then it's fair enough to use PP in an argument against theism. But now the dialectical problem is that PP also provides significant evidence against functionalism, and hence against naturalism, and hence against typical versions of atheism.

Of course, one can give versions of the argument from pain that don't make use of PP. What I say only applies to one version of the argument from pain.

Hope and afterlife

The following argument is valid, and is sound if we take the conditional in (2) to be material.

1. (Premise) In despairing, one engages in a vice.
2. (Premise) If there is no afterlife, it is sometimes appropriate to despair.
3. (Premise) It is never appropriate to engage in a vice.
4. So, there is an afterlife.

Let me say a little about (2). Despair is appropriate in situations of objective hopelessness. But if there is no afterlife, then when one has misspent one's life in wickedness, and is now facing death with no opportunity to make things up to those whom one has mistreated, then despair is appropriate.

If there is an afterlife, then one can hope for mercy or justice.

Leibniz on metaphysics

[I]n fact, metaphysics is natural theology, and the same God who is the source of all goods is also the principle of all knowledge. (Letter to Countess Elizabeth) 

Sceptical non-theism

Sceptical theists respond to the problem of evil by, very roughly, telling us that we can't say what kinds of worlds God is more likely to create. This is a very rough formulation, and perhaps not entirely fair, but I think it is defensible. After all, if we have no reason to think that the values we know are representative of the larger realm of value, then we are unable to say what kinds of worlds a being whose actions are entirely guided by correct value considerations is likely to create.

I defined sceptical theism in such a way that it does not entail theism. Thus, an atheist could be a sceptical theist, and in fact it's fair to say that Anthony Flew, before he became a theist and while he was pressing the claim that the God hypothesis has no empirical consequences, was committed to something like sceptical theism.

It seems likely—though this can be questioned—that the conjunction of theism with sceptical theism commits one to wide-spread scepticism. If we don't know what sorts of worlds God is more likely to create, and we think this world is one that God created, we really shouldn't trust induction, etc. This is good reason for theists not to opt for sceptical theism.

But there is another position to be considered: sceptical non-theism. Sceptical non-theism tells us that we can't say what kinds of worlds are more likely to exist if God doesn't exist.

Just as sceptical theism does not imply theism, so too sceptical non-theism does not imply non-theism. If one is both a non-theist and a sceptical non-theist, then one is pushed towards more general scepticism. But if one is a theist and a sceptical non-theist, then one can resist scepticism, it seems. So sceptical non-theism doesn't carry the danger to the theist that sceptical theism does. Moreover, sceptical non-theism answers the problem of evil just as well as sceptical theism does. The theist who is a sceptical non-theist can say: "Granted, it sure looks like these horrendous evils are very unlikely given theism. I grant you that! But I have no reason to think that they are any more likely given non-theism. And in order for these evils to be an argument against theism, they would have to be more likely given non-theism."

Furthermore, sceptical non-theism is at least as well motivated as sceptical theism. Consider the fact that non-theism is a disjunction of a large number of very different views, including: polytheism, kakotheism, pantheism and naturalism (I am tempted to include "open theism" here, too). Naturalism in turn is a disjunction of a large number of very different views, since any logically coherent all-encompassing physical theory gives rise to a version of naturalism. On any one of the disjuncts, it's hard to figure out what sort of world would likely exist. And it's hard to figure out which disjunct is more likely than which. Hence, figuring out what world would be more likely to exist if non-theism held seems to be an insuperable task. This remains true even if we replace "non-theism" with "naturalism".

I do not endorse sceptical non-theism. But I do endorse the thesis that it is a better move for theists than sceptical theism.

Science and theism

Suppose I am a theistic scientist, and I come up with a simple and elegant theory that fits the data. You ask me:

1. But what reason do you have to believe that the theory is true?

I am likely to answer:

2. There is a good God who created a world exemplifying genuine values like simplicity and beauty.

Indeed, if there is a good God, it is more likely that a simple and elegant theory that fits the data is true than if there is no God at all. Whatever one thinks about induction and inference to best explanation, it seems exactly right to say that:

3. If (2) is true, its truth significantly raises the probability that a simple and elegant theory that fits the data is true.

But now imagine two scientists, one a theist and one an atheist, and they have together come with a simple and elegant theory that fits the data. It may very well be the case that the theist should assign a probability of 0.6 to the theory—after all, there may be other simple and elegant theories that fit the data that they have failed to discover, and which fit well with the world being the sort that is created by a God who loves lawlike simplicity. But if (3) is true, the atheist scientist's credence in the theory should be significantly lower. It seems likely, then, that if the theist assigns 0.6, the atheist scientist may very well need to assign something below 0.5.

If this is right, then you will have cases where a theist and atheist scientist agree on the scientific evidence, but the theist weakly assents to the theory but the atheist is more skeptical of the scientific theory.

In general, assuming rationality on both sides, we would expect atheists to be significantly more sceptical of scientific claims than theists who, in turn, should be bolder theorizers. But I think we do not observe this. Hence, on one or both sides, there is some irrationality—or else I am wrong about (3).

Science

Peter van Inwagen argued: "science is an outgrowth of western Latin Christianity, connected with it in much the same way as Gothic architecture". His claim is plausible historically. The non-Christian theistic scientist can claim that the aspects of Christianity that led to science are also found in her religion—say, the belief that the world is created by a God who would be unlikely to give us a thirst for knowledge that we could not possibly have satisfied. But the historical fact should give pause to the non-theistic scientist. She should ask herself whether the dependence of science on theism was merely historical or whether there is not an deeper dependence as well.

Consider this. Assuming one has good reason to be a theist, one has good reason to believe that simpler theories are more likely to be true and (perhaps equivalently) that induction is a good way of getting at truth. Moreover, connections like this between theism and scientific practice were in fact important to scientists like Leibniz and Newton. Now, the contemporary non-theist (except maybe an optimalist like John Leslie—but whether he counts a non-theist is unclear) does not in fact have anything to put in the place of theism that would give good reason to believe that simplicity and induction are good guides to truth. It would seem, thus, that one has to say one of two things: Either (1) the theistic underpinning of science did no real epistemic work in bolstering science in the first place, or (2) the non-theistic scientist's hope in science should be significantly lower than that of the theistic scientist.

Can one uphold (1)? I doubt it. It seems very plausible that there is something right about the idea that theism gives one a significant reason to have a hope in science as a guide to truth. But if so, then it is true that the non-theistic scientist has less reason for such hope.

Does the non-theistic scientist have any reason for such hope? That is a further question.