In spite of some heroic recent attempts to revive them, most philosophers would agree that the traditional arguments for the existence of God are effectively beyond resuscitation. Most religious believers would, however, be untroubled by this conclusion. Their belief does not depend on such arguments and would certainly not be shaken by their refutation.
For them, the normal standards of rational discourse are inappropriate to religious matters. Abstract philosophical speculation and reasoning did not lead them to belief in the first place and it will not convince them to renounce it either. It is indeed arrogant, they would claim, to suppose that our intellectual efforts could make God’s purposes transparent or comprehensible to us. Belief in God is, ultimately, a matter not of reason but of faith.
“He who begins by loving Christianity better than truth, will proceed by loving his own sect or Church better than Christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.”
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1825
Faith may be blind, but it is not simply a matter of “just believing.” Those who elevate faith above reason—so-called “fideists”—hold that faith is an alternative path to truth and that, in the case of religious belief, it is the right route. A state of conviction, achieved ultimately through God’s action on the soul, nevertheless demands a voluntary and deliberate act of will on the part of the faithful; faith requires a leap, but it is not a leap in the dark. Philosophers, in contrast, wish to make a rational assessment of possible arguments in support of religious belief; to sift and weigh the evidence and reach a conclusion on that basis. Fideist and philosopher seem to be engaged in radically different projects. With apparently little or no common ground, is there any prospect of agreement or accommodation?
The unbridgeable gap between faith and reason is well illustrated by the biblical story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham is held up as the archetypal and paradigmatic example of religious faith for his unquestioning willingness to obey God’s commands, even to the extent of sacrificing his own son, Isaac. Removed from its religious context and looked at in a rational way, however, Abraham’s behavior appears deranged. Any alternative reading of the situation was preferable to and more plausible than the one he chose (am I mad/did I mishear/is God testing me/is that the devil pretending to be God/can I have that in writing?), so his behavior is simply and irretrievably incomprehensible to the rationally inclined nonbeliever.
The balance sheet of faith In fideistic hands, the fact that religious belief cannot be adequately defended on rational grounds is turned into a positive recommendation. If a (fully) rational route were open, faith would not be needed, but as reason fails to provide a justification, faith steps in to fill the gap. The act of will necessary on the part of the believer adds moral merit to the acquisition of faith; and a devotion that does not question its object is revered, at least by those who share it, as simple and honest piety. Some of the attractions of faith are obvious enough: life has a clear-cut meaning, there is some solace for life’s tribulations, believers have the consolation of knowing that something better awaits after death, and so on. Religious belief clearly answers many basic, primordial needs and concerns in humans, and many people are undeniably improved, even transformed by adopting a religious way of life. At the same time the symbols and embellishments of religion have provided almost limitless artistic inspiration and cultural enrichment.
“I believe, therefore I understand.”
Augustine of Hippo, c.400
Many of the points that the fideist would put on the credit side for faith are set down as debits by the atheistic philosopher. Amongst the most precious principles of secular liberalism, memorably set forth by J.S. Mill, is freedom of thought and expression, which sits very uneasily with the habit of uncritical assent extolled in the pious believer. The unquestioning devotion valued by the fideist can easily look to the nonbeliever like credulity and superstition. Ready acceptance of authority can lead people to fall under the influence of unscrupulous sects and cults, and this can sometimes tip over into fanaticism and zealotry. Placing one’s faith in others is admirable provided that the others concerned are themselves admirable. When reason is shut out, all manner of excesses may rush in to take its place; and it is hard to deny that at certain times and in certain religions sense and sympathy have flown out of the window to be replaced by intolerance, bigotry, sexism and worse.
In his On Liberty of 1859, in an impassioned defense of freedom of speech and expression, John Stuart Mill warns of the dangers of a culture of intellectual repression, in which questioning and criticism of received opinion is discouraged and “the most active and inquiring intellects” are afraid to enter into “free and daring speculation on the highest subjects.” Mental development is cramped and reason cowed, and truth itself is weakly rooted: “true opinion abides … as a prejudice, a belief independent of, and proof against, argument—this is not the way in which truth ought to be held by a rational being … Truth, thus held, is but one superstition the more, accidentally clinging to the words which enunciate a truth.”
So the balance sheet is drawn up, with debits and credits on each side, and often the assets on one side appear as liabilities on the other. To the extent that different accounting methods are used, the accounts themselves are meaningless, and this is often the abiding impression left when believers and nonbelievers debate with one another. They generally speak at cross-purposes, fail to establish any common ground, and succeed in moving each other not one inch. Atheists prove to their own satisfaction that faith is irrational; the faithful regard such supposed proof as irrelevant and quite beside the point. In the end, faith is irrational or nonrational; it proudly and defiantly sets itself in opposition to reason and, in a sense, that is precisely its point.
Suppose we feel that the evidence for God’s existence is simply inconclusive. What should we do? We can either believe in God or not. If we choose to believe and are right (i.e. God does exist), we win eternal bliss; and if we are wrong, we lose little. On the other hand, if we choose not to believe and are right (i.e. God doesn’t exist), we don’t lose anything but don’t gain much either; but if we are wrong, our loss is colossal—at best we miss out on eternal bliss, at worst we suffer everlasting damnation. So much to gain, so little to lose: you’d be a mug not to bet on God existing. This ingenious argument for believing in God, known as Pascal’s wager, was set forth by Blaise Pascal in his Pensées of 1670: ingenious, perhaps, but flawed. An obvious problem is that the argument requires that we decide what to believe, which just isn’t the way belief works. Even worse, though, is that the impetus behind making the wager in the first place is that we don’t have enough information about God to go on; yet making the right wager depends on having detailed knowledge of God’s likes and dislikes. So what happens if God isn’t too bothered about being worshipped but greatly dislikes calculating types who take gambles purely on the basis of their own self-interest?
“Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering that God is. Let us estimate these two chances. If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation that He is.”
Blaise Pascal, 1670
the condensed idea
The leap of faith
| Timeline | |
|---|---|
| c.375BC | The divine command theory |
| c.300BC | The problem of evil |
| AD1670 | Faith and reason |
| 1739 | Science and pseudoscience |