This anthology contains rich, red meat for the inquiring mind, provender for a feast of thinking. Not all of the twenty essays in it are equally good, but all are written in accessible language; all deal with significant issues; and many of them are full of illuminating, surprising ideas and approaches.
Editor Antony asked nineteen other professors of philosophy to write on some aspect of "Atheism and the Secular Life." Some of the responses were biographical, recounting the passage from childhood devotions to adult atheism. Some delve into the old arguments for and against belief, but always with original slants. A few (and the most interesting) describe a constructive philosophical basis for "the secular life." The following are cursory descriptions of some of these essays.
Stewart Shapiro opens with what could be a downer, "Faith and Reason, the Perpetual War." He examines three possible relations between religion and reason. The first is that they are necessarily and perpetually at war; the second that they are incommensurable (Gould's non-overlapping magisteria); the third a rationalist tradition that they can somehow be interpreted as pulling in the same direction. Shapiro finds good reasons to reject the latter two, so only the stance of perpetual war is left, and Shapiro leaves us no more than a hope for "grudging, mutual respect."
Following this dour start, several writers sketch their passages from different kinds of belief to different kinds of atheism. Joseph Levine describes with feeling and sympathy the satisfactions of being a devout rabbinical student and the comforts of living in a strict orthodox community, and the slow process of divorcing from these. He makes the key observation that, as he now sees it, belief in God is morally wrong because it "expresses a rejection, or denial... of one's humanity [and] ... makes servility to authority the ultimate aim of human life."
Louise Antony describes her childhood struggles with the illogic of Catholic doctrine with a bright humor that reminded me of Julia Sweeney. She found her true calling in her first college philosophy class: "Imagine my delight, then, when I discovered that philosophy was all about arguing! ... I could scarcely believe that I could earn credits just for doing what (to me) came naturally."
Edwin Curly was raised Episcopalian and, at age 16, turned to the back of his prayer book and for the first time gave the Articles of Religion a critical reading. Here he details the many problems he found, arguing that the the doctrines of Original Sin, Predestination, Salvation by Faith, Hell, and Exclusivism (that all but believers go to Hell) -- all of which are well-supported in scripture and are official parts of the creed for at least Catholics and Episcopalians -- are offensive to reason and justice and morally repugnant. He says well-intentioned Christians who downplay or discount these doctrines can only do so by drastically reinterpreting their own scriptures.
Marvin Belzer argues, not against belief in God, but against trust in dogma. He describes how a comforting childhood faith lead him, gradually and by natural stages, to shed all the trappings of Christian practice and dogma as superfluous. He gives clear arguments why no specific creed can ever be what God wants people to focus their lives on.
Where the first half opened with Shapiro's grim analysis, the second opens with two upbeat and constructive essays based in Aristotle. Anthony Simon Laden in "Transcendence without God" interprets Aristotle's Ethics to mean that the virtuous person is so because he pays excellent attention to those things that repay excellent attention. Transcendent experience can arise from expanding and developing our capacity for attention to include the full humanity of others.
Marcia Homiak makes it more explicit: "Aristotle's key idea is that the best life for a human being (the most human of human lives) consists in the full realization of [our] distinctive human powers." She draws out the need for community, for ethical virtue, and for continual effort to improve, all trending toward a life of "Aristotelian flourishing." The benefits of this life are comparable to the similar benefits claimed for the religious life.
Kenneth A. Taylor tackles the concept of Divine Providence, the source of so much of a believer's emotional comforts. The notion that there is a God who loves humanity and guarantees eventual triumph of good over evil turns out to be philosophically empty when combined with the idea of radical free will (required by many Christian philosophers to explain why evil exists). But if there is no Godly guarantee of a future perfection, and if our lives lack the significance they would gain from contributing to that end, what's left to give meaning? In a crucial passage that I find deeply meaningful Taylor writes:
"Suppose we grant that we live in a finite, merely material universe, containing at its core nothing of intrinsic or objective value, governed by no purpose and no universal or absolute moral law. Still, whatever else the universe does or does not contain, we exist in it and through it. And we are creatures who value things. We do not find or discover value in the universe, as if values were antecedently present inpendently of anything that we do or are. ... We create values ... simply by engaging in the merely human and entirely natural activity of taking things to matter to us. ... We may cry out with longing and despair to the cold uncaring universe to embrace our value, to vindicate our right to value what we value. But we will hear only silence in return.... So be it. We do not matter to the universe. Still, we matter to ourselves and sometimes to others who sometimes matter to us in return. And that is all the mattering that it is worth our while to concern ourselves about."
Still, absent a divine lawgiver, how do we avoid a chaotic moral relativism? Taylor details a philosophical basis for the formation of "moral communities." He shows how each person has the ability to choose to bind herself to a given norm; and how that act also grants to others the right to hold one to the self-chosen norm. A web of such reciprocal grants of moral holding and binding creates a stable moral order "entirely of our own constituting.... The work of building from the bottom up an all-encompassing moral order is heroic work, invigorating work, work that calls upon the best of ourselves."
The same moral ground is plowed in a different direction by Elizabeth Anderson, who tackles the issue of how, without God to sanction moral rules, moral rules can be anything but personal opinion (as W. L. Craig holds they would be). Her first approach is to advance a "moralistic argument," namely that if any line of evidence leads to something morally repugnant, that entire line of evidence should be rejected as untrustworthy. Then, taking the Bible with "fundamentalist sincerity," she lists in detail and at length the heinous, unjust, barbarous acts and practices described both in the Old and New Testaments. (Many of these citations will be familiar to the non-believer, but one was new to me: In 2nd Thess. 2:11-12, it is said that God deludes some so they cannot believe. So God deliberately overrides the free will of some, in order to send them to Hell -- which rather weakens the ideas of both free will and divine justice.)
Anderson examines the different strategies believers adopt to explain or justify these "hard sayings," but concludes that there is always a residue that will lead to a moral offense, and so nothing in the Christian line of evidence is trustworthy. And the evidence advanced by every creed since Thor, Baal and Zeus has been of the same kind and is no more reliable.
That still leaves the problem of what can ever make a difference between good and evil and so counter Craig's argument? Anderson, like Taylor in the previous essay, argues that the key is reciprocity. Although none of us have the authority to compel obedience on another, all of us have the authority to make moral claims on others, calling them to account for their acts; but in doing so, we automatically open a reciprocal right for others to call us to account in turn. It is the reciprocity that creates morals. If there is a person who asserts that "all things are permitted," as Craig claims they should do, that person, in denying others the ability to call him to account, also resigns any ability to judge others. We deal with such people with physical deterrence -- and they cannot complain when we do, because they have opted out of all moral claims!
Anderson concludes that "morality, understood as a system of reciprocal claim making ... does not need its authority underwritten by some higher, external authority.... Far from bolstering the authority of morality, appeals to divine authority can undermine it."
To end an over-long review I want to give a (surely inadequate) summary of the late David Lewis' "Divine Evil," in which he advanced what was to me a novel twist on the well-known Argument from Evil: that we should at least be skeptical of the existence of a benevolent God in the light of the suffering that billions of sentient beings have endured for millions of years and continue to endure. Add up all of that suffering that God has permitted to happen, Lewis says, and it is yet trivial beside another kind of suffering: a type which God not only permits but positively decrees. There is in all varieties of (Bible-based) theisms some concept of damnation, a punishment for those who are in some fashion insubordinate to the divine. This punishment is promised to consist of eternal suffering. There is ample biblical support for this idea; Lewis cites several passages (Matt. 13:49-50, Matt. 25:41ff, etc. etc.).
Damnation is the promised lot of a considerable fraction of humanity, but even if it were only for a single soul, it is eternal; ergo the sum of it will, in the infinity of time, add up to more than all the suffering of mortal lives since time began. Thus the evil of damnation is immeasurably greater than the evil of ordinary suffering -- and it is not merely permitted, but positively decreed by God. Lewis writes of God that "He places people in a situation in they must make a judgment that binds them for eternity, and he knows that some will be so inadequately informed that they will opt for an eternity of torment... It is hard to distinguish between God and the parent who equips the nursery with sharp objects galore and plenty of matches, fuses, and dynamite."
Lewis examines the arguments of "incompatibilist" free will (that God must let people choose to damn themselves) and finds injustice remains; and the arguments that, despite the explicit texts, damnation is not a barbeque but a state of being isolated from God, saying if it is a state of suffering in any sense, it is still infinite in sum, and an unjustly permanent punishment for transient error. If the biblical texts are granted any credibility at all, it has to be that God intends to deliberately create more suffering in the future than has ever occurred in the past. Well, so what? So this, Lewis says: would you have respect for a person who professes to admire the careers of Hitler or Stalin? No? Then consider: Christians profess to admire God, who (they have to admit) intends to hurt far more people, infinitely longer than Hitler or Stalin could have dreamed of doing. Should you then respect Christians?
Unlike books by the celebrated "New Atheists" this book does not contain colorful, slashing language and easy pejoratives against religion. Instead, it contains powerful ideas, many of them positive, all carefully worked out with measured langauge. It is a demonstration of the value of philosophy and the use of philosophers: to really think things through in an original way, and show us how to do the same.
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