Dostoevsky Did Say It: A Response to David E. Cortesi (2011)
Andrei I. Volkov
I recently read an old Secular Web article by David E. Cortesi titled "Dostoevsky Didn't Say It" (2000). This essay is now widely cited and referenced across the Internet. When believers attribute to Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov (1880) the phrase "If God does not exist, everything is permitted," nonbelievers often retort: "Dostoevsky did not say that!" For example, in his Choice in Dying blog Eric McDonald cites Cortesi's article as "a correction to this attribution." On his Religion Exposed! site Broghen Anders writes of the quotation: "Even if that is what the character has been attributed to feel, he never said the quote ([per] Cortesi)." Finally, in a talk given at the March 21, 2011 "The Lust for Certainty" conference organized by the Sea of Faith Network, Kenan Malik says:
"If God does not exist, everything is permitted." Dostoevsky never actually wrote that line, though so often is it attributed to him that he may as well have. It has become the almost reflexive response of believers when faced with an argument for a godless world. Without religious faith, runs the argument, we cannot anchor our moral truths or truly know right from wrong. Without belief in God we will be lost in a miasma of moral nihilism.
Did Dostoevsky Write It?
As a native Russian speaker I am very puzzled by this denial. On Russian webpages "If God does not exist, everything is permitted" is all too often cited as a kind of moral argument for theism, but no one accuses those who appeal to it of misquotation or misattribution. The quote in the original Russian reads:
Без бога всё позволено
A Google search produces a number of hits for this Russian phrase, and Google's search box suggests another variant, "Без бога всё дозволено." The second clause—всё дозволено—is a variant of the phrase "everything is permitted," which appears several times in Dostoevsky's novel, along with всё позволено.
This key phrase appears word for word in Part 4, Book 11, Chapter 4 ("A Hymn and a Secret") of the novel. Addressing Alyosha, Mitya (Dmitri) Karamazov quotes himself saying it when retelling an earlier conversation with Rakitin. Rakitin is an aspiring journalist who interviews Mitya in the jail right before Alyosha comes along. Both Mitya and Rakitin picked up the idea from Ivan Karamazov. I have bolded the key phrase below:
А не любит бога Ракитин, ух не любит! Это у них самое больное место у всех! Но скрывают. Лгут. Представляются. 'Что же, будешь это проводить в отделении критики?' – спрашиваю. 'Ну, явно-то не дадут', – говорит, смеется. 'Только как же, спрашиваю, после того человек-то? Без бога-то и без будущей жизни? Ведь это, стало быть, теперь всё позволено, всё можно делать?' 'А ты и не знал?' – говорит. Смеется. 'Умному, говорит, человеку всё можно, умный человек умеет раков ловить, ну а вот ты, говорит, убил и влопался и в тюрьме гниешь!' Это он мне-то говорит. Свинья естественная! Я этаких прежде вон вышвыривал, ну а теперь слушаю.
Despite such direct evidence, in his 2000 article Cortesi asserts:
Dostoevsky never wrote it!**
I say this with confidence because I have searched the online text of the Constance Garnett translation of The Brothers Karamazov, examining every use of "God" and "exist" and "lawful" ("lawful" is how Garnett translates the word that others translate as "permitted").
Let's examine Constance Garnett's English translation of the Russian excerpt above (with the key phrase in my bold):
And Rakitin does dislike God. Ough! doesn't he dislike Him! That's the sore point with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They pretend. 'Will you preach this in your reviews?' I asked him. 'Oh, well, if I did it openly, they won't let it through,' he said. He laughed. 'But what will become of men then?' I asked him, 'without God and immortal life? All things are lawful then, they can do what they like?' 'Didn't you know?' he said laughing, 'a clever man can do what he likes,' he said. 'A clever man knows his way about, but you've put your foot in it, committing a murder, and now you are rotting in prison.' He says that to my face! A regular pig! I used to kick such people out, but now I listen to them. (Dostoevskii, p. 635)
The first part of the phrase without God is there, and it's the most literal translation of the Russian Без бога; but the second part goes somewhat astray.
Though Garnett's translation is the earliest and probably most widely read one, it has often been criticized by scholars for being too sloppy, and for trying to "Westernize" or "naturalize" Dostoevsky at the expense of his original "polyphonic" language. For example, Lawrence Venuti writes:
Constance Garnett, the most widely read English-language translator of Russian literature, was also among the most naturalizing in her cultivation of a fluent strategy. Her translating cast two illusions simultaneously: she invested her versions with realism and with transparency, made them seem true as representations of reality and of the Russian texts. (pp. 45-46)
A modern translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky is highly regarded by scholars for being true to Dostoevsky's original Russian. This translation won the PEN Book-of-the-Month Translation Prize and received many positive reviews, such as the June 1991 New York Review of Books review by John Bayley. Caryl Emerson writes of the Pevear-Volokhonsky translation: "This ambitious new translation of Dostoevsky's final and greatest novel goes far toward restoring the form and lowering the cost for English-language readers" (p. 309). Victor Terras describes how the new translation compares to the old Garnett one:
I compare two translations, both excellent: a relatively free one and one that is as close to the original as seems possible. The former is the Constance Garnett translation, revised by the late Ralph E. Matlaw (New York: W. W. Norton, 1976), and the latter is by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990). (p. 150)
Terras also notes that Dostoevsky's language includes:
occasional overstatements, pleonasms, awkward syntax or choice of words, unexpected noun-adjective combinations, and quirky phraseology. All of these traits tempt the translator to improve on the original. Garnett often yields to this temptation; Pevear tends to be more literal. (p. 156).
Lawrence Venuti praises this new translation as "an intriguing example in which a formal interpretant inscribes an interpretation that is not only scholarly, but consistent with a Russian understanding of the formal properties of the Russian text" (p. 39).
Now let's examine the more scholarly Pevear-Volokhonsky translation of the same passage we last read in the Garnett translation above (again with the key phrase in my bold):
And Rakitin doesn't like God, oof, how he doesn't! That's the sore spot in all of them! But they conceal it. They lie. They pretend. 'What, are you going to push for that in the department of criticism?' I asked. 'Well, they won't let me do it openly,' he said, and laughed. 'But,' I asked, 'how will man be after that? Without God and the future life? It means everything is permitted now, one can do anything?' 'Didn't you know?' he said. And he laughed. 'Everything is permitted to the intelligent man,' he said. 'The intelligent man knows how to catch crayfish, but you killed and fouled it up,' he said, 'and now you're rotting in prison!' He said that to me. A natural-born swine! I once used to throw the likes of him out—well, and now I listen to them. (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 589)
We can now see that all of the wording is there. Note also that the first part of the phrase in question—"Без бога" ("Without God")—can be translated to English as "If God does not exist" or "If there's no God," as in Andrew R. MacAndrew's translation (with the key phrase in my bold):
Rakitin now—he doesn't like God, doesn't like Him at all. To people like him, God is a sore spot. But they hide it, they lie, they pretend. 'Will you,' I asked him, 'try to develop these ideas in your literary criticism?' 'They won't let me do it too openly,' he said, and laughed. 'But tell me,' I asked him, 'what will happen to men? If there's no God and no life beyond the grave, doesn't that mean that men will be allowed to do whatever they want?' 'Didn't you know that already?' he said and laughed again. 'An intelligent man can do anything he likes as long as he's clever enough to get away with it. But you, you got caught after you killed, so today you have to rot in prison.' He's real swine to say that to my face; a few months ago I used to throw people like that out of the window. But now I just sit and listen to him. (Dostoevsky 1983, p. 788)
Although all three translations capture the spirit of Dostoevsky's words quite well, I must admit that they do differ in some little details. For instance, Mitya's question 'What, are you going to push for that in the department of criticism?' is translated correctly only in Pevear-Volokhonsky's version. "Department of criticism" is where Rakitin seeks employment in St. Petersburg. The question is not so much about 'preaching this' or 'developing these ideas,' but about bringing these ideas into the department. Rakitin's answer, that the folks from the department "won't let me do it openly," makes much more sense in this context as well.
But Cortesi's main point is simply unequivocally wrong. Dostoevsky did write, word for word, "If God does not exist, everything is permitted." The phrase is not just "an accurate capsule description of the belief espoused by Ivan Karamazov." It is not surprising that the original wording of the phrase has been lost in English translations; much less so in double translations such as Russian to French to English, as in the case of Jean-Paul Sartre. In any case, it is not at all "misleading" to put the key phrase in quotes and attribute it to a character in Dostoevsky's novel. Perhaps inserting an ellipsis in the middle of the phrase to indicate the omission of "and a future life" is in order to satisfy strict purists: "Without God ... everything is permitted." But no further qualification is needed.
Did Dostoevsky Mean It?
Despite his error, Cortesi does make a number of good points in his article. For example, he is quite right to insist that it is "false to attribute (on the basis of this novel alone) the proposition to Dostoevsky either as something he held or as something he denied." I might add that it is equally false to infer that the character Ivan Karamazov either held or denied the idea that "If God does not exist, everything is permitted."
Ivan Karamazov is one of the "good guys" in the novel. He is honest, smart, well educated, and financially well off, and never asks his negligent father for help. He starts off as a journalist and literary critic, then publishes a newspaper article about ecclesiastical courts, which was a very popular issue of the time. In his article he analyzes existing opinions and expresses his own view, earning prominence and respect among both churchmen and secularists (including atheists). Thus Ivan establishes himself as an independent thinker, capable not only of commenting on existing ideas but of generating his own original "theories."
"If God does not exist, everything is permitted" is a brief and oversimplified summary of one of Ivan's early "theories." In his essay Cortesi suggests that Ivan "is 'like a sphinx' on the matter, which irritates all his friends." This isn't quite right, for Ivan has no friends, as he admits in the first conversation with his brother Alyosha, with whom he seeks friendship. With Alyosha he is not only open about his ideas—including "everything is permitted"—but quite prolific and eloquent, too. In fact, the best parts of the novel are about Ivan's views and theories! These include:
- Rebellion, Part 1, Book 5, Chapter 4—"Tears of the Little Ones." (Hereafter titles are taken from the Pevear-Volokhonsky translation.) In the first conversation with Alyosha, Ivan cites Voltaire's famous line "If God did not exist, he would have to be invented," then quite unexpectedly changes direction and brilliantly criticizes core Christian beliefs based on his own view of the problem of evil. This sort of argument still poses a major problem for Christian apologists. As William Lane Craig acknowledges, "Perhaps no one has stated more powerfully the objection that human, moral evil poses to the existence of God than the great Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky" (Craig 2003, p. 77). He makes a rather Orwellian attempt to answer Ivan's objections by labeling painful death as a good rather than an evil because one can imagine that it paves a way for some sort of a greater good, such as bringing suffered children and their families closer to God or sending them straight to Heaven (pp. 105-107). One cannot help but think that in Craig's view, Andrea Yates must have been praiseworthy since by drowning her five children in a bath, she would have sent them straight to Heaven. No evil, problem solved. This response would be laughable if so many people did not actually believe it.
- The Grand Inquisitor, Part 1, Book 5, Chapter 5. The title speaks for itself—it is an open attack on organized religion. This is the religious counterpart of "Without God, everything is permitted." In Ivan's view Jesus Christ came to set people totally free, but because Jesus did not tell them what to do with this freedom, they ended up in the chaos of nihilism, conflict, anarchy, and unhappiness. To escape from this chaos they had to flock around grand inquisitors and surrender their freedoms in exchange for a slavish happiness.
- The Devil. Ivan Fyodorovich's Nightmare—Part 4, Book 11, Chapter 9. Ivan is struck by brain fever and suffers from hallucinations. In a vision he is visited by his own alter ego—the Devil. The Devil turns out to be a very chatty companion, and in spite of Ivan's objections, he comments on a wealth of Ivan's past ideas and thoughts.
Contrary to Cortesi, Ivan is not at all "like a sphinx" even with people who are not friends. The first big conversation in the novel, which involves all of the major characters, takes place at elder Zosima's monastery during a family gathering about an inheritance (Part 1, Book 2). Here Ivan finds an unlikely ally—elder Zosima himself, a local religious leader who happens to share his ideas about ecclesiastical courts and the separation of church and state. When the church-state question is raised, Ivan readily presents a detailed explanation of his views on the subject. He also remarks on other subjects, such as the "liberal dilettantism" which "has long and frequently confused the final results of socialism with those of Christianity" (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 69).
Ivan is "like a sphinx" only in the words of Mitya later in the novel, when Mitya is wrongly accused of his father's murder and sent to jail. Ivan comes to visit Mitya to uncover the truth about the murder, but he doesn't say much about anything else. But it is not surprising that Ivan is not very open with Mitya, for Mitya is one of the "bad guys" in the novel, and Ivan clearly dislikes him.
In any case, Ivan does not bring up the idea that "If God does not exist, everything is permitted." A rather distorted version of this idea—perhaps even a mixture of a variety of Ivan's ideas—is first presented by Pyotr Miusov, Mitya's relative (Part 1, Book 2, Chapter 6):
[L]et me tell you another anecdote, gentlemen, about Ivan Fyodorovich himself, a most typical and interesting one. No more than five days ago, at a local gathering, predominantly of ladies, he solemnly announced in the discussion that there is decidedly nothing in the whole world that would make men love their fellow men; that there exists no law of nature that man should love mankind, and that if there is and has been any love on earth up to now, it has come not from natural law but solely from people's belief in their immortality. Ivan Fyodorovich added parenthetically that that is what all natural law consists of, so that were mankind's belief in its immortality to be destroyed, not only love but also any living power to continue the life of the world would at once dry up in it. Not only that, but then nothing would be immoral any longer, everything would be permitted, even anthropophagy [cannibalism]. And even that is not all: he ended with the assertion that for every separate person, like ourselves for instance, who believes neither in God nor in his own immortality, the moral law of nature ought to change immediately into the exact opposite of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to the point of evildoing, should not only be permitted to man but should be acknowledged as the necessary, the most reasonable, and all but the noblest result of his situation. (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 69)
The idea is immediately picked up by every other character in the novel. Mitya seems to be most impressed:
"Allow me," Dmitri Fyodorovich suddenly cried unexpectedly, "to be sure I've heard correctly: 'Evildoing should not only be permitted but even should be acknowledged as the most necessary and most intelligent solution for the situation of every godless person'! Is that it, or not?"
"Exactly that," said Father Paissy.
"I'll remember." (Dostoevsky 1990, pp. 69-70).
The subsequent exchange between elder Zosima and Ivan is quite telling:
"Can it be that you really hold this conviction about the consequences of the exhaustion of men's faith in the immortality of their souls?" the elder suddenly asked Ivan Fyodorovich.
"Yes, it was my contention. There is no virtue if there is no immortality."
"You are blessed if you believe so, or else most unhappy!"
"Why unhappy?" Ivan Fyodorovich smiled.
"Because in all likelihood you yourself do not believe either in the immortality of your soul or even in what you have written about the Church and the Church question."
"Maybe you're right...! But still, I wasn't quite joking either..." Ivan Fyodorovich suddenly and strangely confessed—by the way, with a quick blush. (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 70)
In other words, Ivan—who does not believe in an immortal soul—is living proof that his own idea is wrong! This was meant as a half-joke. Father Zosima correctly surmises that question is not resolved in Ivan's heart, and therein lies his "great grief, for it urgently demands resolution." But what question demands resolution, exactly?
Throughout the novel, Ivan is directly asked about the idea that "if there is no immortal soul, then there is no virtue, and everything is permitted." And when asked, Ivan repeatedly confirms that he stands by affirming it. He even says to Alyosha that Mitya's version is not bad at all. However, when Ivan speaks about his theories, the reader never really knows whether he is being serious or just joking.
The most accurate presentation of the "everything is permitted" theory comes from the Devil in chapter titled The Devil. Ivan Fyodorovich's Nightmare:
"...'There are new people now,' you decided last spring, as you were preparing to come here, 'they propose to destroy everything and begin with anthropophagy [cannibalism]. Fools, they never asked me! In my opinion, there is no need to destroy anything, one need only destroy the idea of God in mankind, that's where the business should start! One should begin with that, with that—oh, blind men, of no understanding! Once mankind has renounced God, one and all (and I believe that this period, analogous to the geological periods, will come), then the entire old world view will fall of itself, without anthropophagy, and, above all, the entire former morality, and everything will be new. People will come together in order to take from life all that it can give, but, of course, for happiness and joy in this world only. Man will be exalted with the spirit of divine, titanic pride, and the man-god will appear. Man, his will and his science no longer limited, conquering nature every hour, will thereby every hour experience such lofty delight as will replace for him all his former hopes of heavenly delight. Each will know himself utterly mortal, without resurrection, and will accept death proudly and calmly, like a god. Out of pride he will understand that he should not murmur against the momentariness of life, and he will love his brother then without any reward. Love will satisfy only the moment of life, but the very awareness of its momentariness will increase its fire, inasmuch as previously it was diffused in hopes of an eternal love beyond the grave?' ... well, and so on and so on, in the same vein. Lovely!"
Ivan was sitting with his hands over his ears, looking down, but his whole body started trembling. The voice went on:
"'The question now,' my young thinker reflected, 'is whether or not it is possible for such a period ever to come. If it does come, then everything will be resolved and mankind will finally be settled. But since, in view of man's inveterate stupidity, it may not be settled for another thousand years, anyone who already knows the truth is permitted to settle things for himself, absolutely as he wishes, on the new principles. In this sense, "everything is permitted" to him. Moreover, since God and immortality do not exist in any case, even if this period should never come, the new man is allowed to become a man-god, though it be he alone in the whole world, and of course, in this new rank, to jump lightheartedly over any former moral obstacle of the former slave-man, if need be. There is no law for God! Where God stands—there is the place of God! Where I stand, there at once will be the foremost place ... "everything is permitted," and that's that!' It's all very nice; only if one wants to swindle, why, I wonder, should one also need the sanction of truth? But such is the modern little Russian man: without such a sanction, he doesn't even dare to swindle, so much does he love the truth..." (Dostoevsky 1990, pp. 648-649)
This exposé caused Ivan to throw a glass at the Devil, but it should be clear by now that the phrase "If God does not exist, everything is permitted" is a great oversimplification of Ivan's thoughts (and perhaps those of Dostoevsky as well). This may be the reason why Ivan is generally silent on the matter—otherwise he would have to deliver a lengthy lecture when he has not even made up his mind about what to say.
The starting point sounds very familiar—it's a recapitulation of naïve socialist ideas of the time of French revolutions. These ideas were utter failures pretty much for the same reason as naïve religious ideas like "Christ set us free." God or no God—the result seems to be the same: men are supposed to become either God-like or men-gods, and in either case 'everything is permitted' since "There is no law for God!" (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 649). Ivan himself highlights this point in his first conversation with Alyosha after admitting that he "long ago decided not to think about whether man created God or God created man" (Part 2, Book 5, Chapter 3):
Well, then, what are they going to argue about, seizing this moment in the tavern? About none other than the universal questions: is there a God, is there immortality? And those who do not believe in God, well, they will talk about socialism and anarchism, about transforming the whole of mankind according to a new order, but it's the same damned thing, the questions are all the same, only from the other end. (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 234)
Take good old religious morality: what good can it do if it is heavily dependent on the belief in a particular version of a particular God? Even the faith of those pious monks from elder Zosima's monastery is totally dependent on miracles, and when an expected miracle fails to happen, their faith is shattered to the ground, nearly leading to a little religious war in the monastery. Dostoevsky depicts these events with a deep sense of irony in Part 3, Book 7, Chapter 1 ("The Odor of Corruption").
Fyodor Karamazov might as well be a believer in God's commandments, but what on earth could possibly force him to follow them? Why would not he just make a donation to the monastery, and pretend that he settled all the scores with God? Threats of hellfire, maybe? Then what sort of "freedom" is that? Besides, recent liberal reforms of the Christian concept of Hell had a rather harmful effect. According to the Devil from Ivan's Nightmare, everything that happens on earth is reflected in Hell: "all of us there are stirred up now, and it all comes from your science... Everything that you have, we have as well"... including the torments:
"What other torments? Ah, don't even ask: before it was one thing and another, but now it's mostly the moral sort, 'remorse of conscience' and all that nonsense. That also started because of you, from the 'mellowing of your mores.' Well, and who benefited? The unscrupulous benefited, because what is remorse of conscience to a man who has no conscience at all? Decent people who still had some conscience and honor left suffered instead... There you have it—reforms on unprepared ground, and copied from foreign institutions as well—nothing but harm! The good old fire was much better." (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 643)
It seems to me that the real question tormenting Ivan is: How do we find a proper balance between freedom and responsibility? The answer has to take into account such distinctly human things as conscience ("remorse"), which God either lacks or can overcome with his omnipotence. All present attempts to solve this problem, religious and secular, seem to benefit the "bad guys" the most.
This seems to be the main philosophical framework of Dostoevsky's entire novel. In "Existentialism is a Humanism" (1946) Sartre gets it right: "without God, everything is permitted" is not the end of morality, but the beginning of it! Or, at least, the beginning of a quest for a new morality. One has to take full responsibility, not only for his own misdeeds, but for the bad things that happen to other people as well. Alyosha, the nice and cuddly Christian, follows this path rather intuitively. Ivan, the (for the most part) cold-blooded rationalist and atheist, tries to find theoretical foundations for it, and, with a bit of luck, good arguments to convince other people.
Dostoevsky may not be much of a philosopher, but he is definitely a great novelist. He follows the principle set forth by his character Ivan Karamazov in Part 2, Book 5, Chapter 3:
I will not run through all the modern axioms laid down by Russian boys on the subject, which are all absolutely derived from European hypotheses; because what is a hypothesis there immediately becomes an axiom for a Russian boy, and that is true not only of boys but perhaps of their professors as well, since Russian professors today are quite often the same Russian boys. And therefore I will avoid all hypotheses. (Dostoevsky 1990, p. 235)
In other words, nothing in the novel must be taken as an axiom, not even as a hypothesis, for hypotheses tend to devolve into axioms. This must include the famous phrase "If God does not exist, everything is permitted." Perhaps it is not a mere coincidence that all of the characters in the novel who took this phrase too seriously—by either accepting or denying it—were "bad guys."
Bayley, John. "A New Dostoevsky?" The New York Review of Books. Vol. 38, No. 11 (June 13, 1991).
Craig, William Lane. Hard Questions, Real Answers. Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2003.
Dostoevskii, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Constance Garnett. London, UK: Heinemann, 1912.
Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Andrew R. MacAndrew. New York, NY: Bantam Books, 1983.
Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. San Francisco, CA: North Point Press, 1990.
Emerson, Caryl. "The Brothers, Complete." The Hudson Review. Vol. 44, No. 2 (Summer 1991): 309-316.
Terras, Victor. Reading Dostoevsky. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1998.
Venuti, Lawrence. "Translation, Interpretation, Canon Formation." In Translation and the Classic: Identity as Change in the History of Culture, ed. Alexandra Lianeri and Vanda Zajko. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008: 27-51.
Copyright ©2011 Andrei I. Volkov. The electronic version is copyright ©2011 by Internet Infidels, Inc. with the written permission of Andrei I. Volkov. All rights reserved.
If God Is Dead, Is Everything Permitted?
by Elizabeth Anderson
Elizabeth Anderson is John Rawls Collegiate Professor of Philosophy and Women's Studies at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Her areas of interest and expertise are Ethics, Social and Political Philosophy, Philosophy of the Social Sciences, Feminist Theory, Epistemology.
Her academic background is Harvard University, Department of Philosophy, 1981-1987. A.M. Philosophy, 1984, PhD, 1987. Swarthmore College, 1977-1981. B.A. Philosophy with minor in Economics, High Honors, 1981.
How could we stop ourselves from indulging in murder, rape, theft, perjury, and genocide if we believed the heavens were empty? The question is posed upside-down and inside out and wrong-way round, as this elegant and tough-minded essay by philosopher Elizabeth Anderson confirms.
At the Institute for Creation Research Museum in Santee, California, visitors begin their tour by viewing a plaque displaying the "tree of evolutionism," which, it is said (following Matt. 7:18), "bears only corrupt fruits." The "evil tree" of evolution is a stock metaphor among proponents of the literal truth of the biblical story of creation. In different versions, it represents evolutionary theory as leading to abortion, suicide, homosexuality, the drug culture, hard rock, alcohol, "dirty books," sex education, alcoholism, crime, government regulation, inflation, racism, Nazism, communism, terrorism, socialism, moral relativism, secularism, feminism, and humanism, among other phenomena regarded as evil. The roots of the evil tree grow in the soil of "unbelief," which "nourishes the tree with "sin." The base of its trunk represents "no God"—that is, atheism.
The evil tree vividly displays two important ideas. First, the fundamental religious objection to the theory of evolution is not scientific but moral. Evolutionary theory must be opposed because it leads to rampant immorality, on both the personal and political scales. Second, the basic cause of this immorality is atheism. Evolutionary theory bears corrupt fruit because it is rooted in denial of the existence of God.
Most forms of theism today are reconciled to the truth of evolutionary theory. But the idea of the evil tree still accurately depicts a core objection to atheism. Few people of religious faith object to atheism because they think the evidence for the existence of God is compelling to any rational inquirer. Most of the faithful haven't considered the evidence for the existence of God in a spirit of rational inquiry—that is, with openness to the possibility that the evidence goes against their faith. Rather, I believe that people object to atheism because they think that without God, morality is impossible. In the famous words (mis)attributed to Dostoyevsky, "If God is dead, then everything is permitted.” Or, in the less-famous words of Senator Joe Lieberman, we must not suppose "that morality can be maintained without religion."
Why think that religion is necessary for morality? It might be thought thatpeople wouldn't know the difference between right and wrong if God did not reveal it to them. But that can't be right. Every society whether or not it isfounded on theism, has acknowledged the basic principles of morality, excluding religious observance which are laid down in the Ten Commandments. Every stable society punishes murder, theft, and bearing false witness; teaches children to honor their parents; and condemns envy of one's neighbor's possessions, at least when such envy leads one to treat one's neighbors badly. People figured out these rules long before they were exposed to any of the major monotheistic religions. This fact suggests that moral knowledge springs not from revelation but from people's experiences in living together, in which they have learned that they must adjust their own conduct in light of others' claims.
Perhaps, then, the idea that religion is necessary for morality means that people wouldn't care about the difference between right and wrong if God did not promise salvation for good behavior and threaten damnation for bad behavior. On this view, people must be goaded into behaving morally through divine sanction. But this can't be right, either. People have many motives, such as love, a sense of honor, and respect for others, that motivate moral behavior. Pagan societies have not been noticeably more immoral than theistic ones. In any event, most theistic doctrines repudiate the divine sanction theory of the motive to be moral. Judaism places little emphasis on hell. Christianity today is dominated by two rival doctrines of salvation. One says that the belief that Jesus is one's savior is the one thing necessary for salvation. The other says that salvation is a free gift from God that cannot be earned by anything a person may do or believe. Both doctrines are inconsistent with the use of heaven and hell as incentives to morality.
A better interpretation of the claim that religion is necessary for morality is that there wouldn't be a difference between right and wrong if God did not make it so. Nothing would really be morally required or prohibited, so everything would be permitted. William Lane Craig, one of the leading popular defenders of Christianity, advances this view. Think of it in terms of the authority of moral rules. Suppose a person or group proposes a moral rule—say, against murder. What would give this rule authority over those who disagree with it? Craig argues that, in the absence of God, nothing would. Without God, moral disputes reduce to mere disputes over subjective preferences. There would be no right or wrong answer. Since no individual has any inherent authority over another, each would be free to act on his or her own preference. To get authoritative moral rules, we need an authoritative commander. Only God fills that role. So the moral rules get their authority, their capacity to obligate us, from the fact that God commands them.
Sophisticates will tell you that this moralistic reasoning against atheism is illogical. They say that whether God exists depends wholly on the factual evidence, not on the moral implications of God's existence. Do not believe them. We know the basic moral rules—that it is wrong to engage in murder, plunder, rape, and torture, to brutally punish people for the wrongs of others or for blameless error, to enslave others, to engage in ethnic cleansing and genocide—with greater confidence than we know any conclusions drawn from elaborate factual or logical reasoning. If you find a train of reasoning that leads to the conclusion that everything, or even just these things, is permitted, this is a good reason for you to reject it. Call this "the moralistic argument." So, if it is true that atheism entails that everything is permitted, this is a strong reason to reject atheism.
While I accept the general form of the moralistic argument, I think it applies more forcefully to theism than to atheism. This objection is as old as philosophy. Plato, the first systematic philosopher, raised it against divine command theories of morality in the fifth century BCE. He asked divine-command moralists: are actions right because God commands them, or does God command them because they are right? If the latter is true, then actions are right independent of whether God commands them, and God is not needed to underwrite the authority of morality. But if the former is true, then God could make any action right simply by willing it or by ordering others to do it. This establishes that, if the authority of morality depends on God's will, then, in principle, anything is permitted.
This argument is not decisive against theism, considered as a purely philosophical idea. Theists reply that because God is necessarily good, He would never do anything morally reprehensible Himself, nor command us to perform heinous acts. The argument is better applied to the purported evidence for theism. I shall argue that if we take the evidence for theism with utmost seriousness, we will find ourselves committed to the proposition that the most heinous acts are permitted. Since we know that these acts are not morally permitted, we must therefore doubt the evidence for theism.
Now "theism" is a pretty big idea, and the lines of evidence taken to support one or another form of it are various. So I need to say more about theism and the evidence for it. By "theism" I mean belief in the God of Scripture. This is the God of the Old and New Testaments and the Koran—the God of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. It is also the God of any other religion that accepts one or more of these texts as containing divine revelation, such as the Mormon Church, the Unification Church, and Jehovah's Witnesses. God, as represented in Scripture, has plans for human beings and intervenes in history to realize those plans. God has a moral relationship to human beings and tells humans how to live. By focusing on theism in the Scriptural sense, I narrow my focus in two ways. First, my argument doesn't immediately address polytheism or paganism, as is found, for example, in the religions of Zeus and Baal, Hinduism or Wicca. (I'll argue later that, since the evidence for polytheism is on a par with the evidence for theism, any argument that undermines the latter undermines the former.) Second, my argument doesn't immediately address deism, the philosophical idea of God as a first cause of the universe, who lays down the laws of nature and then lets them run like clockwork, indifferent to the fate of the people subject to them.
What, then, is the evidence for theism? It is Scripture, plus any historical or contemporary evidence of the same kind as presented in Scripture: testimonies of miracles, revelations in dreams, or what people take to be direct encounters with God: experiences of divine presence, and prophecies that have been subject to test. Call these things "extraordinary evidence," for short. Other arguments for the existence of God offer cold comfort to theists. Purely theoretical arguments such as for the necessity of a first cause of the universe can at most support deism. They do nothing to show that the deity in question cares about human beings or has any moral significance. I would say the same about attempts to trace some intelligent design in the evolution of life. Let us suppose, contrary to the scientific evidence, that life is the product of design. Then theprevalence of gratuitous violence, pain and suffering, predation, parasitism, disease, and imperfect human organs strongly supports the view that the designer is indifferent to us.
The core evidence for theism, then, is Scripture. What if we accept Scripture as offering evidence of a God who has a moral character and plans for human beings, who intervenes in history and tells us how to live? What conclusions should we draw from Scripture about God's moral character and about how we ought to behave? Let us begin with the position of the fundamentalist, of one who takes Scripture with utmost seriousness, as the inerrant source of knowledge about God and morality. It we accept biblical inerrancy, I'll argue, we must conclude that much of what we take to be morally evil is in fact morally permissible and even required.
Consider first God's moral character, as revealed in the Bible. He routinely punishes people for the sins of others. He punishes all mothers by condemning them to painful childbirth, for Eve's sin. He punishes all human beings by condemning them to labor, for Adam's sin (Gen. 3:16-18). He regrets His creation and in a fit of pique, commits genocide and ecocide by flooding the earth (Gen. 6:7). He hardens Pharaoh's heart against freeing the Israelites (Ex. 7:3), so as to provide the occasion for visiting plagues upon the Egyptians, who, as helpless subjects of a tyrant, had no part in Pharaoh's decision. (So much for respecting free will - the standard justification for the existence of evil in the world?) He kills all the firstborn sons, even of slave girls who had no part in oppressing the Israelites (Ex. 11:5). He punishes the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great great-grandchildren of those who worship any other god (Ex. 20:3-5). He sets a plague upon the Israelites, killing 24,000, because some of them had sex with the Baal-worshiping Midianites (Num. 25:1-9). He lays a three-year famine on David's people for Saul's slaughter of the Gibeonites (2 Sam. 21:1). He orders David to take a census of his men, and then sends a plague on Israel, killing seventy thousand for David's sin in taking the census (2 Sam. 24:10-15). He sends two bears out of the woods to tear forty-two children to pieces, because they called the prophet Elisha a bald head (2 Kings 2:23-24). He condemns the Samarians, telling them that their children will be "dashed to the ground, their pregnant women ripped open" (Hosea 13:16). This is but a small sample of the evils celebrated in the Bible.
Can all this cruelty and injustice be excused on the ground that God may do what humans may not? Look, then, at what God commands humans to do. He commands us to put to death adulterers (Lev. 20:10), homosexuals (Lev. 20:13), and people who work on the Sabbath (Ex. 35:2). He commands us to cast into exile people who eat blood (Lev. 7:27), who have skin diseases (Lev. 13:46), and who have sex with their wives while they are menstruating (Lev. 20:18). Blasphemers must be stoned (Lev. 24:16), and prostitutes whose fathers are priests must be burned to death (Lev. 21:9). That's just the tip of the iceberg. God repeatedly directs the Israelites to commit ethnic cleansing (Ex. 34:11-14, Lev. 26:7-9) and genocide against numerous cities and tribes: the city of Hormah (Num. 21:2-3), the land of Bashan (Num. 21:33-35), the land of Heshbon (Deut. 2:26-35), the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites (Josh. 1-12). He commands them to show their victims "no mercy" (Deut. 7:2), to "not leave alive anything that breathes" (Deut. 20:16). In order to ensure their complete extermination, he thwarts the free will of the victims by hardening their hearts (Deut. 2:30, Josh. 11:20) so that they do not sue for peace. These genocides are, of course, instrumental to the wholesale theft of their land (Josh. 1:1-6) and the rest of their property (Deut. 20:14, Josh. 11:14). He tells eleven tribes of Israel to nearly exterminate the twelfth tribe, the Benjamites, because a few of them raped and killed a Levite's concubine. The resulting bloodbath takes the lives of 40,000 Israelites and 25,100 Benjamites (Judg. 20:21,25,35). He helps Abijiah kill half a million Israelites (2 Chron. 13:15-20) and helps Asa kill a million Cushites, so his men can plunder all their property (2 Chron. 14:8-13).
Consider also what the Bible permits. Slavery is allowed (Lev. 25:44-46, Eph. 6:5, Col. 3:22). Fathers may sell their daughters into slavery (Ex. 21:7). Slaves may be beaten, as long as they survive for two days after (Ex. 21:20—21, Luke 12:45-48). Female captives from a foreign war may be raped or seized as wives (Deut. 21:10-14). Disobedient children should be beaten with rods (Prov. 13:24, 23:13). In the Old Testament, men may take as many wives and concubines as they like because adultery for men consists only in having sex with a woman who is married (Lev. 18:20) or engaged to someone else (Deut. 22:23). Prisoners of war may be tossed off a cliff (2 Chron. 24:12). Children may be sacrificed to God in return for His aid in battle (2 Kings 3:26-27, Judg. n), or to persuade Him to end a famine (2 Sam. 21).
Christian apologists would observe that most of these transgressions occur in the Old Testament. Isn't the Old Testament God a stern and angry God, while Jesus of the New Testament is all-loving? We should examine, then, the quality of the love that Jesus promises to bring to humans. It is not only Jehovah who is jealous. Jesus tells us his mission is to make family members hate one another, so that they shall love him more than their kin (Matt. 10:35-37). He promises salvation to those who abandon their wives and children for him (Matt. 19:29, Mark 10:29-30, Luke 18:29-30). Disciples must hate their parents, siblings, wives, and children (Luke 14:26). The rod is not enough for children who curse their parents; they must be killed (Matt. 15:4-7, Mark 7:9-10, following Lev. 20:9). These are Jesus' "family values." Peter and Paul add to these family values the despotic rule of husbands over their silenced wives, who must obey their husbands as gods (1 Cor. 11:3, 14:34-5; Eph. 5:22-24; Col. 3:18; 1 Tim. 2:11-12; 1 Pet. 3:1).
To be sure, genocide, God-sent plagues, and torture do not occur in the times chronicled by the New Testament. But they are prophesied there, as they are repeatedly in the Old Testament (for instance, in Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Micah, and Zepheniah). At the second coming, any city that does not accept Jesus will be destroyed, and the people will suffer even more than they did when God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah (Matt. 10:14-15, Luke 10:12). God will flood the Earth as in Noah's time (Matt. 24:37). Or perhaps He will set the Earth on fire instead, to destroy the unbelievers (2 Pet. 3:7, 10) - but not before God sends Death and Hell to kill one quarter of the Earth "by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts" (Rev. 6:8). Apparently, it is not enough to kill people once; they have to be killed more than once to satisfy the genocidal mathematics of the New Testament. For we are also told that an angel will burn up one third of the Earth (8:7), another will poison a third of its water (8:10-11), four angels will kill another third of humanity by plagues of fire, smoke, and sulfur (9:13, 17-18), two of God's witnesses will visit plagues on the Earth as much as they like (11:6), and there will be assorted deaths by earthquakes (11:13, 16:18-19) and hailstones (16:21). Death is not bad enough for unbelievers, however; they must be tortured first. Locusts will sting them like scorpions until they want to die, but they will be denied the relief of death (9:3-6). Seven angels will pour seven bowls of God's wrath, delivering plagues of painful sores, seas and rivers of blood, burns from solar flares, darkness and tongue-biting (16:2-10).
That's just what's in store for people while they inhabit the Earth. Eternal damnation awaits most people upon their deaths (Matt. 7:13-14). They will be cast into a fiery furnace (Matt. 13:42, 25:41), an unquenchable fire (Luke 3:17). But, for what reason? The New Testament is not consistent on this point. Paul preaches the doctrine of predestination, according to which salvation is granted as an arbitrary gift from God, wholly unaffected by any choice humans may make (Eph. 1: 4-9). This implies that the rest are cast into the eternal torments of hell on God's whim. Sometimes salvation is promised to those who abandon their families to follow Christ (Matt. 19:27-30, Mark 10:28-30, Luke 9:59-62). This conditions salvation on a shocking indifference to family members. More often, the Synoptic Gospels promise salvation on the basis of good works, especially righteousness and helping the poor (for example, Matt. 16:27, 19:16-17; Mark 10:17-25; Luke 18:18-22, 19:8-9). This at least has the form of justice, since it is based on considerations of desert. But it metes out rewards and punishments grossly disproportional to the deeds people commit in their lifetimes. Finite sins cannot justify eternal punishment. Since the Reformation, Christian thought has tended to favor either predestination or justification by faith. In the latter view, the saved are all and only those who believe that Jesus is their savior. Everyone else is damned. This is the view of the Gospel of John (John 3:15-16, 18, 36; 6:47; 11:25-26). It follows that infants and anyone who never had the opportunity to hear about Christ are damned, through no fault of their own. Moreover, it is not clear that even those who hear about Christ have a fair chance to assess the merits of the tales about him. God not only thwarts our free will so as to visit harsher punishments upon us than we would have received had we been free to choose. He also messes with our heads. He sends people "powerful delusions" so they will not believe what is needed for salvation, to make sure that they are condemned (2 Thess. 2:11-12). Faith itself may be a gift of God rather than a product of rational assessment under our control and for which we could be held responsible. If so, then justification by faith reduces to God's arbitrary whim, as Paul held (Eph. 2:8-9). This at least has the merit of acknowledging that the evidence offered in favor of Christianity is far from sufficient to rationally justify belief in it. Granting this fact, those who do not believe are blameless and cannot be justly punished, even if Jesus really did die for our sins.
And what are we to make of the thought that Jesus died for our sins (Rom. 5:8-9, 15-18; 1 John 2:2; Rev. 1:5)? This core religious teaching of Christianity takes Jesus to be a scapegoat for humanity. The practice of scapegoating contradicts the whole moral principle of personal responsibility. It also contradicts any moral idea of God. If God is merciful and loving, why doesn't He forgive humanity for its sins straightaway, rather than demanding His 150 pounds of flesh, in the form of His own son? How could any loving father do that to his son?
I find it hard to resist the conclusion that the God of the Bible is cruel and unjust and commands and permits us to be cruel and unjust to others. Here are religious doctrines that on their face claim that it is all right to mercilessly punish people for the wrongs of others and for blameless error, that license or even command murder, plunder, rape, torture, slavery, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. We know such actions are wrong. So we should reject the doctrines that represent them as right.
Of course, thoughtful Christians and Jews have struggled with this difficulty for centuries. Nothing I have said would come as a surprise to any reflective person of faith. Nor are theists without options for dealing with these moral embarrassments. Let us consider them.
One option is to bite the bullet. This is the only option open to hard-core fundamentalists, who accept the inerrancy of the Bible. In this view, the fact that God performed, commanded, or permitted these actions demonstrates that they are morally right. This view concedes my objection to theism, that it promotes terrible acts of genocide, slavery, and so forth. But it denies the moral force of this objection. We know where this option has led: to holy war, the systematic extirpation of heretics, the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Thirty Years War, the English Civil War, witch-hunts, the cultural genocide of Mayan civilization, the brutal conquest of the Aztecs and the Inca, religious support for genocidal ethnic cleansing of Native Americans, slavery of Africans in the Americas, colonialist tyranny across the globe, confinement of the Jews to ghettos, and periodic pogroms against them, ultimately preparing the way for the Holocaust. In other words, it has led to centuries steeped in bloodshed, cruelty, and hatred without limit across continents.
Since this is clearly reprehensible, one might try a stopgap measure. One could deny that the dangerous principles in the Bible have any application after biblical times. For example, one might hold that, while it is in principle perfectly all right to slaughter whoever God tells us to, in fact, God has stopped speaking to us. This argument runs into the difficulty that many people even today claim that God has spoken to them. It is hard to identify any reason to be comprehensively skeptical about current claims to have heard divine revelation that does not apply equally to the past. But to apply such skepticism to the past is to toss out revelation and hence the core evidence for God.
Another option is to try to soften the moral implications of embarrassing biblical episodes by filling in unmentioned details that make them seem less bad. There is a tradition of thinking about "hard sayings" that tries to do this. It imagines some elaborate context in which, for instance, it would be all right for God to command Abraham to sacrifice his son, or for God to inflict unspeakable suffering on His blameless servant Job, and then insists that that was the context in which God actually acted. I have found such excuses for God's depravity to be invariably lame. To take a typical example, it is said of David's seemingly innocent census of his army that he sinned by counting what was not his, but God's. Even if we were to grant this, it still does not excuse God for slaughtering seventy thousand of David's men, rather than focusing His wrath on David alone. I also find such casuistic exercises to be morally dangerous. To devote one's moral reflections to constructing elaborate rationales for past genocides, human sacrifices, and the like is to invite applications of similar reasoning to future actions.
I conclude that there is no way to cabin off or soft-pedal the reprehensible moral implications of these biblical passages. They must be categorically rejected as false and depraved moral teachings. Morally decent theists have always done so in practice. Nevertheless, they insist that there is much worthy moral teaching that can be salvaged from the Bible. They would complain that the sample of biblical moral lessons I cited above is biased. I hasten to agree. There are many admirable moral teachings in the Bible, even beyond the obvious moral rules—against murder, stealing, lying, and the like—that are acknowledged by all societies. "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Lev. 19:18, Matt. 22:39, Mark 12:31, Luke 10:27, James 2:8) concisely encapsulates the moral point of view. The Bible courageously extends this teaching to the downtrodden, demanding not just decency and charity to the poor and disabled (Ex. 23:6, 23:11; Lev. 19:10,23:22; Deut. 15:7-8,24:14-15; Prov. 22:22; Eph. 4:28; James 2:15-16), but provisions in the structure of property rights to liberate people from landlessness and oppressive debts (Deut. 15, Lev. 25:10-28). Although the details of these provisions make little economic sense (for instance, canceling debts every seven years prevents people from taking out loans for a longer term), their general idea, that property rights should be structured so as to enable everyone to avoid oppression, is sound. Such teachings were not only morally advanced for their day but would dramatically improve the world if practiced today.
So, the Bible contains both good and evil teachings. This fact bears upon the standing of Scripture, both as a source of evidence for moral claims, and as a source of evidence for theism. Consider first the use of Scripture as a source of evidence for moral claims. We have seen that the Bible is morally inconsistent. If we try to draw moral lessons from a contradictory source, we must pick and choose which ones to accept. This requires that we use our own independent moral judgment, founded on some source other than revelation or the supposed authority of God, to decide which biblical passages to accept. In fact, once we recognize the moral inconsistencies in the Bible, it's clear that the hardcore fundamentalists who today preach hatred toward gay people and the subordination of women, and who at other times and places have, with biblical support, claimed God's authority for slavery, apartheid, and ethnic cleansing, have been picking and choosing all along. What distinguishes them from other believers is precisely their attraction to the cruel and despotic passages in the Bible. Far from being a truly independent guide to moral conduct, the Bible is more like a Rorschach test: which passages people choose to emphasize reflects as much as it shapes their moral character and interests.
Moral considerations, then, should draw theists inexorably away from fundamentalism and toward liberal theology—that is, toward forms of theism that deny the literal truth of the Bible and that attribute much of its content to ancient confusion, credulity, and cruelty. Only by moving toward liberal theology can theists avoid refutation at the hands of the moralistic argument that is thought to undermine atheism. Only in this way can theists affirm that the heinous acts supposedly committed or commanded by God and reported in the Bible are just plain morally wrong.
The great Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant took this line of reasoning to its logical conclusion for morality. He considered the case of an inquisitor who claims divine authority for executing unbelievers. That the Bible commends such acts is undeniable (see Ex. 22:20, 2 Chron. 15:13, Luke 19:27, Acts 3:23). But how do we know that the Bible accurately records God's revealed word? Kant said:
That it is wrong to deprive a man of his life because of his religious faith is certain, unless ... a Divine Will, made known in extraordinary fashion, has ordered it otherwise. But that God has ever ordered this terrible injunction can be asserted only on the basis of historical documents and is never apodictically certain. After all, the revelation has reached the inquisitor only through men and has been interpreted by men, and even did it appear to have come from God Himself (like the command delivered to Abraham to slaughter his own son like a sheep) it is at least possible that in this instance a mistake has prevailed. But if this is so, the inquisitor would risk the danger of doing what would be wrong in the highest degree; and in this very act he is behaving un-conscientiously.
Kant advances a moral criterion for judging the authenticity of any supposed revelation. If you hear a voice or some testimony purportedly revealing God's word and it tells you to do something you know is wrong, don't believe that it's really God telling you to do these things.
I believe that Kant correctly identified the maximum permissible moral limits of belief in extraordinary evidence concerning God. These limits require that we reject the literal truth of the Bible. My colleague Jamie Tappenden argues that such a liberal approach to faith is theologically incoherent. Perhaps it is. Still, given a choice between grave moral error and theological muddle, I recommend theological muddle every time.
But these are not our only alternatives. We must further ask whether we should accept any part of the Bible as offering evidence about the existence and nature of God. Once we have mustered enough doubt in the Bible to reject its inerrancy, is there any stable position short of rejecting altogether its claims to extraordinary evidence about God? And once we reject its claims, would this not undermine all the extra-biblical extraordinary evidence for God that is of the same kind alleged by believers in the Bible? Here we have a body of purported evidence for theism, consisting of what seem to be experiences of divine presence, revelation, and miracles, testimonies of the same, and prophecies. We have seen that such experiences, testimonies, and prophecies are at least as likely to assert grave moral errors as they are to assert moral truths. This shows that these sources of extraordinary evidence are deeply unreliable. They can't be trusted. So not only should we think that they offer no independent support for moral claims, but we should not think they offer independent support for theological claims.
Against this, defenders of liberal theology need to argue that the claims derived from these extraordinary sources fall into two radically distinct groups. In one group, there are the purported revelations that assert moral error, which should not be accepted as having come from God and offer no independent support for any claim about God. In the other group there are the genuine revelations that assert moral truths or some morally neutral proposition (for example, claims about historical events and prophecies of the future), as well as testimonies of miracles and experiences of divine presence, which should be accepted as having come from God and do provide evidence for the existence and nature of God.
I think this fallback position should be rejected for two reasons. First, it does not explain why these extraordinary types of evidence should be thought to fall into two radically distinct groups. Why should they ever have generated grave moral errors? Second, it does not explain why all religions, whether monotheistic, polytheistic or non-theistic, appear to have access to the same sources of evidence. Believers in any one religion can offer no independent criteria for accepting their own revelations, miracles, and religious experiences while rejecting the revelations, miracles, and religious experiences that appear to support contradictory religious claims. I believe that the best explanation for both of these phenomena—that the extraordinary sources of evidence generate grave moral error as well as moral truth and that they offer equal support for contradictory religious claims—undermines the credibility of these extraordinary sources of evidence altogether.
So first, why were the ancient biblical peoples as ready to ascribe evil as good deeds to God? Why did they think God was so angry that He chronically unleashed tides of brutal destruction on humanity? The answer is that they took it for granted that all events bearing on human well-being are willed by some agent for the purpose of affecting humans for good or ill. If no human was observed to have caused the event, or if the event was of a kind (e.g., a plague, drought, or good weather) that no human would have the power to cause, then they assumed that some unseen, more-powerful agent had to have willed it, precisely for its good or bad effects on humans. So, if the event was good for people, they assumed that God willed it out of love for them; if it was bad, they assumed that God willed it out of anger at them. This mode of explanation is universally observed among people who lack scientific understanding of natural events. It appears to be a deeply rooted cognitive dissonance and bias of humans to reject the thought of meaningless suffering. If we are suffering, someone must be responsible for it!
Why did these representations of God as cruel and unjust not make God repugnant to the authors of Scripture and their followers? They were too busy trembling in their sandals to question what they took to be God's will. The seventeenth-century philosopher Thomas Hobbes observed that people honor rawpower irrespective of its moral justification:
Nor does it alter the case of honour, whether an action (so it be great and difficult, and consequently a sign of much power) be just or unjust: for honour consisteth only in the opinion of power. Therefore the ancient heathen did not think they dishonoured, but greatly honoured the Gods, when they introduced them in their poems, committing rapes, thefts, and other great, but unjust, or unclean acts: insomuch as nothing is so much celebrated in Jupiter, as his adulteries; nor in Mercury, as his frauds, and thefts: of whose praises, in a hymn of Homer, the greatest is this, that being born in the morning, he had invented music at noon, and before night, stolen away the cattle of Apollo, from his herdsmen.
Hobbes's psychological explanation applies even more emphatically to theauthors Scripture, the ancient Hebrews and the early Christians, whose God commits deeds several orders of magnitude more terrible than anything the Greek gods did.
Ancient social conditions also made God's injustice less obvious to the early Jews and Christians. Norms of honor and revenge deeply structure the social order of tribal societies. These norms treat whole clans and tribes, rather than individuals, as the basic units of responsibility. A wrong committed by a member of a tribe could therefore be avenged by an injury inflicted on any other member of that tribe, including descendents of the wrongdoer. Given that people in these societies habitually visited the iniquities of the fathers on the sons, it did not strike the early Hebrews and Christians as strange that God would do so as well, although on a far grander scale.
So the tendency, in the absence of scientific knowledge, to ascribe events having good and bad consequences for human beings to corresponding benevolent and malevolent intentions of unseen spirits, whether these be gods, angels, ancestors, demons, or human beings who deploy magical powers borrowed from some spirit world, explains the belief in a divine spirit as well as its (im)moral character. This explanatory tendency is pan-cultural. The spiritual world everywhere reflects the hopes and fears, loves and hatreds, aspirations and depravities of those who believe in it. This is just as we would expect if beliefs in the supernatural are, like Rorschach tests, projections of the mental states of believers, rather than based on independent evidence. The same cognitive bias that leads pagans to believe in witches and multiple gods leads theists to believe in God. Indeed, once the explanatory principle—to ascribe worldly events that bear on human well-being to the intentions and powers of unseen spirits, when no actual person is observed to have caused them—is admitted, it is hard to deny that the evidence for polytheism and spiritualism of all heretical varieties is exactly on a par with the evidence for theism. Every year in my town, Ann Arbor, Michigan, there is a summer art fair. Not just artists, but political and religious groups, set up booths to promote their wares, be these artworks or ideas. Along one street one finds booths of Catholics, Baptists, Calvinists, Christian Orthodox, other denominational and nondenominational Christians of all sons, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Baha'i, Mormons, Christian Scientists, Jehovah's Witnesses, Jews for Jesus, Wiccans, Scientologists, New Age believers—representatives of nearly every religion that has a significant presence in the United States. The believers in each booth offer evidence of exactly the same kind to advance their religion. Every faith points to its own holy texts and oral traditions, its spiritual experiences, miracles and prophets, its testimonies of wayward lives turned around by conversion, rebirth of faith, or return to the church.
Each religion takes these experiences and reports them as conclusive evidence for its peculiar set of beliefs. Here we have purported sources of evidence for higher, unseen spirits or divinity, which systematically point to contradictory beliefs. Is there one God, or many? Was Jesus God, the son of God, God's prophet, or just a man? Was the last prophet Jesus, Muhammad, Joseph Smith, or the Rev. Sun Myung Moon?
Consider how this scene looks to someone like me, who was raised outside of any faith. My father is nominally a Lutheran and in practice religiously indifferent. My mother is culturally Jewish but not practicing. Having been rejected by both the local Lutheran minister and the local rabbi (in both cases, for being in a mixed marriage), but thinking that some kind of religious education would be good for their children, my parents helped found the local Unitarian church in the town where I grew up. Unitarianism is a church without a creed; there are no doctrinal requirements of membership. (Although Bertrand Russell once quipped that Unitarianism stands for the proposition that there is at most one God and these days pagans are as welcome as all others.) It was a pretty good fit for us, until New Age spiritualists started to take over the church. That was too loopy for my father's rationalistic outlook, so we left. Thus, religious doctrines never had a chance to insinuate themselves into my head as a child. So I have none by default or habit.
Surveying the religious booths every year at the Ann Arbor art fair, I am always struck by the fact that they are staffed by people who are convinced of their own revelations and miracles, while most so readily disparage the revelations and miracles of other faiths. To a mainstream Christian, Jew, or Muslim, nothing is more obvious than that founders and prophets of other religions, such as Joseph Smith, the Rev. Moon, Mary Baker Eddy, and L. Ron Hubbard, are either frauds or delusional, their purported miracles or cures are tricks played upon a credulous audience (or worse, exercises of black magic), their prophecies false, their metaphysics absurd. To me, nothing is more obvious than that the evidence cited on behalf of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam is of exactly the same type and qualify as that cited on behalf of such despised religions. Indeed, it is on a par with the evidence for Zeus, Baal, Thor, and other long-abandoned gods, who are now considered ridiculous by nearly everyone.
The perfect symmetry of evidence for all faiths persuades me that the types of extraordinary evidence to which they appeal are not credible. The sources of evidence for theism—revelations, miracles, religious experiences, and prophecies, nearly all known only by testimony transmitted through uncertain chains of long-lost original sources—systematically generate contradictory beliefs, many of which are known to be morally abhorrent or otherwise false. Of course, ordinary sources of evidence, such as eyewitness testimony of ordinary events, also often lead to conflicting beliefs. But in the latter case, we have independent ways to test the credibility of the evidence—for instance, by looking for corroborating physical evidence. In the former cases, the tests advanced by believers tend to be circular: don't believe that other religion's testimonies of miracles or revelations, since they come from those who teach a false religion (Deut. 13:1-5). It is equally useless to appeal to the certainty in one's heart of some experience of divine presence. For exactly the same certainty has been felt by those who think they've seen ghosts, spoken to dead relatives, been kidnapped by aliens, or been possessed by Dionysus or Apollo. Furthermore, where independent tests exist, they either disconfirm or fail to confirm the extraordinary evidence. There is no geological evidence of a worldwide flood, no archaeological evidence that Pharaoh's army drowned in the Red Sea after Moses parted it to enable the Israelites to escape. Jesus' central prophecy, that oppressive regimes would be destroyed in an apocalypse, and the Kingdom of God established on Earth, within the lifetime of those witnessing his preaching (Mark 8:38-9:1, 13:24-27, 30), did not come to pass. If any instance of these extraordinary sources of evidence is what it purports to be, it is like the proverbial needle in the haystack—except that there is no way to tell the difference between it and the hay. I conclude that none of the evidence for theism—that is, for the God of Scripture—is credible. Since exactly the same types of evidence are the basis for belief in pagan Gods, I reject pagan religions too.
It follows that we cannot appeal to God to underwrite the authority of morality. How, then, can I answer the moralistic challenge to atheism, that without God moral rules lack any authority? I say: the authority of moral rules lies not with God, but with each of us. We each have moral authority with respect to one another. This authority is, of course, not absolute. No one has the authority to order anyone else to blind obedience. Rather, each of us has the authority to make claims on others, to call upon people to heed our interests and concerns. Whenever we lodge a complaint, or otherwise lay a claim on others' attention and conduct, we presuppose our own authority to give others reasons for action that are not dependent on appealing to the desires and preferences they already have. But whatever grounds we have for assuming our own authority to make claims is equally well possessed by anyone who we expect to heed our own claims. For, in addressing others as people to whom our claims are justified, we acknowledge them as judges of claims, and hence as moral authorities. Moral rules spring from our practices of reciprocal claim making, in which we work out together the kinds of considerations that count as reasons that all of us must heed, and thereby devise rules for living together peacefully and cooperatively, on a basis of mutual accountability.
What of someone who refuses to accept such accountability? Doesn't this possibility vindicate Craig's worry, that without some kind of higher authority external to humans, moral claims amount to nothing more than assertions of personal preference, backed up by power? No. We deal with people who refuse accountability by restraining and deterring their objectionable behavior. Such people have no proper complaint against this treatment. For, in the very act of lodging a complaint, they address others as judges of their claims, and thereby step into the very system of moral adjudication that demands their accountability.
I am arguing that morality, understood as a system of reciprocal claim making, in which everyone is accountable to everyone else, does not need its authority underwritten by some higher, external authority. It is underwritten by the authority we all have to make claims on one another. Far from bolstering the authority of morality, appeals to divine authority can undermine it. For divine command theories of morality may make believers feel entitled to look only to their idea of God to determine what they are justified in doing. It is all too easy under such a system to ignore the complaints of those injured by one's actions, since they are not acknowledged as moral authorities in their own right. But to ignore the complaints of others is to deprive oneself of the main source of information one needs to improve one's conduct. Appealing to God, rather than those affected by one's actions, amounts to an attempt to escape accountability to one's fellow human beings.
This is not an indictment of the conduct of theists in general. Theistic moralities, like secular ones, have historically inspired both highly moral and highly immoral action. For every bloodthirsty holy warrior we can find an equally violent communist or fascist, enthusiastically butchering and enslaving others in the name of some dogmatically held ideal. Such observations are irrelevant to my argument. For my argument has not been about the causal consequences of belief for action. It has been about the logical implications of accepting or rejecting the core evidence for theism.
I have argued that if we take with utmost seriousness the core evidence for theism, which is the testimonies of revelations, miracles, religious experiences, and prophecies found in Scripture then we are committed to the view that the most heinous acts are morally right, because Scripture tells us that God performs or commands them. Since we know that such acts are morally wrong, we cannot take at face value the extraordinary evidence for theism recorded in Scripture. We must at least reject that part of the evidence that supports morally repugnant actions. Once we have stepped this far toward liberal theological approaches to the evidence for God, however, we open ourselves up to two further challenges to this evidence. First, the best explanation of extraordinary evidence—the only explanation that accounts for its tendency to commend heinous acts as well as good acts—shows it to reflect either our own hopes and feelings, whether these be loving or hateful, just or merciless, or else the stubborn and systematically erroneous cognitive bias of representing all events of consequence to our welfare as intended by some agent who cares about us, for good or for ill. Extraordinary evidence, in other words, is a projection of our own wishes, fears, and fantasies onto an imaginary deity. Second, all religions claim the same sorts of extraordinary evidence on their behalf. The perfect symmetry of this type of evidence for completely contradictory theological systems, and the absence of any independent ordinary evidence that corroborates one system more than another, strongly supports the view that such types of evidence are not credible at all. And once we reject such evidence altogether, there is nothing left that supports theism (or polytheism, either). The moralistic argument, far from threatening atheism, is a critical wedge that should open morally sensitive theists to the evidence against the existence of God.