Alvin Plantinga has been called "the most important philosopher of religion now writing."
After taking his Ph.D. from Yale in 1958, he taught at Wayne State University (1958-63),
Calvin College (1963-82), and has filled the John A. O'Brien Chair of Philosophy at the
University of Notre Dame since 1982. He was president of the Western Division of the
American Philosophical Association during 1981-82 and president of the Society of Christian
Philosophers, which he helped to found, from 1983 to 1986. He frequently directs summer
seminars for the National Endowment for the Humanities. He has received numerous honors,
including an Award for Distinguished Teaching from the Danforth Foundation, a fellowship
from the Center for Advanced Studies in the Behavioral Sciences, a fellowship from the
Guggenheim Foundation, a fellowship from the American Academy of Arts and Sciences,
separate fellowships from the N.E.H., and a fellowship from the American Council of Learned
Societies. He has been awarded an honorary doctorate from Glasgow University. He has
been invited to deliver more distinguished lectures series at American, Canadian, and British
universities than can be listed here, except to note that he was selected to give the eminent
Gifford Lectures at Aberdeen University in 1987-88. He was recently honored by a volume of
essays bearing his name in D. Reidel's Profiles series. Widely acclaimed for his work on the
metaphysics of modality, the ontological argument, the problem of evil, and the epistemology
of religious belief, he is the author or editor of seven books, including God and Other Minds,
The Nature of Necessity, and Faith and Rationality. Several of his articles, which have
appeared in journals such as Theoria, American Philosophical Quarterly, Philosophical
Studies, Journal of Philosophy, and so forth, have been hailed as masterpieces of the
metaphysician's craft.
Atheological objections to the belief that there is such a person as God come in many
varieties. There are, for example, the familiar objections that theism is somehow incoherent,
that it is inconsistent with the existence of evil, that it is a hypothesis ill-confirmed or maybe
even disconfirmed by the evidence, that modern science has somehow cast doubt upon it, and
the like. Another sort of objector claims, not that theism is incoherent or false or probably
false (after all, there is precious little by way of cogent argument for that conclusion) but that
it is in some way unreasonable or irrational to believe in God, even if that belief should
happen to be true. Here we have, as a centerpiece, the evidentialist objection to theistic belief.
The claim is that none of the theistic arguments-deductive, inductive, or abductive-is
successful; hence there is at best insufficient evidence for the existence of God. But then the
belief that there is such a person as God is in some way intellectually improper-somehow
foolish or irrational. A person who believed without evidence that there are an even number
of ducks would be believing foolishly or irrationally; the same goes for the person who
believes in God without evidence. On this view, one who accepts belief in God but has no
evidence for that belief is not, intellectually speaking, up to snuff. Among those who have
offered this objection are Antony Flew, Brand Blanshard, and Michael Scriven. Perhaps more
important is the enormous oral tradition: one finds this objection to theism bruited about on
nearly any major university campus in the land. The objection in question has also been
endorsed by Bertrand Russell, who was once asked what he would say if, after dying, he were
brought into the presence of God and asked whyhe had not been a believer. Russell's reply:
"I'd say, 'Not enough evidence, God! Not enough evidence!'" I'm not sure just how that reply
would be received; but my point is only that Russell, like many others, has endorsed this
evidentialist objection to theistic belief.
Now what, precisely, is the objector's claim here? He holds that the theist without evidence is
irrational or unreasonable; what is the property with which he is crediting such a theist when
he thus describes him? What, exactly, or even approximately, does he mean when he says that
the theist without evidence is irrational? Just what, as he sees it, is the problem with such a
theist? The objection can be seen as taking at least two forms; and there are at least two
corresponding senses or conceptions of rationality lurking in the nearby bushes. According to
the first, a theist who has no evidence has violated an intellectual or cognitive duty of some
sort. He has gone contrary to an obligation laid upon him-perhaps by society, or perhaps by
his own nature as a creature capable of grasping propositions and holding beliefs. There is an
obligation or something like an obligation to proportion one's beliefs to the strength of the
evidence. Thus according to John Locke, a mark of a rational person is "the not entertaining
any proposition with greater assurance than the proof it is built upon will warrant," and
according to David Hume, "A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence."
In the nineteenth century we have W.K. Clifford, that "delicious enfant terrible" as William
James called him, insisting that it is monstrous, immoral, and perhaps even impolite to accept
a belief for which you have insufficient evidence:
Whoso would deserve well of his fellow in this matter will guard the purity of his belief with
a very fanaticism of jealous care, lest at any time it should rest on an unworthy object, and
catch a stain which can never be wiped away.[1]
He adds that if a
belief has been accepted on insufficient evidence, the pleasure is a stolen one. Not only does it
deceive ourselves by giving us a sense of power which we do not really possess, but it is
sinful, stolen in defiance of our duty to mankind. That duty is to guard ourselves from such
beliefs as from a pestilence, which may shortly master our body and spread to the rest of the
town. [2]
And finally:
To sum up: it is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone to believe anything upon
insufficient evidence.[3]
(It is not hard to detect, in these quotations, the "tone of robustious pathos" with which James
credits Clifford.) On this view theists without evidence-my sainted grandmother, for exampleare
flouting their epistemic duties and deserve our disapprobation and disapproval. Mother
Teresa, for example, if she has not arguments for her belief in God, then stands revealed as a
sort of intellectual libertine-someone who has gone contrary to her intellectual obligations and
is deserving of reproof and perhaps even disciplinary action.
Now the idea that there are intellectual duties or obligations is difficult but not implausible,
and I do not mean to question it here. It is less plausible, however, to suggest that I would or
could be going contrary to my intellectual duties in believing, without evidence, that there is
such a person as God. For first, my beliefs are not, for the most part, within my control. If, for
example, you offer me $1,000,000 to cease believing that Mars is smaller than Venus, there is
no way I can collect. But the same holds for my belief in God: even if I wanted to, I couldn'tshort
of heroic measures like coma inducing drugs-just divest myself of it. (At any rate there
is nothing I can do directly; perhaps there is a sort of regimen that if followed religiously
would issue, in the long run, in my no longer accepting belief in God.) But secondly, there
seems no reason to think that I have such an obligation. Clearly I am not under an obligation
to have evidence for everything I believe; that would not be possible. But why, then, suppose
that I have an obligation to accept belief in God only if I accept other propositions which
serve as evidence for it? This is by no means self-evident or just obvious, and it is extremely
hard to see how to find a cogent argument for it.
In any event, I think the evidentialist objector can take a more promising line. He can hold,
not that the theist without evidence has violated some epistemic duty-after all, perhaps he
can't help himself- but that he is somehow intellectually flawed or disfigured. Consider
someone who believes that Venus is smaller than Mercury-not because he has evidence, but
because he read it in a comic book and always believes whatever he reads in comic books-or
consider someone who holds that belief on the basis of an outrageously bad argument.
Perhaps there is no obligation he has failed to meet; nevertheless his intellectual condition is
defective in some way. He displays a sort of deficiency, a flaw, an intellectual dysfunction of
some sort. Perhaps he is like someone who has an astigmatism, or is unduly clumsy, or suffers
from arthritis. And perhaps the evidentialist objection is to be construed, not as the claim that
the theist without evidence has violated some intellectual obligations, but that he suffers from
a certain sort of intellectual deficiency. The theist without evidence, we might say, is an
intellectual gimp.
Alternatively but similarly, the idea might be that the theist without evidence is under a sort of
illusion, a kind of pervasive illusion afflicting the great bulk of mankind over the great bulk of
the time thus far allotted to it. Thus Freud saw religious belief as "illusions, fulfillments of the
oldest, strongest, and most insistent wishes of mankind."[4 ]He sees theistic belief as a matter
of wish-fulfillment. Men are paralyzed by and appalled at the spectacle of the overwhelming,
impersonal forces that control our destiny, but mindlessly take no notice, no account of us and
our needs and desires; they therefore invent a heavenly father of cosmic proportions, who
exceeds our earthly fathers in goodness and love as much as in power. Religion, says Freud, is
the "universal obsessional neurosis of humanity", and it is destined to disappear when human
beings learn to face reality as it is, resisting the tendency to edit it to suit our fancies.
A similar sentiment is offered by Karl Marx:
Religion . . . is the self-consciousness and the self-feeling of the man who has either not yet
found himself, or else (having found himself) has lost himself once more. But man is not an
abstract being . . . Man is the world of men, the State, society. This State, this society, produce
religion, produce a perverted world consciousness, because they are a perverted world . . .
Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the feelings of a heartless world, just as it is the
spirit of unspiritual conditions. It is the opium of the people.
The people cannot be really happy until it has been deprived of illusory happiness by the
abolition of religion. The demand that the people should shake itself free of illusion as to its
own condition is the demand that it should abandon a condition which needs illusion.[5]
Note that Marx speaks here of a perverted world consciousness produced by a perverted
world. This is a perversion from a correct, or right, or natural condition, brought about
somehow by an unhealthy and perverted social order. From the Marx-Freud point of view, the
theist is subject to a sort of cognitive dysfunction, a certain lack of cognitive and emotional
health. We could put this as follows: the theist believes as he does only because of the power
of this illusion, this perverted neurotic condition. He is insane, in the etymological sense of
that term; he is unhealthy. His cognitive equipment, we might say, isn't working properly; it
isn't functioning as it ought to. If his cognitive equipment were working properly, working the
way it ought to work, he wouldn't be under the spell of this illusion. He would instead face the world and our place in it with the clear-eyed apprehension that we are alone in it, and that any
comfort and help we get will have to be our own devising. There is no Father in heaven to
turn to, and no prospect of anything, after death, but dissolution. ("When we die, we rot," says
Michael Scriven, in one of his more memorable lines.)
Now of course the theist is likely to display less than overwhelming enthusiasm about the idea
that he is suffering from a cognitive deficiency, is under a sort of widespread illusion endemic
to the human condition. It is at most a liberal theologian or two, intent on novelty and eager to
concede as much as possible to contemporary secularity, who would embrace such an idea.
The theist doesn't see himself as suffering from cognitive deficiency. As a matter of fact, he
may be inclined to see the shoe as on the other foot; he may be inclined to think of the atheist
as the person who is suffering, in this way, from some illusion, from some noetic defect, from
an unhappy, unfortunate, and unnatural condition with deplorable noetic consequences. He
will see the atheist as somehow the victim of sin in the world- his own sin or the sin of others.
According to the book of Romans, unbelief is a result of sin; it originates in an effort to
"suppress the truth in unrighteousness." According to John Calvin, God has created us with a
nisus or tendency to see His hand in the world around us; a "sense of deity," he says, "is
inscribed in the hearts of all." He goes on:
Indeed, the perversity of the impious, who though they struggle furiously are unable to
extricate themselves from the fear of God, is abundant testimony that his conviction, namely,
that there is some God, is naturally inborn in all, and is fixed deep within, as it were in the
very marrow. . . . From this we conclude that it is not a doctrine that must first be learned in
school, but one of which each of us is master from his mother's womb and which nature itself
permits no man to forget.[6]
Were it not for the existence of sin in the world, says Calvin, human beings would believe in
God to the same degree and with the same natural spontaneity displayed in our belief in the
existence of other persons, or an external world, or the past. This is the natural human
condition; it is because of our presently unnatural sinful condition that many of us find belief
in God difficult or absurd. The fact is, Calvin thinks, one who does not believe in God is in an
epistemically defective position-rather like someone who does not believe that his wife exists,
or thinks that she is a cleverly constructed robot that has no thoughts, feelings, or
consciousness. Thus the believer reverses Freud and Marx, claiming that what they see as
sickness is really health and what they see as health is really sickness.
Obviously enough, the dispute here is ultimately ontological, or theological, or metaphysical;
here we see the ontological and ultimately religious roots of epistemological discussions of
rationality. What you take to be rational, at least in the sense in question, depends upon your
metaphysical and religious stance. It depends upon your philosophical anthropology. Your
view as to what sort of creature a human being is will determine, in whole or in part, your
views as to what is rational or irrational for human beings to believe; this view will determine
what you take to be natural, or normal, or healthy, with respect to belief. So the dispute as to
who is rational and who is irrational here can't be settled just by attending to epistemological
considerations; it is fundamentally not an epistemological dispute, but an ontological or
theological dispute. How can we tell what it is healthy for human beings to believe unless we
know or have some idea about what sort of creature a human being is? If you think he is
created by God in the image of God, and created with a natural tendency to see God's hand in
the world about us, a natural tendency to recognize that he has been created and is beholden to
his creator, owing his worship and allegiance, then of course you will not think of belief in
God as a manifestation of wishful thinking or as any kind of defect at all. It is then much more like sense perception or memory, though in some ways much more important. On the other
hand, if you think of a human being as the product of blind evolutionary forces, if you think
there is no God and that human beings are part of a godless universe, then you will be inclined
to accept a view according to which belief in God is a sort of disease or dysfunction, due
perhaps, to a sort of softening of the brain.
So the dispute as to who is healthy and who diseased has ontological or theological roots, and
is finally to be settled, if at all at that level. And here I would like to present a consideration
that, I think tells in favor of the theistic way of looking at the matter. As I have been
representing that matter, theist and atheist alike speak of a sort of dysfunction, of cognitive
faculties or cognitive equipment not working properly, of their not working as they ought to.
But how are we to understand that? What is it for something to work properly? Isn't there
something deeply problematic about the idea of proper functioning? What is it for my
cognitive faculties to be working properly? What is it for a natural organism-a tree, for
example-to be in good working order, to be functioning properly? Isn't working properly
relative to our aims and interests? A cow is functioning properly when she gives milk; a
garden patch is as it ought to be when it displays a luxuriant preponderance of the sorts of
vegetation we propose to promote. But then it seems patent that what constitutes proper
functioning depends upon our aims and interests. So far as nature herself goes, isn't a fish
decomposing in a hill of corn functioning just as properly, just as excellently, as one happily
swimming about chasing minnows? But then what could be meant by speaking of "proper
functioning" with respect to our cognitive faculties? A chunk of reality-an organism, a part of
an organism, an ecosystem, a garden patch-"functions properly" only with respect to a sort of
grid we impose on nature-a grid that incorporates our aims and desires.
But from a theistic point of view, the idea of proper functioning, as applied to us and our
cognitive equipment, is not more problematic than, say, that of a Boeing 747's working
properly. Something we have constructed-a heating system, a rope, a linear accelerator-is
functioning properly when it is functioning in the way it was designed to function. My car
works properly if it works the way it was designed to work. My refrigerator is working
properly if it refrigerates, if it does what a refrigerator is designed to do. This, I think, is the
root idea of working properly. But according to theism, human beings, like ropes and linear
accelerators, have been designed; they have been created and designed by God. Thus, he has
an easy answer to the relevant set of questions: What is proper functioning? What is it for my
cognitive faculties to be working properly? What is cognitive dysfunction? What is it to
function naturally? My cognitive faculties are functioning naturally, when they are
functioning in the way God designed them to function.
On the other hand, if the atheological evidentialist objector claims that the theist without
evidence is irrational, and if he goes on to construe irrationality in terms of defect or
dysfunction, then he owes us an account of this notion. Why does he take it that the theist is
somehow dysfunctional, at least in this area of his life? More importantly, how does he
conceive dysfunction? How does he see dysfunction and its opposite? How does he explain
the idea of an organism's working properly, or of some organic system or part of an
organism's thus working? What account does he give of it? Presumably he can't see the proper
functioning of my noetic equipment as its functioning in the way it was designed to function;
so how can he put it?
Two possibilities leap to mind. First, he may be thinking of proper functioning as functioning
in a way that helps us attain our ends. In this way, he may say, we think of our bodies as they function in such a way as to enable us to do the sorts of things we want to do. But of
course this will not be a promising line to take in the present context; for while perhaps the
atheological objector would prefer to see our cognitive faculties function in such a way as not
to produce belief in God in us, the same cannot be said, naturally enough, for the theist. Taken
this way the atheological evidentialist's objection comes to little more than the suggestion that
the atheologician would prefer it if people did not believe in God without evidence. That
would be an autobiographical remark on his part, having the interest such remarks usually
have in philosophical contexts.
A second possibility: proper functioning and allied notions are to be explained in terms of
aptness for promoting survival, either at an individual or species level. There isn't time to say
much about this here; but it is at least and immediately evident that the atheological objector
would then owe us an argument for the conclusion that belief in God is indeed less likely to
contribute to our individual survival, or the survival of our species than is atheism or
agnosticism. But how could such an argument go? Surely the prospects for a non-question
begging argument of this sort are bleak indeed. For if theism-Christian theism, for example-is
true, then it seems wholly implausible to think that widespread atheism, for example, would
be more likely to contribute to the survival of our race than widespread theism.
By way of conclusion: a natural way to understand such notions as rationality and irrationality
is in terms of the proper functioning of the relevant cognitive equipment. Seen from this
perspective, the question whether it is rational to believe in God without the evidential support
of other propositions is really a metaphysical or theological dispute. The theist has an easy
time explaining the notion of our cognitive equipment's functioning properly: our cognitive
equipment functions properly when it functions in the way God designed it to function. The
atheist evidential objector, however, owes us an account of this notion. What does he mean
when he complains that the theist without evidence displays a cognitive defect of some sort?
How does he understand the notion of cognitive malfunction?
NOTES
[1]W.K. Clifford, "The Ethics of Belief," in Lectures and Essays (London: Macmillan, 1879),
p. 183.
[2]Ibid, p. 184.
[3]Ibid, p. 186.
[4]Sigmund Freud, The Future of an Illusion (New York: Norton, 1961), p. 30.
[5]K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, vol. 3: Introduction to a Critique of the Hegelian
Philosophy of Right, by Karl Marx (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1975).
[6]John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia:
Westminster Press, 1960), 1.3 (p. 43- 44).
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