Justin: Ah, well not so fast.
See, upon entering the homestead for the first time, he realizes that the building is entirely hollow, like a towering grain silo. The only floor is the ground floor. There are no elevators, no ladders, and yet the towering walls and ceiling are artistic masterpieces of incredible detail. So, while gorgeous to behold, the rest of the building seems mightily superfluous.
Now, let's say that there is some shelving such that, if Adam was sufficiently careful, could be climbed. So, he starts climbing, because why not?
Randal: I totally get that. I love climbing shelves too.
Justin: Unfortunately for Adam, he quickly realizes that the air, starting at just ten feet, is unbreathable. Some unknown gas hovers there and extends all the way to the ceiling. The building is positively dangerous for anybody without their feet firmly on the ground.
Randal: Goodness me, that's a strange gift.
Justin: It's a very strange gift.
Randal: Yeah, a very VERY strange gift! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
Justin: Given that I'm just making stuff up for analogy purposes, let me make the story even more interesting and relevant to the topic of the book. Let's say that, prior to receiving the keys to his new home, Adam was accidentally struck in the head and lost all memory of his past interactions with his father.
Randal: Ouch, that's gotta hurt. Even better, let's say Adam was hit in the head by the last remaining piece of Skylab.
Justin: Without these important memories, Adam has no past experience of his own from which he can get a sense of his father's moral character. His father's moral character is completely ambiguous.
So, after that absurd story-telling session, one interesting question comes to mind. After entering the house and discovering the dangerous design plan, should Adam conclude that his father is loving or indifferent?
Randal: Well, if I were Adam, I'd definitely be perplexed.
Justin: Same here.
Randal: In particular, I'd wonder if dear old dad really made this building just for me or whether he made it for some greater purpose of which I was a part. It certainly would seem rather curious to assume that it was made just for me in light of what you've said. Especially the bit about the deadly gas!
Justin: Hmm. Interesting point. Could you give an example of what you mean by that? I can certainly understand the idea of building something for multiple reasons, but what plausible end could be served by the noxious gas?
Randal: That's my point. It doesn't make sense. If I were Adam, I don't know that I would be in a place to know what the point of the poisonous gas is. All I would know is that it presumably isn't there for me to breathe.
Justin: You don't think you should be in a place to know the point of the gas? If your father built the home and gave you the keys to move in, you don't think you'd be entitled to an explanation of the poisonous gas? You don't think you'd be within your epistemic rights to be surprised by the gas if we were to start with the assumption that the father is a loving one?
Randal: Sure, you can be surprised all you like. As I said, it would be reasonable at that point to question whether the building was, in fact, made for me. But I don't want to get on a tangent. Why don't I close my yap and finish my barley wine while you unpack the rest of your illustration and the argument that goes with it?
Justin: I think it's certainly fair to accept that the building probably has other purposes besides serving as your residence. The question is one about whether or not we'd be told what the purpose was and warned of potential dangers to our person.
But, yes, you're right. I should probably get on to presenting the argument in a way that explicitly touches on those issues.
I'm sure it's no surprise that the story is an attempt at an analogy. The skyscraper is our universe, Adam is us, and the father is a God character. In the story, the question of interest is whether or not certain design features of the home are suggestive about the moral character of the father. Of course, if we shift from the analogy to talking about the universe and God, we are going to be asking whether or not certain features of the universe are suggestive of the very existence of a God for which moral perfection is an essential attribute.
Randal: Ah, I see things coming into focus. Can you unpack it further?
Justin: The argument begins with a pretty well-known fact.
Near Universal Hostility: The vast majority of our universe is hostile1 to most forms of biological life we know of.
In his book Death from the Skies, astronomer Philip Plait writes,
The Universe is an incredibly hostile place for life. Virtually all of it is a vacuum, so that's bad right from the start. Of the extremely few places that aren't hard vacuum, most are too hot for chemical reactions to do very well—molecules get blasted apart before they can even properly form. Of the places that aren't too hot, most are too cold—reactions happen too slowly to get interesting things to occur in the first place.2
I want to argue that atheism leads us to expect near universal hostility toward most life more than does theism.3
Randal: So that's what this is all about! Atheism, eh?! I should have seen that coming!
Justin: Yes, sir.
Randal: Okay, now bring the point home while I map out my amazing rebuttal with this piece of sidewalk chalk.
Justin: So, Randal, one reason why this fact about near universal hostility is more expected on atheism than it is on theism is that theism gives us some reasons that atheism does not to expect that the universe was created, at least in part, with life in mind. On theism then, we have some reasons at least to expect features of the universe not to be hostile to life. Any number of reasons not to expect the near universal hostility toward most life will be more reasons than atheism has.
Randal: Makes sense; I can see where you're coming from.
Justin: Secondly, on atheism we have strong reasons to expect near universal hostility toward most of life in this way. Given that there are many more ways for a universe to be, in general, hostile to life than for a universe to be, in general, friendly to life, generally hostile universes make up a much larger slice of possibility pie than do friendly universes. It is more likely, then, that life-friendly conditions are much more likely to fall onto the larger, hostile slice of the possibility pie.
Randal: Possibility pie? Mmm, sounds tasty!
But before going any further, can't you raise the same supposed objection about planet earth that you raise about the universe in general? After all, most of planet earth is hostile to human life, including oceans, frozen wasteland, scorching desert, and various other inhospitable environments.
Justin: Yes, one could certainly do that. The earth also has many features that I would argue are better explained on an atheistic universe than on a universe created by a maximally loving God. But I think it's useful to distinguish between those facts that hold locally and that pose problems of natural suffering (a phrase used to describe suffering that is not the result of human-free decisions) and those that are broader in scope.
The problem of hostility garners part of its strength by observing that the universe is so profoundly large. Our observable universe is roughly 93 billion light years from end to end.
If we conservatively assume, then, that just our observable universe is what exists, then the proportion of life-friendly parts to life-averse parts is just, well, astronomical.
Randal: Pun intended?!
Justin: *Bows*
Randal: Ahh, I see. Your puns are truly out of this world. That deserves the slow clap!
Justin: Now, when we fully appreciate the size of just our observable universe, we appear to be profoundly insignificant from a cosmic perspective. On theism, this hostile to friendly proportion is not at all what we would expect.
Randal: I agree that we seem pretty insignificant. But as for your claim that we wouldn't expect a “hostile to friendly proportion” on theism, where'd that come from? So you think if there is a God he wou
ld have ensured the universe is full of breathable air and heated to a balmy seventy degrees? Sorry, but I don't follow your logic here.
Justin: I'm certainly not claiming that if there was a God, she would make things maximally comfortable. That said, there is nothing unreasonable about expecting an environment created by a maximally loving being for her created creatures to be less of a death trap than it actually is. After all, Philip Plait observes, “In reality, the Universe cares not at all if we live or die. If a human were magically transported to any random spot in the cosmos, within seconds he'd die 99.999999999999999 percent of the time. At best.”4
Expecting the universe not to be so thoroughly deadly isn't the same as expecting the universe to be a day spa, though that would be pretty nice too!
Randal: A cosmic day spa. That'd certainly give new meaning to the “Whirlpool Galaxy”! Har har har.
But seriously, I'm still not buying your logic here.
Justin: If I was to put it another way, suppose we were to come across a car almost completely covered in dirt and grime, inside and out, and filled with trash. A thoroughly filthy car, except for one small and perfectly clean spot on the driver-side door. Given that information, there are some claims that are more reasonable to make about its owner than others. For example, supposing that Mr. Clean owns and maintains the car is not a particularly reasonable conclusion to arrive at given the information available to us.
Randal: Like you, I would expect a good car owner to keep his car clean, all the more so if he went under the moniker “Mr. Clean.” But I don't think that a dirty car is a relevant analogy to a universe that is generally hostile to sentient life.
Perhaps we should pause for a minute to remember the definition of God that we're working with. As we agreed, God is a necessarily existent person who is omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly good. Note that our definition does not require that God would be likely to make the universe (or planet earth) maximally or even generally hospitable for human creatures or other sentient life.
Justin: Well, I sure hope that my argument doesn't suggest I've forgotten the definition of God we've agreed upon for this conversation.
Randal: I'm not so sure. It seems to me that your argument is an objection not to theism simpliciter but rather to anthropocentrism (i.e., the view that the universe was created for human beings). Indeed, you stated this quite explicitly in your initial illustration of a man named Rich who builds a tower for his son, Adam, and then hands over the keys on his birthday. But theism does not entail anthropocentrism. No theist need think God created the universe just for human beings.
Nor for that matter, is Christian theism committed to anthropocentrism. For example, one standard view within Christian theology is that God created the universe for his own glory. A mind-numbingly large universe that is almost completely hostile to sentient life may not serve our immediate interests, but that's quite different from claiming it doesn't serve God's. So it seems to me your argument is wide of the mark.
THEISM, ANTHROPOCENTRISM, AND A BATTLE OF ANALOGIES
Justin: Hold up, Randal. I think it's vitally important to bring attention to the fact that, in unpacking my initial illustration, I claimed that the skyscraper may serve multiple purposes—not just that of being a residence for Adam. That aspect of the analogy is consistent with the fact that, on theism, the universe could serve many of God's purposes, of which being a residence for humans was one. Indeed, I've never sought to saddle you or any other theist with the anthropocentric claim that the universe was created solely for human beings.
That said, human beings do exist within the universe and that is relevant background knowledge.
Randal: Indeed, we do. And indeed, that is.
Justin: And so, if theism is true, God has created human beings in the universe. Clearly then, at least one of the purposes of the universe is to serve as a residence for created beings.
Human enjoyment, flourishing, or even survival in the universe may not be the primary goal behind God's act of creation of the universe, but that is neither here nor there, because we've stipulated that God is morally perfect. Consider some other goal plausibly consistent with God's moral perfection that may be behind the creation of any universe. Suggesting that such a goal—whatever it may be—could not be attained by an omnipotent being without God creating 99.99 percent of the universe to be a death trap to moral agents is to make profoundly unimpressive the concept of omnipotence.
If you recently heard of the poisonous gas permanently hovering ten feet above the ground floor in Adam's new skyscraper house, I presume that accusations of Adam-centric reasoning wouldn't distract you much from your justified suspicions about Adam's father—the designer and architect with limitless resources.
Randal: I still think your analogy is flawed. The universe just isn't analogous to a skyscraper house for human beings to reside in, and it is no part of theism to think it is. Nor, as I said, does Christianity entail or even suggest that God created the universe to be the home of our particular species. That's a deeply misleading metaphor.
Here's a different analogy, one that I think is more accurate and thus less apt to mislead. On this scenario, Rich creates a safe, warm bungalow for his son, Adam, at the top of a cliff overlooking a stormy sea. From the porch of his bungalow, Adam can take in the breathtaking spectacle far below: dark, heaving swells crashing into rocks, howling gales of chill wind, and even the occasional awe-inspiring iceberg. From the windows of the warm, safe bungalow (i.e., his home), Adam can witness the austere endless expanses of the beautiful yet hostile ocean.
Justin: Admittedly, that analogy is slightly prettier than my poison-gas-filled skyscraper.
Randal: Definitely. And I didn't even mention the crackling fire, lilting smooth jazz playing on the stereo, and Adam's glass of hot buttered rum.
Justin: Stop trying to seduce me, Randal.
Randal: Er, okay, this is awkward.
Now, moving along, in this scenario it's quite clear that Rich did not fashion the ocean, cliffs, and rocky shore to serve as Adam's home. Rather, the young man's home is the bungalow, a lovely, safe retreat from the dangerous, severe, and yet glorious landscape. And that's a fitting analogue for our home here on planet earth. We have a unique, glorious vantage point on the austere beauty and majesty of the universe all around us, a vantage point that comes into view shortly after every sunset. But make no mistake: while Adam's home is by the sea, the sea itself was never meant to be Adam's home. And while our pale blue dot is located in the vast, hostile universe, that universe beyond earth was never meant to be our home (at least not without some ambitious terraforming).
Justin: I don't understand why you keep saying the universe wasn't meant to be our home. Clearly we reside in the universe. I think what you mean is that only a small fraction was ever meant to be our home because it's not as though the earth is not itself a part of the universe.
Randal: Of course, I understand your point: spatially earth is located within the universe. But look at it this way: The man who lives on an island in the ocean does not say his home is the ocean. Rather, he says his home is the island that is in the ocean. In that sense I don't say our home is the universe. Rather, I say our home is a terrestrial island in the universe.
Also keep in mind either way that calling the universe our home is still a metaphor. And as the skyscraper illustration makes clear, it is a misleading metaphor. In my illustration, Adam's home is the life-friendly cabin that is located in proximity to the hostile sea. And that is a correct analogue for our life-friendly planet earth that is located in proximity to the hostile universe. In both cases, the home itself is not hostile but the environs beyond the home are.
Justin: With regard to your story, the obvious and relevant difference that pops out to me here is that, in your analogy, what is being created is one place within a larger, preexisting dangerous context (cliff, stormy sea). One of the points that the skyscraper analogy is supposed to tease out is the fact that
the danger was part of the design plan rather than just a fact about some unfortunate context in which a home was built.
After all, theism doesn't posit a God who had no choice but to create in some preexisting dangerous space. Theism posits a God who has designed and created everything from the ground up. God was cooking from scratch.
Randal: That is indeed a difference, but I submit that it isn't a relevant difference for the point of analogy. All that is required for the analogy to carry is that the hostile environs (the sea, the universe) were never created with the purpose of serving as the home. But Rich did create a space for his son to live (the cabin) and that space is hospitable. And God did create a space for human beings to live in (planet earth) and that space is also hospitable.
Justin: Perhaps you'll find a combination of our analogies more agreeable.
In this new story, Rich uses his limitless resources to build a gigantic floating island in the middle of the ocean. Starting off this way is arguably a better fit for representing theism with most everything being designed and built intentionally. Let's also say, as in your analog, that a small bungalow was constructed for Adam. Besides that small bungalow, however, and the very small yard around it, the rest of the island is heated to extreme temperatures such that severe burns result from just touching your foot to the ground.
After being dropped off on this bizarre landmass, Adam begins exploring his new environment. Does Adam not have a right to be suspicious of his father after learning that nearly the entire island is heated to such a scalding temperature?
Randal: You forgot to mention the headhunting villagers and flying poisonous snakes. The picture you draw certainly is bizarre. But, to be honest, I don't find this multiplication of competing analogies to be helpful. On the contrary, I still find the analogy I gave far more apt (and less fanciful) to describe the actual human situation with respect to the universe, at least as I as a theist understand it.
The sea wasn't created to be Adam's home, but it is austere and awesome and beautiful just the same. And with adequate preparation and ingenuity, Adam could begin to explore it. That aptly describes our relationship to the universe as well. It is austere and awesome and beautiful, but it wasn't created for us. And with adequate preparation and ingenuity, we can begin to explore it.
An Atheist and a Christian Walk into a Bar Page 15