Likewise, as a loving parent, I would think it a horrible failure on my part if I didn’t educate my children well, and supervise them kindly, teaching them how to live safe and well, and warning them of unknown or unexpected dangers. If they asked me to butt out I might. But if they didn’t, it would be unconscionable to ignore them, to offer them no comfort, protection, or advice. Indeed, society would deem me fit for prison if I did. It would be felony criminal neglect. Yet that is God: An absentee mom—who lets kids get kidnapped and murdered or run over by cars, who does nothing to teach them what they need to know, who never sits down like a loving parent to have an honest chat with them, and who would let them starve if someone else didn’t intervene. As this is unconscionable, almost any idea of a god that fits the actual evidence of the world is unconscionable. And any such deity could never be the Christian God. That leaves no way to escape the conclusion: God’s inaction alone refutes Christianity.
Wrong Evidence
Besides God’s silence and inaction, another reason I am not a Christian is the sheer lack of evidence. Right from the start, Christians can offer no evidence at all for their most important claim, that faith in Jesus Christ procures eternal life. Christians can’t point to a single proven case of this prediction coming true. They cannot show a single believer in Jesus actually enjoying eternal life, nor can they demonstrate the probability of such a fortunate outcome arising from any choice we make today. Even if they could prove God exists and created the universe, it still would not follow that belief in Jesus saves us. Even if they could prove Jesus performed miracles, claimed to speak for God, and rose from the dead, it still would not follow that belief in Jesus saves us.
Therefore, such a claim must itself be proven. Christians have yet to do that. We simply have no evidence that any believer ever has or ever will enjoy eternal life, or even that any unbeliever won’t. And most Christians agree. As many a good Christian will tell you, only God knows who will receive his grace. So the Christian cannot claim to know whether it’s true that “faith in Christ procures eternal life.” They have to admit there is no guarantee a believer will be saved, or that an unbeliever won’t be. God will do whatever he wants. And no one really knows what that is. At best, they propose that faith in Christ will “up your chances,” but they have no evidence of even that.
Now, this could change. It is theoretically possible to build a strong circumstantial case that God exists, that he has the means to grant us eternal life, that he never lies, and that he actually did promise to save us if we pledge allegiance to the right holy minion. But that’s a lot of extraordinary claims to prove, requiring a lot of extraordinary evidence. Christians simply don’t come close to proving them. Of course, Christianity could be reduced to a trivial tautology like “Christ is just an idea, whatever idea brings humankind closer to paradise,” but that is certainly not what C.S. Lewis would have accepted, nor is it what most Christians mean today. When we stick with what Christianity usually means, there is simply not enough evidence to support believing it. This holds for the more generic elements of the theory (like the existence of God and the supernatural), as well as the very specific elements (like the divinity and resurrection of Jesus). I shall treat these in order, after digressing on some essential points regarding method.
A Digression on Method
Long ago, people could make up any theories they wanted. As long as their theory fit the evidence, it was thought credible. But an infinite number of incompatible theories can fit the evidence. We can design a zillion religions that fit all the evidence, yet entail Christianity is false. And we can design a zillion secular worldviews that do the same. We could all be brains in a vat. Buddha could have been right. Allah may be the One True God. The universe might have been intelligently designed by a complex alien fungus. And so on, ad infinitum. But since only one of these countless theories can be true, it follows that the odds are effectively infinity to one against any theory being true that is merely compatible with the evidence. In other words, not a chance in hell. Therefore, we cannot believe a theory simply because it can be made to fit all the evidence. To do so would effectively guarantee our belief will be false.
Fortunately, people came up with what we now call the scientific method, a way to isolate some of these theories compatible with all the evidence and demonstrate that they are more likely to be true than any of the others.† The method works like this (and this is very important): first we come up with a hypothesis that explains everything we have so far observed (and this could be nothing more than a creative guess or even a divine revelation—it doesn’t matter where a hypothesis comes from); then we deduce what else would have to be observed, and what could never be observed, if that hypothesis really were true (the most crucial step of all); and then we go and look to see if our predictions are fulfilled in practice. The more they are fulfilled, and the more different ways they are fulfilled, the more likely it is that our hypothesis is true.
But that isn’t the end of it. To make sure our theories are more likely the true ones (as any old theory can be twisted to fit even this new evidence), they have to be cumulative—which means, compatible with each other and even building on each other—and every element of a theory has to be in evidence. We can’t just “make up” anything. Whatever we make up has to be found in the evidence. For example, when Newton explained the organization of the solar system, he knew he was restricted to theories that built on already proven hypotheses. Every element of his theory of the solar system was proved somewhere, somehow: the law of gravity had an independent demonstration, the actual courses of the planets were well observed and charted, and so on. Nothing in his theory was simply “made up” out of whole cloth. He knew the data on planetary behavior had been multiply confirmed. He knew there was gravity acting at a distance. He knew some other things about physics had been proven. The rest followed as a matter of course.
Consider a different analogy. Suppose a man is on trial for murder and, in his own defense, proposes the theory that his fingerprints ended up on the murder weapon because a devious engineer found a way to “copy and paste” his fingerprints, and did so to satisfy a grudge against him. No one on the jury would accept this theory, nor should anyone ever believe it—unless and until the defendant can confirm in evidence every element of the theory. He must present independent evidence that there really is an engineer who really does have the ability to do this sort of thing. He must present independent evidence that this engineer really does hold a grudge against him. And he must present independent evidence that this engineer had the access and opportunity to accomplish this particular trick when and where it had to have happened. Only then does the defendant’s theory become even remotely believable—believable enough to create a reasonable doubt that the defendant’s fingerprints got there because he touched the weapon.
But to go beyond that, to actually convict this engineer of fixing the evidence like this, even more evidence would be necessary—such as independent evidence that he has or had the equipment necessary to pull off this trick, and had used that equipment at or around the time of the crime, and so on. That’s how it works. That the “devious engineer’s fingerprint trick” fits all the immediate evidence at hand (the existence of the fingerprints on the weapon) is not even a remotely sufficient reason to believe it’s true. Rather, every element of the theory must be proved with evidence that is independent from the evidence being explained. In other words, the mere existence of the fingerprints on the weapon is not enough evidence that the devious engineer put them there.
Now instead imagine the defendant argued that the fingerprints were placed there by an angel from God. Just think of what kind of evidence he would have to present to prove that theory. No less than that would be required to prove any other claim about God’s motives and activities, right down to and including the claim that God created the universe or raised Jesus from the dead. This standard is hard to meet precisely because meeting a hard standard is the on
ly way to know you probably have the truth. Otherwise, you are far more likely to be wrong than right.
Therefore, even if it could be contrived to fit all the facts—even the incredible facts of God’s absolute silence and complete inactivity in our own experience—the Christian theory is still no better than any other unproven hypothesis in which belief is unwarranted. Belief in Newton’s theory would have been unwarranted without evidence supporting the law of gravity, just as belief in the “devious engineer’s fingerprint trick” would be unwarranted without any of the required supporting evidence. And Christianity will rightly remain no more credible than this “devious engineer’s fingerprint trick” until such time as every required element of that theory has been independently confirmed by empirical evidence.
For example, the Christian theory requires that God has a loving character. Therefore, we need at least as much evidence of that entity as we would expect in order to establish the existence of a human being with a loving character. I may tell you there is a man named Michael who is a very good man. But if I build any theory on that premise—like “You should do what Michael says,” “Your neighbor could not have been the one who robbed your house, because Michael is your neighbor and he is a very good man,” or “Don’t worry about losing your job, because there is this man who lives near you named Michael and he is a very good man”—I must first establish that the premise is true: that there is such a man, and that he is in fact very good. Whatever evidence would convince anyone of this fact, will also be sufficient to convince them that there is this guy named God who is a very good person. But the case must still be made. The underlying premise must still be proven. We must have evidence of the existence of this Michael or this God, and evidence that their character is indeed really good, before we can believe any theory that requires this particular claim to be true.
If I added further premises, like “Michael has supernatural powers and can conjure gold to support your family,” I would have to prove them, too. This goes for God, as well. “He is everywhere.” “He is invisible.” “He can save your soul.” And so on. I cannot credibly assert these things if I cannot prove them from real and reliable evidence. This is a serious problem for the Christian religion as an actual theory capable of test and therefore of warranted belief. None of these things have ever been observed. No one has observed a real act of God, or any real evidence of his inhabiting or observing the universe. So no one has really seen any evidence that he is good, or even exists. Therefore, even after every possible excuse is made for it, the Christian theory is just like all those other theories that merely fit the evidence but have no evidential support, and so it is almost certainly as false as all those other theories. We may as well believe a complex alien fungus created the universe.
In truth, it is even worse for Christianity, since it is not like the proposed “devious engineer’s fingerprint trick” but more like the “angel from God forged the fingerprints” theory. And that is a far more serious problem—because the evidence required for that kind of claim is far greater than for any other. This, too, is an inescapable point of logic. If I say I own a car, I don’t have to present very much evidence to prove it, because you have already observed mountains of evidence that people like me own cars. All of that evidence (for the general proposition “people like him own cars”) provides so much support for the particular proposition (“he owns a car”) that only minimal evidence is needed to confirm that particular proposition.
But if I say I own a nuclear missile, we are in different territory. You have just as large a mountain of evidence, from your own study as well as direct observation, that “people like him own nuclear missiles” is not true. Therefore, I need much more evidence to prove that particular claim—in fact, I need about as much evidence (in quantity and quality) as would be required to prove the general proposition “people like him own nuclear missiles.” I don’t mean I would have to prove that proposition, but that normally the weight of evidence needed to prove that proposition would in turn provide the needed background support for the particular proposition that “I own a nuclear missile,” just as it does in the case of “I own a car.” So lacking that support, I need to build at least as much support directly for the particular proposition “I own a nuclear missile,” which means as much support in kind and degree as would be required to otherwise prove the general proposition “people like him own nuclear missiles.” And that requires a lot of very strong evidence—just as for any general proposition.
We all know this, even if we haven’t thought about it or often don’t see reason—because this is how we all live our lives. Every time we accept a claim on very little evidence in everyday life, it is usually because we already have a mountain of evidence for one or more of the general propositions that support it. And every time we are skeptical, it is usually because we lack that same kind of evidence for the general propositions that would support the claim. And to replace that missing evidence is a considerable challenge.
This is the logical basis of the principle that “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” A simple example is a lottery. The odds of winning a lottery are very low, so you might think it would be an extraordinary claim for me to assert “I won a lottery.” But that is not a correct analysis. For lotteries are routinely won. We have observed countless lotteries being won and have tons of evidence that people win lotteries. Therefore, the general proposition “people like him win lotteries” is already well-confirmed, and so I normally don’t need very much evidence to convince you that I won a lottery. Of course, I would usually need more evidence for that than I need to prove “I own a car,” simply because the number of people who own cars is much greater than the number who win lotteries. But still, the general proposition that “people win lotteries” is amply confirmed. Therefore, “I won a lottery” is not an extraordinary claim. It is, rather, a fairly routine claim—even if not as routine as owning a car.
In contrast, “I own a nuclear missile” would be an extraordinary claim. Yet, even then, you still have a large amount of evidence that nuclear missiles exist, and that at least some people do have access to them. And yet the Department of Homeland Security would still need a lot of evidence before it stormed my house looking for one. Now suppose I told you “I own an interstellar spacecraft.” That would be an even more extraordinary claim—because there is no general proposition supporting it that is even remotely confirmed. Not only do you have very good evidence that “people like him own interstellar spacecraft” is not true, you also have no evidence that this has ever been true for anyone—unlike the nuclear missile. You don’t even have reliable evidence that interstellar spacecraft exist, much less reside on earth. Therefore, the burden of evidence I would have to bear here is enormous. Just think of what it would take for you to believe me, and you will see what I mean.
Once we appeal to common sense like this, everyone concedes that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. And Christianity quite clearly makes very extraordinary claims: that there is a disembodied, universally-present being with magical powers; that this superbeing actually conjured and fabricated the present universe from nothing; that we have souls that survive the death of our bodies (or that our bodies will be rebuilt in the distant future by this invisible superbeing); and that this being possessed the body of Jesus two thousand years ago, who then performed many supernatural deeds before miraculously rising from the grave to chat with his friends, and then flew up into outer space.
Not a single one of these claims has any proven general proposition to support it. We have never observed any evidence for any “disembodied being” or any person who was present “everywhere.” We have never observed anyone who had magical powers, or any evidence that such powers even exist in principle (what stories we do have of such people are always too dubious to trust, and always remain unconfirmed in practice). We have no good evidence that we have death-surviving souls or that anyone can or will resurrect our b
odies. We have never confirmed that anyone was ever possessed by God. We have never observed anyone performing anything confirmed to be miraculous, much less rising from graves or any comparable ability. Supposed claims of psychic powers, astrological prediction, biblical prophecy, and so on, have all turned out to be unprovable or outright bunk.
Therefore, these are without doubt extraordinary claims every bit as much as “I own an interstellar spacecraft,” and indeed are even more extraordinary than that. For we already have tons of evidence confirming the elements of the general proposition that “there can be an interstellar spacecraft.” We could probably build one today with present technology. But we have no evidence whatsoever confirming the general propositions “there can be a disembodied superbeing,” “there can be disembodied souls,” “there can be genuine miracles,” and so on.
I do not mean these things are not logically possible. What I mean is that we have no evidence they are physically possible, much less real, in the way we know an interstellar spacecraft is physically possible or that a nuclear missile is real. Therefore, Christianity entails many of the most extraordinary claims conceivable. It therefore requires the most extraordinary amount of evidence to believe it, even more evidence than would be needed to believe that I own an interstellar spacecraft. And Christianity simply doesn’t come even remotely close to meeting this standard. It could—just as I am sure I could prove to you I owned an interstellar spacecraft, if I actually had one. So I am sure I could prove to you that Christianity is true... if it actually were.†
Why I Am Not a Christian Page 3