Why We Should Baptize Infants

In this blog post, I aim to offer a short defence of why we ought to baptize infants, albeit in a different way to how many evangelical presbyterians have chosen to argue. Instead, my own argument attempts to be more in line with how the early church fathers sought to support the doctrine of infant baptism, and thus have the advantage of historical unity behind it.

My defence begins with an examination of the nature of circumcision, in which I hope to show that circumcision had a dual purpose. The first purpose was to distinguish the Jews as God’s special people that God had set aside with a promised land and from whom God had promised the Messiah would come. The second purpose was to act as a sign and seal of the righteousness that is given by the Gospel offered through Christ. Next, we will then examine to see what link or similarity the old sacrament of circumcision has with the new sacrament of baptism. In doing this, we can shed greater light on the purpose of baptism and upon whom it is to be applied. 

That circumcision had a purpose of setting the Jews apart as God’s special people from whom the Messiah would come is clear in the Scriptures. In Genesis 17, God makes a covenant with Abraham and his seed regarding the land of Canaan. In this covenant, God promises to provide the Jews with a land and be a God to them so long as they keep faithful to Him. And this covenant was to last as long as their generations existed, which is until the destruction of the temple and the Jewish dispersion in AD 70. Until this time, we find God patiently and mercifully being a God towards the Jews, providing types and shadows of the coming Messiah, and prophets, such as Isaiah, who foretold of Christ’s coming. 

Yet, there is also a spiritual side to the sign of circumcision. We know this because of how St Paul expounds and explains the promise made to Abraham and the significance of his circumcision. In the fourth chapter of his epistle to the Romans, St Paul writes that circumcision was ‘a seal of the righteousness of [Abraham’s] faith’, and that Abraham had this righteousness because he believed on the promise of God (Rom. 4.3). The promise that St Paul is referring to is to be found in the twelfth chapter of Genesis where God promises that all families of the earth will be blessed through Abraham (Gen. 12.3). What is evident is that this promise is not fulfilled purely through Abraham’s natural prosperity as not all nations were descended from him, although many were; rather this promise is fulfilled through faith in Christ, who is descended from Abraham. Circumcision’s spiritual element is thus that it pointed to Christ and the righteousness that He provided. And this nothing but the promise of the Gospel. Indeed, this is confirmed by the Scriptures which state that through circumcision God promised to circumcise the hearts of his children, which is to say to make them righteous (Deut. 30.6; Jer. 4.4).

Since the spiritual element of circumcision was a Gospel promise, it had to be accepted by faith in order to be counted as effectual. If it was not accepted by faith, then as declared by St Paul in the fourth chapter of Romans, circumcision would be counted as ineffectual and count for nothing. It is for this reason St Paul rebukes the Jews who relied on their physical circumcision without faith in the spiritual side. Circumcision, then, was a means by which God offered the promise of the Gospel, which had to be accepted by faith; to reject this sacrament meant to reject the promise.

One at this point may argue that Abraham was circumcised posterior to his faith in the promise, so ask how can circumcision be the offer of God’s Gospel promise? Indeed, it was true that Abraham was circumcised posterior to his faith in the promise, but this was done so as to set an example to the children of Abraham and to declare that circumcision was indeed the sign of the promise. A parallel can be drawn here with the baptism of Christ. The reason Christ was baptized was not because He needed it but rather to set an example to all those who follow Him.

We can see then the clear dual nature of circumcision, there being a physical aspect and a more spiritual aspect. And that it was through the spiritual aspect that the grace of the Gospel was offered. So, what similarity does circumcision have with baptism? We are told by St Paul that baptism is the new circumcision of the heart. St Paul writes, ‘In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without hands, in putting off the body of the sins of the flesh by the circumcision of Christ: having been buried with him in baptism, wherein also ye are risen with him through the faith of the operation of God, who hath raised him from the dead.’ (Col. 2.11-12) Hence, whereas with the Old Covenant circumcision of the heart and all that which is signified by it is offered through circumcision, in the New Testament we find that it signified by baptism. 

That baptism offers the promise of salvation in a similar way that circumcision did is further attested by Scripture in numerous places. We find St Peter attesting in the second chapter of Acts that repentance and baptism are the means by which remission of sins and the gift of the Holy ghost is given. St Peter says, ‘Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.’ (Acts 2.38) And this is said in response to a question asked by the crowd present on how one is to be saved. If baptism did not save, can we suppose that the Apostle would have answered thus? Would we answer the same if we did not think baptism gave the remission of sins? Elsewhere, we find St Paul being exhorted by Ananias to wash away his sins through baptism (Acts 22.16). And in the third chapter of St Paul’s letter to the Galatians, St Paul argues that it is by baptism that we put on Christ (Gal. 3.27). It would do violence to this text to argue that St Paul here refers to another baptism, for he makes no such qualification. Besides, the Apostle writes similarly in the 6th chapter of his epistle to the Romans, where he states that through baptism we are buried with Christ. And there is no doubt that this refers to water baptism.

However, this is not to say that it is the mere act of baptism that saves; but like circumcision, baptism saves by believing the promise that is attached to it. St Peter makes this abundantly clear in his first epistle. After comparing the saving efficacy of baptism to Noah and the ark, St Peter clarifies his statement by stating that it is not the mere washing away of filth that saves us but an answer of good conscience towards God, which is made possible by Christ’s resurrection. (1 Pet. 3.20f) 

What we can see, then, is that just like circumcision, baptism is a promise of God that is offered to us, and that this offer ought to be accepted by us through faith. Now, if baptism is a promise that God offers to us, and not something that we do, then it should not matter who God offers it to, whether they are infants or adults. Our lack of faith, or anything we could do, does not make invalid the promise that God offers. Of course, God would not offer His promise to those who are incapable of receiving the promise He offers. Yet, there is no reason to think that infants cannot accept the promise that God offers through baptism. Rather, the Scriptures makes clear that quite the opposite is true, which can be easily demonstrated.

First, we told by the Scriptures that infants are in need of forgiveness of sins and the pardon of God just as much as everyone else. This is made clear by the Psalmist, who writes in the 51st Psalm that we are born sinful (Pslam 51.5). And all those who are sinful are in need of the pardoning grace that we have shown is connected to the sacrament of baptism. And, as John Owen states, if God denies the sign of baptism to infants, then infants cannot be saved. For those whom God denies His sign to, denies what is signified by that sign. Yet, since we know that infants can be saved, it follows that they ought to receive the sign through which God promises salvation.  

Second, we see countless examples of infants who express faith, and the expectation that infants can have faith. We see John the Baptist leaping in the womb of his mother, Elizabeth. We see the Psalmist write about infants whom have faith (Ps. 22.9-10, 71.5-6). Additionally, there are many statements by our Lord exalting the faith of children: He writes that we are to have childlike faith (Lk. 18.15ff), and that out of the mouth of infants God has prepared praise (Matt. 21.16); He tells us that we are to suffer the little children to come to Him and that to them belongs the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 19.13ff); He tells us that those who cause the little ones that believe in Him to stumble ought to have a millstone hung around their neck and be cast into the sea; and when speaking on the subject of repentance, Christ states that He has hidden it from the wise and given it to little children (Matt. 11.25). Moreover, we find St Paul speaking of St Timothy who knew the Holy Scriptures from a youth (2. Tim. 3.14-15), and giving exhortations to the children in his pastoral letters, which demonstrates that he considers them to be part of the church. (Eph 6.1-2; Col. 3.20)

If this is not enough to convince one that infants are capable of faith, then let us turn to how St Paul states in his epistle to the Philippians that faith is a gift from God and not something we provide (Phil. 1.29). For if faith is purely a gift from God, then why would he grant it only to adults and not to infants. What warrant do we have to state such a thing?

Since, then, it should be abundantly clear that infants are capable of faith, we lose all reason why we should not provide infants the promise of baptism which faith is meant to grasp on to. And that this should be the case in the New Covenant makes all the more sense once we consider the unchanging and loving nature of God. If infants are to be included in the Old Covenant, then we should expect that they would be included in the new, for the New Covenant is more inclusive than the old; it cannot be said that it shrinks to exclude those formerly included, without strong Scriptural warrant. But this is inconceivable, that God would move to exclude infants from His new covenant, when they were formally included in the old. 

This is why, since the time of the Apostles, who baptized whole households, to the present day, the church in large has always considered it good and pleasing to God to baptize infants.

Atonement and Union with Christ

A little while ago I wrote a critique of Anselm’s commercial theory of the Atonement. Since then, I have thought of another objection against a strict commercial understanding the Atonement. The objection is that if Christ’s death on the cross is just a literal payment of debt - the balancing of scales, then not only is repentance made redundant, as I said in my original blog, but we are also lead the position whereby union with Christ can play no part in Christ’s atoning work; for why do we need to be unified with Christ for Him to pay our debt? After all, I don’t need to be unified with a person if I am paying his debt or he is paying mine. 

Of course, one might deny that union with Christ has got anything to do with the Atonement. However, for many this is an unacceptable solution. Edwards, for instance, saw union with Christ as essential to how Christ’s atoning work is applied to us. He writes:

What is real is the union between Christ and his people, is the foundation of what is legal; that is, it is something really in them, and between them, uniting them, that is the ground of the suitableness of their being accounted as one by the Judge: and if there is any act, or qualification in believers, that is of that uniting nature, that it is meet on that account that the Judge should look upon ‘em, an accept ‘em as one, no wonder that upon the account of the same act or qualification, he should accept the satisfaction and merits of the one, for the other, as if it were their satisfaction and merits: it necessarily follows, or rather is implied. ('Justification by Faith', in Sermons and Discourses, 1734-1738, 158)

So, if we are persuaded, along with Edwards, that union with Christ plays an essential part in the Atonement, a commercial theory of it will need to be rejected. 

Is Feser Correct in Calling Hume's Fork Self-Contradictory?

In his blog post on the problem of induction, Feser accuses Hume’s argument against induction as being self-contradictory. However, I have heard a recent rebuttal that claims Hume's argument is not self-contradictory, like Feser claims. To see if Feser was correct in his analysis, let us turn to examine Hume and Feser's accusation of contradiction. 

Hume argued that induction can never be justified, since there are only two means by which something can be justified, neither of which works for justifying induction. The first way in which induction could be justified is via what Hume terms ‘relation of ideas’, and the second way is what he terms as ‘matters of fact.’

An example of a proposition that is justified as a ‘relation of ideas’ would be ‘all bachelors are unmarried’. What makes this proposition justified in terms of the ‘relation of ideas’ is that it is necessarily true by virtue of the fact that the term ‘bachelor’ logically entails the idea of ‘unmarried man’. Justifying induction in this way would require showing that there is a similar relation between the idea of x happening multiple times and an event y that always follows x. However, as Feser notes, there is no such connection; this because it is at least conceivable that an effect does not follow a cause, bread failing to nourish us for example, in a way that it is not conceivable to imagine a married bachelor. 

An example of a proposition known as a matter of fact would be ‘the British drink tea’. For the fact that this is true is not because of the idea that being British logically entails that one drinks tea (although it may seem like it), but rather because it is a contingent empirical fact that the British drink tea. To argue that induction is justified by matters of fact would mean that it is a contingent empirical fact that induction has been reliable and therefore should be justified. But, this is equally, if not more, problematic. This is because to infer from the fact that induction has been reliable in the past to the belief that induction is now reliable is to rely on induction and therefore argue in a circle, as it presupposes the reliability that is trying to be proved. Hume hence concludes that our belief in induction is unjustified.  

Feser argues that Hume’s fork is notoriously self-refuting, as the principle itself is neither known as a matter of fact nor is it true in virtue of its constituent ideas and known in terms of the relation of ideas. So, Feser says that Hume’s fork ‘is as metaphysical a principle as any Hume was trying to undermine with it, and its very promulgation presupposes that there is a third epistemic point of view additional to the two Hume was willing to recognize.’ He further argues that any attempt by Hume to salvage the fork from this criticism would also salvage induction.

As stated above, some have asserted that Feser has erred in thinking that Hume’s fork is self-refuting. The proponents of this criticism argue that Hume’s fork is actually justified in terms of the relation of ideas. They argue this due to their reading of Hume’s Fork as stating the truism that all propositions are either known a priori or a posterior, and their belief that this truism is justified in terms of the relation of ideas. 

Is this rebuttal any good? I don’t think so. For such a criticism has missed how justification in terms of the relation of ideas is understood by Hume, and as such has let the very point of Feser’s response slip under its nose. We can see this when we expand upon what Hume meant by the relation of ideas. In Hume’s thought, the kind of truths that are justified in terms of the relation of ideas are analytical truths. An analytical proposition is one where it is the definition of the antecedent that makes the consequence true; thus, ‘all bachelors are unmarried men.’ is true because the definition of ‘bachelor’ is ‘unmarried man’. It is for this reason that it can be known a priori. Feser’s point is that Hume’s fork is clearly not known because of any of its definitions that constitute it; and because of this implicitly assumes that there is a third way by which things can be justifiably known, and is hence self-contradictory. 

It is through this implicit third way of how we might justifiably believe something that induction could be justified. Other propositions that fall under this third definition could possibly include moral truths, truths about the external world, whether other minds exist or not, etc. etc. To argue, therefore, that all Feser is attacking is the self-evident truth that all propositions are justified either a priori or a posterior is to misunderstand Hume and to concede the very point Feser was trying to make. 

Anselm's Commercial Atonement - An Outstanding Theory?

There have been quite a few theories to explain the Biblical doctrine of the Atonement in church history. In this blog post, we will examine Anselm’s theory and see why it ought to be rejected.

Anselm argued that because of our sin we have brought great dishonour to God. Because of this, man had to either restore to God His honour that he had besmirched and offer compensation; or God would show that He was still Lord over man, and thus protect His honour by subjecting man to punishment. However, there was a problem. What could man offer to God as compensation? Anselm argued that man could only offer as compensation something that is not already owed by the person compensation is being paid to. But there is nothing man has that is not owed by God. He cannot offer obedience, as this is demanded by God. Nor could he offer repentance, as this too is demanded by God. What man could have offered was his life; however, Anselm says that man has forfeited his life through sin. 

This is where the need for the Atonement comes in. Because Christ was sinless, He did not owe His life to God as a debt and therefore could freely offer it to God as satisfaction. Moreover, because of the worth of a divine life, it was more than adequate compensation to cover the sins of the whole world.

There are many objections that can pitted against Anselm’s theory. There, is, however a common one that is no good. We will examine this first. It is said by some that Anselm is portraying God as a feudal monarch whose wounded ego demands some sort of satisfaction before he can forgive those that have offended His honour. The critics argue that it would be far greater if God magnanimously forgave the insult without demanding satisfaction. After all, are we not encouraged in the Bible to forgive those who have harmed us, even without reparations? 

However, this criticism will not work for two reasons. First, as has been noted by William Lane Craig (See his Cambridge Elements book on the Atonement), the fundamental concern of Anselm is not with God’s honour but with God’s justice and its moral demands. Indeed, sin is something that brings dishonour to God; yet, the reason why God cannot just overlook the offence is because it would be unjust to do so. Anselm says that if sin goes passed unpunished ‘there will be no difference between the guilty and the not guilty; and this is unbecoming to God.’ (I.12) It would make ‘injustice like God.’ The reason, therefore, why God cannot just compassionately forgive sin is because ‘such compassion on the part of God is wholly contrary to the divine justice, which allows nothing but the punishment as the recompense of sin’ (I.24). But how is it that justice determines what God does? Why does God, who is all powerful, not just ignore justice and forgive the injury done to Him? In response to this question, Anselm says that ‘There is nothing more just than supreme justice, which... is nothing else but God Himself.’ In other words, Anselm declares God to be justice itself, and God cannot be inconsistent with Himself. (I.12) 

Second, even if we grant the critics the possibility of God forgoing justice that He may forgive, this would not deal with the problem of shame. Now, there are some (See Stump’s work on the Atonement) that would claim that Anselm’s theory is not concerned with shame. I disagree. There are certainly implicit references to shame in his Cur Deus Homo (see Ch. XIV), and more explicit references in his other work: Anselm’s Meditations and Prayers make mention to shame. And this would make sense given the honour-shame culture Anselm was writing in. 

If God were to just forgive us without exacting punishment, then we would still feel ashamed. We would know that we had wronged God and His honour and had not done anything to make reparations. This would make it unbearable to dwell in God’s presence. The sacrifice of Christ allows us to offer to God something as a reparation for our sin and thus deal with the shame that we feel for having wronged God. And this is something that cannot be dealt with if God just forgives us without reparation, unless we adopt some counterintuitive position, such as God wiping our memories etc.

  

There are, however, real concerns with Anselm’s theory of the Atonement. To begin, Anselm's theory is viewed in entirely a commercial framework. What is unjust on Anselm’s theory is that there is a debt to be paid to God; God has been deprived of something that was His and justice demands that this is restored: ‘and this (what is just) is the sole and complete debt of honour which we owe to God’ (I.11 - Parenthesis Mine). This can be illustrated via the following analogy. Suppose that I steal £50 from Timothy. Now, on the restorative theory of justice advocated by Anselm, justice demands that I pay back Timothy the £50 that I stole and offer a bit more to make amends for the losses to him that were caused by my theft of the £50; as long as I restore and fix the damages caused, justice as been served.

Anselm is not without Biblical support for this ‘commercial view’ of the Atonement. Various Biblical passages liken the substitutionary atonement of Christ to debt or pecuniary payment. The Bible speaks of man being ransomed by Christ (1 Tim. 2.6), that man was bought with a price (1 Cor. 6.20), and that God removed the ordinances [which some interpret as debts] that stood against us (Col. 2.16). The question is how far are we to push this language? For pecuniary language can be used metaphorically, as when we speak of a criminal sentenced to gaol ‘paying for his crime’. So, are these verses to be taken literally, or metaphorically referring to some penalty or punishment that Christ had to pay? The issue with taking these verses literally, as Anselm does, is that God’s justice is then just concerned with the payment of debt — the balancing of scales — and not with condemnation being expressed against the act of the crime itself. In other words, Anselm’s theory fails to take into account the need for punishment for sin. Yet, there are many places in the Bible that portray the retributivist nature of God, and God’s displeasure at the act of sinning: ‘And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity’. (Isaiah 13.11; c.f. Psalm 5.5) 

A further consequence of Anselm’s lack of emphasis on punishment is that it does not adequately take into account the need of Christ’s suffering on the cross. Anselm does attempt to offer a reason for why the suffering of Christ was necessary. Anselm’s reason is that because man fell so easily, it is only fitting that Christ suffer and pay compensation with difficulty. Although, it is not immediately clear how this follows. On the commercial view that has been presented by Anselm, it seems that what matters is that God’s honour is restored with compensation, and that this is done by offering something up of great value voluntarily - a divine life in the case of Christ. But how this is done should be irrelevant. Going back to our previous example, if I owe Timothy £50, plus compensation, what matters is whether or not the sum is paid, not how it is paid. (We will assume I am not breaking the law, like robbing a bank etc. in order to pay Timothy.)

Now, it might be said that it brings more honour to God if Christ offers up something with difficulty than not with difficulty. Indeed, it is a greater honour to me if a low value gift is given to me by someone who had to spend a great part of his income to provide for it, than if it was given to me by someone with great wealth for whom the gift was a mere drop in the ocean of his income. The problem with this, however, is that Christ is worth such an infinite value that the offering of His death alone would be enough to satisfy the honour of God, without the need for the death to be difficult and painful. To argue that Christ’s life is not enough unless He suffers with pain and difficulty undermines His infinite value. Moreover, close reflection reveals that the reason why we value those who do things for us that are difficult is because they chose to still do that thing for us despite the fact that the act was difficult, and not because the act was difficult per se. It brings me no greater honour if my friend decides to do me a favour and makes it purposely difficult for himself than if he just took an easier option available to him. If I ask my friend to buy milk for my fridge — because I am too busy writing an essay to go myself — I will not be more thankful to him if he chose to walk to the grocers three miles away when he could have gone to the grocers half a mile away. Similarly, if it was possible for Christ to offer His life up in a simpler, easier way, it is not more honourable if He chooses to offer His life with great difficulty.

Another problem with Anselm’s "debt" theory of the Atonement is that it falls prey to Socinian objections. Faustus Socinus, the leader of this movement and from whom it derives its name, forwarded the following two objections against a commercial view of the Atonement, in his work On Jesus Christ Our Saviour (1578). 

First, he argued that if we view the Atonement as a debt, then it becomes difficult to see why anything is demanded of us once Christ has paid it. If Christ’s death was the payment for sin, then why do we need to repent and profess faith in Christ? The debt has already been paid and I should be free to go to heaven without God requiring repentance. (Gnomes 1990, III.9) Going back to our analogy, if Daniel pays Timothy my debt of £50, then Timothy has no right to demand any more money in relation to this debt from me. 

Second, he objected that a purely commercial view of the Atonement weakens the love and forgiveness of God: if all the Atonement does is pay my debt, then there is no forgiveness on God’s behalf - it is just a balancing of the scales. When I pay a creditor my debt, he does not forgive me. (Gnomes 1990, III.9) Yet, the Bible speaks of God as forgiving our debts: in the parable of the two debtors, the debt is not paid but forgiven by the master. (Lk. 7.36-50) 

It is likely that it is because of these problems that Anselm moved away from pressing his commercial view of the Atonement too hard and instead, inconsistently, moved to argue that what Christ paid was not literally our debt and the compensation required; but rather that we are to view Christ as offering something to God that was not demanded of Him, and because of this, He gains a reward for His service, and that because Christ as part of the Triune Godhead is in need of nothing, wishes that God gives this reward to mankind in the form of absolving him of his guilt.

This understanding, however, does not fit in with the rest of Anselm’s system, viz. Christ became man to pay off man’s debt and restore honour to God. If Christ’s death is not a payment of our literal debt but an earning of a reward that can be applied to anyone, then it becomes irrelevant whether Christ was man or not. Why did God have to become a man for the reward to be passed onto man? We could also ask why this reward could not have been given to the fallen angels. Anselm argues that this reward cannot be passed onto angels because Christ did not take the nature of an angel. (Ch. II.19) But how does this follow? If I earn a reward for a service I do, surely I should be able to bestow it upon whom I like whether it be a fellow human being or my pet cat, Miaow. Of course, it may be the case that the reward is specific to a particular class. A reward of a new book is not going to be much use to Miaow - at least not in the sense it is intended to be. However, it is difficult to see how the reward of having one’s debt canceled is specific to any particular class. An angel can make use of this reward just as much as I can. 

Additionally, it is unjust that a debt that justice dictates must be paid can be forgiven because of an action, which is not the paying of this debt, performed by another person. Again returning to our analogy, if justice dictates that I should pay Timothy back my £50 I owe him, then it would be unjust for him to wipe this debt as a reward for something his loyal servant decided to do. 

As we have seen, then, while Anselm’s theory might have prima-facie Biblical support, for the Bible does speak of the Atonement in pecuniary terms, it has serious problems when examined at a deeper level. These problems mean that Anselm’s theory of the Atonement, as presented in Cur Deus Homo, is inadequate. There may be amendments that can be made to his theory to mitigate these problems, but it is beyond this blog post to discuss such attempts here or other theories of the Atonement that might be offered as an alternative.

God, Conceivability, and Necessary Goodness

It is a basic principle of logic that if S entails B and necessarily S, then necessarily B. So, if it is true that God, an omnipotent and omniscient being, is necessarily good, and a good God would not allow a world to exist where there is more evil than good, then necessarily there cannot exist a world where more evil exists than good. Theodore Guleserian has a problem with this. He argues that we can easily conceive of a world where more evil than good exists. He says:

Think of a world, we will call it 'B' in which the only sentient beings whose existence is contingent are non-rational animals of various sorts or are sentient beings a good deal like the higher non-rational animals in our world - all of which suffer long spontaneous bouts of excruciating pain, and spend the few hours between bouts barely doing what is necessary to survive. We can draw the picture as detailed as we like: in this world, mutations do not take place, so the species to which these animals belong do not evolve. Perhaps they exist for an infinite stretch of time. And during this eternity they never experience anything we would call pleasure - only relief from pain. Pain-avoidance and other innate drives would be the only factors motivating their behaviour. (God and Possible Worlds: The Modal Problem of Evil, Nous, 1983)

Guleserian argues that given we can easily conceive of this world, it would appear that it is possible; there is, after all, nothing logically inconsistent about it. But this leaves us with the following options. Either (1) we say that an omniscient, omnipotent, and good (OOG) being would allow for a world where more evil than good exists, which entails that there is not one world that an OOG being would prevent, or (2) we say that a world with more evil than good is impossible, or (3) we deny that God is necessarily good.

To hold (1), he says, would go against our most fundamental moral intuitions and therefore should be rejected. We ought to reject (2) because we can conceive of a world where more evil exists than good, and it is in our basic intuition that what is conceivable is possible, at least in this case. We should accept (3) for it is the option that requires the least sacrifice on our basic intuitions: for even if we are convinced in the existence of God, and even that God is a OOG being, to reject that God has any of these attributes necessarily is not to reject that he has them at all, say contingently. 

I agree with Guleserian that (1) ought to be rejected. However, there are serious problems with his rejection of (2). Here is why.

First, Guleserian’s argument is founded upon the controversial idea that conceivability is a guide to possibility. This principle is popular amongst Cartesians who believe that the mind is separate from the body because one can conceive of thinking without a body - see Swinburne. But as pointed out by opponents of Cartesian dualism, how does the Cartesian know that he does not think this only because he poorly understands the mind? Like how someone with a poor grasp of a Euclidean triangles might think it possible for such a triangle to have angles that add up to something other than 180 degrees. Similarly, perhaps a greater understanding of God and good and evil would show that it is actually impossible. For this reason, I am of yet unsure if conceivability is a good guide to possibility.  

Second, the idea that God's existence makes a world with more evil than good impossible is not as counterintuitive as Guleserian claims. For contrary to Guleserian’s claims, many theists rely on the idea that an OOG being could not create a world with more evil than good to justify the very existence of evil, by appealing to sceptical theism. The sceptical theist response to evil argues that the reasons for why God allows suffering are beyond our ken. We are not in the epistemic position to judge the reasons that God might have for allowing the evil that he does. Nevertheless, we know that since He is good, and necessarily so, there must necessarily be good reasons for why He allows evil.

Third, if we believe that it is a great making property to be good rather than evil, then we have good reason to believe that God is necessarily good, despite what intuition may say otherwise. This reasoning being that the Ontological Argument proves that a maximally great being - a being that has all great making properties and no lesser making properties - exists necessarily. Guleserian anticipates this objection and argues that it is a weak argument as there are few supporters of the Ontological argument. However, this is just incorrect. The Ontological Argument is a well established and accepted argument within philosophical theology and has many supporters today, such as Plantinga and Craig, to mention a few. It is therefore not something that can be dismissed out of hand easily.

For these reasons, Guleserian’s argument is to be rejected. 

Hoffman on Why God Cannot be Contingently Omnibenevolent

In his paper ‘Can God do Evil?’ Joshua Hoffman puts forward a simple argument for why God must be necessarily omnibenevolent rather than contingently omnibenevolent. Hoffman begins his paper by noting that many philosophers and theologians have argued that God must be necessarily omnipotent. The reason for this being that if God was contingently omnipotent, then it is a mere contingency that He was able to create the universe, and it might have been the case that no universe at all was created. But, Hoffman argues, this would entail that there is no ultimate explanation of the universe or sufficient reason for the universe. Thus, the position that God is contingently omnipotent is incompatible with the principle of sufficient reason (PSR) and should be rejected; this is if we grant, as Hoffman does, that God must be omnipotent to create ex nihilo, and we accept the PSR.

Hoffman believes that a parallel can be forwarded to demonstrate that God must be necessarily omnibenevolent. His argument is that an omnibenevolent being seeks to bring about an optimal world - this being a world that is at least as good as any other possible world. Hence, if God was necessarily omnibenevolent, God necessarily creates an optimal world. However, if God is only contingently omnibenevolent, then it is only a ‘cosmic accident’ that God is ‘so well intentioned.’ And this again conflicts with the PSR and should hence be rejected. 

Hoffman’s account, however, is flawed. For any argument that attempts to apply PSR reasoning to God ought to be viewed with some suspicion. For suppose we say that God must be necessarily omnibenevolent in order to provide an explanation for why God must have created an optimal world; we are still left with unanswered questions as to why God chose to create a certain world over that of another. Even if an omnibenevolent God must create an optimal world, why, we can ask, does God create this particular optimal world over that of another? Why has he chosen to create a world where all things are as good as they can be and a leaf falls at t1 instead of an equally good world where a leaf falls at t2? There are a few options that can be proposed to answer this. (1) There is only one unsurpassable optimal world that has no rival. Therefore, there needs to be no explanation beyond God’s omnibenevolence why He created this one. (2) There is an explanation, but we cannot or do not yet know what it is. (3) There is no reason for why God chose for the leaf to fall at t1 instead of t2.

(1) seems highly implausible. It is difficult to see how a world where leaf falls a second later than a leaf in another world ceteris paribus can be less or more optimal. Any appeal to chaos theory (the idea that small things can effect massive change, like the flapping of a butterflies wings causing perturbations in the atmosphere that can cause a tornado across the globe) is negated by the fact that God had to choose between the world ending at t1 or a millisecond later at t2; in this case there is no time for chaos theory to have effect. However, if either (2) or (3) are accepted, then a problem arises for Hoffman’s theory. If (2) is correct, then the person who believes that God is only contingently omnibenevolent can argue that there is a reason for why God is ‘so well intentioned’, it is just that we do not or cannot know what this reason is. If (3) is correct, then he can likewise say that there is no reason for why God is so well intentioned. 

Given that (1) is implausible and it would be inconsistent to hold to (2) or (3) in the case of God choosing between optimal worlds but not in the case of why He chooses an optimal world, Hoffman’s argument is to be rejected.  

Why We Need Act and Potency

It is no longer common to explain the nature of change in terms of act and potency. However, the philosophers of antiquity, such as Aristotle, saw the act-potency distinction as being essential to explain change. Indeed, Aristotle saw the distinction as necessary to respond to the challenge of Parmenides, who denied the reality of change.  

Parmenides’ argument is that being can only change if made to do so by something other than it. But the only thing other than being is non-being. Hence, change would require being to arise out of non-being. However, since nothing can arise from non-being (nothingness), change is therefore illusionary. For suppose that we have a toy plastic car and I put a match to it; it will ultimately melt and turn into mushy goo. But what metaphysical explanation can we provide to explain what has given rise to this goo? The explanation cannot reside completely in the fire because not everything fire touches turns to goo. The explanation cannot be that the goo is a combination of the fire and toy car, for any combination of things can be separated back into their separate parts, even if just theoretically; yet, we do not find fire or a toy car as parts within the goo. And the goo obviously was not hiding somewhere within the car, so the only explanation left, argues Parmenides, is that the goo has come from nothing, which is to say that it has not come at all but is just illusionary.

It might seem that the best way to respond to a challenge like Parmenides would be to disregard his position as absurd and inconsistent. If change did not occur, then I could not have typed this blog post on the nature of act and potency, nor could Parmenides have gone through the necessary reasoning in his brain to arrive at the conclusion that change is illusionary. That change occurs is just self-evident. 

However, this way of responding is inadequate; for it tells us that something has gone wrong, but it does not tell us what has gone wrong. It is only once we appeal to Aristotle’s act-potency distinction that we can see where Parmenides has erred. Aristotle argued that the error in Parmenides reasoning is to think that he has exhausted all possibilities as to an explanation for the rise of change. Aristotle maintained that there is another available analysis of change, on which change does not arise out of non-being but rather out of being of another kind; namely, being-in-potency - the way a thing could potentially be. To illustrate being-in-potency, a bar of gold is an example of being-in-act, but it can potentially be melted down and become a puddle, or be painted to be a different colour, such as pink, or be smelted into a ring, etc. All these things exist as being-in-potency alongside the being-in-act. This being-in-potency is a real feature of the thing in question and accords with its nature. Hence, it is within the nature of a gold bar to potentially be melted down and be a puddle, but the bar does not have the potentiality to grow legs and do the can-can. While it might be conceived that this could happen in one possible world, Aristotle’s talk of act-potency is not what modern philosophers today think about when discussing possible worlds. What a thing could do in any possible world is not to be equated with her potentialities; rather, a thing’s potentiality is related to a thing’s nature - something we will discuss in a future post. 

Aristotle argued that potency of a thing gives rise to act when something external interacts with the actual part of that thing. So, the external fire interacting with the actual car gives rise to the potentiality of goo. The potentiality of a thing itself cannot give rise to itself, otherwise it would be inexplicable why it has arisen to act at this time and not at another time, and this is true of things composed of parts that appear to move themselves, for it is the parts moving other parts rather than one part moving itself.

Now, it might be asked what exactly is being-in-potency. It is clear what being-in-act is - it is the actual stuff that we can measure. One possible answer is that we cannot know exactly what being-in-potency is but nevertheless can deduce that it is a necessary feature of the world to explain change. Alternatively, we could appeal to the mind of God and argue an occasionalist position, which says that the potency of a thing is what God has determined He will cause a thing to become when acted upon by certain other things. So, one might say that God has determined in His mind that plastic toy cars turn to goo when interacted upon by fire.