CalvinDude.com

“…this book will destroy Christianity.”

Those words by atheist Michael Martin are located in the blurb he wrote that appears on the back cover of The Christian Delusion, edited by John Loftus (speaking of back cover blurbs, Dale C. Allison, Jr. starts his blurb by instructing us to “Forget Dawkins” and that’s sage advice no matter who gives it). Furthermore, Keith Parsons states of The Christian Delusion that “there can have been few works as effective” at debunking Christianity. Ken Pulliam states: “It demonstrates that those who believe in the tenets of evangelical Christianity truly are deluded.”

The book contains chapters written by a wide range of modern atheists, including Hector Avalos, Richard Carrier, and Edward T. Babinski[*]. (If those names sound familiar it’s because we’ve engaged with each of them many times on Triablogue.) Of his contribution to the book, Carrier slapped both of his chapters with a “tour de force” label and confidently assured us, “I doubt I’ll ever have to write another [refutation of the resurrection].” He says: “My debunking of [Christian claims on science] is so decisive in this chapter, you won’t need to refer anyone anywhere else.”

But such hubris vastly overreaches reality, and Triablogue is here to demonstrate it with The Infidel Delusion.

The Infidel Delusion was written (in alphabetical order) by Patrick Chan, Jason Engwer, Steve Hays, and Paul Manata. This is a true tour de force. By the time I got to Manata’s debunking of Valerie Tarico’s naturalistic reductionism in chapter two, the perfect metaphor had formed in my head: Collectively, these Triabloggian authors were firing intellectual howitzer shells point-blank into a cardboard shanty town.

Each chapter of The Christian Delusion is thoroughly debunked by Hay’s philosophical and theological acumen, Engwer’s encyclopedic knowledge of history, Chan’s medical training, and/or Manata’s philosophical prowess. Contrary to the tactic The Christian Delusion used—to attack the weakest arguments put forth in the name of Christianity—the authors of The Infidel Delusion dismantled the strongest arguments atheists had to offer. Indeed, if there truly are “few works as effective” as The Christian Delusion, as Parsons claimed, then Triablogue shows atheism to be in a sad state indeed.

A Quick Overview of What’s in The Infidel Delusion
After introductions from Hays, Engwer, and Manata, the debunking of The Christian Delusion begins. In chapter one, Eller’s entire premise is shown to be at odds with the rest of The Christian Delusion, making that book internally incoherent. Eller’s belief that there is no real Christianity, but instead thousands of Christianities, actually destroys the basis for The Christian Delusion by rendering the idea that there is such a thing as Christianity (singular) to refute moot. If atheists are to be consistent, either Eller’s contribution must go or it must stand alone.

Chapter two shows Tarico’s cognitive research to be nowhere near adequate to explain what she thinks it explains. In addition to being self-refuting, Manata makes an excellent case that Tarico doesn’t even understand the issues involved in naturalism and scientific reductionism. Additionally, Chan includes a great deal on the medical issues involved, including debunking the idea that Paul’s vision of Christ on the Road to Damascus could be explained by a frontal lobe seizure.

Chapter three deals with Long’s attempt to show cultural background determines how one will believe. This sort of cultural relativism is a double-edged sword, however. If it works against Christianity, it is only at the expense of destroying atheism in the process.

Chapter four gets us to the heart of The Christian Delusion, the Outsider Test for Faith that forms the key of Loftus’s atheistic apologetic. Hays demonstrates how Loftus doesn’t consistently apply this test since it equally destroys his own view. Engwer shows that the attitude Loftus has about how beliefs are formed doesn’t cohere to Christian experience. And finally, Manata demonstrates that the outsider test is “vague, ambiguous, invalid, unsound, superfluous, informally fallacious, and subject to a defeater-deflector.”

Chapter five reviews Babinski’s flawed view of Jewish cosmology based on uncharitable assumptions about the stupidity of ancient people and their lack of ability to understand figurative language; chapter six shows Tobin’s repeating of common objections to Scripture (creating “dilemma” by ignoring all conservative scholarship, and even most liberal scholarship); and chapter seven refutes Loftus’s claim that Scripture is unclear, ironically in part by showing that if Loftus’s chapter is true, Babinski’s and Tobin’s must be false! But internal consistency is not something The Christian Delusion was concerned with.

Chapter eight deals with Avalos’s claims that Yahweh is a “moral monster.” Yet this once again requires us to reject Loftus’s chapter seven, and furthermore Avalos’s moral relativism defeats his own argument.

Chapter nine deals with concepts of animal suffering as evidence for the non-existence of God. Amongst other arguments, Hays deftly shows how Loftus’s claims are unsupported anthropomorphisms, while Engwer focuses on the ludicrous demands Loftus requires of believers to “answer” this “problem” and Manata shows Loftus’s argument is really nothing short of wishful thinking completely divorced from the Christian theology it was supposed to debunk.

Chapter ten reviews Price’s misuse of methodological naturalism, including the fact that Price actually ignores the vast majority of modern scholarship in rejecting the very existence of Jesus as a historical figure. Chapter eleven examines similar weaknesses of methodology in the claims Carrier makes regarding the resurrection.

Chapter twelve examines Loftus’s poor exegetical skills and his inability to understand even simple Biblical passages in context. In critiquing Christian prophecy, Loftus manages to all but ignore the preterist movement and makes some rather basic label errors on the positions he does look at.

Chapter thirteen deals with Eller’s moral claims, especially in light of his rejection of objective morality. The Infidel Delusion shows how his evolutionary claims are insufficient to create any type of morality.

Chapter fourteen shows that Avalos’s argument that atheism didn’t cause the Holocaust is irrelevant to the issue of whether Christianity is true. Finally, chapter fifteen shows that Carrier’s historical claims that Christians are not responsible for modern science is both irrelevant to the issue of the truth of Christianity as well as focused on the wrong issues, even within the context of his argument.

The last section of The Infidel Delusion consists of ten appendices that give us more detail into some of the arguments presented within the various chapters, as well as a look at some of the specific claims made by contributors to The Christian Delusion outside of the scope of that actual book.

Conclusion
The Infidel Delusion debunks the entirety of The Christian Delusion. This is not to say it addresses every single flaw in The Christian Delusion—such would take multiple volumes. But there is no major claim made in The Christian Delusion that withstands the criticism leveled at it in The Infidel Delusion. As Steve Hays wrote in his introduction, “…if The Christian Delusion turns out to be just another white elephant in the overcrowded zoo of militant atheism, then that‘s a vindication of the Christian faith.”

The Infidel Delusion certainly demonstrates this.

Full disclosure: While I did not contribute any writing to The Infidel Delusion, I did edit, collate, and format the ebook.

UPDATE:
[*] To be fair, Babinski classifies himself as an agnostic.

Much has been made recently of John Robbins’s quote of John Calvin as having said: “I call that knowledge, not what is innate in man, nor what is by diligence acquired, but what is revealed to us in the Law and the Prophets.” Unfortunately, Robbins didn’t reference Calvin, although after some searching I was able to find it.

Before we examine the context of the quote Robbins used, let us look at the place where Calvin systematized his views. While reading through Calvin trying to track down the quote, it is apparent that the biggest problem with Robbins’s use of Calvin is that Calvin used a variable definition of knowledge. He used it in various ways depending on what subject he addressed, yet he took great pains to describe exactly how he was using the term. For instance, Calvin showed how he used the term differently when he stated: “Here I do not yet touch upon the sort of knowledge with which men, in themselves lost and accursed, apprehend God the Redeemer in Christ the Mediator; but I speak only of the primal and simple knowledge to which the very order of nature would have led us if Adam had remained upright” (Institutes of the Christian Religion 1. 2. 1). Calvin differentiates between knowledge that lost men have and knowledge that would be gained from nature were it not for the sinful effects of Adam’s fall. These are obviously two very different things, yet Calvin had no trouble using the same word (“knowledge”) for both concepts.

Calvin’s ease of using the term “knowledge” in multiple ways is found in the pains he takes to be specific as to which version he is using in any particular case. For example:

First, as much in the fashioning of the universe as in the general teaching of Scripture the Lord shows himself to be simply the Creator. Then in the face of Christ [cf.
2 Corinthians 4:6] he shows himself the Redeemer. Of the resulting twofold knowledge of God we shall now discuss the first aspect; the second will be dealt with in its proper place.

(Ibid. 1. 2. 1, italics mine)

And:

First in order came that kind of knowledge by which one is permitted to grasp who that God is who founded and governs the universe. Then that other inner knowledge was added, which alone quickens dead souls, whereby God is known not only as the Founder of the universe and the sole Author and Ruler of all that is made, but also in the person of the Mediator as the Redeemer.

(Ibid 1. 6. 1)

If we delve even further, we see that Calvin believed that one gained real knowledge from the external senses—knowledge of God, even if not salvific knowledge. For we read:

We see that no long or toilsome proof is needed to elicit evidences that serve to illuminate and affirm the divine majesty; since from the few we have sampled at random, whithersoever you turn, it is clear that they are so very manifest and obvious that they can easily be observed with the eyes and pointed out with the finger. And here again we ought to observe that we are called to a knowledge of God: not that knowledge which, content with empty speculation, merely flits in the brain, but that which will be sound and fruitful if we duly perceive it, and if it takes root in the heart.

(Ibid. 1. 5. 9)

And:

We have taught that the knowledge of God, otherwise quite clearly set forth in the system of the universe and in all creatures, is nonetheless more intimately and also more vividly revealed in his Word.… We, however, are still concerned with that knowledge which stops at the creation of the world, and does not mount up to Christ the Mediator.

(Ibid. 1. 10. 1)

Likewise:

Indeed, the knowledge of God set forth for us in Scripture is destined for the very same goal as the knowledge whose imprint shines in his creatures, in that it invites us first to fear God, then to trust in him.

(Ibid. 1. 10. 2, italics mine)

The examples could be multiplied. In fact, it is rather easy to simply do a word search through the Institutes, looking for “knowledge” and you’ll see that Robbins’s quote is inadequate for us to know what Calvin meant. Indeed, given the pains with which Calvin sought to clarify which concept of “knowledge” he was currently addressing, Robbins’s quote looks to be no different than any of the above. In other words, for that section Calvin limits “knowledge” to Scriptural knowledge. And since we have seen Calvin use the term “knowledge” in things that manifestly were not related to Scripture, it is improper for Robbins to have used that quote as if Calvin was a Scripturalist.

And once we look at the context of Calvin’s quote, it becomes very clear. For Robbins did not even quote the entirety of the sentence Calvin wrote. The entire (English–the Latin is actually longer) sentence is:

And I have said that religion ought not to be separated from knowledge; but I call that knowledge, not what is innate in man, or what is by diligence acquired, but that which is delivered to us by the Law and the Prophets.

(Calvin’s Commentary on Jeremiah 44, italics in original)

In other words, it is as if Calvin said, “Religion should not be separated from knowledge of Scripture.” That doesn’t convey nearly the sense that Robbins wished this passage conveyed. And if one is a student of the Reformation, he will already know exactly to whom Calvin’s comments were addressed before I even quote the entire paragraph:

This ought to be carefully observed; for at this day were any one to ask the Papists by what right they have devised for themselves so various and so many modes of worship: devotion alone they say will suffice, or a good intention. Let us then know that religion, separated from knowledge, is nothing but the sport and delusion of Satan. It is hence necessary that men should with certainty know what god they worship. And Christ thus distinguishes the true worship of God from that of vain idols, “We know,” he says, speaking of the Jews, “whom we worship.” (John 4:22) He then says that the Jews knew, even those who worshipped God according to what the Law prescribes, — he says that they knew whom they worshipped. He then condemns all good intentions in which the superstitious delight themselves, for they know not whom they worship. And I have said that religion ought not to be separated from knowledge; but I call that knowledge, not what is innate in man, or what is by diligence acquired, but that which is delivered to us by the Law and the Prophets.

(Ibid, italics original)

In other words—and this should be no shock at all—when Calvin taught sola Scriptura, he limited the use of the term “knowledge” to a knowledge of Scripture. When Calvin quoted Jesus as saying of the Jews, “We know whom we worship,” it was because the Jews had Scripture. That was how the Jews knew who they worshipped.

It is therefore a butchery of logic to attempt to wield a portion of Calvin’s sentence as a claim that Calvin agreed with Scripturalism.

A couple of folks have requested a response to this post by a man named Luke who has deconverted from Christianity to atheism. As I mentioned in the comments where the request was made, the testimony that Luke gives is very general, and as a result it is impossible to respond to any actual claims since he didn’t really provide any (that is, while Luke claims that things such as contradictions in Scripture, inconsistencies in Christianity, etc. caused him to disbelieve, he does not give examples so it is impossible to interact with those claims). However, one commenter stated he was looking more for a general examination, rather than specifically refuting claims, so I will provide that now.

Luke begins his post by pointing out that he is the son of a pastor. On this point, I can empathize completely, as I too am a PK. Luke also grew up in a relatively small town. He described it as “a town of 5,000 people and 22 Christian churches (at the time).” Having lived most of my life in small towns, I understand where he comes from here as well. The last small town I lived in had roughly 800 people and we probably had 22 Christian churches too (I never did count). My dad was pastor of one of them, and when the summer tourists (read: “Texans”) invaded, I believe our church was one of the largest, if not the largest, with around 60 people.

I should note that small towns and PKs do not mix very well, and it could be that this is where problems began for Luke. Generally speaking, children of pastors are viewed in two diametrically opposed ways. One faction of people view PKs as angels who ought to live perfect lives because they’ve grown up closer to God by virtue of their parents. These people are aghast when a pastor’s son is caught smoking in the boy’s room. On the other hand, there are those who expect PKs to be demons running rampant. For them, it is no shock at all to find the pastor’s son has knocked up the Homecoming Queen.

The reality is that PKs are just like anyone else. We’re neither more of a saint nor a sinner than any other person.

In any case, personal problems can be amplified in small towns where privacy doesn’t exist. Small towns are places where rumors run rampant, and if they don’t begin true they have a way of becoming true (“Did you hear Chuck is an alcoholic?” “No, really?! Lemme buy him a drink.”). Now while Luke’s town is about six times bigger than those I grew up in, I imagine it wasn’t much different there either. These kinds of pressures exist, whether we want to accept them or not.

Luke says that he felt God while he was a Christian. For instance, he writes:

I felt the presence of God. Sometimes I would tingle and sweat with the Holy Spirit. Other times I felt led by Him to give money to a certain cause, or to pay someone a specific compliment, or to walk to the cross at the front of my church and bow before it during a worship service.

I have no doubt that Luke did, indeed, feel something. But since he doesn’t believe in God, obviously he doesn’t believe that he really felt the presence of God at all. On this point, I would agree with him.

By this, Luke exposes one of the problems with the modern church. Christians believe now that you must “experience” God in some manner, and that manner is subjective. Yet most churches never bother to try to discriminate between a typical emotional response to stimuli and an actual feeling of God Himself.

To give one example, a few years back I went to a Promise Keepers event. About a month or so before I went to it, I happened to see a concert that included one of my favorite bands, Three Days Grace. Despite what people might assume from the name, this is a secular band and as far as I know has no Christians in it. In any case, Three Days Grace played with Hurt, both of whom opened for Staind, and it happened to be in the exact same auditorium that Promise Keepers was in.

Why do I bring them up? Because when I watched Promise Keepers and they played “worship music”, the crowd behaved exactly like it had for Hurt, Three Days Grace, and Staind (sans mosh pit). In other words, people got just as into the music in a secular concert, and had the same types of reactions to the performers on the stage, as they did during the “Christian” concert “worship service.”

To put it plainly, standing in the same auditorium, there was no objective difference between the secular concert and the Christian concert as far as I felt. And I doubt my experience is unusual. So when Luke says that he felt the Holy Spirit as a Christian, I have no doubt that he felt something, but I know from Scripture that what he felt was not the Holy Spirit.

Now Luke claims that he did not leave Christianity for emotional reasons, stating:

Looking back, I feel lucky that I left God for purely rational reasons instead of emotional ones. Indeed, all my emotions were pushing the other way.

However, this is impossible to square with other things he’s mentioned. For example, he tells how he went through depression at the age of 19 “probably because I did nothing but work at Wal-Mart, download music, and watch internet porn.” This last part is key, because he concludes:

In many ways I regret my Christian upbringing. So much time and energy wasted on an invisible friend. So many bad lessons about morality, thinking, and sex. So much needless guilt.

It is clear that sexual ethics had a lot to do with Luke’s deconversion. Frankly, it is not at all surprising that someone who does little but listen to music and watch internet porn would suffer from feelings of guilt, and it’s easier to not believe what you’re doing is wrong than it is to refrain from committing sins. This reaction is not atypical at all. Anyone who is in bondage to sin will refrain from fellowship with God.

It is also not at all surprising that Luke would go through depression and connect it to this sinful activity. He had grown up in church and had known that such behavior was wrong, yet he did it anyway. This would cause cognitive dissonance in him. He was doing something that he wanted to do (view pornography) but which he thought was evil to do. Luke chose to ease his conscience by denying the reality of evil rather than by refraining from committing evil.

But this is not a rational decision at all. This is a purely emotional reason. He did not like how he felt when he felt guilty, so he acted to remove the guilt. After the fact, he used reason and logic to try to justify his new position.

The reality is that despite what Luke thinks, he did not become an atheist by thinking, but rather by emotion. The emotion was to avoid the pain and discomfort of guilt.

Now along the way, Luke didn’t get very helpful advice (if what he’s relayed is accurate). Part of the problem was that he attended an emergent church in college, and if there’s one thing the emergent folks lack it’s reason.

Luke’s experience is not atypical there either. One friend of mine (who remains a Christian) has had the same struggles with the rash of anti-intellectualism in most Evangelical churches today. For someone like Luke, who obviously is intellectually oriented, he would not have found anyone in an anti-intellectual environment to respond to his questions in any meaningful manner. Sadly, most Christians are content to let the few intellectualists go to hell rather than learn something that may hurt their brain so they can respond to those intellectualists.

None of that excuses Luke, however, for not having sought out those who could respond to any arguments he brought forward. That we are few does not mean we are non-existent, and he could have used the same internet he was surfing porn on to find answers to the questions he had.

Furthermore, it seems that Luke’s dad wasn’t very helpful either. He chastised Luke “because I was arrogant to think I could get to truth by studying.” If this is an accurate depiction of what happened, it is a travesty. It is also unbiblical. Hosea 4:6 tells us: “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.” And Jesus Himself said, “Is this not the reason you are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God?” (Mark 12:24). Studying does lead to truth.

Of course, it also depends on what you’re studying, and Luke doesn’t tell us what he was studying at the time. So his father might have had a legitimate reason to complain. After all, one doesn’t learn about quantum mechanics by studying accounting.

One of the biggest problems with Luke’s idea of Christianity is found when he writes:

I know what it’s like to isolate one part of my life from reason or evidence, and I know what it’s like to think that is a virtue.

(emphasis in original)

This does not describe my Christianity. And I’m not surprised that anyone who holds to this form of Christianity would reject it. I would too.

But that’s not what Christianity is. It is, however, what atheism is.

See, there’s a lot of Luke’s story that I identify with. The small town, the depression, the struggle with sin, the feeling that God isn’t there (or that He doesn’t care). Yet these are all things that I expect from my understanding of Christianity. These things are not surprises at all. They are, in fact, inevitable in a fallen world.

But why would looking at pornography on a computer cause you to feel guilty in an atheistic world? Why is it that our sex drive—the very impetus that fuels evolution—causes universal feelings of guilt, even in people who do not believe in God, when it is not used appropriately? Further, what evolutionary benefit would there be to deluding yourself that God exists, as all but the 3% of people who are atheists (according to some polls) do? From purely naturalistic principals, the universality of religion is impossible to explain: it must provide an evolutionary advantage, yet it is supposedly completely irrational! In other words, Darwinism has selected for make-believe, and not for the world as it actually is. And that is something that I just can’t put together rationally in my mind.

And that doesn’t even get into the problem that if Darwinism can select for an irrational worldview such as theism—something that is completely alien to reality, according to the atheist—then how is it possible for the atheist to know that he is not completely deluded in his naturalism?

Luke may very well be beginning to see this, for he writes:

In my studies I uncovered lots of false facts and dishonest arguments from Christians and atheists. Each discovery only deepened my hunger for knowledge, but also my realization that humans know very little, and with little certainty.

I have little doubt that if Luke continues down the path he is on, he will ultimately discover that to reject theism is to reject rationality altogether and to embrace nihilism. Without God, there is only uncertainty and irrationality. And for this reason, even if we discount the other evidence Luke himself provided and assume that he converted to atheism by reason rather than emotion, he will only stay an atheist if he rejects reason as impossible to obtain. Reason itself must become just as delusional as theism.

The only other option he has is to hold to reason for the same emotional reasons he once felt for God.

Yes, being one of the few Protestants left who actually knows what he’s protesting, I needs be must bid ye all a Happy William of Orange Day today!

One of the things I enjoy most about Triablogue is that we’re not monolithic. Each of us is a separate individual who has his own perspective on various issues. While there is great overlap amongst us, there is also quite a bit of diversity.

I bring that up because I’ve recently been reading over some essays penned by a presuppositionalist who argued that presuppositionalism is the only valid apologetic method. Now, as a presuppositionalist myself, I believe this statement is true in a very limited sense. That is, I believe that those who would use evidentialist approaches to apologetics also rely on presuppositions that they just don’t express. As a result, you cannot escape the fact that at the ultimate level you will need to deal with presuppositions.

However, that is not what this individual meant (note: this is a person I know locally and what I read is not posted anywhere online, so I’m not going to use his name). What he meant was that those who would use an approach different from the presuppositional approach were, in fact, sinning by doing so.

This view saddens me, much like the hypercalvinist view does. In fact, I think that this may be just an example of what James White termed the “cage stage” (only here it applies to someone who just read Bahnsen for the first time rather than a new convert to Calvinism).

This strikes at the heart of apologetics. Apologetics requires us to make a defense for any who should ask. And the fact is that while presuppositionalism is philosophically sound, it probably only works well at converting INTP personalities (a personality type of which I should note only about 2% of Americans are, at least according to the random website I just Googled…). Regardless of the actual percentage, it’s quite apparent that most people couldn’t care less about philosophy.

However, they are drawn toward evidentialist arguments. And while these arguments will never be as “air tight” (as far as the presuppositionalist is concerned) they are often more convincing precisely because they are easier to understand and follow. Jason Engwer does an excellent job at expounding on the evidence for Christianity in such a manner.

But that would just mean that evidentialism is pragmatic, not necessarily that it is not sinful. I would point out, however, that the Bible does use evidential arguments from time to time too. For instance, when Scripture says in Psalm 19:1 that the heavens declare the glory of God, David is referring to how God’s glory is manifested in nature. It is evidenced by nature itself. And Paul echoes that in Romans 1 as well, saying that God’s attributes are seen in what has been made.

Romans 1, by the way, is a beautiful illustration of the wedding of presuppositional thought to evidentialism. That is, we have the fact that the unbelievers refuse to accept what is plainly seen, and what is plainly seen is the evidence found in creation.

That evidence is there. If you offer an evidential claim, you have a reason to do so. Likewise, we know that no amount of evidence is sufficient in and of itself to convince a non-believer of the truth of God. Both must be taken into account.

In my experience, presuppositionalism works best at demonstrating that atheists have no philosophical standing (although see my caveat below). But when dealing with non-atheist, those who accept supernatural concepts and are not limited to materialism, then presuppositionalism is nowhere near as strong as evidentialism. This isn’t to say that presuppositionalism is impotent; just that it is more difficult to employ. To give an example, one could argue philosophically why it is impossible that Tom murdered Fred because of Tom’s nature; but it’s simpler to show the photograph of Tom on vacation in England at the exact same moment that Fred was murdered in Detroit. In the same way, one could argue that the plurality of gods in Mormonism would render the world senseless, but it’s easier to demonstrate historically that Joseph Smith was a conman.

Now for my caveat. When I said that presuppositionalism works best at demonstrating atheists have no philosophical background, it’s not strictly precise. That’s because in reality, presuppositionalism works best when it’s looking at the worldview level. This is most often expressed when dealing with atheists because their worldview is so diametrically opposed to Christianity on all fronts; however, if we got to the level of a worldview (i.e., determining what was appropriate evidence in the first place), then presuppositionalism would flourish against any religious view too. That is, once the unbeliever sees that the evidence is against his position, he will have to retreat to redefine what evidence is or jettison his view. At this point, the presuppositional argument must come into play.

When it comes to apologetics, therefore, I have observed the following (whether it is universal I know not, although it’s certainly widespread here in America). The average person does not care for philosophy, and therefore will be more impacted by an evidentialist apologetic. Those who are most vocal in opposition to Christianity, however, do focus more on philosophy because they’ve moved to the point where the very definition of “evidence” is determined, and those people will be more impacted by a presuppositional argument. In the apologetic setting that T-Blog is usually engaged in (that is, actively engaged with non-believers who are openly hostile to Christianity), presuppositionalism is probably the more effective tool. However, when you’re talking to the average person off the street and evangelizing, evidentialism is probably the more effective tool. (These are generalizations, and not everyone we deal with is a die-hard anti-Christian; T-Blog also provides pastoral posts from time to time.)

One final note. God draws His elect through both methods. There are countless saved by evidential arguments, and there are likewise countless saved by presuppositional arguments (although probably not as many in the latter group). It is not a sin to use an evidential argument. But it is a sin to think that it would be a sin to use an evidential argument. Apologetics must be person-relative. What God uses to convince one sheep to return to the fold is not necessarily what He will use to convince another sheep to return to the fold. God made each of us, and to cite the above (albeit questionable) statistic about the percentage of INTPs in America, God created both INTPs and ESFJs.

In comments on an earlier post, I made the point that theism holds the grounds to rationality. Paul C disagreed, and after giving links to some of the various posts I’ve written on logic (especially this one), I asked him to provide an atheistic backing for rationality. Paul’s response was:

1. Things are generally as I perceive them.
2. At my level of perception, the universe appears orderly.
3. If the universe is sufficiently orderly, then rationality is a useful tool.

There are several problems with this (I won’t be too nitpicky since Paul probably hasn’t taken much time to work on this, seeing as how it was a quick response in a comment field). Let us just examine his first premise.

It is impossible for us to know that things actually are as we perceive them to be. All we have is our perceptions. We do not have access to an unfiltered reality. That is, no matter what the objective universe is, we only perceive it filtered through the lens of our perceptions. So what Paul’s first premise boils down to is a simple faith statement. He believes that reality is generally how it is perceived.

Now I should point out that I agree with this premise. However, I have a reason for agreeing with it—a reason that Paul cannot have. My reason for agreeing with it is because God created the universe and He likewise created us to experience that universe, therefore He created us with the ability to perceive the universe as it actually is. Only because of sin do we sometimes err in our perceptions (and by this I include such things as degenerative eyesight and hearing, which would not have occurred without sin, not simply hallucinations brought about by such diseases as schizophrenia, etc.). But while this would also be an interesting path to go down, Paul inadvertently leads us directly back to the argument I made in the blog post I referenced earlier. Paul’s first premise, you see, is based on perception.

In the blog post I wrote (and referenced for Paul, but which I suspect he didn’t read), I stated:

I perceive, therefore I am. Even if I am nothing but a brain-in-a-vat—or even if I have no “brain” at all, it’s all simply mental hallucinations with no actual physical reality—I cannot doubt that I exist. I perceive things. Regardless of whether these things are real or not, perception occurs. Something perceives, and therefore there must be a “perceiving being.” Since these perceptions are “owned” by me, I am this perceiving being (by definition). I exist.

Now this doesn’t tell me that I exist physically, or that anything I perceive is real or not; but it does tell me that I do, actually, without a doubt, exist. I am whatever I am (as yet, undefined). I have identity. A is A (or in this case, I am me).

And if I exist, then it is the case that I do exist and do not non-exist at the same time and in the same relationship. If I exist (in whatever form I exist), I really do exist (in whatever form that may be), and the contradiction of this is not the case. Thus, my bare existence alone requires the law of Non-Contradiction.

Since I exist, logic must be valid.

So you see that both Paul and I start with perception; however, Paul’s argument requires us to accept our perceptions as valid, whereas my argument is correct regardless of whether our perceptions are valid.

Furthermore, (as I wrote in my original post), this leads to other important facts about existence. As I wrote then:

And since logic is valid, we can use logic to probe some other questions. For instance, have I always been here? It is possible that I am the only being that has ever existed, despite my perception of other beings. I do not have the self-awareness with these other beings that I do with my self; therefore, I cannot “prove” they exist in the same manner that I can “prove” I exist. So it is possible they do not exist at all and I am the only thing that exists.

But it is also possible that I have come from something else. After all, I perceive a world that functions in a specific manner, and if my perceptions are accurate then this means that I have come from my parents.

But where did they come from? Perhaps they’ve always been here; perhaps they had parents too. And if they had parents, their parents may have had parents too. This chain can go back for a very long time.

But it cannot be infinite. At some point, something must have existed without being derived from previous existence—otherwise, we are stuck in an infinite regress with no chance of ever escaping to begin logic in the first place. Thus, the fact that I exist demands that somewhere there must be a self-existent being.

I might be that self-existent being, of course. So, too, could my parents, etc. But whatever the case may be, logic requires that whatever or whoever the self-existent being is must be the cause of my own being. If it were not the cause of my own being, my being would never existed (for we would be back to the infinite regress).

So, the fact that I exit proves the necessity of some object with self-existence that caused my existence. This object could not have been created by anything else (for the same reasons of the infinite regress). The “first” object to ever exist must be self-existent.

If an object is self-existent, it is a necessary object. It holds the power of its own existence, and therefore nothing can keep it from existing. If nothing can keep it from existing, then it always has existed.

Some problems arise when we include time. After all, time is measured by physical objects that move. Thus, one pendulum swing on a clock = one second. One rotation of the Earth = 1 day. Etc. These physical processes define the length of time.

But we’ve already shown that a necessary, self-existent object must always exist. If this is the case and if that object is physical, then we have an actual infinite of time. If time extends an eternity backwards, it would take an eternity for the past to have gotten here. Thus we must conclude that time isn’t eternal, but instead it must have begun at some point.

So how do we reconcile this apparent tension of an eternal self-existent object in a temporal time frame? Logically, this is satisfied by either jettisoning our definition of time (in which case we have no meaningful way to speak of time) or by acknowledging that the self-existent necessary object is immaterial. Since time is measured by physical objects, an immaterial object would not cause time to exist co-eternally with itself. This immaterial object must still exist in such a way as to provide the basis for my own existence, however. (After all, remember that the self-existent object is a logically necessary requirement due to my own existence.) Thus, in order to stay rational, we must acknowledge an immaterial self-existent necessary object that can cause my own existence.

It is important to note that due to the necessity of the immaterial aspect of this object, it is impossible for secular science to speak meaningfully about this object. If science is limited to the physical world only, then science cannot speak to this. As such, we have demonstrated a necessary being that extends beyond the limits of science. Thus, the fact of my existence proves that science cannot answer the questions of something that necessarily must be true!

Other attributes can be logically deduced from this same being. For instance, omnipresence (all existence derived from this self-existent source must come from this self-existent source, so the source must be omnipresent–there is no existence outside of the existence of this self-existent [object]); omnipotence (all power is derived from existence, so all power flows from the self-existent source—without that source, there is no power); and immutability (since logic is immutable, the source of logic must be unchanging as well).

Thus far, the only real difference between this object and God Himself is that we’ve yet to prove any kind of consciousness in this object. But that too is simple enough to deduce. After all, this entire time we’ve been using logic. Logic works because existence is based on laws, and laws imply a law giver.

Why is it that “nature” acts the way it does? We can give a list of reasons, but these reasons are likewise subject to the same question: Why do these reasons act the way they do? Once more, we cannot engage in an infinite regress here. At some point we must reach the level where we are left saying, “That’s simply the way it is.”

And at that level, laws will still exist. And again, laws imply law givers, so the very aspect of the “law-giving” (i.e. the consciousness) must be necessarily basic to this object as well. This law giver must be the same self-existent, immutable, omnipresent, omnipotent, atemporal being I have already demonstrated must exist. This being fits the definition of “God.”

But even if someone does not like the above, we can always turn the tables and use some empirical evidence (which, following induction, cannot be known for “certain”). Assuming that our perceptions are valid, that we see the world as it really exists, etc. we know the following. All consciousness we have ever observed has come from previous consciousness. There is no evidence that consciousness can come from non-consciousness. Since I am conscious, whatever the source of my being is would logically be conscious as well, for we have no warrant to believe consciousness could have ever come from non-consciousness–there is no proof, no evidence, no observation of this ever.

Now all of this follows regardless of whether we agree that our perceptions are valid. This means that even if we grant the entirety of Paul’s first premise and agree that our perceptions really do accurately represent reality, then the above follows. That is, the existence of anything necessitates the existence of something that is self-existent, eternal, omnipresent, etc. In other words, all the attributes that we commonly ascribe to God.

Thus, as soon as Paul uses his first premise, he is granting to the theist that God really does exist.

Now that I’ve demonstrated this for Paul once again, I would be happy to allow him to try again at demonstrating how rationality can occur without the existence of some kind of diety…

Since the fine folks over at BHT have suffered a complete meltdown (despite what you’re thinking, this happened years ago—the effects are merely continuing through today) and do not allow thinking on their blog, it is rather fun to argue with them. It’s not much unlike discussing anything with any other liberal. You give them a fact and they emote. You give them reason, they whine. I did honestly try to see things from their point of view, but I just couldn’t get my head that far up my rectum.

Steve and I have offered several posts on prayer since Ted Kennedy was touched by an angel. We’ve actually put forth exegesis of Scripture as well as logical arguments using propositions. The response that BHT has given us is less than underwhelming.

In comments on this post, Randy McRoberts of the BHT said:

The thing is, Peter, that you don’t realize that arguments don’t always matter. It’s character and integrity and love that matter more. You can win arguments all day long against me. So what? You can speak with the tongue of men and angels, too, for all I care.

I don’t care to mount an argument. That’s not what I’m all about. If it works for you, have a ball with it. Don’t expect most people to care a whole lot. You might win the argument, but it’s an empty win.

Think about that for a moment. Randy has admitted that he doesn’t care about thinking, about intellectual consistency, about truth. It’s all about “character and integrity and love” not whether or not you’re actually, you know, correct and all. Mormons probably feel the same way, and I have to say they’re a heck of a lot nicer than the BHT folks are.

Reality has this weird property though. It’s real. It doesn’t change because you’re a nice person. It doesn’t change because you feel warm fuzzies.

So I responded with the following parable:

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Randy. Randy loved everyone and everything as much as possible. If his cruel, cold-hearted Dad was about to crush a spider, Randy would rescue the spider and lovingly toss it outdoors where it had a chance to live.

One day, an early spring day, Randy was walking down the sidewalk with his evil father when they saw a baby bird lying on the ground. It had obviously fallen from its nest.

“Leave it,” the wicked adult said. “It’s mother will come for it.”

But that was unacceptable for Randy, who loved the poor little bird. So when the demon-in-human-form wasn’t looking, Randy scooped up the baby bird and put it in his pocket.

When they got home, Randy rushed straight to his room. He took out the bird and placed it in an old shoe box. The bird chirped because it was very hungry. So Randy decided to feed the bird.

He asked his less-wicked-but-still-not-quite-loving-because-she-was-a-Presbyterian mother what baby birds ate. She said they ate worms. But Randy knew that couldn’t be the case–worms were icky little creatures (that still deserved to live, mind you–that was why Randy would rescue them before his diabolical father went fishing).

There was a better solution. Randy liked Butterfinger candybars and Dr Pepper to wash them down with. They were his favorite treats. Because he loved the bird so much, Randy shared his favorite things with the bird.

The next morning he awoke to find a very dead bird in the shoe box. Because, you see, poor Randy never grasped the concept that love without knowledge is dangerous. If you love someone or something but you have no clue what they need then you will not be able to satisfy their needs and your love will condemn them to death.

Sadly, this episode did not teach Randy his lesson. Later, he would grow up to believe that it did not matter if a sinner was hell-bound. The important thing was the love them, not to argue with them. The important thing was to make sure the had a sugar buzz before they spent eternity in hell.

And as a result, Randy decided to attack those who were trying to rescue sinners by calling those apologists intellectual elitists in a Big-Brained Blog. And lo, he felt good about himself, and those who were hell-bound enjoyed his taunts. And merrily they continued on the path to destruction.

At least on the day of judgment Randy can say, “I loved everyone I ever put in hell, unlike those bastards at Triablogue who actually convinced a few sinners to change direction by using arguments.”

Naturally, Randy didn’t bother to respond to this here on the T-Blog because he’s a coward and knows he’d get shredded. Instead, he retreated to the BHT (where comments are not allowed because Groupthink must prevail) and whined:

This is a response to a comment I made over there. (Should have known better.) See? I have love, but no knowledge. I’m putting people in hell by loving them. I don’t know what birds eat. I’m attacking those who rescue sinners by arguing with them. I feel good about myself for all this. I’ve learned a lot about myself today.

I don’t think it would take more than about three verses of “Just As I Am” to get me down front. I feel so bad about myself for feeling so good about myself.

Oh, yeah. In another comment I learned that for me to say that there are other ways to converse without putting forth an argument is “in itself an argument”. Now, that’s heavy. I’m not sure I get it, since I’m not intellectual at all.

Well it is obvious that Randy is no intellectual since he cannot grasp a simple parable. Instead, he thinks he needs to read everything literally. Frankly, I would be ashamed to speak in public if I was as dumb as Randy brags about being.

But to clear up the record, when Randy says “I have love, but no knowledge” he is wrong. He has just as much love as he has knowledge: none.

I, for one, have never read a loving remark from Randy about me. No, I just get his hate poured out upon me. (These are the same people who complain about us when we debate Arminians because “we should treat brothers in Christ better than non-believers” yet they have no qualms treating the “TR”, as they call us, as badly as possible. Then again, you shouldn’t expect consistency from those who hate intelligence in the first place.)

Secondly, I wouldn’t say that Randy is attacking apologists by arguing with us because nothing Randy’s ever said could be misconstrued as an argument.

Naturally, the other bored skulls acted shocked by what went on. For instance, JS Bangs said:

Wow. I mean, wow.

To which I respond: “Like totally! I mean, TOTALLY!

Bangs continued:

What exactly gave any of them the impression that we don’t care about the salvation of the lost?

The fact that you’re not trying to convince the lost they’re on the wrong path is a great indication that you don’t care where they’re headed. Then again, I use logic.

The fact that several people admitted they had trouble grokking the concept of Hell?

Well, it is kinda hard to see how someone not going to Hell needs to worry about going to Hell. Then again, I use logic.

Or the fact that we actually pray for the unsaved?

Except I don’t believe you. You claim to pray for the unsaved, yet you do everything in your power to impede those who are seeking the unsaved. What exactly do you pray regarding the unsaved? And frankly a general prayer “Lord save the unsaved” is no substitute for genuine prayer either. Then again, I use logic.

I have zero interest in reading any TR blogs, so I honestly don’t know what they’re trying to say.

And this, of course, is the first sign that you’re dealing with a moron. Ask questions, and then say, “I’m not going to listen to the answer.” This works when you’re three years old, but we expect more from adults. Then again, I use logic.

Not content to leave it at that, Strawfoot said:

Is he actually saying that he and his BBB fellows have actually talked people into becoming Christians?

Yes, I am.

WHAT?! How can this be? Well, Strawfoot, it’s really quite simple if you actually cared about what the wicked TRs believed (which you don’t, cuz God forbid you’d actually have to talk with one!). God uses…are you ready for this now?…MEANS to enact His will.

I know, revolutionary concept. Not found in any Reformed literature except for all of it.

And since I get e-mails sent to me, I know that there do indeed exist people who’ve been convinced of the truth of Christianity by way of some of the arguments that I’ve presented. God’s used me to bring some to Himself, and I am honored to be of use to Him.

The BHT is a great example of what happens when Politically Correct thinking runs amok. They preach tolerance by being intolerant of everyone who disagrees with them. They teach that love is most important by being as unloving as possible toward other Christians. They think that something’s wrong with you if you use the brain God gave you.

Frankly, if their version of Christianity was true, I’d be an atheist. And that’s something that Randy and other BHTers don’t get. They think that everyone is as emotive as they are and that no one cares about thinking correctly. But I do. My mere existence refutes their notion that everyone agrees with them. I do enjoy thinking, I am intellectually oriented, I do study, I do use my brain. And because of that, I can actually interact with the atheists in our world who are likewise intellectually oriented.

That’s something that none of Randy’s self-serving emotive bleating will ever be able to accomplish.

One of the best offenses against Darwinism is the teleological argument. In fact, that is what Intelligent Design is (teleology = the study of design). This is most damaging to the Darwinist position because on the one hand Darwinists will repudiate teleology, but on the other hand they will employ it at every corner. To give examples of both in the same book, Ernst Mayr wrote:

Another widespread erroneous view of natural selection must also be refuted: Selection is not teleological (goal-directed). Indeed, how could an elimination process be teleological? Selection does not have a long-term goal. It is a process repeated anew in every generation.

Mayr, E. (2001). What Evolution Is. New York: Basic Books. p. 121

Yet Mayr also writes:

When the selective advantage of a skeleton developed among the ancestors of the vertebrates and of the arthropods, the arthropod ancestors had the prerequisites for developing an external skeleton, and the vertebrate ancestors for developing an internal skeleton. The entire evolution of these two large groups of organisms has since been affected by this choice among their remote ancestors.

(ibid, p. 141, emphasis added).

Evolution is an opportunistic process. Whenever there is an opportunity to outcompete a competitor or to enter a new niche, selection will make use of any property of the phenotype to succeed in this endeavor.

(ibid, p. 221, emphasis added).

Likewise, we read:

The legitimate use of the term adaptation is for a property of an organism, whether a structure, a physiological trait, a behavior, or anything else that the organism possesses, that is favored by selection over alternate traits. But the term also has been used quite incorrectly for the process (“adaptation”) by which the favored trait was actively acquired. This view can be traced back to the ancient belief that organisms had an innate capacity for improvement, for steadily becoming “more perfect.” Also, if one accepts an inheritance of acquired characters, activities such as the straining of the neck by giraffes “adapts” the neck to an improved construction. In this view, adaptation is an active process with a teleological basis. Some recent authors still seem to look at adaptation as such a process and therefore reject the whole concept of adaptation. But this is not defensible.

(ibid, p. 150).

Yet of adaptations, we read:

The shift from the quadropedal locomotion of a lizardlike reptile to bipedalism and flight in birds initiated a considerable restructuring of the body plan: a compacting of the whole body to have a better center of gravity, the development of a more efficient four-chambered heart, restructuring of the respiratory tract (lungs and air sacs), endothermy, improved vision, and an enlarged central nervous system. The acquisition of all of these adaptations was a matter of necessity.

(ibid, p. 219, emphasis added).

But Mayr is not the only one who falls prey to this. Indeed, when trying to describe their theories Darwinists are forced to use teleological representations. For instance, Gould wrote:

The model of the grabbag is a taxonomist’s nightmare and an evolutionist’s delight. Imagine an organism built of a hundred basic features, with twenty possible forms per feature. The grabbag contains a hundred compartments, with twenty different tokens in each. To make a new Burgess creature, the Great Token-Stringer takes one token at random from each compartment and strings them all together. Voilà, the creature works–and you have nearly as many successful experiments as a musical scale can build catchy tunes. The world has not operated this way since Burgess times. Today, the Great Token-Stringer uses a variety of separate bags–labeled “vertebrate body plan,” “angiosperm body plan,” “molluscan body plan,” and so forth. The tokens in each compartment are far less numerous, and few if any from bag 1 can also be found in bag 2. The Great Token-Stringer now makes a much more orderly set of new creatures, but the playfulness and surprise of his early work have disappeared. He is no longer the enfant terrible of a brave new multicellular world, fashioning Anomalocaris with a hint of arthropod, Wiwaxia with a whiff of mollusk, Nectocaris with an amalgam of arthropod and vertebrate.

Gould, S. J. (1989). Wonderful Life. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. p. 217-218

Naturally, Gould was trying to be poetic; but one wonders if it is even possible for him to explain his “grabbag” idea without resorting to the teleology of a designer (in the above case, the “Great Token-Stringer”). One suspects not. And those outside the field of biology are oblivious to the fact that evolution is supposed to be non-teleological. In fact, they see quite the opposite. For example, James Gleick in his book on the Chaos Theory wrote:

In science, on the whole, physical cause dominates. Indeed, as astronomy and physics emerged from the shadow of religion, no small part of the pain came from discarding arguments by design, forward-looking teleology–the earth is what it is so that humanity can do what it does. In biology, however, Darwin firmly established teleology as the central mode of thinking about cause. The biological world may not fulfill God’s design, but it fulfills a design shaped by natural selection. Natural selection operates not on genes or embryos, but on the final product. So an adaptationist explanation for the shape of an organism or the function of an organ always looks to its cause, not its physical cause but its final cause. Final cause survives in science wherever Darwinian thinking has become habitual. A modern anthropologist speculating about cannibalism or ritual sacrifice tends, rightly or wrongly, to ask only what purpose it serves. D’Arcy Thompson saw this coming. He begged that biology remember physical cause as well, mechanism and teleology together. He devoted himself to explaining the mathematical and physical forces that work on life. As adaptations took hold, such explanations came to seem irrelevant. It became a rich and fruitful problem to explain a leaf in terms of how natural selection shaped such an effective solar panel. Only much later did some scientists start to puzzle again over the side of nature left unexplained. Leaves come in just a few shapes, of all the shapes imaginable; and the shape of a leaf is not dictated by its function.

Gleick, J. (1987). Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books. p. 201-202

Because of this cognitive dissonance, teleology works well against Darwinists. If something looks designed, the simplest and straightforward reason is that it’s because it was designed. It is because of how much design is apparent in the living world that Dawkins had to take the time to pen The Blind Watchmaker in the first place. If nature didn’t have the designed appearance of a watch, Dawkins wouldn’t have needed to try to come up with an alternate explanation for it.

So teleology has found a niche in anti-Darwinian circles. I, however, would like to expand it out a bit further than that. Most recently, I’ve been studying cryptology as part of my endeavors to better understand such things as information theory, etc. Cryptology is also important since I enjoy dissecting Darwinist arguments and DNA happens to be very prominent in many of them. Since DNA is a “living code” understanding certain principals of cryptology can be beneficial.

Surprisingly, however, my thoughts have strayed from their original course in biology. The living order is teleological, and it is difficult for anyone to honestly look at it and yet still deny the inherent design. But so too is the non-living universe. Teleology surrounds us everywhere we look. It is not just in living systems, but anywhere that there is a system. And because of that, my original focus and my original purpose for reading up on cryptology (besides the fact that I’m weird and actually enjoy the subject) has expanded somewhat.

All reality is teleological.

Since my thinking has come about as the result of reading on cryptology, it perhaps wouldn’t hurt if I gave the specific example that got me thinking on this issue. William Friedman, who was instrumental in the US breaking of the Japanese cipher PURPLE in World War II, wrote The Index of Coincidence and Its Applications in Cryptography in 1920 when he was 28 years old. It was later updated somewhat after Friedman found the solution for a cipher machine using cryptographic rotors. David Khan, in The Code-Breakers, illustrates the theory in this manner:

Imagine an urn containing one each of the 26 letters of the alphabet. The chance of drawing any specified letter, say r, is one in 26, or 1/26. Now imagine another, identical urn. The chance of drawing an r is equally one in 26, or 1/26. What are the odds of drawing a pair of r’s, one after another, in a two-draw situation? The likelihood of drawing the second r is 1/26 of the chance of drawing the first, which is 1/26. So the chance of drawing two r’s in a single event, or “simultaneously,” one from each urn, is 1/26 x 1/26. Similarly, the probability of drawing two a’s is 1/26 x 1/26, of two b’s 1/26 x 1/26, and so on. Consequently, the chance of drawing a pair of letters—any pair of letters, no matter which pair may come up—is the sum of all these probabilities. It is (1/26 x 1/26) + (1/26 x 1/26) + … + (1/26 x 1/26), repeated 26 times, or 26 x (1/26 x 1/26), or 1/26. This quantity may be written as the decimal 0.0385.

Assume now an ideal cryptosystem whose ciphertexts yield a perfectly flat frequency count—one with as many a’s as b’s as c’s…as z’s. Polyalphabetics approach this in varying degrees and may, for practical purposes, be regarded as generating such ciphertexts. These texts are called “random” because they are what would be obtained if letters were drawn at random from the urn (each letter being replaced after being noted and the urn shaken to mix the lot, chance alone dictating their identities). If two such random texts are superimposed, the chance that the letter above will be the same as the letter below is the same as the chance of drawing a pair of identical letters from the two urns. This is 0.0385, or, to put it another way, there will be 3.85 such coincidences in every 100 vertical pairs. Experiment will confirm this.

Now imagine an urn filled with 100 letters of English in the proportion in which they are used in normal text—8 a’s, 1 b, 3 c’s, 13 e’s, and so on. The chance of drawing a specified letter is now proportional to its frequency. The probability that an a will emerge is 8/100ths, that a e will is 13/100ths. With two such urns, the chance of drawing two a’s is, as before, the product of the individual probabilities, or 8/100 x 8/100; the chance of drawing two e’s is consequently 13/100 x 13/100. And the probability of drawing a pair—any pair—of identical letters is the sum of all these pair-probabilities: (8/100 x 8/100) + (1/100 x 1/100) + (3/100 x 3/100) …, and so on through all 26 letters. This calculation has been made (with a slightly different frequency table). The result is 0.0667.

These two plaintext urns may likewise be replaced by two strings of plaintext. If they are superimposed, there will be as much likelihood that two letters will coincide vertically as there was that two identical letters will be drawn from the two urns. This probability is 0.0667, or 6.67 coincidences per 100 paris. For example:

text A wheninthecourseofhumaneventsitbecomesnecessaryforo
text B fourscoreandsevenyearsagoourfathersbroughtforthupo

text A (cont.) nenationtodissolvethepoliticalbandsthathaveconnect
text B (cont.) nthiscontinentanewnationconceivedinlibertyanddedic

There are just seven coincidences in the 100 pairs—precisely what theory predicts.

…[O]ne must recognize first that the superimposition of two monalphabetically enciphered texts will result in the…figure of about 6.67 coincidences per 100 vertical pairs, or 6.67 per cent of coincidences. This is because the coincidences will occur whether the letters are clothed in ciphertext disguises or not. The calculation does not ask the letters for their identities. It merely notes their coincidence. By the same token—and this is important—two polyalphabetic cryptograms enciphered in the same key and superimposed so that the two occurrences of that key are in synchronization with one another will also show 6.67 per cent of coincidences. The reason is this: In a correct (in-phase) superimposition, the two letters of each vertical pair have the same keyletter. Thus whenever a coincidence occurs in the plaintext, the letters of the pair will be identically enciphered. This results in an identical pair—a coincidence—in the ciphertext. It does not matter that a pair of e’s may be enciphered into V’s at one point and into Q’s at another, or that a coincidence of a’s becomes a coincidence of L’s here and a coincidence of F’s there. The toal number of coincidences will remain the same as the number in the plaintext.

On the other hand, if the two cryptograms are improperly superimposed, so that the keys are not in step, any coincidences will result from different keyletters operating on different plaintext letters to accidentally produce the same ciphertext letter. The coincidences will be caused, in other words, by chance. Chance alone will produce 3.85 coincidences per 100 vertical pairs in random text, and polyalphabetic ciphertext is equivalent to random text. Hence an incorrect superimposition should yield about 3.85 per cent of coincidences. But 3.85 per cent is substantially less than 6.67 per cent, and so a comparison of the percentages of coincidences at various test superimpositions should show which superimposition is correct.

An example should make things clear. A cryptosystem with the Vigenère running key THE BARD OF AVON IS THE AUTHOR OF THESE LINES…starts the key for the first message with the first keyletter, but starts the key for successive messages with the third, fifth, and so on, keyletters. If plaintext 1 is If music be the food of love, play on, and plaintext 2 is Now is the winter of our discontent, the encipherment will be these:

key             THEBARDOFAVONISTHEAUTHOROFTH
plaintext 1     ifmusicbethefoodofloveplayon
ciphertext 1    BMQVSZFPJTCSSWGWVJLIOLDCODHU

key         (TH)EBARDOFAVONISTHEAUTHOROFTHESE
plaintext 2     nowisthewinterofourdiscontent
ciphertext 2    RPWZVHMERWABWKVJOOKKWJQTGAIFX

A cryptanalyst, receiving these two cryptograms, will superimpose them so that they start at the same point:

ciphertext 1  BMQVSZFPJTCSSWGWVJLIOLDCODHU
ciphertext 2  RPWZVHMERWABWKVJOOKKWJQTGAIFX

Since there are 28 vertical pairs, the cryptanalyst would expect 28 x 0.0667 coincidences or 1.8676, or about 2, for a proper superimposition. But in fact he finds none, so he shifts the second cryptogram one space to the right and tries again. There will now be 27 vertical pairs. The cryptanalyst again calculates the theoretical expected number of coincidences for random and for correctly superimposed texts of this length so that he may compare the values with what he actually observes. Thus, a wrongly superimposed text would yield 27 x 0.0385 = 0.9695, or about 1 coincidence that would produced by chance alone, while a correct superimposition would yield 27 x 0.0667 = 1.2369. (These fractional differences become more pronounced with longer texts.) One coincidence appears….

Since the differences between the chance and the caused values are so slight with so few letters, the cryptanalyst might wonder whether this is not in fact a random result (which in fact it is…) and try the next superimposition. Here the number of coincidences immediately jumps. This superimposition is obviously correct.

ciphertext 1  BMQVSZFPJTCSSWGWVJLIOLDCODHU
ciphertext 2    RPWZVHMERWABWKVJOOKKWJQTGAIFX

If the cryptanalyst wishes to continue, he will find that at the next superimposition the number of coincidences falls again, to 2, and will return to begin his attack with the third superimposition…

Kahn, D. (1967, 1996). The Codebreakers. New York: Scribner. p. 377-380.

With this as the immediate background, I’ll simply note how my train of thought has progressed. When dealing with language, we are dealing with something that we know is designed. Language requires intelligence, and this is even more evident when it comes to written text. Because text is a product of intelligence, it will always display the hallmark of intelligence. One will be able to differentiate between that which is designed and that which is random.

The above examples demonstrate it beautifully. Take the illustration of putting the opening line of the Declaration of Independence above the opening of the Gettysburg address. Because both texts were written in English, and because English is designed rather than random, English traits will carry through. There will be vertical alignment of almost 7%. Random texts only have 3%. Because this is the case, even hiding English within a cipher does not destroy these traits, although it obscures it at first glance.

Design, therefore, is something that would permeate everything. It might not be immediately apparent at first glance, but there will be traits that can be sought mathematically that will yield results nowhere near what random results would give us.

Now obviously when one thinks about living systems, one can see that there are processes at work that are not random. Even the relatively simple actions of an ion pump inside a cell demonstrate values that are not what one would find in a random environment. A cell becomes charged due to the existence of these ion pumps (which is how the electrical pulse can travel the nerve), but under random circumstances the charge would dissipate.

Indeed, when thinking of what is truly random one immediately must think of entropy. The less entropy there is in a system, the less random it is. If a room has low entropy, it is because everything is ordered. If it has high entropy, it is randomized. The more ordered something is, the less random it must be.

This brings us immediately to questions of the universe as a whole. And not just in terms of entropy amongst galaxies and such. Instead, I want to ask more foundational questions.

Suppose we see iron filings arrayed on a table next to a magnet. The filings will lay in a particular pattern and won’t lay randomly. Why is this the case? Of course the immediate answer is because magnetic forces have arranged the iron filings in that manner. But why is it that magnetic forces would act in that manner? We can dig into the quantum levels, perhaps. But that merely begs the question: why is it that those quantum particals act the way they do? What is it that causes electrons to be repulsed from one another? What is it that causes protons to attract electrons? Why is it that these things always happen this way, that there is no variance…no randomness to it?

Even things that are apparently random turn out to hide hidden order. Take radioactivity for instance. Radioactive elements are used to produce random cipher keys even, because no one can predict when an alpha particle will decay. But despite how “random” the decay is, radioactive elements always decay at a specific rate. Despite the random nature, there is an over-riding law that stipulates what the half-life of that radioactive element will be. We may not be able to predict when the next alpha particle will decay, but we know that after a set amount of time exactly half of the element will have decayed.

Is that not an instance of the non-random showing itself? Like the cipher text that cannot help but display the design of the English language, if one but knew where to look, don’t the underlying laws that govern all the universe scream out that there is underlying order to even what we think is chaos?

Earlier I quoted Gleick’s comment about the shape of leaves, which are governed not by forces of Natural Selection but instead by fractal designs. The key there is “designs.” All of reality is based on these deep, inherent designs. And these designs cannot be random because they are, in fact, distinct from what we would see in a purely random field.

Naturally I know that some chaoticians say that order springs from chaos, and they will use mathematical representations of chaos to illustrate this…all the while ignoring the fact that the mathematical system that they are using to generate those fractals is itself non-chaotic. Indeed, as some may already know I’ve spent lots of time playing with what I call the “Factor Field.” It’s an Excel program that I made (you can e-mail me if you want a copy using my yahoo account. Simply put “petedawg34” and follow it with “@” and finish with “yahoo.com”, and yes defeating spambots is always fun). The Factor Field is simply a graphical representation of integers. The left-most column counts by 1. The second column by 2s. Etc. Because I used Excel, it only shows 256 wide, but it goes 65,536 deep. Here is but one example of what you can see at cell number 60,480:

This shows what I call a “starburst” pattern. You can also see the skeletons of parabolas in there, as well as many different lines of various slopes. All this was created by putting integers in patterns next to each other.

If you were to isolate some of the pixels on the right side of the graphic, the dots would look very chaotic. There would not appear to be any particular rhyme or reason for any of them to be where they are. Yet they came about due to a specific rule. There is an underlying order that created the seeming randomness that is seen. And stepping back, viewing it from the distance where one can see the whole starburst, the order is obvious.

Likewise, the factor field can make it easy to find if a number is a prime number, but it doesn’t make it any easier to predict prime numbers that aren’t shown on the graph (although via observation, I hypothesize that all prime numbers greater than 3 are numbers that end in either 1 or 5 in base-6, but that’s another blog post for another time). One can tell that previous portions of the graph affect later portions, but it is so complex that it is difficult for humans to predict how the effects will play out “off screen.”

This interplay of chaos and order is only possible because the structure of the factor field is built on order. It’s an order that displays chaotic behavior later on, but it remains order. Likewise, all the representation of chaos theory are built on mathematical models that are, themselves, strict. Math doesn’t randomly make 1 + 1 = 7. It cannot happen. And the rules of chaos mean that doing the same math formula over with the exact same data will yield the exact same result. That there are wild differences if the data is even minorly tweaked doesn’t change the fact that not tweaking it yields identical results.

In other words, even in the most random systems we can think of, because they are real, have order underlying them. Reality is not random. Reality is, at heart, the opposite of random. And what is the opposite of randomness?

Design.

I saw the headline: ‘Basic Instinct’ Director Makes Shocking Jesus Claim and I was like, “Hmm, I wonder what that was.” Turns out:

In his upcoming biography of Jesus, “Basic Instinct” director Paul Verhoeven will make the shocking claim that Christ probably was the son of Mary and a Roman soldier who raped her during the Jewish uprising in Galilee.

This can only be shocking to people who have no concept of history. This claim isn’t new. In fact, it’s been used to “explain” the virgin birth since roughly 35 AD….

In fact, the Roman soldier is supposedly named Pantera. Indeed, this is even in the Wikipedia article called Criticisms of Jesus:

For example, that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was raped by a Roman soldier named Panthera, Pantera, or Pandira. Mary became pregnant as a result, and she claimed that she was carrying the son of God in order to hide the rape.

The only thing shocking about this is that anyone thinks such a claim is shocking. But of course if we slap the word “shocking” onto it, it might make it seem relevant. It makes people fear. It doesn’t matter how little evidence there is to the whole Pantera theory. We’ll just say it’s shocking.

So I’ll make a shocking claim now. This story is the best one ever written!