Not long ago, a viral tweet made its way into my feed. Once again, a Christian was using bombastic language to insist objective morality is impossible without God. To paraphrase: “Hey atheists, it’s not my fault your worldview says rape and genocide are just a matter of opinion!”
When tweets like this get traction, the result is fairly predictable. Some misunderstand the charge and defend the moral character of atheists. Those who do understand largely fall into two camps: the Christians who mock the absurdity of the poor foolish atheists and the skeptics who mock the ignorance of the poor foolish Christians.
Little actual dialogue occurs. Almost none of it is edifying. We can and we should do better.
Humility and Confidence Can Coexist
Most Christians would agree humility is important. Nobody likes a braggart, and Scripture exhorts us to “do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than [ourselves]” (Phil. 2:3).
But what about epistemic humility? If ordinary humility challenges us to take a reasonable and balanced view of who or what we are, epistemic humility asks us to do the same with respect to what we know. This is important since no good comes from overstating the evidence. When Christians claim certainty on matters about which some degree of faith is required, they risk two kinds of harm: losing the ear of the curious skeptic and giving false confidence to the believer.
No good comes from overstating the evidence.
But wait! you might be thinking. Without God, morality really is just a matter of opinion. Certainty is the correct attitude here. Back in high school and early college, I was sure this was true. If you knew me then, you may have heard me say as much. These days, I’m not so sure. Although Christian thinkers whose work I admire sometimes make this claim, I’m increasingly convinced it’s the wrong way to go. The right answer to this question is more complicated than we might prefer.
I believe real, objective morality is excellent evidence for God’s existence. I spent three chapters of my book Believing Philosophy defending the claim that his existence is the best explanation available for morality. If moral truths are objective, their truth doesn’t depend on the opinion of any human person or community. Instead, facts about what humans should and shouldn’t do are independently existing, universally applicable things. (Philosophers call this view “moral realism.”) These real moral values would be an odd fit in an atheistic universe; in a world designed by God, they’re exactly what we should expect to find. For this reason, I’m convinced our confidence in the objectivity of morality points us toward a world created, designed, and upheld by a sovereign God.
If I agree with all of that, then what’s the problem? It’s that improbability and impossibility aren’t the same thing.
Serious atheistic philosophers are aware of the tension between atheism and robust moral realism. Some respond by rejecting moral realism. Others, though, defend atheistic moral realism. Professional philosophers have written whole books aimed at demonstrating how morality—real, universal, exceptionless morality—might be compatible with their atheistic worldview. They may be wrong. I think they are wrong. Even so, this degree of careful effort deserves acknowledgment and engagement. It won’t do, for instance, to insist, “Well, I don’t have to read them to know they’re incorrect. These atheists can’t succeed because they set out to do the impossible, and everyone knows the impossible can’t be done.”
Implausible? Yes. Impossible? Not So Fast.
Atheistic moral realism is an unusual worldview. The idea that a natural universe—neither created nor governed by any God, devoid of all spiritual realities—might nonetheless contain eternally existing, universally applicable facts about how our species should live . . . well, it’s hard to see how this could come about. What kind of evidence could support objective morality without, in the process, also giving us reason to believe in a Creator God? An atheistic-yet-morally-robust universe seems wildly unlikely; the worldview strikes me as highly implausible. Still, it may be possible.
It might be tempting to think even this minimal concession grants too much to the atheist. Why limit ourselves to this weaker claim—that atheistic moral realism is very improbable—when we could take the stronger stance and declare it impossible? But here and elsewhere, it’s a counterintuitive fact that the stronger claim often makes for the weaker argument. Therefore, when we practice epistemic humility and take care not to overstate the case for theism, we actually make the job of the atheistic moral realist more difficult.
When we practice epistemic humility and take care not to overstate the case for theism, we actually make the job of the atheistic moral realist more difficult.
Think of it this way: I argue the existence of God is a simpler, more straightforward, and more likely explanation of moral realism than any atheistic alternative. To object, the atheistic moral realist must give evidence her view is a better explanation than mine. Mere possibility isn’t enough; this is a question of plausibility. But when a Christian leads with the impossibility of another’s view, any possibility at all will suffice to undermine her argument.
Now, it may be that moral realism is impossible without God. Atheistic moral realists might be defending views that are ultimately contradictory. But even if this were true, it’d be a difficult truth to demonstrate. In contrast, it’s not at all difficult to defend the claim that God is a better explanation of objective morality than a mindless, naturalistic universe could ever be. The weaker claim is enough. In fact, the weaker claim yields the stronger argument.
Still, you might ask, what’s the harm? Why worry about an implausible possibility? For two reasons. First, curious skeptics are unlikely even to consider an argument that fails to account for the full range of atheistic alternatives. For the sake of meaningful dialogue, we should choose our words carefully.
If you’re not engaging the curious skeptic, though, the second concern may hit closer to home: the Christian who hears that no atheist can make sense of objective morality is in real danger of finding evidence to the contrary. What happens when an eager, intellectually curious, highly confident Christian discovers the blogs, podcasts, articles, and books that present atheism in a very different light? We know what happens. The inference is easy to make. Well, if they were wrong about this, what else are they wrong about? Why believe any of it?
Humble Words, Winsome Words
We can avoid these risks by tempering our language with an eye toward epistemic humility. Doing so doesn’t require any diminishment of faith; on the contrary, such an approach is biblical—especially when the topic isn’t directly articulated in Scripture.
After all, we walk by faith and not by sight; we see as through a glass darkly and a mirror dimly (2 Cor. 5:7; 1 Cor. 13:12). We can boldly proclaim the gospel, live faithful lives, and think seriously about our beliefs—all without overstating our case for particular philosophical positions. We can and we should.
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We need one another. Yet we don’t always know how to develop deep relationships to help us grow in the Christian life. Younger believers benefit from the guidance and wisdom of more mature saints as their faith deepens. But too often, potential mentors lack clarity and training on how to engage in discipling those they can influence.
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