I Can Be Good Without God

I don’t need God in order to live a good life, is a common reply from atheists to the moral argument(s) for God. This rejoinder is one that begins with a fundamental misunderstanding of what theists mean when they speak of objective moral duties, or of doing right. Of course the theist will readily agree that one need not have belief in God to live a moral life; nevertheless, when the atheist claims that humans can be good without believing in God, he completely misses the point of the argument.

The moral argument is not that we can’t be good without a belief that God exists. The argument is that objective moral values and duties don't exist at all, unless they are grounded in an objective, wholly just, and transcendent, Lawgiver. By way of analogy, let's take space(time) for example: According to modern cosmology, there is no privileged reference frame (perspective), and whether you are located to the left or right of some other object is a relative matter -- there really is no up or down either. Because you are simply relative to the location of other objects (in space), there just is no position that can be said to be objectively here or there -- at least no meaningful way to articulate that notion. The theist will submit, likewise, that there is no way to determine whether actions are really right or really wrong without an objective Paradigm of good (best); and, that, in order to recognize we are capable of acting properly, we must have some basis for determining right and wrong, other than our own perspectives and opinions. My opinion, in the absence of God as the peerless standard, is merely relative other peer's opinions, which fare no better on the grand scale. So, "how do we prioritize one viewpoint over another on atheism, or humanism, or naturalism?" one might ask. No one can truly say which (if any) opinion is objectively binding, even if we gain consensus on a particular set of rules.

Some will argue that morality just evolved alongside consciousness, and that this is the extent of its origin. No external standards are necessary. Of course, the obvious response to this is, from where do moral values evolve? Unless a moral foundation is already in place, no evolution of its tenets could occur; certainly not ex post facto. Moreover, conscious observers [participants] could in no way claim that actions, which occurred under previous circumstances and guidelines, involving less evolved creatures, were really wrong. Of course, the initial participants couldn't know that their actions were right or wrong, without appealing to some antecedent principles; and, no mechanism could possibly account for the evolution of such, without a requisite foundation. So, whether we think moral values and duties evolve or not, pre-existing standards are required to elicit any change whatever, which just validates the theistic view.

Imagine you wanted to play Monopoly with a few friends. Further suppose that no player had prior experience with the game,and that previous participants had lost the rulebook. After some time for deliberations, you and your friends could probably establish a set of rules that would closely resemble the original ones; the fact that the game’s designer(s) included a very specific set of instructions, notwithstanding. The group could probably get on quite well, as long as everyone played by the same rules. Does the fact that a set of practical rules could be established imply that the original guidelines are invalidated or nonexistent? I think not. The theist will agree that we might indeed figure out what the original rules were, over time.

Let’s imagine now, that one of your three friends—the guy who happened to be the banker—decided he would no longer play by the agreed upon rules; that Jim, to the chagrin of others in the group, thought it OK to take a few extra hundreds from the till, whenever no one was looking. Of course, you, or another player, might protest that he was cheating or acting selfishly. Upon being caught red handed, suppose Jim firmly resisted the charges, stating that his rules were just as good as yours, and that he no longer wished to abide by the previously established rules. Who would be right in this case; and what should be done? He is, after all, correct that his conventions are just as good as the decided upon ones, if there really are no objective guidelines for playing the game. If Jim were a cunning tactician, his scheme may never be uncovered. In that case, he would never realize adverse consequences for his behavior. Would his deeds, then, be really wrong? If so, why, on atheism, would this be the case?


To drive this point home, let’s put the idea to test in a hypothetical, but real-life based, scenario. Anyone following the news of late is quite aware that the Catholic Church was recently rocked by numerous allegations of abuses by priests against adolescent boys. Many have become aware of similar, but unrelated, charges directed toward Jerry Sandusky, who is also accused of preying on young boys he was given charge over. The Penn State assistant coach was pilloried—as were the clergy—in both television newscasts and national newspapers. Angry interlocutors, publicly expressing their outrage, hoped every one of these abusers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law; and rightly so, in light of their egregious behavior.

You will recall that Sandusky, at first, denied having a problem, maintaining that his contact with the adolescents was consensual. In some cases, the abuse was discovered long after his involvement with the boys had ended. Were his deeds not exposed, the coach may have continued to violate these young men, and perhaps claim even more victims. As shocking as the multiple allegations were, this type of behavior undoubtedly occurs elsewhere, under a variety of circumstances. Many perpetrators, in fact, will never appear before a court of law. And, it’s anyone’s guess as to whether they will ever pay for their crimes. (What if the deeds took place 4000 years ago, under a completely different ethic?)

Now, for this arguments sake, let us assume that the dreadful behavior of these abusers was never discovered, and that all repercussions were ultimately positive for everyone involved. Because of the way the boys were treated by the elder men, they learned valuable life lessons, which propelled them to great success in both their relational and their financial affairs. Here, let’s suppose also that no physical or psychological harm resulted from the encounters. What then could be said to be wrong with the behavior of Jerry Sandusky or the Catholic priests? In the end, their alleged exploitations would have yielded a tremendous bounty of human flourishing. It could indeed be argued that these seemingly bad deeds were necessary for the greater good.

The atheist may protest that my hypothetical scenario(s) could never occur in the real world, because everyone knows that the aforementioned abuses are really wrong. But a quick glance at human history belies this assertion. Of course, most would immediately recognize that something bad had taken place; nevertheless, many atrocities have been carried out—by popular consensus no less—in the name of the law or of good. Even today, certain religious adherents consider it praiseworthy to kill others for holding different beliefs. Unborn children are said to be less than persons, until they are viable outside the womb. Who makes this distinction, and by what authority?

Now, I am not interested in whether or not moral duties change (from a human perspective) over time; or, whether every people group adopts its own seemingly distinctive set of laws. I am interested in the foundation of moral duties, irrespective of beliefs. Are they the result of socio-biological conditioning or societal norms? Could moral duties be the result of a purely naturalistic herd mentality among Homo sapiens? Do other species exhibit moral virtue? How do moral duties supervene on conscious states? These are the questions I am concerned with.

Of course, the atheist’s moral code might parallel that of the theist, or even surpass it in excellence. This will come as no surprise to the theist, who believes a good moral compass—assuming proper functionality—is intrinsic to the nature of human beings, just as the Bible implies. We may just apprehend moral duties gradually, in the same way we learn about the physical world around us: through experience and observation. This view might account for variations in moral values and duties better than the position that no objective standards exist. With history in view, we can see that popular consensus can be gravely mistaken about moral duties. After all, if keeping other men as slaves has been justified so recently in our past, we had better not look to human ideals for guidance.

If humans are merely byproducts of time plus matter plus chance, and thoughts (about morality) are determined by electro-mechanical, biochemical, and neuronal interactions where do morals come from and how do moral duties attach themselves to our conscious states? If humans have no free will to act or to refrain from acting, can moral duties be said to exist at all? How can moral responsibilities be binding; and, who can be held accountable for her actions, if she ultimately has no choice? I submit that no person is, at the end of the day, responsible for what he (apparently) does, good or bad, if Materialism is true.

Sam Harris suggests, in his book, Letter to a Christian Nation, that morals are based on human flourishing. But, how is that even helpful? Slaves, from the late 18th century and into the heyday of the cotton industry in the early 19th—not to mention Jews during Hitler’s time in power—were simply defined in such a way as to fall outside the classification of human being. If human flourishing is to be considered the “be all end all,” it would certainly help if the definition of person were not so fluid. Perhaps one day, Christians—or maybe some other intellectually inferior group—will be considered expendable by the majority. If humans are, after all, products of a mindless and purposeless scheme like natural selection, winnowing random genetic mutation, then what is to prevent such a position of animosity toward "inferiors" who don’t deserve the same rights and privileges as the rest of the populous?

Even if we grant—for the sake of argument—that humans deserve to flourish, and that we can know exactly what that flourishing entails; why is human flourishing important? Why not antelope flourishing, or bacterial flourishing? Unless humans really are "special creations” of the universe—they cannot be on naturalism—then Harris and others seem to be clearly engaging in what some have called species-ism. If Homo sapiens are to be elevated above other creatures—including those that may live under analogous moral systems—then, humans must somehow be objectively valuable and their actions really right, or really wrong. If the material universe is all there is, however, and humans are simply, tiny, insignificant, elements among an infinitude of other constituents, how well or how badly they behave is of no ultimate consequence.

How Long is a Piece of String?

In the cult classic, House of a Thousand Corpses, the infamous Captain Spalding replied facetiously to an overly curious visitor, who had ventured into his roadside country store, "How long is a piece of strang?." Those of you who saw the film will vividly recall these anxious moments. The young man's wry smile quickly gave way to nervous laughter, and ultimately to horror, as he and his friends were treated to an experience of a lifetime! The aptly named Murder Ride would not disappoint. The captain's sarcastic and superficial retort belies a deep philosophical conundrum, which is quite relevant to a serious contemporary inquiry.

To date, no mathematician, no philosopher, no cosmologist, has adequately demonstrated (to my mind at least) that an actual infinite can exist in reality. Of course, infinites are quite malleable and useful in transfinite arithmetic; but, infinites in actuality are much different. In fact, it seems obvious that an infinitude of existing things—apples, quarks, moments or universes—is impossible to instantiate. Note that it is just as impossible that infinite number of bosons exist (in space) as it is an infinite number of elephants do. Each is equally implausible, even though one is much smaller than the other.

To make this point clear, a distinction should be drawn between an actual infinite— this denoted by the aleph symbol followed by an integer such as 0,1,2, etc. in transfinite arithmetic—and a potential infinite (indefinite) which is symbolized by the sideways (lazy) 8, sometimes called a lemniscate. Georg Cantor, the famous mathematician, also introduced us to the idea of "absolute infinity, to make matters worse. Both cosmologists and laypeople often conflate these concepts when speaking of eternal futures, beginningless series', or infinite space-times. Of course, the problem with many of their construals is that any one or more concept of infinity may be in mind. What has been deemed the potential infinite is quite dissimilar in practice to the actual (completed) infinite. With respect to expanding universes like our own, only the potential infinite seems applicable.

We can demonstrate the concept of the potential infinite; or, at least understand the idea of infinity as a limit—some call this indefinite to avoid confusion--when speaking of actually existing things. I can conceptualize, or think about, possessing an infinite number of oranges, for example. Counting or acquiring an infinite number of them is quite a different thing, however. Cantorian set theory—it purports to show that actual infinites do exist—allows us to envision two infinite sets (of oranges), or even an infinity of infinite sets. But, if the one group (of oranges) is infinite, how can another set be added to it, and the sum still be considered infinite? Yet this is exactly the type of thing permissible on transfinite arithmetic. Therein, you could (in theory) add an infinite number of infinite sets (of oranges), even though you began with. No matter how many oranges are added to the existing number, an infinite quantity of Valencias remains. It is quite obvious that this type of infinite should never be utilized to argue for infinitely many oranges.

The potential infinite, or indefinite, is also exemplified within the following scenario: Imagine I wanted to begin counting whole numbers from one to infinity at this very moment. Perhaps I could enlist the services of the world’s fastest computer, which would continue to count for several generations, at millions of calculations per second, or faster. How long do you suppose it would take to reach infinitieth? I dare say the computer would expire long before reaching our goal. Despite all its efforts, after many, many, years, it would have made no relative progress in this endeavor. Even if the computer had an infinite number of days, years, or centuries, at its disposal, no advancement could ever be realized. At any point in the future, the counting computer, would still have infinity to go before reaching its hypothetical limit. Likewise, counting backwards from an infinite future, a first number could never be reached. If a last number cannot be reached, counting down from infinity could never even begin. Ironically, infinitude would be rendered finite if either were acheived, or even conceivably acheivable.

Whether or not a collection of individual universes is viewed as linear or en mass (occurring simultaneously) the infinity problem persists. None of the finite and tangible entities is eternal, nor is the entire collection, which is just a set of definite and discrete parts. As we discussed above, the number of components in the universe constitute a potential infinite, which could be added to or subtracted from. (Noteworthy is the fact that subtraction from infinity always results in a finite number, which is why the action is effectively disallowed in mathematics.) So, a group of finite quantities (universes) can never be actually infinite, as one more universe could always be added to the current number, no matter how many exist at any given moment. Some cosmologists, despite this seemingly intractable problem, persist with the idea that the universe (or multiverse) as a whole is infinite, even if no single constituent is. But, this is logically and physically impossible. You simply can't get to infinity by adding together finites.

Let's assume, nevertheless, that the whole universe, multi-verse, meta-verse, is indeed infinite. Another somewhat lesser known problem arises. If the wider multiverse is infinite, how does it interact with our current finite one? If we have any understanding of cause and effect it is this: A finite cause produces a finite effect; an infinite cause an infinite one. Imagine that the causal conditions, which produce universes is perpetual—never mind that this violates the second law of thermodynamics, and bringing in new mass/energy violates the first law as we are just fantasizing here—how then does it interact with our finite "bubble" universe, on that view? Why is our universe only 13.8 billion years old and expanding? Why hasn't our universe been here from infinity past, if the causal conditions have been? And why hasn't our universe already gained maximum entropy? Why didn't an infinitude of evens transpire an eternity ago? Why is the universe now undergoing change, and events yet taking place? How does it continue to expand, when it should be "infinitely large" already? That is, if there were such a thing as an infinite past.

Infinitely large, with respect to universes, appears problematic on a number of fronts, to say the least. Let's now examine the other extreme: Infinitely small (infinitesimal). A shoestring, for example, may be continuously divided into smaller and smaller strings—whether by actually cutting them, or simply by imagining them being divided in a hypothetical scenario. As we cut the strings in half, with each stroke of the knife or pen, we double the number of (smaller) strings—which by the way are also infinitely long—without ever reaching our goal. In fact, each string could be further subdivided (logically if not physically) an infinite number of times, without ever introducing a new piece of string. When you think about this scenario, it turns out that every piece of string—no matter how short or how long—is potentially infinite in length. i.e., Everything is divisible to an infinite number of parts. So then, how long is a piece of string? Infinitely long, in fact. The absurdity becomes even more apparent when we think about the fact that a centimeter long string can be potentially divided the same number of times as a string encircling the earth: Infinitely many times, of course.

On the above examples, it is quite easy to see that infinity is really just an idea in your mind that is never attainable or quantifiable. Cosmologists have hoped, nonetheless, to portray our universe as eternal, or beginningless, primarily, I think, because of theistic implications (of an absolute inception). With respect to meta-verses, multi-verses, multi-dimensions etc., it is not possible that an infinite number of these exist, as one simply compounds the problem by invoking them. Numerous problems come to the fore when infinite universes are considered. Besides the problems already mentioned, another serious issue regards the idea of spatial extension. An infinite universe would presumably occupy an infinite amount of space. Consequently, only one infinite—even if it could exist—would be possible, because it would necessarily pervade the entirety of infinite space. For me, the idea of multiple infinities is oxymoronic.

 To help illustrate my point, envision an infinitely large balloon—this is obviously a mind experiment that assumes there are infinites, and that those can be added to other infinites, which is not my position—now, add another infinitely large balloon then another, then another, and another, ad infinitum. At first we notice that either (a) the original balloon was not actually infinite—it requires more air perhaps to occupy an infinite amount of space—or, (b) the balloon will have already coalesced with the other infinitely expansive balloons an infinite time ago. Even if we assume space-time is flat, it is clear that multiple spatially extended infinites cannot co-exist, even if space is expanding to accommodate the ever growing space-times—the universes would have surely coalesced infinity ago (If we deny there is interaction among the various dimensions, why bother with the extraneous concepts at all?). Even if we allow that infinite space could accommodate everything by continually expanding, we are right back to a single coalescence occurring infinitely long ago, which is nothing like what we now observe.

Continuing our evaluation of the potential infinite—this notion of indefinite alluded to earlier—let's consider just our own space-time reality. The universe we reside in, the only observable one we'll ever appreciate, is demonstrably finite and potentially infinite, in at least one other regard. Our space-time continuum began a finite time ago: 13.8 billion years in the past (If the universe is actually infinite, this age is just an arbitrary measure, and we can discard it readily, along with the age of the earth, carbon dating of other objects etc.). Our universe couldn't be actually infinite, because it had a beginning, and is now expanding (indefinitely). Though all known evidence points to the fact that the universe will expand forever, never being infinitely large, it should not be characterized as actually infinite in duration, as the attainment of infinitude is impossible, on grounds we have already discussed. Neither can our universe be claimed to extend infinitely in the earlier than direction, logically or scientifically (See Borde, Guth, Vilenkin 2003.). Though it seems plausible that a physical universe like ours could have a beginning without an end—it could expand from now on. The universe could not have an end, or even the capability to progress, without a beginning. Since we know that infinitude involving actual physical objects is really indefinite, we can logically surmise that because physical entities, including universes, are measurable, and quantifiable, it is improper to characterize them as infinite.

If a multi-verse does exist, it too is finite. Of this, we can be quite certain, again based on what we know about causality. If, for example, water was to exist in a universe, in which the temperature were perpetually below 32 degrees, it would be frozen for the duration of that universe. In any hypothetical meta-verse, a universe contained in, or interacting with, the others would necessarily be of the same sort, whether finite or infinite. The fact that all things contained in our universe, including us, are demonstrably finite is very strong evidence that there is no multi-verse, or the multi-verse itself had a beginning. If the causal conditions are always present, so too the effect. If the effect (our 13.8-billion-year old universe) is finite, so is any proposed multi-verse—at least one that could interact with or cause our space-time reality. One proposed solution to this apparently intractable problem is the introduction of volition, or will, in what philosophers refer to as agent causation. A person sitting from eternity could will to stand up, for example. From a timeless state, a universe might be created in time, via this volitional agent. Though controversial, the idea is at least plausible, and there is no logical preclusion. The proposed agent—perhaps like our minds—may not be spatially extended, but capable of interacting with objects in space-time. No physical state involving perpetual affects is afforded the luxury of maintaining the quality of infinite, while producing its effects in time. In the case of the latter, time could not have ensued, and no state of affairs involving events now occurring could ever have not obtained. In other words, all things that will ever occur have already done so, if the physical past is indeed actually infinite.

Still, some cosmologists proffer the idea that the universe is infinite in the sense that a hypothetical observer could travel up in a straight line, forever, and end up back where he started—multiple times in fact—because of the curvature of space-time. This suggestion is comparable to how one might travel the surface of a balloon, or hoop, and go round and round forever. But, what does such a scheme have to say about the infinity of the universe? Very little, I think. I can travel around the globe indefinitely, but few will argue that the earth is infinite in any respect. Not only do these representations not answer questions about infinity, they raise additional questions, which are problematic in their own right. Questions like, how did this demonstrably finite space/time originate from an infinitude, and why does the universe exist at all?, come to mind. Our potentially infinite universe still requires a cause in order to begin—

inflation began on modern views—a finite time ago. It cannot be causal to itself, or the universe would have to exist before it existed. Nor can our universe be the result of a beginningless series, which, as we have seen, must have a terminator, in order to progress.

In summary, it turns out that every constituent of the universe—and the whole—can be considered infinitely large or infinitely small, depending on one's perspective. Nevertheless, if all things within the universe, or even the universe itself, are infinite, there just is no perspective one might take; no specific time or place from which we might make an observation--no foothold to stand. We are everywhere and nowhere at once. In order for material physical objects to be called such, and to interact with the whole, there must be a quantifiable relationship to the entirety, else the object can't be said to exist, in any meaningful way. If the universe is indeed infinite, we cannot be, as finite entities, related to the extremes. Nor could any other objects, irrespective their collective number. So then, how long is a piece of string? According to some scientific views, infinitely long. I and Captain Spaulding know, however, a string is only as long as you cut it. 

Cosmos Episode 3: Dr. Tyson's Knowledge Fails to Conquer His Fear

Episode 3 of Cosmos, like previous ones, is rife with sarcasm—most directed toward religious views of course. This iteration is filled with the usual presuppositions about God: how a cosmic designer should have created the universe, and how its constituents would appear if the universe were designed. Neil implies that if a divine being existed, He would have made the universe by doing thus and such; and, because we don’t observe that—whatever that is—we should not infer design when looking at the universe. God should have utilized dissimilar components, instead of making use of the same basic building blocks over and over; things like quarks, atoms, DNA, etc. I suppose Tyson’s would have the deigner thrown away the mold each time he made a novel creature; the modern equivalent to an automaker's reinventing the wheel with each new model.

Dr. Tyson’s insinuation—it turns out to be a major strawman—goes something like this: God would have made the universe just large enough for man to exist in. We would not observe this enormous, incredibly wasteful, and potentially infinite universe, replete with uninhabitable planets in a realm of ever-expanding dimensions. In other words, if a hypothetical creator acted differently than Tyson thinks he should have, it follows—at least for Dr. Tyson—God does not exist. This very odd conclusion is doubly strange in light of the fact that theologians—Christians in particular—have always posited an immense God, unbounded by space and time, who transcends the very universe he created. The God of traditional theism is really, really, big! Why this inestimably powerful designer should have chosen to create a miniscule universe—one in which every facet is readily discovered and easily quantified--as Tyson seems to suggest, is beyond me. This characterization seems antithetical to the very notion of God.

Nearly seven minutes into the third episode, and after several peculiar statements like the following, Neil ultimately begins his speech on some positive aspects of scientific inquiry. “During the 40 thousand generations of humanity…the best we could do was look up in helpless wonder; prisoners of earth with nowhere to turn…beyond our guilt and our fears.” Until…a permanent revolution in human thought…Newton and Halley…their collaboration…ultimately set us free from our long confinement of this tiny world.” Of course, this oversimplification has nothing to say of the continued wonder with which most of us still view the universe and all its marvelous sights, like the comets of which he speaks. It's as if Neil thinks we should be able to constrain these fiery beasts, simply by virtue of knowing what materials they consist of. Knowledge may indeed conquer fear; it may not, however, conquer the implacable physical laws of our universe. 

According to Dr. Tyson, creatures evolved over eons of time, and over innumerable generations, to recognize patterns. Sometimes their pattern recognition goes too far, causing them to see designs where none exist. We see patterns in the sky, and at the cellular level, as well as in the rainbow, on the zebra, and on the butterfly. We indeed create in our mind patterning that isn't really there. Sometimes, Dr. Tyson continues, we erroneously visualize pools of water in the desert, or the Virgin Mary in a soufflé. This ability—or disability in these cases—caused our predecessors, looking up at the stars, to find shapes, and figures, and eventually, gods. Science is able to describe exactly what causes these appearances—both real and invalid—and, it provides a rational basis for why people generally see them. Therefore, designs—and hence gods—in the universe are illusory, not real. Neither we nor the universe are designed. Neil's conclusion is rather simplistic; and, it is based on fallacious reasoning.

Just before the three minute mark—in true Dawkins like fashion—Neil  further elucidates his suggestion that religious peoples were (and are) foolish to believe in what he deems superstitions. What he doesn't seem to grasp, however, is that his methodology invalidates all erroneous thinking, not just religious points of view; and, that means the thinking of Charles Darwin (and others) who thought the fossil record would vindicate his theory; that soon the record would prove replete with transitional species.  Neil also fails to account for the fact that he, too, is necessarily ignorant, when compared to future generations, who will likely have programs of their own undoubtedly depicting our generation's errors. The professor should understand that his basis does not at all cast doubt on religious beliefs, any more than it renders dubious current scientific theories. Neil’s reasoning here provides us with a classic example of what philosophers call "the genetic fallacy."

Not quite four minutes into the program, and Dr. Tyson’s ship of the imagination lurches into hyper drive as he elucidates thus: “Every ancient human culture made the same mistake. A comet must be a message sent by the gods or one particular god…ancestors concluded that the news was not good.” No matter the culture within which one is raised, “We’re all too eager to deceive ourselves…” according to the professor. Of course it is quite easy to look at past cultures and criticize their beliefs from the present. This does not mean, however, that all their beliefs were false, or that scientific ideas were better. Truth is we apprehend knowledge of most subjects gradually and incrementally; and, no single discipline—whether science, or philosophy, or theism—has all the answers. What if we have yet a long, long, way to go in our understanding of the cosmos? What if the next generation of cosmologists tells us that our current modes of inquiry are completely wrongheaded? Or, that our best theories are nonsense? Such is the nature of acquiring knowledge in any field of inquiry.

Suppose I can tell you exactly how a diamond is formed, or how a Ferrari is built, or the precise relevant parameters involved during a Super Bowl winning touchdown pass and catch? Are any of these depreciated because I can elucidate them? Of course not. Knowledge about the particulars of a phenomenon is simply irrelevant to whether or not it is designed, or whether it is the product of intelligence. Think of a robotic arm in an automobile factory, or a conveyor belt used to transfer parts. Even these seemingly mundane transporters—we can easily understand them—are designed for a particular purpose. They truly are the products of intelligence. Though the conveyor mobilizes parts in a seemingly innocuous fashion, it is finely crafted with specific (production) goals in mind. Perhaps, DNA and RNA are of this sort—not that these are simple mechanisms.

Dr. Tyson’s charge that ignorant people once thought gods directly and continuously engaged heavenly bodies—moving stars, comets, and planets about—and, his subsequent declaration that we have discarded these false impressions because of scientific incursions, carries no weight. The fact that we know more about the universe in no way implies God’s nonexistence. I would say that the assertion is indeed a non sequitur? We could find numerous examples in science of similar gaffes, to which we could appeal, in order to invalidate the scientific method on the same grounds. If this is the measure by which to judge the veracity of a methodology, Dr. Tyson undercuts his own warrant for trusting the scientific method, so called. To give an example, the prevailing view of scientists—and of most everyone else—before Redi and Pastuer was that spontaneous generation was natural and occurred with regularity. Flies, it was thought, miraculously appeared on rotting meat after it had been stored in containers. Of course it was later discovered that flies lay tiny, nearly microscopic, eggs that hatch and produce more flies. Would anyone consider abandoning the scientific method because we now have a better explanation of this phenomenon?

Finally, at the 29:00 mark, Neil doesn't disappoint with this dubious doozy, “His law swept away the need for a master clock-maker, to explain the beauty and precision of the solar system.” Huh? What did he say? This strikingly odd proclamation—one that has absolutely zero relevance to the question of whether or not the “clock” was designed—leaves us with somewhat of a mystery as to the point the professor is making. Even if we could discover every law (so called) of nature, the laws themselves could yet require a designer. This is exactly the line of reasoning most theists use today, in fact; just as they did in Newton’s time. So, it is just false that we need jettison every vestige of belief in a Designer to better understand the intricacies of the universe. This is quite evident when one considers the fact that science—big bang cosmogony in particular—is quite confirmatory of theism. By the way, Dr. Tyson employs a similar line of reasoning to ameliorate theistic implications of perceived fine tuning, elsewhere.

Neither clock, nor bicycle, nor anything else, ceases to be designed merely because we can describe any, or even all, of its components. According to Dr. Tyson, “Gravity is the clockmaker.” Yes, in the same way internal combustion is the mechanism for acceleration in a Ferrari. Of course, this tells us nothing of the origin of the exotic masterpiece. In reality, gravity is a single constituent—one that presupposes relationships at that—of the grand machine we call our universe. Describing a law does not bring it into existence, by the way. Dr. Tyson seems to be arguing, here, that because I understand how a Ferrari’s engine develops horsepower, it is, therefore, not designed. Come on Neil. You can do better than this.

“Matter obeyed commandments we can discover; laws the Bible hadn't mentioned.” Perhaps Seth McFarland is doing the script-writing for this module; but, someone needs a new editor. In case you are wondering, there are many things the Bible doesn't mention. The Bible, for certain, speaks nothing of House Resolution 499 (On marijuana usage). If the Good Book were held to Neil’s queer standard—to explicate the laws of gravity etc.—it would still be under construction. Perhaps the kind Dr. should expound a bit on what should and should not be included in the Bible. For now, I’ll leave with you this exoneration from St. John’s gospel, chapter 21, verse 25: “And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose...even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.” 

Cosmos Episode 2: More Simplistic Assertions

Natural selection tends toward stasis, over thousands and even millions of years. This is a well know fact among paleontologists. For Neil Tyson to extrapolate the idea that pressures educed by selective breeding, which produced remarkable changes in the species canine, to the conclusion that similar forces were necessarily employed and maintained on natural selection, barely takes into account the obvious: the primary catalyst for these grand evolutionary achievements is nothing less than intelligence, in the form of volitional agents. The fact that humans altered the appearance of a single species, in very rapid fashion, tells us little about what may or may not have taken place naturally. We can, however, examine quite a revealing snapshot of this pre-history in the fossil record. What story does it tell?

To the point, Dr. Tyson completely glosses over the fact that the primary mechanism of evolution—human selective breeding in this case—elicited more changes in Canis lupus, over a relatively brief period, than did natural selection in all of human pre-history. This, in fact, is exactly what makes his chosen example so remarkable. Like most species, the wolf remained quite static in appearance, throughout its pre-human history, and it continues to do so even today. The fossil record evinces precisely this conclusion: a striking longevity of individual species, perhaps followed by rapid speciation is quite ordinary. The primary question therefore remains: Could natural selection manufacture the same variability in canines as Artificial—intelligent—Selection has proven to achieve, given enough time? It is difficult to say for certain; but, the answer, for now, seems to be, no.

Certainly, selective pressures, so called, were involved—even paramount I suppose—in order for evolutionary change to naturally occur; nevertheless, the process of descent with modification, driven by natural selection, winnowing random genetic mutation—as Alvin Plantinga explains—has never been demonstrably shown to produce the kind of dramatic morphological changes seen in Dr. Tyson’s example of canine breeding. To anyone but the most ardent Darwinian apologist, it is apparent that Neil simply misuses the data to bolster his rather tenuous assertions regarding Natural Selection. On my view—and that of many other theists—descent with modification and natural selection are relatively uncontroversial—it is the assumption that random, unguided, genetic modifications have produced all the diversity we see, rather, that is in question.

  

Compare the more conspicuous agent elicited changes that, from the wolf, produced a St. Bernard, a Pit Bull, and a Chihuahua, with the rather modest evolutionary changes in Neil’s second illustration pertaining to bear fur color variability. Dr. Tyson utilizes the former to make his point; then moves seamlessly to the more modest exemplar to show how the “awesome power of natural selection” operates of its own accord. Though somewhat analogous, this trivial representation of evolution concerning darker bears (struggling to survive in snowy environs) giving way to lighter colored bears, pales in comparison—both literally and figuratively—to the former illustration of evolution by way of artificial selection. And what’s more, Dr. Tyson’s first example, the dog, is still, for all practical purposes—even after numerous impressive changes like those presented in this episode—the same species as the gray wolf. In spite of its diminutive appearance, a Chihuahua my yet be paired with a wolf to produce offspring. These striking morphological changes have not caused a new species to arise. Does selection have the power to do so? Perhaps, and perhaps not.

 

Who can blame Dr. Tyson here, for overplaying his hand and appealing to the sensational? After all, there are few, if any, comparable instances of evolution, so called, in the history of vertebrates. Try as we may, no one has ever found the requisite missing links in the fossilized record that Darwinian style gradualism must have generated, and that aplenty. The fossil record, as duly noted by renowned paleontologists (the late) Stephen Gould and Niles Eldridge, implies that thousands, and sometimes millions of years of stasis (followed by rapid speciation) are the norm throughout our pre-history. Gould remarks, “Most species exhibit no directional change during their tenure on earth. They appear in the fossil record looking much the same as when they disappear; morphological change is usually limited and directionless.” Hardly the gradual, methodical, innumerable, change taking place over countless intermediary species, predicted by Darwin. This fact is still quite the persistent source of embarrassment for neo-Darwinians, as it was for Darwin himself.

@ 14:00 and following, what we see—and this has been discussed at length—is that proponents of Darwinian gradualism, like Dr. Tyson, point to examples of fur color selection—white will give northern bears a stealth advantage, brown favors the southern bear—as evidence for the profound mechanism of change that brought bears into existence in the first place, and indeed, shaped all of nature’s variety. The fact that lighter bears produced lighter offspring, because of some heritable trait, constitutes the type of “momentous transformation” often heralded, by Darwinists, as irrefutable evidence in support of the notion that your not so distant progenitor was Poison Ivy, or perhaps, a dandelion. Couple this pre-supposition with the notion that all life, and indeed the universe itself, arose spontaneously from nothing, and you have yourself quite a narrative; one that the writers of Genesis—if they were alive today—would be quite envious of.

@7:52 Neil proclaims, “In a blink of cosmic time, just 15 or 20 thousand years, we turned gray wolves into all the kinds of dogs… Think about it, every breed of dog you've ever seen was sculpted by human hands.” Now that you've mentioned it Dr. Tyson, this is a fascinating example, which stands in stark contrast to the directionless efforts of natural selection we infer from the fossil record. NS is not only glacially slow, by comparison, but also relatively impotent. NS was only able to elicit trivial changes in wolf populations during tens of thousands of years of human pre-history. This evidence suggests that without intelligent intervention we would have, at best, only a few examples of naturally motivated evolutionary changes in Canis lupus. This hardly constitutes a triumph for Darwinian evolution.

The climax of this evolutionary theme is reached @ 9:50 of the program, where Neil—not unlike Buzz Light-year—invites us to explore “…the microcosms, where one kind of life can be transformed into another!” On cue, he guides us from the microscopic confines of a bear’s reproductive organs to the external macroscopic level, where the “dramatic” evolutionary transformation is evident: random genetic change, according to Tyson, has afforded bears with lighter fur—which enhances stealth in arctic environs—the means by which to thrive and to reproduce. These seemingly trivial changes in fur color presumably constitute an evolutionary triumph—or so the story goes. Ardent Darwinists, like Professor Tyson, inform us that when the less fit darker bears die off—or migrate south—the result is a population advantage for white bears over brown; and, subsequently, as the two groups of bears become geographically and (perhaps) genetically isolated, the one species will—and has—become two.

Truth is, Kodiak bears and Polar bears—once thought to be wholly separate species—have recently been discovered to have produced fertile hybrid offspring; the two can and apparently do interbreed. The species distinction seems to be an arbitrary one in this case, at least. So when Tyson and other naturalists deride "creationists" for believing that God created all these "thousands of species separately," he would do well to remember the subjectivity of these naming conventions. If this type of relational behavior continues with regularity—perhaps because of climate change or some other phenomenon—then a sort of devolution will take place: the populations will merge once again. Of course presenting evidence of this nature would perhaps cast doubt on the strength of the presumed "fact" of evolution; consequently, it is unlikely to be featured on programs like Cosmos. If pigmentary modifications are an evolutionary triumph, then I suppose the merging of bear populations would constitute a resounding defeat for Darwinian naturalists. I digress. In the end, methodical naturalism may indeed prove to be capable of producing all the known species of animals we know. Fur color changes don't hardly provide definitive evidence for that proposition.

The link from the present state, to where bears originate, is not even up for questioning. On Dr. Tyson’s view, these kinds of minor changes, within isolated populations, extrapolated over eons of time will engender profound transformations in creatures of all kinds, much like those imposed by humans on canus lupus. For even the casual onlooker, it is quite easy to see we are not talking here about the kind of change necessary to produce bears or lions or elephants in the first place. The sheer magnitude of small modifications necessary to produce a man from a mollusk is not only different in degree, but—it seems to me—a wholly different kind of alteration problem. @15:20 the good professor reminds us that, “Mutations are entirely random, and happen all the time.” They had better, because time is surely of the essence when hoping to manufacture an aborigine from an amoeba.

There are a number of other issues, I have, with the second rendition of the Cosmos series: not the least of which is the fact that Tyson sets up and knocks down quite a few strawmen in the episode. Probably, the most prominent of these is discussed around the 21:30 mark of the 2^nd episode. Here, Neil states, erroneously “…the prevailing belief was that…an intelligent designer, who created each of…millions of species…separately... ” Notice how Dr. Tyson takes the opportunity to unnecessarily goad ID proponents in that statement?  Aside from the obvious fact that no one—perhaps a few—has ever believed that God created species in such a static and immutable fashion that they would remain identical to their parents. This simplistic idea would be discredited within a generation or two of observation. Thinly veiled insults, like those employed here, aren't likely to increase our understanding of the subject. Moreover, the statement drips of Irony, considering the fact that Tyson’s chosen example—selective breeding—entails intelligent designers.

In his following statement, Dr. Neil Degrasse Tyson addresses another contention, that many believed “the designs were too intricate…to be the result of unguided evolution…” Interestingly enough, Neil’s construal here has some merit. It is still the case today, that some indeed believe designs, like the eye, and wing, are too intricate to be the result of time, plus matter, plus chance. And that the oversimplified version of eye evolution depicted in this episode elides over many pertinent details; it is almost laughable. This is why it is suggested by Discovery Institute, and others, that information based models be considered, in addition to the purely mechanistic, materialistic, view of Darwinian evolution. I am a firm believer that these models, which see information—like that in DNA and RNA—as paramount, will eventually replace the prevailing and, I think, outmoded views of the Darwinian evolutionary paradigm. There is much more to say on this topic and on episode 2 for sure; suffice it to say, however, that the rest of the program is dedicated to the idea that life arises easily and frequently, and that the universe is replete with other kinds of life. Needless to say, this is quite a leap of faith, based on even more unfalsifiable assumptions like those found in episode 1.

Cosmos Episode 1 and its Underlying Assumptions

Question Everything?

Neil Degrasse Tyson, near the two minute mark of the first episode in the revitalized series, Cosmos, blithely admonishes viewers to question everything. Of course, questioning everything isn't really what the good professor and astrophysicist has in mind. What Tyson really means to say is, I think, question religion; not the scientific method. Though—I agree with him on this point—we shouldn't take everything we are taught as gospel, necessarily, there is an inherent danger in subjecting every aspect of reality to rigorous experimentation like that found in the physical sciences. Especially when science cannot even in principle explain these things.

Let’s, for the moment, turn the tables on this somewhat ironic imperative given us by the current Hayden Planetarium Director. What exactly are we supposed to question; and, what is off limits to questioning? At the 32:00 mark of Cosmos, Episode 1, Dr. Tyson, tells us that we don’t know where life came from; but, for all we know, it began in some far away galaxy, and was delivered to earth by some intelligence—a tip to Directed Panspermia. Where life originated, in Neil’s case, is a philosophical issue that appears to be off limits to questioning, for now. If we ponder long enough about life’s ultimate origin, we realize that this question is not really a scientific one anyway; not in the sense Tyson wants us to believe. Nevertheless, we dare not introduce some Creator hypothesis, lest we be accused of God of the gaps reasoning.

Think about this admission in light of the confidence and fervor with which Tyson and other scientists—not to mention laypersons—promote their naturalistic agenda, while ridiculing anyone who dares to make mention of God, or even hints that life may have originated via intelligent design. It is especially ironic, considering the fact that Directed Panspermia—Neil’s ostensible starting point—would entail some sort of intelligent deliverer, if not intelligent designer. That Dr. Tyson’s position is based on his tremendous faith in numerous underlying assumptions seems to get lost in the shuffle; quite a surprise considering the degree of conviction he has toward them would make the average Sunday churchgoer marvel in humiliation.

Later, around 15:00 of the episode, Tyson appeals to the idea of a multi-verse, or meta-verse, suggesting that humans are accidental byproducts of the cosmos. Shortly afterwards, he tells us—paradoxically—to rejoice over the fact that we are highly insignificant. Now before I critique the many worlds hypothesis in its various forms, I will tell you that I believe a multi-verse will eventually be discovered—or rather demonstrated. Even so, such a finding would hardly affect my theistic approach, except to perhaps further reinforce the awe and wonder with which I view the Creator’s glory and might. Why wouldn't it? After all, isn't a God who creates many worlds exhibiting far greater power than one who only creates a single universe?

The multi-verse, and just about anything else for that matter, can be demonstrated mathematically. It is in fact conceivable that God—or at least some characterization of Him—could be demonstrated in this fashion. Mathematical calculations, however, merely describe incidents or entities; they don’t bring these phenomena into existence. Numbers, because they have no causal connection to real events within or without calculations, are said to be causally effete. Therefore, any multi-verse hypothesis is reducible to a mathematical construct of metaphysical assumptions; one that is on par with the idea of Creator of the universe.

If the mathematics of a particular hypothesis are instantiated it is an incidental correlation to reality. Neither the formula nor calculation actualizes that reality. On the contrary, the description will either represent something that has ontological status; or, it will represent a concept. A concept, however, cannot be reified by the accompanying mathematical description. As such the multi-verse, or meta-verse, to which Tyson is referring, is, in principle, undetectable, un-measureable, un-falsifiable. These facts place the hypotheses outside the purview of the scientific method (so called), alongside the God hypothesis. Multi-verses are therefore subject to the same criticisms levied by scientists toward the latter.

Obviously, a “many worlds” hypothesis carries with it a great number of philosophical implications—more so for the physicist than for the theist. The theist can continue merrily on his way, upon considering whether or not an all-powerful God decided to create multiple universes, or a single space-time continuum. Cosmologists, like Neil Degrasse Tyson, however, depend on the multi-verse hypothesis, not only to counter fine-tuning arguments, but to avert theistic implications of an absolute beginning of the universe at t = 0: The Big Bang.

In summary, it is quite clear that cosmologists—and indeed all scientists—rely on underlying, and sometimes un-falsifiable assumptions, just as they accuse theists of doing. I would like, also, to point out the fact that although Dr. Tyson calls himself an agnostic, he tends to be rather dismissive of theistic arguments, generally exhibiting a derisive tone. My purpose here is not an indictment of the good physicist’s character; but, I must point out the obvious: Tyson needn't impugn theists in order to promote his stance on the scientific method. Thinking Christians are, in fact, some of science's greatest advocates. When Neil admonishes theists as know-it-alls, his tenor, ironically, exemplifies the very thing he rails against: arrogance. So, on subject of his integrity, I’ll employ the aforementioned advice, and question it.


 

We’re all Atheists?

We’re all atheists; I just believe in one fewer god than you, is a terribly misconceived premise that is often incorporated into an argument for atheism. The primary reason these arguments fail is because they only address beliefs, which are not causally connected to reality. However strongly you believe something—or lack belief for that matter—has little to say about the truth or falsity of the proposition. For example: the proposition, God exists, could still be true even if no one believed it. This epistemological issue has only superficial relevance.

Secondly, if these types of arguments apply to theism, they are equally relevant to beliefs of any kind, including those involving matters of science. We may simply be wrong about the things we purport to know. Moreover, it may be the case that we apprehend knowledge about God—if He exists—gradually, in the same manner we come to know about the physical world. We would be correct to jettison false beliefs about God as our knowledge increases, just as scientists were similarly justified in abandoning belief that the earth is flat. As new evidence renders our beliefs implausible, we either adjust our beliefs or reject the evidence. If the evidence is sufficient to justify a change, we remain intellectually honest only by embracing it, and all its implications.

My third point is this: The fact that many people have—or had—beliefs about God (or gods) that are very different from the beliefs I now hold has little to do with whether or not God exists. I may have come to believe that God exists via a Hallmark card, given to me by my dear grandmother. This fact would not necessarily mean that my belief is untrue. The person who contends that my conviction is invalidated on those grounds is demonstrating what philosophers call the genetic fallacy. Now, with respect to other gods, I would argue that it is impossible for more than one true God to exist, by definition.

Certainly there are mischaracterizations, distortions, and misrepresentations of God; but, this does not mean we should throw out the baby with the bathwater. Just because a person or group has a limited (or grossly distorted) view of God, does not mean that He doesn't exist. Just as false beliefs about science don't invalidate scientific knowledge. Subsequently, there is no need for the theist to be an atheist with respect to those other gods, so called, or to even consider them at all. The same is true with respect to scientific knowledge; there is no need for scientists to reject all those other sciences. They are simply misrepresentations of the one true. 

The preceding—or something very similar—is likely to be in my top ten list of worst arguments for atheism. So far, it is number one. In order for the atheist to bring a compelling case against theism, he must show that arguments for God are unsuccessful; arguments such as the cosmological, the teleological, the ontological, and the moral argument; or, he need present compelling evidence for adopting an atheistic worldview. The argument, I believe in one fewer god than you, in its various forms, carries neither burden.

On Un-embodied Minds

All humans have a sense of person-hood. This is an inherent relational aspect of selves that is apparent in everyday language. Although the self appears to be—well—self evident, a few will yet deny its existence. Count Dr. Alex Rosenberg among these. Many more naturalists will argue that mind possesses no intentional efficacy; and, that all cognitive activity—because it is said to be driven by physical interactions among material constituents—is wholly deterministic; and, that specific nerve impulses in the brain are indeed causally prior to the choices a person thinks he is making. Though some will give lip service to the idea of free will, their materialist world view ultimately precludes it. These naturalists infer that—primarily on the basis that brains can be manipulated in some analogous fashion to that of other parts of the anatomy—there must be a mechanism of action dictating exactly what thoughts one will think.

An a priori commitment to metaphysical naturalism rationally portends the conclusion that intentional states of consciousness do not exist—the very definition of naturalism militates against purposive cognitive events. The self—its personal attributes including memories, desires, etc—is a mere illusion of (human) consciousness, and does not exist ontologically distinctive from the physiological brain. Thoughts, dreams, and emotions, are part and parcel of the mind effect. The amalgamation we experience as mind, or consciousness, is merely the emergent property of determined (possibly random) bio-mechanical activities within the physical brain. That is what modern naturalists tell us. The question is whether or not such a representation is accurate.

With respect to the extraordinary correlation between mind and brain, the supposed emergent utility of mind is quite disanalogous to other so called functions, as they relate to their own biological counterparts. Digestion, for example, is a function of the digestive tract; that relationship, however, is a one-way street. This is not the case with regard to the mind-brain dichotomy. And, therein lies the problem in describing mind as a mere function of the central nervous system. This bilateral relationship is obviously quite unique, in that the mechanisms of action—varying chemical components and neuronal impulses—in the brain precipitate certain functionality; but, the functional property of mind also influences and indeed manipulates the chemical and neural components within which it apparently resides.  

There is obviously something else going on with this mind-brain relationship besides mere emergence. One may, I think, logically and intuitively conclude that the self (mind) is much more than an emergent property of brain functionality. The mind, undoubtedly, operates as the control center for volitional activity. As director, I really can do as I please. Whether or not my apparent free agency is contingent upon the physiological makeup of the brain is of no consequence (My actions are also dependent on other anatomical structures for locomotion and communication etc—but no one will ever mistake my running for my leg; or, my tasting for my tongue.). I am simply constituted in such a way as to utilize the physical features of my body.

Does this mean that mind can and will persist after the mechanisms of action in the brain are extinguished, or that the self can be extricated from the body? These particular questions are not answerable on empirical evidence at present. Nevertheless, one may still have confidence in his apprehension of the enduring self. I cannot give direct physical evidence for the thing that I alone refer to as I, except by providing descriptions of the physical objects around me as I appreciate them through sensory receptors interacting with my consciousness. Nevertheless, I can, thereby, give strong (indirect) evidence that I am some thing or another. Though it is impossible to prove that each of us is a mind—or a soul that contains consciousness—we do have good philosophical, sociological, and psychological reasons to conclude that we are.

By the very nature of the case, it is quite evident that persons, or selves, are the only entities in the entire universe—both naturalists and theists agree on this point—capable of discovering and describing the various physical constituents around them; and, that minds are the sole purveyors of abstract commodities like arithmetic and logic, language and art. These facts alone, it seems, place the self in a unique and powerful position. Given the enormity of its explanatory scope, I think it would be very difficult to deny the existence of the (immaterial) entity we call the self; especially when one considers the fact that not only the aforementioned, but indeed, the whole of knowledge is inexorably reliant upon it. By denying the existence of the self, I only to confirm it.

Cognitive properties of mind—ideas, dreams, and motives, to name a few—can never be seen by anyone outside the requisite individual knower. Does this mean they do not exist? Of course not! How then do we measure these extant properties on empirical data? We can not—at least not yet—even with the most sophisticated instruments available (Perhaps, obtaining such evidences will forever remain outside the purview of the physical sciences.). In order to maintain a consistent approach to his materialist views it is convenient, then, for the naturalist to deem mental states inconsequential or illusory. The metaphysician amplifies his error in judgment, by extrapolating the idea of the illusory self to conclude that the theist’s suggestion of an un-embodied mind is, therefore, also an illusion (illusion having an illusion?). And rightly so. After all, if one is not convinced of his own mind, he should be quite wary of the suggestion that others exist.

From the cosmological argument—based on what we already know about the physical world—we may infer that the first cause of the universe is non-physical and spaceless, perhaps timeless. If such a non-physical object, like a mind or a self, cannot exist in the real world, then the proponent of Kalam is in serious trouble; his metaphysic is utterly mistaken. As a committed theist, I understand this very well. Nevertheless, I see no reason to jettison the notion of a distinctive self and its corollaries. If a mind can exist—it can be shown to, with all its functional cognitive attributes, including volitional efficacy—and is capable of exerting certain force on a physical entity such as the brain, and can manipulate chemical and neural activity therein, and subsequently, the world around it; there is good reason, I think, to believe a first mind may do likewise (I belabor the point.).

We may plausibly conclude that the functionality of the physical brain is causally related to the immaterial mind in a bilateral communicative sense. That is, the relationship can and does work from either direction. The brain, with its control of autonomic—sympathetic and parasympathetic—responses, does not, so far as we know, dictate every action of human will. I may, for example, choose what I wish to think about. By deciding to think about a particular subject—I can take causal action on those thoughts—my immaterial mind elicits changes to the requisite brain chemistry, and thereby affects the physical world around me (This type of causation is what philosophers refer to as agent causation.). That the self becomes aware of its decision(s) only after the electro-chemical impulse(s) is detectable by third party observation is of no consequence here. The self yet reserves the right to refrain from acting at all. Although, a similar impulse may be detected when his choice (not to act) is made.   

If one accepts the proposition that a nonphysical self resides within the confines of her own anatomy, is it not therefore plausible that a first immaterial and transcendent—and extremely powerful—personal agent exists? One who exerts His will in creating the universe and making man in His image? The methods by which He does so need not be fully understood (We certainly don’t need to identify every detail of gravitational force to have some understanding of what gravity does; it is quite obvious that this force causes material objects to fall back to earth when the items are thrust into the air.). I am not suggesting that we discontinue research into the unknown mechanisms, or that knowing more is unhelpful. I am merely stating that the prospect of a transcendent first mind seems metaphysically possible.

Here, it is conceded that all minds, which are detectable by natural means, are in some way connected to a physical brain—no empirical data precludes their existence. It must, nonetheless, be acknowledged that whatever its composition, the self is a very capable mechanism. The qualitative property of mind—if it exists at all—is an invisible, non-physical, entity that is able to subsist without space (How large is a  mind? Or what is the atomic weight of my consciousness?). Either the mind exists non physically, or it does not exist at all. Nevertheless, it is obviously true that each of us experiences the world as an actually existing self. It could be true, however, that our physical brains have individually and collectively been duped into believing something nonsensical—even possessing belief in the first place. Nevertheless, I am quite certain that I exist (as a free moral agent); and, I am equally convinced that others experience their own self realization. So for me, no leap of faith is required to postulate a first mind, Who is ultimate, powerful, creative, and personal. This is precisely the God of traditional monotheism.