Alvin Plantinga Quotes

The mere fact that a belief is unpopular at present (or at some other time) is interesting from a sociological point of view but evidentially irrelevant.

Reason is the power or capacity whereby we see or detect logical relationships among propositions.

Suppose we concede that if I had been born of Muslim parents in Morocco rather than Christian parents in Michigan, my beliefs would be quite different. [But] the same goes for the pluralist...If the pluralist had been born in [Morocco] he probably wouldn't be a pluralist. Does it follow that...his pluralist beliefs are produced in him by an unreliable belief-producing process?

there is superficial conflict but deep concord between science and theistic religion, but superficial concord and deep conflict between science and naturalism.

In religious belief as elsewhere, we must take our chances, recognizing that we could be wrong, dreadfully wrong. There are no guarantees; the religious life is a venture; foolish and debilitating error is a permanent possibility. (If we can be wrong, however, we can also be right.)

Faith is not to be contrasted with knowledge: faith (at least in paradigmatic instances) is knowledge, knowledge of a certain special kind.

Thomas Aquinas and John Calvin concur on the claim that there is a kind of natural knowledge of God (and anything on which Calvin and Aquinas are in accord is something to which we had better pay careful attention).

The Christian philosopher has a perfect right to the point of view and prephilosophical assumptions he brings to philosophic work; the fact that these are not widely shared outside the Christian or theistic community is interesting but fundamentally irrelevant.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

Most of us form estimates of our intelligence, wisdom, and moral fiber that are considerably higher than an objective estimate would warrant; no doubt 90 percent of us think ourselves well above average along these lines.

Is it a fact that those who believe in a Heavenly Father do so because or partly because their earthly fathers were inadequate? I doubt it. If it is a fact, however, it is of psychological rather than theological interest. It may help us understand theists, but it tells us nothing at all about the truth of their belief; to that it is simply irrelevant.

The sensus divinitatis is a belief-producing faculty (or power, or mechanism) that under the right conditions produces belief that isn’t evidentially based on other beliefs.

De jure objections are arguments of claims to the effect that Christian belief, whether or not true, is at any rate unjustifiable, or rationally unjustified, or irrational, or not intellectually respectable, or contrary to sound morality, or without sufficient evidence, or in some other way rationally unacceptable, not up to snuff from an intellectual point of view.

The existence of God is neither precluded nor rendered improbable by the existence of evil. Of course, suffering and misfortune may nonetheless constitute a problem for the theist; but the problem is not that his beliefs are logically or probabilistically incompatible. The theist may find a religious problem in evil; in the presence of his own suffering or that of someone near to him he may find it difficult to maintain what he takes to be the proper attitude towards God. Faced with great personal suffering or misfortune, he may be tempted to rebel against God, to shake his fist in God's face, or even to give up belief in God altogether. But this is a problem of a different dimension. Such a problem calls, not for philosophical enlightenment, but for pastoral care. The Free Will Defense, however, shows that the existence of God is compatible, both logically and probabilistically, with the existence of evil; thus it solves the main philosophical problem of evil.

One said whatever would be of advantage; the question whether it was true no longer arose.

while there is indeed conflict between science and naturalism (the view that there is no such person as God or anything like God), there is no conflict between science and religion.

The believer,” says Aquinas, “has sufficient motive for believing, for he is moved by the authority of divine teaching confirmed by miracles and, what is more, by the inward instigation of the divine invitation.”5

And by way of concluding our study of natural atheology: none of the arguments we've examined has prospects for success; all are unacceptable. There are arguments we haven't considered, of course; but so far the indicated conclusion is that natural atheology doesn't work.

Dawkins claims that the living world came to be by way of unguided evolution: “the Evidence of Evolution,” he says, “Reveals a Universe Without Design.” What he actually argues, however, is that there is a Darwinian series for contemporary life forms. As we have seen, this argument is inconclusive; but even if it were air-tight it wouldn’t show, of course, that the living world, let alone the entire universe, is without design. At best it would show, given a couple of assumptions, that it is not astronomically improbable that the living world was produced by unguided evolution and hence without design. But the argument form p is not astronomically improbable therefore p is a bit unprepossessing.

And according to Martin Luther, there are two ways of believing. In the first place I may have faith concerning God. This is the case when I hold to be true what is said concerning God. Such faith is on the same level with the assent I give to statements concerning the Turk, the devil and hell. A faith of this kind should be called knowledge or information rather than faith. In the second place there is faith in. Such faith is mine when I not only hold to be true what is said concerning God, but when I put my trust in him in such a way as to enter into personal relations with him, believing firmly that I shall find him to be and to do as I have been taught. . . . The word in is well chosen and deserving of due attention. We do not say, I believe God the Father or concerning God the Father, but in God the Father, in Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Spirit.3 Jonathan

A third possibility is that beliefs do indeed have causal efficacy with respect to behavior, but not by virtue of their content; put it in currently fashionable jargon, this would be the suggestion that while beliefs are causally efficacious, it is only by virtue of their syntax, not by virtue of their semantics. Indeed just this thesis is part of a popular contemporary view: the computational theory of mind. I read a poem very loudly, so loudly as to break a glass; the sounds I utter have meaning, but their meaning is causally irrelevant to the breaking of the glass. In the same way it might be that these creatures' beliefs have causal efficacy, but not by way of the content of those beliefs. A substantial share of probability must be reserved for this option; and under this option, as under the preceding two, the likelihood that the beliefs of these creatures would be for the most part true would be low.

The philosopher Alvin Plantinga said it like this: Could there really be any such thing as horrifying wickedness [if there were no God and we just evolved]? I don’t see how. There can be such a thing only if there is a way that rational creatures are supposed to live, obliged to live. . . . A [secular] way of looking at the world has no place for genuine moral obligation of any sort . . . and thus no way to say there is such a thing as genuine and appalling wickedness. Accordingly, if you think there really is such a thing as horrifying wickedness (. . . and not just an illusion of some sort), then you have a powerful . . . argument [for the reality of God].7 In short, the problem of tragedy, suffering and injustice is a problem for everyone. It is at least as big a problem for non-belief in God as for belief. It is therefore a mistake, though an understandable one, to think that if you abandon belief in God it somehow makes the problem of evil easier to handle. A woman in my church once confronted me about sermon illustrations in which evil events turned out for the good. She had lost a husband in an act of violence during a robbery. She also had several children with severe mental and emotional problems. She insisted that for every one story in which evil turns out for good there are one hundred in which there is no conceivable silver lining. In the same way, much of the discussion so far in this chapter may sound cold and irrelevant to a real-life sufferer. ‘So what if suffering and evil doesn’t logically disprove God?’ such a person might say. ‘I’m still angry. All this philosophising does not get the Christian God “off the hook” for the world’s evil and suffering!’ In response the philosopher Peter Kreeft points out that the Christian God came to earth to deliberately put himself on the hook of human suffering. In Jesus Christ, God experienced the greatest depths of pain. Therefore, though Christianity does not provide the reason for each experience of pain, it provides deep resources for actually facing suffering with hope and courage rather than bitterness and despair.

A fourth possibility: It could be that belief is causally efficacious semantically as well as syntactically with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive, at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

I fully realize that the dreaded f-word will be trotted out to stigmatize any model of this kind. Before responding, however, we must first look into the use of this term ‘fundamentalist’. On the most common contemporary academic use of the term, it is a term of abuse or disapprobation, rather like ‘son of a bitch’ — more exactly, ‘sonofabitch’, or, perhaps still more exactly (at least according to those authorities who look to the Old West as normative on matters of pronunciation) ‘sumbitch’. When the term is used in this way, no definition of it is ordinarily given. (If you called someone a sumbitch, would you feel obliged first to define the term?) But there is a bit more to the meaning of ‘fundamentalist’ (in this widely current use): it isn’t simply a term of abuse. In addition to its emotive force, it does have some cognitive content, and ordinarily denotes relatively conservative theological views. That makes it more like ‘stupid sumbitch’ than ‘sumbitch simpliciter. But it isn’t exactly like that term either, because its cognitive content can expand and contract on demand; its content seems to depend upon who is using it. In the mouths of certain liberal theologians, for example, it tends to denote anyone who accepts traditional Christianity, including Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, and Barth; in the mouths of devout secularists like Richard Dawkins or Daniel Dennett, on the other hand, it tends to denote anyone who believes there is such a person as God. The explanation is that the term has a certain indexical element: its cognitive content is given by the phrase “considerably to the right, theologically speaking, of me and my enlightened friends.” The full meaning of the term, therefore (in this use) can be given by something like “stupid sumbitch whose theological opinions are considerably to the right of mine.

I ascribe to others a wide variety of mental states, making fine and subtle discriminations between rather similar states, often ascribing to them states I have seldom if ever experienced myself; how could I do this on the basis of simple analogical reasoning from correlations between behavior and mental states in my own case? As a matter of fact, much of the relevant behavior is such that I can't observe it in my own case: facial expression, for example, is extremely important, and I typically can't observe what sort of facial expressions I am presenting to the world. Of course we have mirrors: but our ancestors, prior to the advent of mirrors, no doubt sometimes knew that someone else was angry or in pain. And we ourselves form these beliefs without adverting to mirrors; who among us carries one with him, or (when in the grip of strong emotion) remembers to consult it in order to establish correlations between his mental states and his facial expressions?...Indeed, tiny babies, presumably at an age at which they form little by way of beliefs of any sort, respond to human-face-like figures differently than to figures made of the same parts but scrambled. Fantz notes that 'It also appears that some of the capacity to establish spatial relations is manifested by the visual system from a very early age. For example, infants of 1-15 weeks of age are reported to respond preferentially to schematic face-like figures, and to prefer normally arranged face figures over 'scrambled' face patterns.

Descartes observed that for any but the simplest kinds of argument, one must rely upon memory for knowledge of the conclusion. You clearly and distinctly see that the present step follows from earlier steps; but you have only your memory to testify to such facts as that earlier on you were able to see that S4—Sn themselves followed from prior steps. This dependence upon Exploring the Design Plan memory holds even for such simple arithmetical calculations as that 24 x 32 = 768. (Of course you can record the steps of the argument in your notebook; but then you will rely on memory for the belief that it was you who wrote them down and that you intended them to be an accurate written record of the argument.) And the same goes here for this purported argument to the best explanation. It isn't possible (for most of us, anyway) to hold in mind at one time the relevant phenomena to be explained, the most salient half dozen or so alternative explanations, the reasons (if any) why these explanations aren't as good as the favored candidate, the reasons (if any) for thinking that there must be (or probably is) a good explanation of those phenomena, and finally the inference from the alleged bestness of the explanation in question to the truth of the memory beliefs in question.

How do I know, prior to my knowing anything by way of memory, that these present phenomena have an explanation? By way of my knowledge that most phenomena (or most similar phenomena?) do? But so to think is to rely upon memory.

What counts for warrant is whether memory beliefs typically result from the proper function of our cognitive faculties in an appropriate environment, whether the function of memory is to give us true belief about the past, and whether the design plan in this area is a good one. But the fact is (as we all believe) these conditions are all fulfilled. Memory beliefs, therefore, have warrant.

When afflicted with pain, human beings cry out, or moan, or whine, or stoically grit their teeth; but no doubt we could have been so constructed that we would instead smile, or do a little dance, or stand on our heads. So suppose first that these correlations had in fact been quite different. Now of course properly functioning human beings find themselves inclined, when aware of B, to make the S ascription; but suppose further that we had been so constructed that (when functioning properly) we did not find ourselves inclined to make the S ascription upon being aware of B. Then, surely (under those conditions), it would not have been the case that someone who was aware of B had evidence for S. So it isn't necessary that anyone who is aware of B has evidence for S.

What makes it right to form belief in that inductive manner is just the fact that that is how a properly functioning human being forms beliefs; and what makes projectable properties projectable is just the fact that properly functioning human beings project them. But given that these projections and beliefs meet the other conditions for warrant (given that these beliefs and projections are formed in an appropriate cognitive environment and that the modules of the design plan governing their production are successfully aimed at truth), that is sufficient for warrant. And given that the beliefs in question are held sufficiently firmly, it is also sufficient (along with truth) for knowledge.

Naturalism could, in fact, render naturalism itself irrational, as Alvin Plantinga argues, and as C. S. Lewis thought. Plantinga devotes chapter 12 of his work Warrant and Proper Function to this point.7 He writes in one place that “if metaphysical naturalism and this evolutionary account are both true, then our cognitive faculties will have resulted from blind mechanisms like natural selection. . . . Evolution is interested, not in true belief, but in survival or fitness. It is therefore unlikely that our cognitive faculties have the production of true belief as a proximate or any other function, and the probability of our faculties being reliable (given naturalistic evolution) would be fairly low.”8 If, then, naturalism negates knowing, then theism fosters it. Our native human capacity to know, Plantinga claims, “flourishes best in the context of supernaturalism in metaphysics.”9 I agree. So did C. S. Lewis.10 From this, we see why God must underwrite a credible epistemology.

Belief in the existence of God is in the same boat as belief in other minds, the past, and perceptual objects; in each case God has so constructed us that in the right circumstances we form the belief in question.

To show that there are natural processes that produce religious belief does nothing, so far, to discredit it; perhaps God designed us in such a way that it is by virtue of those processes that we come to have knowledge of him.

This argument is like those arguments that start from the premise that God, if he created the world, he would have created the best world he could have; and they go on to add that for every world God could have created (weakly actualized, say) there is an even better world he could have created or weakly actualized; therefore, they conclude, he would have weakly actualized any world at all, and the actual world has not been weakly actualized by God. Again, there seems no reason to believe the first premise. If there were only finitely many worlds among which God was obliged to choose, the perhaps he would have been obliged somehow, to choose the best (although even this is at best dubious). But if there is no best world at all among those he could have chosen (if for every world he could have chosen, there is a better world he could have chosen), why think a world failing to be the best is sufficient for God's being unable to actualize it? Suppose a man had the benefit of immortality and had a bottle of wine that would improve every day, no matter now long he waits to drink it. Would he be rationally obligated never to drink it, on the ground that for any time he might be tempted to, it would be better yet the next day? Suppose a donkey were stranded exactly midway between two bales of hay: would it be rationally obliged to stay there and starve to death because there is no more reason to move the one bale than the other?

God could guide the course of evolutionary history by causing the right mutations to arise at the right time and preserving the forms of life that lead to the results he intends.

The probability of human cognitive faculties being reliable (producing mostly true beliefs), given that human beings have cognitive faculties (of the sort we have) and given that these faculties have been produced by evolution (Darwin's blind evolution, unguided by the hand of God or any other person), [is low]. If metaphysical naturalism and this evolutionary account are both true, then our cognitive faculties will have resulted from blind mechanisms like natural selection, working on such sources of genetic variation as random genetic mutation. Evolution is interested, not in true belief, but in survival or fitness. It is therefore unlikely that our cognitive faculties have the production of true belief as a proximate or any other function, and the probability of our faculties being reliable (given naturalistic evolution) would be fairly low.

Richard Dawkins (according to Peter Medawar, 'one of the most brilliant of the rising generation of biologists') once leaned over and remarked to A.J. Ayer at one of those elegant, candle-lit, bibulous Oxford college dinners that he couldn't imagine being and atheist before 1859 (the year Darwin's Origin of Species was published); 'although atheism might have been logically tenable before Darwin,' said he, 'Darwin made it possible to be an intellectually fulfilled atheist.' Now Dawkins thinks Darwin made it possible to be an intellectually fulfilled atheist. But perhaps Dawkins is dead wrong here. Perhaps the truth lies in the opposite direction. If our cognitive faculties have originated as Dawkins thinks, then their ultimate purpose or function (if they have a purpose or function) will be something like survival (of individual species, gene, or genotype); but then it seems initially doubtful that among their functions-ultimate, proximate, or otherwise-would be the production of true beliefs.

...natural selection is not the only process at work in evolution; there is also (among others) random genetic drift, which 'can lead to the elimination of a more fit gene and the fixation of a less fit one.' For example, a genetically based and adaptively favorable trait might arise within a population of sea gulls; perhaps six members of the flock enjoy it. Being birds of a feather, they flock together-sadly enough, at the site of a natural so that all are killed in a tidal wave or volanic eruption or by a large meteorite. The more fit gene thus gets eliminated from the population. (There is also the way in which a gene can be fixed, in a small population, by way of random walk.)...there is no reason to think it inevitable that natural selection will have the opportunity to select for optimal design. For example, an adaptively positive trait might be linked with an adaptively negative trait by pleiotropy (where one gene codes for more than one trait or system); then it could happen that the genes get selected and perpetuated by virtue of its link with the gene. A truly optimal system-one with the positive trait but without the negative-may never show up, or may show up too late to fit in with the current development of the organism.

...reliable cognitive systems are not necessarily more fitness-enhancing than unreliable ones...for any two cognitive systems S1 and S2, if S1 is more reliable than S2, then S1 is more fitness-enhancing than S2. S1, for example, might cost too much by way of energy or memory capacity; alternatively, the less reliable S2 might produce more by way of false beliefs but nonetheless contribute more to survival.

...reliable cognitive systems are not necessarily more fitness-enhancing than unreliable ones...for any two cognitive systems S1 and S2, if S1 is more reliable than S2, then S1 is not more fitness-enhancing than S2. S1, for example, might cost too much by way of energy or memory capacity; alternatively, the less reliable S2 might produce more by way of false beliefs but nonetheless contribute more to survival.

What is the probability that their faculties are reliable? What is P(R/(N8cE8cQ), specified not to us, but to them? According to Quine and Popper, the probability in question would be rather high: belief is connected with action in such a way that extensive false belief would lead to maladaptive behavior, in which case it is likely that the ancestors of those creatures would have displayed that pathetic but praiseworthy tendency Quine mentions. But now for the contrary argument. First, perhaps it is likely that their behavior is adaptive; but nothing follows about their beliefs. We aren't given, after all, that their beliefs are so much as causally connected with their behavior; for we aren't given that their beliefs are more than mere epiphenomena, not causally involved with behavior at all. Perhaps their beliefs neither figure into the causes of their behavior, nor are caused by that behavior. (No doubt beliefs would be caused by something in or about these creatures, but it need not be by their behavior.) You may object that as you use 'belief, beliefs just are among the processes (neural structures, perhaps) that (together with desire, fear, and the like) are causally efficacious. Fair enough (you have a right to use that word as you please); but then my point can be put as follows: in that use of belief it may be that things with propositional contents are not beliefs, that is, do not have causal efficacy. It can't be a matter of definition that there are neural structures or processes displaying both propositional content and causal efficacy with respect to behavior; and perhaps the things that display causal efficacy do not display the sort of relation to content (to a proposition) that a belief of the proposition p must display toward p. You say that in that case the things, if any, that stand in that relation to a proposition would not be beliefs (because, as you see it, beliefs must have causal efficacy). Well, there is no sense in arguing about words: I'll give you the term 'belief and put my case using other terms. What I say is possible is that the things (mental acts, perhaps) that stand in that relation to content (to propositions) do not also enjoy causal efficacy. Call those things whatever you like: they are the things that are true or false, and it is about the likelihood of their truth or falsehood that we are asking. If these things, whatever we call them, are not causally connected with behavior, then they would be, so to speak, invisible to evolution; and then the fact that they arose during the evolutionary history of these beings would confer no probability on the idea that they are mostly true, or mostly nearly true, rather than wildly false. Indeed, the probability of their being for the most part true would have to be estimated as fairly low.

A second possibility is that the beliefs of these creatures are not among the causes of their behavior, but are effects of that behavior, or effects of proximate causes that also cause behavior. Their beliefs might be like a sort of decoration that isn't involved in the causal chain leading to action. Their waking beliefs might be no more causally efficacious, with respect to their behavior, than our dream beliefs are with respect to ours. This could go by way of pleiotropy: genes that code for traits important to survival also code for consciousness and belief; but the latter don't figure into the etiology of action. Under these conditions, of course, their beliefs could be wildly false. It could be that one of these creatures believes that he is at that elegant, bibulous Oxford dinner, when in fact he is slogging his way through some primeval swamp, desperately fighting off hungry crocodiles. Under this possibility, as under the first, beliefs would not have (or need not have) any purpose or function; they would be more like unintended by-products. Under this possibility as under the first, the probability that their cognitive faculties are reliable, is low.

What evolution requires is that our behavior have survival value, not necessarily that our beliefs be true. (Sufficient that we be programmed to act in adaptive ways.) But there are many ways in which our behavior could be adaptive, even if our beliefs were for the most part false. Our whole belief structure might (a) be a sort of byproduct or epiphenomenon, having no real connection with truth, and no real connection with our action. Or (b) our beliefs might be connected in a regular way with our actions, and with our environment, but not in such as way that the beliefs would be for the most part true.

The traditional theist, on the other hand, isn't forced into that appalling loop. On this point his set of beliefs is stable. He has no corresponding reason for doubting that it is a purpose of our cognitive systems to produce true beliefs...He may indeed endorse some form of evolution; but if he does, it will be a form of evolution guided and orchestrated by God. he believes that God is the premier knower and has created us human beings in his image, an important part of which involves his endowing them with a reflection of his powers as a knower.

Suppose, therefore, you find yourself with the doubt that our cognitive faculties produce truth: you can't quell that doubt by producing an argument about God and his veracity, or indeed, any argument at all; for the argument, of course, will be under as much suspicion as its source. Here no argument will help you; here salvation will have to be by grace, not by works. But the theist has nothing impelling him in the direction of such skepticism in the first place; no element of his noetic system points in that direction; there are no propositions he already accepts just by way of being a theist, which together with forms of reasoning (the defeater system, for example) lead to the rejection of the belief that our cognitive faculties have the apprehension of truth as their purpose and for the most part fulfill that purpose.

A fourth possibility: it could be that belief is causally efficacious—semantically as well as syntactically—with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive—at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia: maladaptive ,but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy-expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fourth possibility: it could be that belief is causally efficacious—semantically as well as syntactically—with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive—at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia: maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fourth possibility: it could be that belief is causally efficacious—semantically as well as syntactically—with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive—at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

It could be that belief is causally efficacious—semantically as well as syntactically—with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive—at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fourth possibility: It could be that belief is causally efficacious semantically as well as syntactically with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive, at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fourth possibility: It could be that belief is causally efficacious semantically as well as syntactically with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive, at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fourth possibility: It could be that belief is causally efficacious semantically as well as syntactically with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive, at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle cell anemia, maladaptive, but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fifth possibility is that the beliefs of our hypothetical creatures are indeed both causally connected with their behavior and also adaptive. Assume, then, that our creatures have belief systems, and that these systems are adaptive: they produce adaptive behavior, and at not too great a cost in terms of resources. What is the probability that their cognitive faculties are reliable; and what is the probability that a belief produced by those faculties will be true? Not as high as you might think. For, of course, beliefs don't causally produce behavior by themselves; it is beliefs, desires, and other things that do so together. Suppose we oversimplify a bit and say that my behavior is a causal product just of my beliefs and desires. Then the problem is that clearly there will be any number of different patterns of belief and desire that would issue in the same action; and among those there will be many in which the beliefs are wildly false. Paul is a prehistoric hominid; the exigencies of survival call for him to display tiger avoidance behavior. There will be many behaviors that are appropriate: fleeing, for example, or climbing a steep rock face, or crawling into a hole too small to admit the tiger, or leaping into a handy lake. Pick any such appropriately specific behavior B. Paul engages in B, we think, because, sensible fellow that he is, he has an aversion to being eaten and believes that B is a good means of thwarting the tiger's intentions.

A third possibility is that beliefs do indeed have causal efficacy with respect to behavior, but not by virtue of their content; put it in currently fashionable jargon, this would be the suggestion that while beliefs are causally efficacious, it is only by virtue of their syntax, not by virtue of their semantics. Indeed just this thesis is part of a popular contemporary view: the computational theory of mind. I read a poem very loudly, so loudly as to break a glass; the sounds I utter have meaning, but their meaning is causally irrelevant to the breaking of the glass. In the same way it might be that these creatures' beliefs have causal efficacy, but not by way of the content of those beliefs. A substantial share of probability must be reserved for this option; and under this option, as under the preceding two, the likelihood that the beliefs of these creatures would be for the most part true would be low.

If our origin involves random genetic variation, then we and our cognitive faculties would have developed by way of chance rather than by way of design, as would be required by our having been created by God in his image. But this is to import far too much into the biologist's term 'random'. Those random variations are random in the sense that they don't arise out of the organism's design plan and don't ordinarily play a role in its viability; perhaps they are also random in the sense that they are not predictable. But of course it doesn't follow that they are random in the much stronger sense of not being caused, orchestrated and arranged by God.

If our origin involves random genetic variation, then we and our cognitive faculties would have developed by way of chance rather than by way of design, as would be required by our having been created by God in his image. But this is to import far too much into the biologist's term 'random'. Those random variations are random in the sense that they don't arise out of the organism's design plan and don't ordinarily play a role in its viability; perhaps they are also random in the sense that they are not predictable. But of course it doesn't follow that they are random in the much stronger sense of not being caused, orchestrated and arranged by God.

Now according to traditional Christian (and Jewish and Muslim) thought, we human beings have been created in the image of God. This means, among other things, that he created us with the capacity for achieving knowledge—knowledge of our environment by way of perception, of other people by way of something like what Thomas Reid calls sympathy, of the past by memory and testimony, of mathematics and logic by reason, of morality, our own mental life, God himself, and much more. And the above evolutionary account of our origins is compatible with the theistic view that God has created us in his image. So evolutionary theory taken by itself (without the patina of philosophical naturalism that often accompanies expositions of it) is not as such in tension with the idea that God has created us and our cognitive faculties in such a way that the latter are reliable, that (as the medievals like to say) there is an adequation of intellect to reality.

Evolution is interested (so to speak) only in adaptive behavior, not in true belief. Natural selection doesn't care what you believe; it is interested only in how you behave. It selects for certain kinds of behavior, those that enhance fitness, which is a measure of the chances that one's genes are widely represented in the next and subsequent generations. It doesn't select for belief, except insofar as the latter is appropriately related to behavior. But then the fact that we have evolved guarantees at most that we behave in certain ways--ways that contribute to our (or our ancestors') surviving and reproducing in the environment in which we have developed.

What is relevant, here, is not ideal function; we aren't thinking of the way in which an ideally rational person would function. (An ideally rational person, I suppose, would be omniscient, and perhaps a really ideally rational person would be essentially omniscient, omniscient in every possible world in which he exists.) What is relevant here is the sort of function displayed by a cognitively healthy human being.

If I lie to you and you believe me, then the belief you acquire has little if any warrant, even though your cognitive faculties are functioning just as they should. The reason is that warrant requires more than just that your faculties be functioning properly; the rest of your cognitive situation, including your cognitive environment, must also meet certain conditions.

A third possibility is that beliefs do indeed have causal efficacy with respect to behavior, but not by virtue of their content; put it in currently fashionable jargon, this would be the suggestion that while beliefs are causally efficacious, it is only by virtue of their syntax, not by virtue of their semantics. Indeed just this thesis is part of a popular contemporary view: the computational theory of mind. I read a poem very loudly, so loudly as to break a glass; the sounds I utter have meaning, but their meaning is causally irrelevant to the breaking of the glass. In the same way it might be that these creatures' beliefs have causal efficacy, but not by way of the content of those beliefs.

A fourth possibility: it could be that belief is causally efficacious—'semantically' as well as 'syntactically'—with respect to behavior, but maladaptive. As Stich points out, it is quite possible (and quite in accord with current evolutionary theory) that a system or trait that is in fact maladaptive—at any rate less adaptive than available alternatives—should nonetheless become fixed and survive. Perhaps the belief systems of these creatures are like the albinism found in many arctic animals, or like sickle-cell anemia: maladaptive ,but connected with genes coding for behavior or traits conducive to survival. They could be maladaptive in two ways. First, perhaps their beliefs are a sort of energy-expensive distraction, causing these creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior, all right, but in a way less efficient and economic than if the causal connections by-passed belief altogether. Second, it could be that beliefs in fact produce maladaptive behavior. Perhaps a mildly maladaptive belief-behavior structure is coded for by the same genetic structure that produces some adaptive behavior. Suppose these creatures' beliefs do not for the most part produce adaptive behavior: the mechanisms that produce them might nonetheless survive. Perhaps on balance their behavior is sufficiently adaptive, even if not every segment of it is. Some probability, then, must be reserved for the possibility that these creatures have cognitive faculties that are maladaptive, but nonetheless survive; and on this possibility, once more, the probability that their beliefs would be for the most part true is fairly low.

A fifth (and final) possibility is that the beliefs of our hypothetical creatures are indeed both causally connected with their behavior and also adaptive. Assume, then, that our creatures have belief systems, and that these systems are adaptive: they produce adaptive behavior, and at not too great a cost in terms of resources. What is the probability (on this assumption together with N&E&C) that their cognitive faculties are reliable; and what is the probability that a belief produced by those faculties will be true? Not as high as you might think. For, of course, beliefs don't causally produce behavior by themselves; it is beliefs, desires, and other things that do so together. Suppose we oversimplify a bit and say that my behavior is a causal product just of my beliefs and desires. Then the problem is that clearly there will be any number of different patterns of belief and desire that would issue in the same action; and among those there will be many in which the beliefs are wildly false. Paul is a prehistoric hominid; the exigencies of survival call for him to display tiger-avoidance behavior. There will be many behaviors that are appropriate: fleeing, for example, or climbing a steep rock face, or crawling into a hole too small to admit the tiger, or leaping into a handy lake. Pick any such appropriately specific behavior B. Paul engages in B, we think, because, sensible fellow that he is, he has an aversion to being eaten and believes that B is a good means of thwarting the tiger's intentions.

A fifth possibility is that the beliefs of our hypothetical creatures are indeed both causally connected with their behavior and also adaptive. Assume, then, that our creatures have belief systems, and that these systems are adaptive: they produce adaptive behavior, and at not too great a cost in terms of resources. What is the probability that their cognitive faculties are reliable; and what is the probability that a belief produced by those faculties will be true? Not as high as you might think. For, of course, beliefs don't causally produce behavior by themselves; it is beliefs, desires, and other things that do so together. Suppose we oversimplify a bit and say that my behavior is a causal product just of my beliefs and desires. Then the problem is that clearly there will be any number of different patterns of belief and desire that would issue in the same action; and among those there will be many in which the beliefs are wildly false. Paul is a prehistoric hominid; the exigencies of survival call for him to display tiger-avoidance behavior. There will be many behaviors that are appropriate: fleeing, for example, or climbing a steep rock face, or crawling into a hole too small to admit the tiger, or leaping into a handy lake. Pick any such appropriately specific behavior B. Paul engages in B, we think, because, sensible fellow that he is, he has an aversion to being eaten and believes that B is a good means of thwarting the tiger's intentions.

Perhaps Paul very much likes the idea of being eaten, but whenever he sees a tiger, always runs off looking for a better prospect, because he thinks it unlikely that the tiger he sees will eat him. This will get his body parts in the right place so far as survival is concerned, without involving much by way of true belief. (Of course we must postulate other changes in Paul's ways of reasoning, including how he changes belief in response to experience, to maintain coherence.) Or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a large, friendly, cuddly pussycat and wants to pet it; but he also believes that the best way to pet it is to run away from it. Or perhaps he confuses running toward it with running away from it, believing of the action that is really running away from it, that it is running toward it; or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a regularly recurring illusion, and, hoping to keep his weight down, has formed the resolution to run a mile at top speed whenever presented with such an illusion; or perhaps he thinks he is about to take part in a sixteen-hundred-meter race, wants to win, and believes the appearance of the tiger is the starting signal; or perhaps. . . . Clearly there are any number of belief desire systems that equally fit a given bit of behavior where the beliefs are mostly false. Indeed, even if we fix desire, there will still be any number of systems of belief that will produce a given bit of behavior: perhaps Paul does not want to be eaten, but (a) thinks the best way to avoid being eaten is to run toward the tiger, and (b) mistakenly believes that he is running toward it when in fact he is running away.

Perhaps Paul very much likes the idea of being eaten, but whenever he sees a tiger, always runs off looking for a better prospect, because he thinks it unlikely that the tiger he sees will eat him. This will get his body parts in the right place so far as survival is concerned, without involving much by way of true belief. (Of course we must postulate other changes in Paul's ways of reasoning, including how he changes belief in response to experience, to maintain coherence.) Or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a large, friendly, cuddly pussycat and wants to pet it; but he also believes that the best way to pet it is to run away from it. Or perhaps he confuses running toward it with running away from it, believing of the action that is really running away from it, that it is running toward it; or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a regularly recurring illusion, and, hoping to keep his weight down, has formed the resolution to run a mile at top speed whenever presented with such an illusion; or perhaps he thinks he is about to take part in a sixteen-hundred-meter race, wants to win, and believes the appearance of the tiger is the starting signal; Clearly there are any number of belief desire systems that equally fit a given bit of behavior where the beliefs are mostly false. Indeed, even if we fix desire, there will still be any number of systems of belief that will produce a given bit of behavior: perhaps Paul does not want to be eaten, but (a) thinks the best way to avoid being eaten is to run toward the tiger, and (b) mistakenly believes that he is running toward it when in fact he is running away.

Perhaps Paul very much likes the idea of being eaten, but whenever he sees a tiger, always runs off looking for a better prospect, because he thinks it unlikely that the tiger he sees will eat him. This will get his body parts in the right place so far as survival is concerned, without involving much by way of true belief. (Of course we must postulate other changes in Paul's ways of reasoning, including how he changes belief in response to experience, to maintain coherence.) Or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a large, cuddly pussycat and wants to pet it; but he also believes that the best way to pet it is to run away from it. Or perhaps he confuses running toward it with running away from it, believing of the action that is really running away from it, that it is running toward it; or perhaps he thinks the tiger is a regularly recurring illusion, and, hoping to keep his weight down, has formed the resolution to run a mile at top speed whenever presented with such an illusion; or perhaps he thinks he is about to take part in a sixteen-hundred-meter race, wants to win, and believes the appearance of the tiger is the starting signal; Clearly there are any number of belief desire systems that equally fit a given bit of behavior where the beliefs are mostly false. Indeed, even if we fix desire, there will still be any number of systems of belief that will produce a given bit of behavior: perhaps Paul does not want to be eaten, but (a) thinks the best way to avoid being eaten is to run toward the tiger, and (b) mistakenly believes that he is running toward it when in fact he is running away.

Once I come to doubt the reliability of my cognitive faculties, I can't properly try to allay that doubt by producing an argument; for in so doing I rely on the very faculties I am doubting. The conjunction of evolution with naturalism gives its adherents a reason for doubting that our beliefs are mostly true; perhaps they are mostly wildly mistaken. But then it won't help to argue that they can't be wildly mistaken; for the very reason for mistrusting our cognitive faculties generally will be a reason for mistrusting the faculties generating the beliefs involved in the argument.

To use the biblical imagery, Christian theology must acknowledge itself an impoverished earthen vessel while daring not to diminish the value of the treasure it confesses.

faith is the belief in the great things of the gospel that results from the internal instigation of the Holy Spirit.

Perhaps God permits my father, or my daughter, or my friend, or me to suffer in the most appalling way. I may then find myself thinking as follows: “No doubt he has all those dandy divine qualities and no doubt he has a fine reason for permitting this abomination — after all, I am no match for him with respect to coming up with reasons, reasons that are utterly beyond me — but what he permits is appalling, and I hate it!” I may want to tell him off face to face: “You may be wonderful, and magnificent, and omniscient and omnipotent (and even wholly good) and all that exalted stuff, but I utterly detest what you are doing!” A problem of this kind is not really an evidential problem at all, and it isn’t a defeater for theism.

Am I really arrogant and egoistic just by virtue of believing something I know others don’t believe, where I can’t show them that I am right? I can’t see how. Of course I must concede that there are a variety of ways in which I can be and have been intellectually arrogant and egoistic; I have certainly fallen into this vice in the past, will no doubt fall into it in the future, and am not free of it now. Still, suppose I think the matter over, consider the objections as carefully as I can, realize that I am finite and furthermore a sinner, certainly no better than those with whom I disagree, and indeed inferior both morally and intellectually to many who do not believe what I do. But suppose it still seems clear to me that the proposition in question is true: am I really immoral in continuing to believe it?

The natural theologian does not, typically, offer his arguments in order to convince people of God’s existence; and in fact few who accept theistic belief do so because they find such an argument compelling. Instead the typical function of natural theology has been to show that religious belief is rationally acceptable.

How could there be truths totally independent of minds or persons?... How could the things that are in fact true or false—propositions, let’s say—exist in serene and majestic independence of persons and their means of apprehension? How could there be propositions no one has ever so much as grasped or thought of?

How could there be truths totally independent of minds or persons?... How could the things that are in fact true or false—propositions, let’s say—exist in serene and majestic independence of persons and their means of apprehension? How could there be propositions no one has ever so much as grasped or thought of?...Even if there were no human intellects, there could be truths because of their relation to the divine intellect. But if, per impossible, there were no intellects at all, but things continued to exist, then there would be no such reality as truth. The thesis, then, is that truth cannot be independent of noetic activity on the part of persons. The antithesis is that it must be independent of our noetic activity. And the synthesis is that truth is independent of our intellectual activity but not of God's.

Indeed, the Christian tradition is so consistent on this matter that it is difficult to understand where Dawkins has got the idea of faith as “blind trust” from. Even a superficial reading of the works of leading Christian philosophers such as Richard Swinburne (Oxford University), Nicolas Wolterstorff (Yale University), and Alvin Plantinga (University of Notre Dame), or even popular writers such as C. S. Lewis,43 would reveal their passionate commitment to the question of how one can make “warranted,” “evidenced,” or “coherent” statements concerning God.44 There is no question of “blind trust.

The conclusion that we were misled by our senses clearly involves several faculties: memory, induction…and sense perception itself

God has ...created us with cognitive faculties designed to enable us to achieve true beliefs with respect to a wide variety of propositions - propositions about our immediate environment, about our own interior lives, about the thoughts and experiences of other persons, about our universe at large, about right and wrong, about the whole realm of abstracta - numbers, properties, propositions - ... and about himself.

If the collecting or thinking together had to be done by human thinkers, or any finite thinkers, there wouldn't be nearly enough sets - not nearly as many as we think in fact there are. From a theistic point of view, the natural conclusion is that sets owe their existence to God's thinking things together

I greatly appreciate the work of Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga. He has observed that many academicians have a disdain for the term popularizer. However, he urges Christian philosophers not to leave their work “buried away in professional journals” but to make it available to the broader Christian community. If they don’t connect their work to the life of the church, then they “neglect a crucial and central part of their task as believing philosophers.

Consider propositions: the things that are true or false, that are capable of being believed, and that stand in logical relations to one another. They also have another property: aboutness or intentionality. Propositions represent reality or some part of it as being thus and so. This crucially connected with their being true or false. Many have thought it incredible that propositions should exist apart from the activity of minds. How could they just be there, if never thought of? (Frege, that alleged arch-Platonist, referred to propositions as gedanken, connected with intentionality.) Representing things as being thus and so, being about something or other--this seems to be a property or activity of minds or perhaps thoughts . It is extremely tempting to think of propositions as ontologically dependent upon mental or intellectual activity in such a way that either they just are thoughts, or else at any rate couldn't exist if not thought of. (According to the idealistic tradition beginning with Kant, propositions are essentially judgments.) But if we are thinking of human thinkers, then there are far to many propositions: at least, for example, one for every real number that is distinct from the Taj Mahal. On the other hand, if they were divine thoughts, no problem here. So perhaps we should think of propositions as divine thoughts. Then in our thinking we would literally be thinking God's thoughts after him.

Consider propositions: the things that are true or false, that are capable of being believed, and that stand in logical relations to one another. They also have another property: aboutness or intentionality. Propositions represent reality or some part of it as being thus and so. This crucially connected with their being true or false. Many have thought it incredible that propositions should exist apart from the activity of minds. How could they just be there, if never thought of? (Frege, that alleged arch-Platonist, referred to propositions as gedanken, connected with intentionality.) Representing things as being thus and so, being about something or other--this seems to be a property or activity of minds or perhaps thoughts . It is extremely tempting to think of propositions as ontologically dependent upon mental or intellectual = activity in such a way that either they just are thoughts, or else at any rate couldn't exist if not thought of. (According to the idealistic tradition beginning with Kant, propositions are essentially judgments.) But if we are thinking of human thinkers, then there are far to many propositions: at least, for example, one for every real number that is distinct from the Taj Mahal. On the other hand, if they were divine thoughts, no problem here. So perhaps we should think of propositions as divine thoughts. Then in our thinking we would literally be thinking God's thoughts after him.

Consider propositions: the things that are true or false, that are capable of being believed, and that stand in logical relations to one another. They also have another property: aboutness or intentionality. Propositions represent reality or some part of it as being thus and so. This crucially connected with their being true or false. Many have thought it incredible that propositions should exist apart from the activity of minds. How could they just be there, if never thought of? Representing things as being thus and so, being about something or other--this seems to be a property or activity of minds or perhaps thoughts . It is extremely tempting to think of propositions as ontologically dependent upon mental or intellectual = activity in such a way that either they just are thoughts, or else at any rate couldn't exist if not thought of. (According to the idealistic tradition beginning with Kant, propositions are essentially judgments.) But if we are thinking of human thinkers, then there are far to many propositions: at least, for example, one for every real number that is distinct from the Taj Mahal. On the other hand, if they were divine thoughts, no problem here. So perhaps we should think of propositions as divine thoughts. Then in our thinking we would literally be thinking God's thoughts after him.

Consider propositions: the things that are true or false, that are capable of being believed, and that stand in logical relations to one another. They also have another property: aboutness or intentionality. Propositions represent reality or some part of it as being thus and so. This crucially connected with their being true or false. Many have thought it incredible that propositions should exist apart from the activity of minds. How could they just be there, if never thought of? Representing things as being thus and so, being about something or other--this seems to be a property or activity of minds or perhaps thoughts . It is extremely tempting to think of propositions as ontologically dependent upon mental or intellectual activity in such a way that either they just are thoughts, or else at any rate couldn't exist if not thought of. (According to the idealistic tradition beginning with Kant, propositions are essentially judgments.) But if we are thinking of human thinkers, then there are far too many propositions: at least, for example, one for every real number that is distinct from the Taj Mahal. On the other hand, if they were divine thoughts, no problem here. So perhaps we should think of propositions as divine thoughts. Then in our thinking we would literally be thinking God's thoughts after him.

Many think of sets as displaying the following characteristics (among others): (1) no set is a member of itself; (2) sets (unlike properties) have their extensions essentially; hence sets are contingent beings and no set could have existed if one of its members had not; (3) sets form an iterated structure: at the first level, sets whose members are nonsets, at the second, sets whose members are nonsets or first level sets, etc. Many (Cantor) also inclined to think of sets as collections--i.e., things whose existence depends upon a certain sort of intellectual activity--a collecting or 'thinking together' (Cantor). If sets were collections, that would explain their having the first three features. But of course there are far to many sets for them to be a product of human thinking together; there are many sets such that no human being has ever thought their members together, many that are such that their members have not been thought together by any human being. That requires an infinite mind--one like God's.

Many think of sets as displaying the following characteristics (among others): 1. no set is a member of itself; 2. sets unlike properties have their extensions essentially; hence sets are contingent beings and no set could have existed if one of its members had not; (3) sets form an iterated structure: at the first level, sets whose members are nonsets, at the second, sets whose members are nonsets or first level sets, etc. Many (Cantor) also inclined to think of sets as collections--i.e., things whose existence depends upon a certain sort of intellectual activity--a collecting or 'thinking together' (Cantor). If sets were collections, that would explain their having the first three features. But of course there are far to many sets for them to be a product of human thinking together; there are many sets such that no human being has ever thought their members together, many that are such that their members have not been thought together by any human being. That requires an infinite mind--one like God's.

Many think of sets as displaying the following characteristics : 1. no set is a member of itself; 2. sets unlike properties have their extensions essentially; hence sets are contingent beings and no set could have existed if one of its members had not; 3. sets form an iterated structure: at the first level, sets whose members are nonsets, at the second, sets whose members are nonsets or first level sets, etc. Many (Cantor) also inclined to think of sets as collections--i.e., things whose existence depends upon a certain sort of intellectual activity--a collecting or 'thinking together' (Cantor). If sets were collections, that would explain their having the first three features. But of course there are far to many sets for them to be a product of human thinking together; there are many sets such that no human being has ever thought their members together, many that are such that their members have not been thought together by any human being. That requires an infinite mind--one like God's.

Many think of sets as displaying the following characteristics : 1. no set is a member of itself; 2. sets unlike properties have their extensions essentially; hence sets are contingent beings and no set could have existed if one of its members had not; 3. sets form an iterated structure: at the first level, sets whose members are nonsets, at the second, sets whose members are nonsets or first level sets, etc. Many (Cantor) also inclined to think of sets as collections--i.e., things whose existence depends upon a certain sort of intellectual activity--a collecting or 'thinking together' (Cantor). If sets were collections, that would explain their having the first three features. But of course there are far too many sets for them to be a product of human thinking together; there are many sets such that no human being has ever thought their members together, many that are such that their members have not been thought together by any human being. That requires an infinite mind--one like God's.

Perhaps a way to think together all the members of a set is to attend to a certain property and then consider all the things that have that property: e.g., all the natural numbers. Then many infinite sets are sets that could have been collected by human beings; but not nearly all--not, e.g., arbitrary collections of real numbers. (axiom of choice)

Perhaps a way to think together all the members of a set is to attend to a certain property and then consider all the things that have that property: e.g., all the natural numbers. Then many infinite sets are sets that could have been collected by human beings; but not nearly all--not, e.g., arbitrary collections of real numbers. (axiom of choice)

Perhaps a way to think together all the members of a set is to attend to a certain property and then consider all the things that have that property: e.g., all the natural numbers. Then many infinite sets are sets that could have been collected by human beings; but not nearly all--not, e.g., arbitrary collections of real numbers, e.g., : perhaps a way to think together all the members of a set is to attend to a certain property and then consider all the things that have that property: e.g., all the natural numbers. Then many infinite sets are sets that could have been collected by human beings; but not nearly all--not, e.g., arbitrary collections of real numbers.

There are too many of numbers for them to arise as a result of human intellectual activity. Consider, for example, the following series of functions: 2 lambda n is two to the second to the second .... to the second n times. The second member is ##2 (n); the third 3#2(n), etc.

There are properties, one wants to say, that have never been entertained by any human being; and it also seems wrong to think that properties do not exist before human beings conceive them.

He first considers belief in God by way of the sensus divinitatis (way 8), articulating an Aquinas/Calvin (A/C) model of theistic belief. According to the A/C model, God has given us a faculty for perceiving God that is analogous to sense perception (way 1). If the sensus divinitatis gives us true beliefs, and it is functioning properly in an appropriate environment according to a design plan successfully aimed at truth, then it gives us knowledge of God. Like perception, this would be a basic belief (not based on argument), but it would still be knowledge.

The Journey to Warranted Christian Belief Warrant: The Current Debate and Warrant and Proper Function (1993) The Reformed epistemology of 1983 had a rather narrow focus when it came to the nature and scope of knowledge. By merely defending the rationality of belief in God, Plantinga was assuming that rationality was important and perhaps even central to the nature of knowledge. But perhaps it’s not. And perhaps justification isn’t crucial either, if by that we mean some feature of our beliefs that we can just see, and that gives us the right to hold our beliefs. Rather, what might be really important for knowledge is proper function. And by merely defending the rationality of belief in God, the Reformed epistemology project had a very narrow scope. What about the rest of knowledge and belief? How should

My whole account of positive epistemic status, not just this example, owes much to Thomas Reid with his talk of faculties and their functions and his rejection of the notion (one he attributes to Hume and his predecessors) that self-evident propositions and propositions about one's own immediate experience are the only properly basic propositions.

My whole account of positive epistemic status owes much to Thomas Reid with his talk of faculties and their functions and his rejection of the notion (one he attributes to Hume and his predecessors) that self-evident propositions and propositions about one's own immediate experience are the only properly basic propositions.

If we can't think about God, then we can't think about him; and therefore can't make statements about him, including statements to the effect that we can't think about him. The statement that we can't think about God-the statement that God is such that we can't think about him- is obviously a statement about God; if we can't think about God, then we can't say about him what we can't think about him.

The existence of God is neither precluded nor rendered improbable by the existence of evil. Of course, suffering and misfortune may nonetheless constitute a problem for the theist; but the problem is not that his beliefs are logically or probabilistically incompatible. The theist may find a religious problem in evil; in the presence of his own suffering or that of someone near to him he may find it difficult to maintain what he takes to be the proper attitude towards God. Faced with great personal suffering or misfortune, he may be tempted to rebel against God, to shake his fist in God's face, or even to give up belief in God altogether. But this is a problem of a different dimension. Such a problem calls, not for philosophical enlightenment, but for pastoral care.

If my belief in other minds is rational, so is my belief in God.