In this chapter, Edward T. Babinski, Paul Tobin and Loftus set out to argue against Biblical inerrancy, the idea that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God, mostly by trying to find contradictions in the work itself or showing that it seems to have been influenced by the other cultures around them.
What struck me about this chapter is that while atheists, in general, keep asking us to treat the Bible and its purportedly historical events like general historical events, this chapter is a prime example of the atheist tendency to insist that we not do that and instead insist that if the contents of the Bible were created/transmitted by normal historical means — and so inherited the issues with such transmission — then that disprove the Bible because it cannot be literally true. What this suggests to me is that they don’t really want us to treat the Bible like an ancient historical document and analyze it that way, but instead only ask us to do that so that they can slip in methodological naturalism. They want to be able to argue that since the first things we tend to toss away from ancient legends are the supernatural elements, we need to treat the Bible like that as well so that they can encourage us to toss away those supernatural elements as well, and so throw out God. Once theists — rightly, since they aren’t naturalists — refuse to do so, then they retreat to pointing out those inconsistencies and noting that the Bible isn’t the inerrant Word of God and so get us to toss away God that way. But this requires us to treat the Bible as “special”, and we can ask what the point of treating it like any other historical claim was in the first place if they are willing to abandon it as soon as it gets inconvenient for them.
Now, they can somewhat rightly claim that the religions themselves treat it that way, and it’s totally fair to point out that their own presumptions are, in the end, contradicted by the content of the Bible. The problem with this is that a lot of the very Christian religions that they most want to criticize aren’t literalists when it comes to the Bible. When it comes to the New Testament, for example, the Catholic Church’s position is that the Gospels and other works just are historical documents, and so explain the discrepancies between them by appealing to the idea that different witnesses or perspectives always result in discrepancies. And Catholics in particular are more than willing to consider the Genesis creation stories as mostly symbolic. The common reply from atheists is that if there are things in here that were once taken literally but were really meant to be symbolic or if there were things in it that were corruptions of the original message through the normal issues with ancient historical methods, how could we ever parse these things apart to get at what really happened? If there seem to be contradictions in God’s morality or theology, how can we ever figure out what the real meaning is? What possible methods could we use to do that? Well, as it turns out, we would use the existing methods of history and philosophy to do that. We’ve been parsing through transmitted legends and dealing with seemingly contradictory philosophies all the time. Just on the philosophy front, Kant had to add a section to “The Critique of Pure Reason” refuting Idealism because some people claimed that he was one … and it still didn’t work. Wittgenstein wrote two contradictory treatises and only implicitly disavowed the first one. We know how to approach such things to come up with what seems to be the most consistent interpretation of both historical and philosophical works.
Which is what the atheists tend not to do. The first thing that we tend to do in such cases is indeed try to come up with the most consistent way to interpret the text, smoothing over things that seem contradictory and even dropping potential contradictions that seem unimportant. As seen in this chapter, this is the exact opposite approach that the atheists take. Instead of trying to reconcile as much as they can and only leave important and impossible to reconcile contradictions, they spend their time trying to list as many potential contradictions as they can. One might think that they were trying to build a cumulative case, but what they are doing is indeed not a cumulative case. What characterizes a cumulative case is that each step builds on the previous one to ultimately make their argument when they are all taken together. What this means is that each individual step would not, in and of itself, prove their argument, and that all of the steps are directly related to each other. For all of their examples, that’s not the case. The steps are in general unrelated, and if any one of those arguments was both important enough and proven true that step in and of itself would win their argument for them. Those are not the hallmarks of a cumulative argument.
So it seems clear that instead of a cumulative argument, what they are aiming for is a “shotgun” approach, where they fire a ton of arguments at their opponents and hope that one hits home. However, in reading this chapter, it struck me that this approach actually works against them for anyone who is reading the argument and thinking carefully about it. The issue is that with so many arguments, while it is indeed the case that they are likely to hit an argument that someone cannot simply refute, there will also be a number of arguments that they either can come up with an argument against or that they don’t consider an important contradiction and so not anything to worry about. Given that, when they encounter an argument that they can’t argue against. they are not going to throw up their hands and declare that it can’t be resolved, but instead think that there probably is a resolution and that educated theologians might have even already come up with that explanation, and so it won’t move them. The atheist will look like they are nitpicking a lot of the time and so even the ones that are important or are difficult to resolve will seem likely to be the same sort of nitpicking.
This flows into the arrogance of atheists to declare that if they can’t think of a way to resolve the issues or can’t themselves think of why God would do things that way, then it’s not reasonable to think that there could possibly be a way to deal with these issues. This means that they list issues that convince them, but may not be issues at all for the theists they are purportedly trying to convince. This is particularly evident in Loftus’ work, where he gives an example of how he’d rewrite the creation story to make it more “scientifically accurate”, but he doesn’t consider whether or not that would actually be better. Would his scientific approach appeal to the ancient groups that the Old Testament originally appealed to, especially given the other nearby cultures with their own origin myths?
Seen in this light, the Bible actually seems to be a pretty good way to spread the Word of God considering how remarkably successful it’s been! Taking just the creation story that Loftus rewrites, it had to appeal to ancient Jews who had exposure to the more mystical and mythical creation stories — hence Babinski’s discussion of the influence of those other cultures — while still holding meaning to the Jewish culture of the time Christianity arose and used it as a basis for Christianity, while still having some symbolic meaning for the more scientific world of today. Considering how popular a religion Christianity is, it seems like the books of the Bible were introduced in the exact right way and at the exact right time to create Christianity. Loftus et al may try to claim that therefore any other popular religion could make the same claim, but Christianity has a cross-cultural appeal, as we saw in the first part, that doesn’t apply to the other religions. So on what grounds can Loftus criticize how God built the Bible and how He communicated with us given its success?
Loftus almost certainly would reply with the other points in his essay: the way God communicated led to misunderstandings that have caused wars and other horrible things, and so if God had been more clear that wouldn’t have happened. But again, considering the broad span of time and the broad span of flawed human beings that it had to bridge, that things would be misinterpreted and misinterpreted in self-serving ways was pretty much a given. Even claims of direct miracles have been things that we see didn’t convince some and that we can totally believe wouldn’t have convinced some, so how could we expect any simple words to do that? At this point, in order for Loftus to make his point he has to declare his own judgement to be better than that of the omniscient being he’s criticizing. And note that this isn’t an appeal to “God’s ways are so mysterious that we could never understand them”. Christians have come up with a lot of possible explanations for pretty much every objection that the atheists in this chapter have raised. So the argument from the atheists has been “You haven’t come up with an explanation that we buy or accept”. Yeah, but that’s not a strong argument. To make the claim, as the title of this part declares, that the Bible is not God’s Word, they need to convince us, not the other way around. And as noted when I talked about the “shotgun approach”, we can see how their own assessments of the situation are not anywhere near as solid as they’d like to think. Given that, why shouldn’t Christians trust God over them?
Next up is the third part, on morality, which likely will approach things in the same way but will absolutely require philosophy to assess and not just history, which means that it is definitely more in my wheelhouse than this part.
Thoughts on “Dark Ages: Nosferatu”
March 28, 2023So as I’ve said before, what I’m currently reading in the time I have set aside just to read — which is generally while eating or watching curling or baseball — is a collection of White Wolf Vampire the Masquerade novels set in the Dark Ages — yes, that’s the name of the series — that I had picked up from a used bookstore ages ago, tried reading once at lunch but never managed to finish. Sorting through my boxes of old books I came across them and set out to finally finish reading them.
The first book in the series starts with the famous sacking of Constantinople. A leader of the Noserferatu, Malachite, recounts to us that the leaders of the city, especially the Ventrue Michael, had been predicting that this would become a great, golden city represented by Michael’s Dream for the Cainites (vampires, which in this universe are seen as being caused by the curse God put on Caine). Malachite is deeply attached to the Dream, and sets out to see if Michael still lives and so if the Dream still lives. Once he discovers that Michael is dead, he sets out to find one of the others who created the Dream with Michael to see if the Dream can be reborn. He also becomes attached to a human servant of another Cainite from another clan, who is transferred to him so that her mistress, Alexia, can come with him to seek out an oracle of her clan and so that he might ask a question on Alexia’s behalf. After a number of travails, they make it to the oracle they are seeking, only to have it revealed that he had indeed met with the Cainite he sought and was rejected by him because he treated him like an insane old man, and Alexia does not get her answer either. And, even worse, the human he cared for ended up being the sacrifice he needed to make to get the oracle in the first place.
When I was doing my reading of historical works, this siege came up a number of times because of the folly of a Christian Crusade’s only achievement being the sacking and burning of a major Christian city. What was nice about this book is that it really does dive into what that experience would have been like, which is really what I want from a book set in a historical context. Whether it’s entirely historically accurate or not is really beside the point as long as it presents it in a way that makes sense. And the book also doesn’t shy away from representing Christianity itself as being important, especially to the Cainites, despite them seemingly being cursed about this, a fact that will carry on in the next few books. So the historical aspects are well-done.
Malachite himself is an interesting character, with some interesting plot points. He is trying to save a young Cainite child who has the gift of prophecy, as he has fallen into a strange coma and his two siblings have died from that. He is dedicated to the Dream and wants to revive it, and he is impressed by and has an interesting relationship with the human that he ends up sacrificing, which makes the sacrifice scene more poignant. He also has to manage some interesting political realities, not the least of which is with Alexia, whom he needs but doesn’t trust, and who is actually lying to him, but also with some other factions of Cainites that can be more or less friendly to him at times, as well as Alexia’s own clan that aren’t all that happy with her quest. It’s to the book’s credit that it manages to interweave all of these different elements together without making the book feel overstuffed. The book does this by weaving all around the central figure of Malachite as things that he has to deal with and that come about naturally because of what he’s doing and his specific goals. Since he’s sympathetic, we see these as obstacles he must overcome rather than an overly complicated plot that we, the reader, must deal with.
The one issue that I have follows from Malachite being sympathetic, however. The sequence with the Cainite that he was seeking — the Dracon — is a very standard trope where someone who is seeking a teacher or authority figure is tested by them presenting themselves as something humble and then judging them based on how they react to that. This, for example, is what Yoda did to Luke in “The Empire Strikes Back”. But given all the obstacles that Malachite faced and all of his worries, that he’d react badly to someone that he has just met and who seems to be wasting his time when he is pressed for time to at least save the Cainite boy is understandable, especially given that the Dracon doesn’t give him any indication that he is the Dracon or someone of importance. So it doesn’t really seem like Malachite himself has failed and so deserves rejection, but seems more like the Dracon is treating him unfairly. And since we like Malachite and, at least, if we aren’t completely versed in the VTM universe have no reason to think the Dracon particularly wise, that makes us think worse of the Dracon and makes Malachite’s failure there less tragedy and more something to rail at. Contrast this to the sacrifice of the human that he was attached to and that does seem like a tragedy, something that he needed to do to seek the Dream, and that when the information turns out to be something he can’t use it’s the tragedy of a sacrifice that he needed to make but that ultimately did not give him what he wanted.
That being said, it’s a pretty good book. It does what we want the first book in a series to do, as it sets out the world and what we need to know to understand what’s going on, sets up enough plot elements for later books so that we can easily see the connection between them and so they don’t have to spend a lot of time introducing the general plot and can focus only on their specific issues, and is interesting enough in its own right that we feel that the series is likely to be interesting. I liked the book but will comment at the end of the series of 13 books — not all of which I have — whether or not I’d read it, and the series, again.
Tags:horror, White Wolf's Dark Ages
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