In his brief and (mostly) tightly argued book God, Freedom, and Evil, Alvin Plantinga writes:[S]ome theologians and theistic philosophers have tried to give successful arguments or proofs for the existence of God. This enterprise is called natural theology… Other philosophers, of course, have presented arguments for the falsehood of theistic beliefs; these philosophers conclude that belief in God is demonstrably irrational or unreasonable. We might call this enterprise natural atheology. (pp. 2-3)
Cute, huh? Actually (and with all due respect for Plantinga), I’ve always found the expression “natural atheology” pretty annoying, even when I was an atheist. The reason is that, given what natural theology as traditionally understood is supposed to be, the suggestion that there is a kind of bookend subject matter called “natural atheology” is somewhat inept. (As we will see, though, Plantinga evidently does not think of natural theology in a traditional way.)
Start with the “theology” part of natural theology. “Theology” means “the science of God,” in the Aristotelian sense of “science” -- a systematic, demonstrative body of knowledge of some subject matter in terms of its first principles. Of course, atheists deny that there is any science of God even in this Aristotelian sense, but for present purposes that is neither here nor there. The point is that a science is what theology traditionally claims to be, and certainly aims to be.
Take the Scholastic theologian’s procedure. First, arguments are developed which purport to demonstrate the existence of a first cause of things. Next, it is argued that when we analyze what it is to be a first cause, we find that of its essence such a cause must be pure actuality rather than a mixture of act and potency, absolutely simple or non-composite, and so forth. Third, it is then argued that when we follow out the implications of something’s being purely actual, absolutely simple, etc. and also work backward from the nature of the effect to the nature of the cause, the various divine attributes (intellect, will, power, etc.) all follow. Then, when we consider the character of the created order as well as that of a cause which is purely actual, simple, etc., we can spell out the precise nature of God’s relationship to that order. (For Aquinas this entails the doctrine of divine conservation and a concurrentist account of divine causality, as opposed to an occasionalist or deist account.) And so forth.
Even someone who doubts that this sort of project can be pulled off can see its “scientific” character. The domain studied is, of course, taken to be real, and its reality is defended via argumentation which claims to be demonstrative. Further argumentation of a purportedly demonstrative character is put forward in defense of each component of the system, and the system is very large, purporting to give us fairly detailed knowledge not only of the existence of God, but of his essence and attributes and relation to the created order. Moreover, the key background notions (the theory of act and potency, the analysis of causation, the metaphysics of substance, etc.) are tightly integrated into a much larger metaphysics and philosophy of nature, so that natural theology is by no means an intellectual fifth wheel, arbitrarily tacked on for merely apologetic purposes to an already complete and self-sufficient body of knowledge.
Rather, its status as the capstone of human knowledge is clear. The natural sciences as we understand them today (physics, chemistry, biology, etc.) are grounded in principles of the philosophy of nature, whose subject matter concerns what any possible natural science must take for granted. Philosophy of nature in turn rests on deeper principles of metaphysics, whose subject matter is being as such (rather than merely material or changeable being, which is the subject matter of philosophy of nature; and rather than the specific sort of material or changeable world that actually exists, which is the subject matter of natural science). Natural theology, in turn, follows out the implications of the fundamental notions of philosophy of nature and metaphysics (the theory of act and potency, etc.) and offers ultimate explanations.
Again, you don’t have to think any of this works in order to see that what it aspires to is a kind of science. By contrast, what Plantinga calls “atheology” could not possibly be any kind of science, and doesn’t claim to be. For the “atheologian” doesn’t claim to be studying some domain of reality and giving us systematic knowledge of it. On the contrary, his entire aim is to show that there is no good reason to think the domain in question is real. You can have a “science” only of what exists, not of what doesn’t exist. Otherwise “aunicornology” would be just as much a science as ichthyology or ornithology is. Ichthyology and ornithology are sciences because there are such things as fishes and birds, and there is systematic knowledge to be had about what fishes and birds are like. “Aunicornology” is not a science, because there is in the strict sense no such thing as a systematic body of knowledge of the nonexistence of unicorns, or of the nonexistence of anything else for that matter. Suppose someone denied the existence of fishes and tried to offer arguments for their nonexistence. It would hardly follow that he is committed to practicing something called “aichthyology” in the sense of a systematic body of knowledge of the nonexistence of fish.
Note that I am not saying anything here that an atheist couldn’t agree with. The claim is not that one couldn’t have solid arguments for atheism (though of course I don’t think there are any). The point is rather that even if there were solid arguments, they wouldn’t give you any kind of “science” in the sense of a systematic body of knowledge of some domain of reality. Rather, what they would do is to show that some purported domain of reality doesn’t really exist.
So, it is inept to think that if there is such a thing as theology, then there must be some bookend subject matter called “atheology” -- again, at least if we are using “theology” the way it has traditionally been understood. Now let’s turn to the “natural” part of natural theology. “Natural” as opposed to what? Well, the usual answer, of course, is “natural as opposed to revealed.” The idea is that whereas some knowledge about God and his nature is available to us because he has specially disclosed it to us through (say) the teachings of a prophet whose authority is backed by miracles -- where such knowledge constitutes “revealed theology” -- there is other knowledge about God and his nature that is available to us just by applying our natural powers of reason to understanding the world, say by reasoning from the existence of contingent things to a necessary being as their cause (or whatever). That’s where “natural theology” comes in.
So, if that’s what natural theology is, what would “natural atheology” be? “Natural” as opposed to what? As opposed to “revealed atheology”? But of course, the idea of “revealed atheology” would be absurd. It makes no sense to say that there is such a thing as knowledge of the non-existence of God which has been revealed to us by God. The “natural versus revealed” distinction simply doesn’t apply to anything an atheist might affirm, the way it does apply to what the theist would affirm. So, again, it is inept to suppose that if there is such a thing as natural theology, then there must be some bookend field of study we might label “natural atheology.”
To be sure, there is another possible reading of the “natural” in natural theology. We might think of it on analogy with the “natural” in natural law. The idea of natural law, of course, is the idea that what is good or bad and right or wrong for us is grounded in our nature, and that knowledge of good and bad and right and wrong can therefore be derived from the study of that nature. So, perhaps we might also think of natural theology as knowledge of God that is available to us given our nature. In particular, we might say that since the natural end or final cause of reason is to know the causes of things, and the ultimatecause of things is God, the ultimateend of reason is to know God. Indeed, Scholastic thinkers like Aquinas would say exactly this.
Could there be such a thing as “natural atheology” in some parallel sense? But that would entail that “atheology” -- denial of the existence of God -- is in some sense the natural end of reason. And certainly no Scholastic would say that. Plantinga himself, though he is no Scholastic, would not say that. Indeed, I can’t think of any proponent of natural theology or revealed theology who would say that denying God’s existence is or could be the naturalend of reason. (I suppose some of them might say that fallen reason tends toward atheism, but that’s a very different idea from the claim that the natural tendency of reason is toward atheism.) So, once again, it’s hard to see what it could mean to describe something as “natural” atheology.
So, the expression “natural atheology” is inept. But is this a big deal? Well, I don’t know if it’s a big deal, and, if so, how big exactly. But it’s not insignificant. Because the problem is not just that the expression is, for the reasons given, semantically awkward. There is also a substantive issue implicit in what I’ve been saying. The expression “natural theology” is, as what I’ve said indicates, rich in meaning. Historically, it conveyed, and was meant to convey, something important about our knowledge of God -- again, that that knowledge is scientific in the sense described above, and that much of it can be had apart from revelation. Plantinga’s neologism obscures all that. Consider what else he says in the passage quoted earlier:
The natural theologian does not, typically, offer his arguments in order to convince people of God’s existence… Instead the typical function of natural theology has been to show that religious belief is rationally acceptable. (p. 2)
The idea here seems to be that natural theology is essentially a grab bag of moves one might make in order to counter atheist accusations to the effect that belief in God is irrational. Its point is essentially defensive, rather than something that makes a positive and fundamental contribution to human knowledge.
Now, this might be an accurate description of the Alvin Plantinga approach to natural theology. But it is most definitely notan accurate description of the approach taken to natural theology by pagan philosophers like Aristotle or Plotinus, medieval philosophers like Maimonides, Avicenna, and Aquinas, modern rationalists like Leibniz and Wolff, or most other proponents of natural theology historically -- who thought that the key arguments of natural theology could and should be convincing even to someone who does not initially believe that God exists, and who thought that natural theology does provide a positive, fundamental contribution to the body of human knowledge.
Now, if you think that “natural theology” is nothing more than a label for the religious believer’s unsystematic grab bag of apologetic arguments, then it is clear why you might also think that “natural atheology” is an apt label for an atheist’s own grab bag. But from the point of view of those who endorse the traditional and much more robust understanding of natural theology, you will thereby perpetuate a mistaken understanding of what natural theology is, and obscure that older conception. (You will also encourage the pop apologist in his bad habit of deploying any old argument he thinks might win converts, whether or not it’s actually a good argument at the end of the day -- thereby helping to perpetuate the mistaken idea that apologetics is essentially an intellectually dishonest form of rhetoric rather than genuine philosophy. I criticized this kind of apologetics in an earlier post.)
While I’m on the subject of God, Freedom, and Evil, I might as well note a couple of other peeves. In the introduction to the book, Plantinga alludes to:
supersophisticates among allegedly Christian theologians who proclaim the liberation of Christianity from belief in God, seeking to replace it by trust in “Being itself” or the “Ground of Being” or some such thing. (p. 1)
This appears to be a reference both to the then-trendy “Death of God theology” and to the existentialist theology of Paul Tillich. Naturally, like Plantinga, I am not a fan of either one. However, the derisive reference to “’Being itself’ or the ‘Ground of Being’ or some such thing” is telling. The “some such thing” makes it sound as if “Being itself” and related notions are flakey novelties introduced by modernist theologians. Nothing could be further from the truth. Indeed, that God is “Subsistent Being Itself” rather than merely one being alongside others is at the heart of classical theism as expressed by thinkers like Aquinas and other Scholastics. (As I discussed in an earlier post, while Tillich’s use of these notions is highly problematic, he is merely borrowing this language, perfectly innocent in itself, from the classical tradition.) In fact it is Plantinga’s own “theistic personalism” (to borrow Brian Davies’ label for Plantinga’s view), which rejects the core doctrines of classical theism, which is the novelty. (I’ve discussed the stark differences between classical theism and theistic personalism in a number of posts.)
Then there is Plantinga’s discussion in God, Freedom, and Evil of Aquinas’s Third Way. He is very critical of the argument, but in my view badly misunderstands it. Plantinga wonders whether, by a “necessary being,” Aquinas means one that exists in every possible world; puzzles over what it could possibly mean to say that something derives its necessity from another; accuses Aquinas of committing a quantifier shift fallacy; and so on. As I show at pp. 90-99 of my book Aquinas, when one reads the Third Way in light of the background Aristotelian-Scholastic metaphysics Aquinas is working with, it is clear that all of this is quite misguided. (Even J. L. Mackie’s discussion of the argument in The Miracle of Theismis in my view better than Plantinga’s treatment here. Though in fairness to Plantinga, he offers a more substantive treatment in God and Other Minds.)
None of this is meant to deny the importance of the central themes of God, Freedom, and Evil -- namely, Plantinga’s distinctive treatments of the ontological argument and of the problem of evil -- which are, of course, very clever and philosophically interesting. But even here, Thomists and other classical theists will find much to disagree with, and it cannot be emphasized too often that the basic philosophical assumptions that inform much contemporary philosophy of religion are radically different from those that guided the greatest philosophical theists of the past.