Håvard Skjæveland and the Problem of Evil – Part 1

It seems that my discussion with Skjæveland on the Problem of Evil (i.e., how it supposedly demonstrates the probability that God doesn’t exist) has drawn to a tentative close. And I want to highlight the term “tentative” because he has not exactly given up yet. Let me explain where we’re at thus far and how we got here.

First, a little background information on Skjæveland. He is a 23-year old student from Stavanger, Norway, who is studying web programming. He is an avowed atheist who describes himself as “running pretty high on Richard Dawkins’ atheism scale” which means, I have reason to think, he affirms the ‘strong’ version of atheism. He also admitted to me that his thinking has been influenced by the New Atheist propaganda of Dawkins, Hitchens, Dennet, and Harris. (These gentlemen are reliable on philosophy in the same way that Duane Gish is reliable on science.)

On December 10th he introduced himself to me in an email which described his appreciation of the fact that someone else actually recognizes the fundamental difference between agnosticism and atheism, that the former addresses an issue different from the latter. “I was beginning to think I was alone!” he exclaimed. And in a subsequent email he shared with me a brief synopsis of his atheistic convictions and how he arrived at them. A particularly compelling issue for him, he said, was how convincingly the Problem of Evil undermines Christian theism. (I chose to ignore his thoughts on other religions, e.g., Hinduism, because I have no interest in defending those.) Since I have never encountered a Problem of Evil argument that accomplishes its intended aim—and I have examined many, both historical and contemporary—I thought this could be an issue worth exploring. He agreed to engage me on it.

He began with the logical Problem of Evil argument as presented by Epicurus, whom he cited directly, an argument taken up by others like David Hume and John L. Mackie. However, this alleged problem suffers from a fatal flaw, I pointed out—the definition of ‘evil’. Epicurus and others who submit this problem use the term 'evil' but never bother to define it. Until that term is defined, the problem is a lifeless corpse with no merit whatsoever because 'evil' lies at the very heart of the issue. “If you find the logical Problem of Evil argument compelling,” I said, “it's because you have assumed a definition of 'evil' on behalf of the argument.” I told him that he needed to disclose this definition he was assuming in order to continue examining the problem.

At this point he backed away from the Problem of Evil argument. “I don’t really know how to define evil,” he confessed, and asked if we could approach it as a Problem of Suffering argument instead. “Surely you agree,” he said, “that there is gratuitous suffering in the world,” that God could do something “so that people don’t suffer needlessly.” And I had to stop him right there. First, the Problem of Suffering argument shoulders an enormous burden of proof that has to be met. As the critical mind will detect, asking me to agree from the outset that gratuitous suffering exists is to beg the very question, which is fallacious. Since the supposed existence of gratuitous suffering lies at the heart of the argument—the very issue upon which it is hinged—he cannot simply assume it, nor can he ask me to.

Second, how I understand the term “suffering” differs explicitly from how he understands it (because our metaethics are antithetical, mine being God-based and him being an atheist), so my agreement would only encourage the fallacy of equivocation at any rate. Then I reset the conversation, underscoring the two things that must be established. “If you cannot prove the gratuity of human suffering, the argument fails. If you cannot prove that human suffering is inconsistent with the attributes of God, the argument fails” (viz. omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent).

Skjæveland said he didn’t know how to go about proving the gratuity of suffering “except to come up with hypothetical scenarios” by which to illustrate it. So he called upon the example of rape: “Surely the woman being raped didn’t ask for it and certainly doesn’t deserve it.” Again I had to note the logical fallacy being committed, or possibly two different fallacies. On the one hand, he is possibly committing the fallacy of arguing from incredulity; i.e., “This suffering must be gratuitous because I can’t believe it’s not.”

On the other hand, he is definitely committing the fallacy of begging the question; i.e., “This is gratuitous suffering because it is gratuitous.” How did he commit this fallacy? By stating that the rape victim did not deserve it. Unfortunately, that assumes the truth of the very conclusion to be proved. “I am not trying to suggest she did deserve it,” I said. “It's just that I won't be bullied into a conclusion, if you know what I mean.” Nothing defeats an argument quite like fallacies, by which it defeats itself. They are to be avoided. Does there exist gratuitous suffering? That’s the burden shouldered by this argument, which must be met because if gratuitous suffering does not exist then the argument is a dog with no bite.

On the issue of whether or not human suffering is inconsistent with the attributes of God, Skjæveland had no directly relevant response. The only response he had was, “If God made us this way, doesn’t that suggest that God is at least imperfect?” First of all, God is not imperfect if the history of creation is unfolding precisely as he had planned it, meeting every purpose for which it was designed. Second, I was unable to determine how the angle his response took here adequately meets the burden of proof. The perfection of God was not the issue. The issue is the alleged conflict between human suffering and a God who is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent. So I had asked him to clarify, if he could, how his response relevantly answers that issue.

And at this point he backed away from the Problem of Suffering argument too. “I’ll concede the two informal fallacies you bring up,” he said, and further conceded that suffering could be consistent with the attributes of God (although it makes him wonder if God is “toying with us,” which I subsequently answered). “Can we leave the Argument of Suffering behind for the moment, and maybe drive back to pick it up later on?” he asked. “I admit tentative defeat; I need to think about it more and familiarize myself with the issues better.”

The following was my reply, in part:

According to my understanding, you were trying to describe an argument against the existence of God that you thought was compelling. What I was trying to do—the only thing I was trying to do—was critically examine the argument with you to see if it had any rational force. I accept that you found the argument compelling, but I disagree it was for rational reasons. In order to make my case, I had to score the argument rationally (step-by-step with you, in a somewhat Socratic fashion). By proving its logical weakness, I thereby establish that its compelling force could not have been reason.

I don't want to appear as though I am disparaging your intellect. I am personally convinced that you are quite a highly intelligent man. Please understand that. But I do think people should be honest with themselves—in my own opinion, speaking from my commitment to critical thinking. If an argument is proven to be logically untenable, then a person should be honest with himself and admit that its compelling force must have been something other than reason, i.e., that he came to the argument already convinced to some degree.

So here is my suspicion. I think you already sensed on some intuitive level that there was a conflict between what you see as gratuitous suffering on the one hand and the supposed attributes of God on the other, and you gravitated toward arguments that seemed to provide rational ammunition for what you already believed. In other words, the arguments did not convince you, but they were needed as rational support for what you already believed. Maybe by recognizing and honestly admitting that these arguments are logically untenable, a way can be opened for discovering why you think there's a conflict between the world and God.

I know you're not prepared to concede that yet. Given our brief exchange thus far, you are perhaps beginning to see that it's possible these arguments are untenable, but I don't think we've had enough mileage on this yet to convince you. I know only because I've done the homework already; now I'm showing you that homework. We'll get there, but on your terms.

This is where the critical analysis of the Problem of Evil or Suffering rests at this point. I’m pretty sure that we will return to it later, but for now I suspect that Skjæveland wants to (a) intellectually digest the criticisms I had raised, (b) review the arguments put forth by atheist philosophers on this issue, to find out if his presentation was missing something, and if so, what, and (c) to see if any of them adequately address the criticisms I had raised. He never said any of this, mind you; it’s just my suspicion, based on nothing other than the fact that it’s something I would do, having been in a similar position myself at times.

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NB: I just want to underscore one remarkable feature of my present debate with Skjæveland, because its significance simply must not go unnoticed. In all the years I have engaged countless atheists in debate, not a single one has ever conceded (a) the logical fallacies I have pointed out in their arguments or (b) any sort of defeat of their argument. Without any exceptions, every single one of those atheists have insisted that either no fallacies were committed or that I don’t understand what fallacies are—even when the fallacy they commit is almost verbatim identical to the examples given in Logic textbooks I cite from.

I want to formally recognize and acknowledge that Skjæveland is the very first atheist I’ve ever debated who had the personal and intellectual integrity to concede a logical fallacy when indicated and the defeat it incurred. My respect for him can scarcely be measured it is so high. Out of hundreds of atheists, he’s the first. This man has a place of high honor in my estimation.