Free will is like God: perhaps dead, its absence having something to say about morality (what Nietzsche meant by “Gott ist tot” was that the Christian God wasn’t believable, and that societal shifts away from him would undermine ethics), and yet impossible to fully disprove. By free will, we mean the ability to have done differently — the notion that the control we feel over our choices, words, and deeds is real, not delusional.

The more thought devoted to free will the less believable it becomes. Even the mixed, limited bag of scientific findings generates at least some skepticism. Two short books I found interesting take opposing sides in the debate over the relevant studies: Sam Harris’ Free Will (2012) and Alfred Mele’s Free (2014). Though over a decade old, these works collectively remain a valuable and accessible introduction. Today’s commentary is little different. Skeptics of free will

point to evidence that we can be unconsciously influenced in the choices we make by a range of factors, including ones that are not motivationally relevant; that we can come to believe that we chose to initiate a behavior that in fact was artificially induced; that people subject to certain neurological disorders will sometimes engage in purposive behavior while sincerely believing that they are not directing them. Finally, a great deal of attention has been given to the work of neuroscientist Benjamin Libet (2002). Libet conducted some simple experiments that seemed to reveal the existence of “preparatory” brain activity (the “readiness potential”) shortly before a subject engages in an ostensibly spontaneous action. (Libet interpreted this activity as the brain’s “deciding” what to do before we are consciously settled on a course of action.) Wegner (2002) surveys all of these findings (some of which are due to his own work as a social psychologist) and argues on their basis that the experience of conscious willing is “an illusion.”

Such interpretations have been criticized, but the findings themselves — for instance, that the brain lights up (milliseconds or even full seconds) before we make certain conscious choices — are largely taken for granted. The scientists and philosophers who believe in free will, such as Mele, rightly point to the constraints of the experiments, which ask participants to do mindless tasks. As neuroscientists recently wrote in Scientific American while arguing science has not disproven free will:

The neuroscience of volition typically focuses on immediate (or proximal) and meaningless decisions (for instance, “press the button from time to time, whenever you feel like it, for no reason at all”). The decisions we care about with respect to free will and responsibility, however, are ones that are meaningful and often have longer time horizons. Perhaps many, or even most, of our day-to-day decisions — choosing when to take the next sip from your water cup or which foot to put forward — are not acts of conscious free will. But maybe some decisions are.

Observe the ground that is given here. It is seismic that what we once regarded as a conscious choice — reaching for your water to take a sip — was actually a directive of the subconscious. Your brain began firing long before you “decided” to act. You had your orders, and you followed them, unwittingly. (Note that this is not marveling over the fact that you reached for your glass without an inner monologue — “I should drink now.” Most of what we do is done without the voice inside our heads speaking. But we still assume that we decided to do whatever it was, not our subconscious.) No, science has not shown free will to be false. But it has produced cause for doubt. If my decision to stand rather than remain sitting was not really my decision, it is at least possible that more meaningful, higher-order “choices” — whether to quit a job or propose — are also guided by subconscious processes outside of one’s awareness. We will have to see what future experiments bring.

Philosophy also erodes trust in free will. First, consider the experiential. Sam Harris, on his Making Sense podcast, once suggested we try the following. Think of a movie. Go ahead, any movie will do. Do you have one? When we do this, in no sense do we choose which film arrives. One simply bubbles up from the dark. Who chose it? Well, your subconscious delivered it to you. This is merely a fun introduction to the idea that we may not be as in the driver’s seat as we think, but it is imperfect, for at least the conscious self called out for an example. It is more valuable to simply reflect upon the instances when a random thought pops into your head. We’ve all experienced this. Have you ever thought to yourself afterwards What the fuck was that? or Where did that come from? The fact is, thoughts often come to us completely against our will. They are much like emotions — in the same way the brain inflicts anger, sadness, embarrassment, and so on upon you, many thoughts arrive uninvited and often without mercy. Sometimes we blurt them out, “speaking without thinking.” And of course you are pure animal instinct when you notice an object hurtling toward your face, ducking to safety. Is it so strange to suppose our “choices” might be automatic and involuntary in bodies defined by such terms, where thoughts bubble up from nowhere, unwelcome emotions burn, instinct takes over actions, lungs breathe unnoticed, and the heart drums unstoppably?

More importantly, determinism seems obviously true, as plain as the nose on your face. Think of a mistake from your past. Why do you regret it today? Why, it’s because you’ve had many life experiences since then, you’ve gained wisdom or a new perspective, you’re a different person. If you had been the person you are today back then you could have avoided the misstep. But the reason you made the choice you did was because that’s who you were in that moment. This is self-evident. To have made a different choice you would have had to have been a different person. And how is that possible?

Free will is the ability to have chosen differently. To legitimately choose among options before you at every present moment — for instance, to continue reading or to stop reading. We make a choice, but there is reason to suspect this is an illusion — surely we were always going to choose whatever we did. It seems obvious that each “choice” is simply the product of every moment that came before. How could it be otherwise? Each choice is the inevitable end result of every thought, feeling, “choice,” act, life experience, genetic disposition, and so on you’ve ever had. It is the effect of countless causes. That’s what’s meant by determinism. The thesis seems difficult to deny. How can one argue that who you are in any given moment is not the creation of all preceding moments (going all the way back to conception); how can one argue that who you fundamentally are in that moment does not determine the choice you make? This would make little sense. Every biological, environmental, and experiential factor determined who you were, and who you were could not have chosen differently — only a different you could have done that! Free will seems illusory.

This conclusion can cause consternation. Some see life as less meaningful or real, despite still being surrounded by the wonderful things that made their lives rich and full. As hinted at in the opening paragraph, people wonder where all this leaves morality. If all decisions are inevitable, are we really responsible for our actions? The killer was never not going to kill, after all. He was the product of all past things, how is it his fault? First, it must be said that the question of moral responsibility (like meaning) is often used irresponsibly: it is used to argue for the existence of free will. Free will must be true, we must believe in it, or no one will be responsible for her own actions, everyone might start killing each other! This is the fallacy argumentum ad consequentium, believing something is true because things would be bad if it wasn’t. Sorry, potential consequences don’t have anything to do with whether something is true or false.

Second, and more to the point, skepticism of free will does indeed weaken or reframe the idea of moral responsibility, perhaps stressing the need to build a more decent society, to improve the environment and experiences of all people, to change behavior. If poverty has something to do with crime, eliminate poverty. If a rapist rotting in prison is the result of his fate, not his genuinely free choices (recall that children who are sexually abused are more likely to become sexual abusers themselves; who we are is the result of all preceding realities), more mercy — improved prison conditions and rehabilitation, elimination of the death penalty and solitary confinement — may be justified. Regardless, the concerns over ethics and accountability have always seemed overdramatic. If everyone gained The Knowledge, judging free will and personal responsibility to be fictions, certain people might engage in foul words and deeds they otherwise wouldn’t have (they won’t be able to help it). But most people probably wouldn’t (they won’t be able to help it). This is because acquisition of The Knowledge would be only one cause in an ocean of causes that determine one’s choices. It might be a big one, but so is genetic disposition, a happy life, fear of consequences, and so on. You’ve read a few things in this piece that perhaps make you doubt free will a bit; do you now feel a bit closer to being able to rape or murder someone? Probably not, due to all the other factors that make you who you are. In the same way, laws and punishments, while perhaps reformed, would not disappear if everyone had The Knowledge. Even without belief in free will, we would still be vulnerable, living creatures: most people would still not want to be harmed (they won’t be able to help it) and would thus (again, inevitably) demand violent people be kept away from the general population, regardless of whether such criminals are morally responsible for their actions. As others have pointed out, we already do this. An insane person, a child, or someone who commits crimes while sleepwalking is not considered as morally responsible for misdeeds as your usual adult, but they are not exempt from law or restraint. (The overall concept of morality isn’t going anywhere either, because it is necessary to justify that desired protection from physical harm, as it always has been. Plus, to say we do not freely choose between moral and immoral possibilities is not to say such possibilities have no meaning, as if the latter don’t cause real suffering or violate holy scriptures. We would still want to teach and internalize ideas of what’s right, a powerful causal factor of a desired effect: the unavoidable “choice” to do good, avoiding real-world harms.)

If free will is false, destiny is true. Here it’s skeptics of agency that must be careful to avoid fallacy, because the positives that might come from free will’s nonexistence cannot be used as evidence or argument for such nonexistence. That will always be a temptation, because determinism is psychologically comforting. As already implied, it helps us let go of regret and dissatisfaction. Our most terrible mistakes needn’t burden us any further. You were always going to make that choice. It couldn’t have happened any other way. It’s who you were. Our present conditions, now matter how miserable, no matter what we lack, were likewise inevitable. It was always going to be this way. You can be at peace, grateful for what you have, what you inevitably received. See, determinism is also like God: so comforting we should be suspicious.

I cannot conclude with full conviction that free will is false, for while it is less believable now it has hardly been disproven. However, though armed with a healthy suspicion, I can appreciate the new meaning that would be wrought by The Knowledge. Destiny is a beautiful idea, and here it is fully realized, in the secular world. A few Christian sects reject free will and embrace the concept of fate (see Calvinism, predestination, theological determinism, and so on), but most are mired in the quicksands of their own contradictions: as a human being I was divinely created with free will, yet, as the song goes, “God has a plan for my life.” When God intervenes in this world and saves you from a killer, he violates the free will of two people. How free are you if gods ensure your life goes just so? All that can be put aside. There are no contradictions with the destiny considered here. Old phrases that used to feel so empty to us rationalists who reject religion, astrology, and so on — “everything happens for a reason,” “if it’s meant to be,” “you’re where you’re supposed to be” — are suddenly imbued with new meaning. And that’s a delightful thing.

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In my massive article The Bible is Rife With Contradictions and Changes, I introduced the fact that bible stories and verses have been changed over the centuries, at times significantly, with the following:

Christians don’t want to believe that biblical translations over time altered original stories, but one small way they obviously did was by giving characters altered names. Jesus did not consort with John and James. They were in the Middle East, not an English pub. Instead, Yeshua (ישוע) consorted with Yohhanan (יוחנן) and Ya’akov (יעקב). Hebrew and Aramaic names were translated into Greek and later into English (and other tongues), resulting in names of different pronunciation than were actually used. Mattityahu became Matthaios and finally Matthew. (No, English speakers did not independently have a name like “John” and then “translated” Yohhanan [Hebrew] or Ioannes [Greek] to the pre-existing John, as if there was some magical lingual match or a “Hey, this name sounds a bit like one of ours” situation! Study the etymology of these names. The only reason John existed in English is because over centuries the name Yohhanan, thanks to the bible, spread beyond Palestine, through other parts of Europe, and finally to the English-speaking world, changing along the way.) If something as simple as names and their pronunciations could change from actual people to written text, and then translation to translation, could other things have changed, too?

This is one of those things that is right in front of your face as a devout Christian, which I was until about 12 years ago, but you somehow never notice. Of course the bible has changed over time! To me, all this speaks to how blindly, how absolutely, we believe the bible to be true — if it says his name was John, his name was John — and how little the gears of critical thinking will turn under the stunting influence of religion.

But when exactly did “Yeshua” evolve into “Jesus”? The authors of the New Testament, written in Greek in the later half of the first century A.D., took the Hebrew Yeshua (ישוע) and made it Iesous (Ἰησοῦς), pronounced EE-ay-soos. A change was necessary because the Greek alphabet lacked the “sh” sound; further, Greek male names ended with an “s” sound, so “ς” was added. A few hundred years later, in the fourth century, Latin translations were authored. The Latin Iesus (IESVS) was pronounced similarly to the Greek name. Overall, the Greco-Roman pronunciation ruled for some 1,500 years, a much longer life than the modern version (for now at least). However, one should note that by the 12th century, the spelling “Jesus” was used alongside “Iesus,” but they were both pronounced like the latter. See, the letter “J” began as a fancy, elongated “I” in the Middle Ages, and was applied to all kinds of words and names. Not until the 1500s did J more and more come to sound like the letter we know and love. The modern pronunciation of Jesus began and grew from there, though it took a century or two to become standard. The letter J made the jump from Latin to English in the 1600s. Some readers will recall that Shakespeare did not use the letter J (sorry, Juliet), since it was not part of the English alphabet in his day, and the 1611 King James Bible spoke of Iesus — the 1629 revision spoke of Jesus.

This is not intended to be framed as breaking news. Many know that Yeshua was this figure’s actual name, that it was a common name at the time, that “Christ” isn’t Jesus’ last name, and so on. Plenty of Christian sites will walk you through the transformation of Yeshua. Further, the evolution of a character’s name across time and languages doesn’t automatically make stories about him untrue (we know the gospels are probably fictional for many other reasons). But it is suggestive. Again, if character names can be altered by later human beings, why not the stories the characters are in? Why not whole verses? See the article cited in the first sentence of this piece for examples.

Overall, I find it quite striking to examine the etymology of “Jesus.” More tongue in cheek, there’s thoughts of Darwin, with this slow evolution and a common ancestor of splintered descendants — Yeshua became both Jesus and Joshua. It’s interesting to me, for some reason, that before 500 years ago, no one had ever said the name Jesus, not how we say it; were you to time travel, English-speaking Christians wouldn’t be fully sure who you were talking about. Most importantly, there’s the human fingerprints all over Jesus’ name, in the same way they are all over the tales about him. What human beings believe in, who they worship, the name they cry out to — these things can easily be man-made constructions. Why do we call him Jesus? Because of a limiting Greek alphabet, a Greek tradition regarding masculine names, and a bunch of medieval scribes who wanted to write fancy.

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It was this June that I first learned I had a friend — of nearly twenty years — who no longer believed American women should have the right to vote. Nor should they be tolerated as pilots, pastors, or other professionals. Such arrangements were against the Law of God and women’s nature. After all, “the head of every man is Christ and the head of the woman is man” (1 Cor. 11:3), women are not to speak in church (1 Cor. 14:34-35), wives must submit to husbands (Col. 3:18), women are too emotional for some tasks, and so on.

Any hope that he was joking to simply rile me — we always debate politics and religion, a sparring between an atheist on the Left and a religious conservative — drained, like the blood from my face, when he called a waitress over to explain his views to her. I watched as Stage 3 was reached. From a private belief one would never admit to something you’d perhaps whisper to a friend to something you say freely to a stranger, directly to the face of a person you would oppress. I would take away your equal rights if given the chance.

There’s a flashback in the third episode of The Handmaid’s Tale — to before rightwing fundamentalists take over the United States, establish biblical law, and obliterate women’s rights — where the female protagonist is in a coffee shop and is startled when a man eyes her and says the quiet part out loud. Horrific thoughts became horrific words, which later became horrific actions, the final stages. I thought about that scene for a long time after leaving that Kansas City bar, having suddenly lived in some version of it.

Equality, freedom, decency, and democracy, I tried to explain, require extending to others the rights you want for yourself. If a man wants to vote, let him favor the same for women. If a Christian or straight person wants to marry or adopt or be served at establishments or not be fired for who they are, extend this to gays. This is a big, diverse society where not everyone is Christian, I tried to explain. There are people of other faiths and nonbelievers. Laws should not be based on Christian doctrine because this country should be for all people, not just Christians. Principles so morally obvious, yet completely impotent in the face of fundamentalist faith.

Equality, freedom, decency, and democracy must simply be sacrificed on the altar of God. His decree is more important than such things. Who cares who’s crushed, if God wills it? Islamic extremists operate under the same rules. Only in 2015 could women in Saudi Arabia vote and run for office in local elections. When the Taliban retook Afghanistan in 2021, they barred women from most jobs and schooling, and established all-male governments. “Men are in charge of women,” after all, says Qur’an 4:34. Fundamentalist Islam and fundamentalist Christianity have other obvious similarities as well, such as the oppression of gays and restriction of free, blasphemous speech (think of the Christians pushing for book bans of anything LGBTQ- or witchcraft-related).

Islamic theocracies, the Jewish state of Israel, Christian Europe for fifteen hundred years… Oppression is the natural outcome of religious states, because texts from Iron Age desert tribes call for much oppression. One wonders if slavery will be permitted as well. The New Testament also demands slaves submit to their masters, even harsh ones (Ephesians 6:5, 1 Peter 2:18, Titus 2:9-10). In Luke 12:47-48, Jesus uses the “lashing” and “flogging” of a “slave” (NASB language) to make a point in one of his parables. Why would restoring women’s subservience be ideal in a Christian nation, but not slavery? What’s the difference? Clearly, God wills it. (Whether not wanting to be accused of picking and choosing what to follow in the New Testament or sincerely believing an even more horrific thing, my friend told me that a gentle form of slavery would be acceptable, to replace the welfare state. Again, enslaving Christians or taking away their right to vote would be, one assumes, immoral and unacceptable.)

The encounter shook me in that surreal way that has grown familiar in recent times. A few years ago, an acquaintance of mine, seemingly a normal human being, turned out to be a QAnon nut. Remember how the Democrats were running a global pedophile ring out of a pizza shop? As with conspiracy theorists, you know people who oppose women’s political rights exist, vaguely, out there somewhere — Ann Coulter, Candace Owens, the #RepealThe19th Twitter posters, and so on. Then the moment of horror: No, they’re your friends and family.

I felt a rare pang of despair. That such poison would spread on the Right. That the excesses of the Left may bear some responsibility, extremes stoking and worsening each other, an ideological Newtonian Third Law. Yet most Americans — and most Christians — would be aghast at the idea of abolishing women’s voting or professional rights, if not other things. And despite many recent setbacks, this is an increasingly liberal, secular society. That in itself may evoke a backlash (note that eliminating female voters would ensure Republican rule, another motivation here), but is a trend likely to continue.

We’ve seen recently how democracy survives only if people care more about democracy than remaining in office, than power. Equality and freedom survive only if we care more about them than things like the awful edicts of ancient holy books.

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In The Bible is Rife with Contradictions and Changes, we saw myriad examples of different biblical accounts of the same event that cannot all be true — they contradict each other. But we also saw how other discrepancies aren’t contradictions if you use your imagination. The following example was too long to examine in that already-massive writing, so we will do so now.

It’s interesting that while the authors of both Matthew and Luke have Jesus born in Bethlehem and then settle down in Nazareth, the two stories are dramatically different, in that neither mentions the major events of the other. For example, the gift-bearing Magi arrive, King Herod kills children, and Jesus’ family flees to Egypt in Matthew, but Luke doesn’t bother mentioning any of it. Luke has the ludicrous census (everyone in the Roman Empire returning to the city of their ancestors, creating mass chaos, when the point of a census is to see where people live currently), the full inn, the shepherds, and the manger, but Matthew doesn’t.

These stories can be successfully jammed together. But it takes work. In Matthew 2:8-15, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus are in Bethlehem but escape to Egypt to avoid Herod’s slaughter. Before fleeing, the family seems settled in the town: they are in a “house” (2:11) beneath the fabled star, and Herod “gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi” visitors concerning when the star appeared (2:16, 2:7). This is a bit confusing, as all boys from born-today to nearly three years old is a big range for someone who knows an “exact time” (2:7). But it suggests that Jesus may have been born a year or two ago, the star was over his home since his birth, and the Magi had a long journey to find him. Many Christian sites will tell you Jesus was about two when the wise men arrived. In any event, when Herod gives this order, the family travels to Egypt and remains there until he dies, then they go to Nazareth (2:23).

In Luke 2:16-39, after Jesus is born in Bethlehem the family goes to Jerusalem “when the time came for the purification rites required by the Law of Moses” (2:22). This references the rites outlined in Leviticus 12 (before going to Jerusalem, Jesus is circumcised after eight days in Luke 2:21, in accordance with Leviticus 12:3). At the temple they sacrifice two birds (Luke 2:24), following Leviticus 12:1-8 — when a woman has a son she does this after thirty-three days to be made “clean.” Then, “When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth” (Luke 2:39). Here they simply go to Nazareth when Jesus is about a month old. No mention of a flight to Egypt, no fear for their lives — everything seems rather normal. “When the time came for the purification rites” certainly suggests they did not somehow occur early or late.

So the mystery is: when did the family move to Nazareth?

Both stories get the family to the town, which they must do because while a prophecy said the messiah would be born in Bethlehem, Jesus was a Nazarene. But the paths there are unique, and you have to either build a mega-narrative to make it work — a larger story that is not in the bible, one you must invent to make divergent stories fit together — or reinterpret the bible in a way different than the aforementioned sites.

In this case, Option 1 is to say that when Luke 2:39 says they headed for Nazareth, this is where the entire story in Mathew is left out. They actually go back to Bethlehem, have the grand adventure to Egypt, and then go to Nazareth much later. This is a serious twist of the author’s writing; you have to declare the gospel doesn’t mean what it says, that narrative time words like “when” are meaningless (in the aforementioned article I wrote of us having to imagine “the bible breaks out of chronological patterns at our convenience”).

Option 2 is that they go to Nazareth after the rites as stated. Then at some point they go back to Bethlehem, have the Matthew adventure, and end up back in Nazareth. Maybe they were visiting relatives. Maybe they moved back to Bethlehem — after Herod dies it seems as if the family’s first thought is to go back there. Matthew 2:22-23: “But when [Joseph] heard that Archelaus was reigning in Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. Having been warned in a dream, he withdrew to the district of Galilee, and he went and lived in a town called Nazareth.” So perhaps it’s best to suppose they went to Nazareth after the temple, moved back to Bethlehem, hid in Egypt, and went again to Nazareth. Luke of course doesn’t mention any of this either; the family heads to Nazareth after the temple rites and the narrative jumps to when Jesus is twelve (2:39-42).

Option 3 is that Jesus’ birth, the Magi visit, Herod’s killing spree, the family’s flight, Herod’s death, and the family’s return all occur in the space of a month. This of course disregards and reinterprets any hints that Jesus was about two years old. But it allows the family to have Matthew’s adventure and make it back to Jerusalem for the scheduled rites (which Matthew doesn’t mention), then go to Nazareth. One also must conclude that 1) the Magi didn’t have to travel very far, if the star appeared when Jesus was born, or 2) that the star appeared to guide them long before Jesus was born (interpret Matthew 2:1-2 how you will). It’s still odd that the only thing Luke records between birth and the temple is a circumcision, but Option 3, as rushed as it is, may be the best bet. That’s up to each reader to decide, for it’s all a matter of imagination.

Luke’s silence is worth pausing to consider. The Bible is Rife with Contradictions and Changes outlined the ramifications of one gospel not including a major event of another:

Believers typically insist that when a gospel doesn’t mention a miracle, speech, or story it’s because it’s covered in another. (When the gospels tell the same stories it’s “evidence” of validity, when they don’t it’s no big deal.) This line only works from the perspective of a later gospel: Luke was written after Matthew, so it’s fine if Luke doesn’t mention the flight to Egypt to save baby Jesus from Herod. Matthew already covered that. But from the viewpoint of an earlier text this begins to break down. It becomes: “No need to mention this miracle, someone else will do that eventually.” So whoever wrote Mark [the first gospel] ignored one of the biggest miracles in the life of Jesus, proof of his divine origins [the virgin birth story]? Or did the author, supposedly a disciple, not know about it? Or did gospel writers conspire and coordinate: “You cover this, I’ll cover that later.” Is it just one big miracle, with God ensuring that what was unknown or ignored (for whatever reason, maybe the questionable “writing to different audiences” theory) by one author would eventually make it into a gospel? That will satisfy most believers, but an enormous possibility hasn’t been mentioned. Perhaps the story of Jesus was simply being embellished — expanding over time, like so many other tales and legends (see Why God Almost Certainly Does Not Exist).

In truth, it is debatable whether Matthew came before Luke. Both were written around AD 80-90, so scholars disagree over which came first. If Matthew came first, Luke could perhaps be excused for leaving out the hunt for Jesus and journey to Egypt, as surprising as that might be. If Luke came first, it’s likely the author of Matthew concocted a new tale, making Jesus’ birth story far more dramatic and, happily, fulfilling a prophecy (Matthew 2:15: “And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: ‘Out of Egypt I called my son'”). If they were written about the same time and independently, with the creators not having read each other’s work, they were likewise two very different stories.

Regardless of order and why the versions are different, one must decide how to best make the two tales fit — writers not meaning what they write, the holy family moving back and forth a bunch, or Jesus not being two when the Magi arrived with gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

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Can human beings have inherent value without the existence of God? The religious often say no. God, in creating you, gives you value. Without him, you have no intrinsic worth. (Despite some inevitable objectors, this writing will use “inherent” and “intrinsic” value interchangeably, as that is fairly common with this topic. Both suggest some kind of immutable importance of a thing “in its own right,” “for its own sake,” “in and of itself,” completely independent of a valuer.) Without a creator, all that’s left is you assigning worth to yourself or others doing so; these sentiments are conditional, they can be revoked (you may commit suicide, seeing yourself of no further worth, for example); they may be instrumental, there being some use for me assigning you value, such as my own happiness; therefore, such value cannot be intrinsic — it is extrinsic. We only have inherent importance — unchangeable, for its own sake — if lovingly created by God in his own image.

The problem is perhaps already gnawing at your faculties. God giving a person inherent value appears contradictory. While one can argue that an imagined higher power has such divine love for an individual that his or her worth would never be revoked, and that God does not create us for any use for himself (somewhat debatable), the very idea that inherent value can be bestowed by another being doesn’t make sense. Inherent means it’s not bestowed. Worth caused by God is extrinsic by definition. God is a valuer, and intrinsic value must exist independently of valuers.

As a member of the Ethical Society of St. Louis put it:

+All human life has intrinsic value

-So we all [have] value even if God does not exist, right?

+No, God’s Love is what bestows value onto His creations. W/o God, everything is meaningless.

-So human life has *extrinsic* value then, right?

+No. All human life has intrinsic value.

That’s well phrased. If we think about what inherent value means (something worth something in and of itself), to have it humans would need to have it even if they were the only things to ever have existed.

If all this seems outrageous, it may be because God-given value is often thought of differently than self- or human-given value; it is seen as some magical force or aura or entity, the way believers view the soul or consciousness. It’s a feature of the body — if “removed [a person] would cease to be human life,” as a Christian blogger once wrote! When one considers one’s own value or that of a friend, family member, lover, home, money, or parrot, it’s typically not a fantastical property but rather a simple mark of importance, more in line with the actual definition of value. This human being has importance, she’s worth something. Yes, that’s the discussion on value: God giving you importance, others giving you importance, giving yourself importance. It’s not a physical or spiritual characteristic. A prerequisite to meaningful debate is agreeing on what you’re talking about, having some consistency and coherence. There’s no point in arguing “No person can have an inherent mystical trait without God!” That’s as obvious as it is circular, akin to saying you can’t have heaven without God. You’re not saying anything at all. If we instead use “importance,” there’s no circular reasoning and the meaning can simply be applied across the board. “No person can have inherent importance without God” is a statement that can be analyzed by all parties operating with the same language.

No discourse is possible without shared acceptance of meaning. One Christian writer showcased this, remarking:

Philosopher C. I. Lewis defines intrinsic value as “that which is good in itself or good for its own sake.” This category of value certainly elevates the worth of creation beyond its usefulness to humans, but it creates significant problems at the same time.

To have intrinsic value, an object would need to have value if nothing else existed. For example, if a tree has intrinsic value, then it would be valuable if it were floating in space before the creation of the world and—if this were possible—without the presence of God. Lewis, an atheist, argues that nothing has intrinsic value, because there must always be someone to ascribe value to an object. Christians, recognizing the eternal existence of the Triune God in perpetual communion[,] will recognize that God fills the category of intrinsic value quite well.

What happened here is baffling. The excerpt essentially ends with “And that ‘someone’ is God! God can ascribe us value! Intrinsic value does exist!” right after showing an understanding (at least, an understanding of the opposing argument) that for a tree or human being to possess inherent value it must do so if it were the only thing in existence, if neither God nor anything else existed! Intrinsic value, to be real, must exist even if God does not, the atheist posits, holding up a dictionary. “Intrinsic value exists because God does, he imbues it,” the believer says, either ignoring the meaning of intrinsic and the implied contradiction (as William Lane Craig once did), or not noticing or understanding them. Without reaching shared definitions, we just talk past each other.

In this case, it is hard to say whether the problem is lack of understanding or the construction of straw men. This is true on two levels. First, the quote doesn’t actually represent what Lewis wrote on in the 1940s. He in fact believed human experiences had intrinsic value, that objects could have inherent value, sought to differentiate and define these terms in unique ways, and wasn’t making an argument about deities (see here and here if interested). However, in this quote Lewis is made to represent a typical atheist. What we’re seeing is how the believer sees an argument (not Lewis’) coming from the other side. This is helpful enough. Let’s therefore proceed as if the Lewis character (we’ll call him Louis to give more respect to the actual philosopher) is a typical atheist offering a typical atheist argument: nothing has intrinsic value. Now that we are pretending the Christian writer is addressing something someone (Louis) actually posited, probably something the writer has heard atheists say, let’s examine how the atheist position is misunderstood or twisted in the content itself.

The believer sees accurately, in Sentences 1/2, that the atheist thinks intrinsic value, to be true, must be true without the existence of a deity. So far so good. Then in Sentence 3 everything goes completely off the rails. Yes, Louis the Typical Atheist believes intrinsic value is impossible…because by definition it’s an importance that must exist independently of all valuers, including God. God’s exclusion was made clear in Sentences 1/2. It’s as if the Christian writer notices no connection between the ideas in Sentences 1/2 and Sentence 3. The first and second sentences are immediately forgotten, and therefore the atheist position is missed or misconstrued. It falsely becomes an argument that there simply isn’t “someone” around to “ascribe” intrinsic value! As if all Louis was saying was “God doesn’t exist, so there’s no one to ascribe inherent worth.” How easy to refute, all one has to say is “Actually, God does exist, so there is someone around!” (Sentence 4). That is not the atheist argument — it is that the phrase “intrinsic value” doesn’t make any coherent sense: it’s an importance that could only exist independently of all valuers, including God, and therefore cannot exist. Can a tree be important if it was the only thing that existed, with no one to consider it important? If your answer is no, you agree with skeptics that intrinsic value is impossible and a useless phrase. Let’s think more on this.

The reader is likely coming to see that importance vested by God is not inherent or intrinsic. Not unless one wants to throw out the meaning of words. A thing’s intrinsic value or importance cannot come from outside, by definition. It cannot be given or created or valued by another thing, otherwise it’s extrinsic. So what does this mean for the discussion? Well, as stated, it means we’re speaking nonsense. If God can’t by definition grant an individual intrinsic value, nor other outsiders like friends and family, nor even yourself (remember, you are a valuer, and your inherent value must exist independently of your judgement), then intrinsic value cannot exist. It’s like talking about a square circle. Inherent importance isn’t coherent in the same way inherent desirability isn’t coherent, as Matt Dillahunty once said. You need an agent to desire or value; these are not natural realities like color or gravity, they are mere concepts that cannot exist on their own.

To be fair, the religious are not alone in making this mistake. Not all atheists deny inherent value; they instead base it in human existence, uniqueness, rationality, etc. Most secular and religious belief systems base intrinsic value on something. Yet the point stands. Importance cannot be a natural characteristic, it must be connoted by an agent, a thinker. The two sides are on equal footing here. If the religious wish to continue to use — misuse — inherent value as something God imbues, then they should admit anyone can imbue inherent value. Anyone can decree a human being has natural, irrevocable importance in and of itself for whatever reason. But it would be less contradictory language, holding true to meaning, to say God assigns simple value, by creating and loving us, in the same way humans assign value, by creating and loving ourselves, because of our uniqueness, and so forth.

“But if there’s no inherent value then there’s no reason to be moral! We’ll all kill each other!” We need not waste much ink on this. If we don’t need imaginary objective moral standards to have rational, effective ethics, we certainly don’t need nonsensical inherent value. If gods aren’t necessary to explain the existence of morality; and if we’re bright enough to know we should believe something is true because there’s evidence for it, not because there would be bad consequences if we did not believe (the argumentum ad consequentiam fallacy); and if relativistic morality and objective morality in practice have shown themselves to be comparably awful and comparably good; then there is little reason to worry. Rational, functioning morality does not need “inherent” values created and imbued by supernatural beings. It just needs values, and humans can generate plenty of those on their own.

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