God and the Brain: The Rationality of Belief

God and the Brain

The Rationality of Belief

Kelly James Clark

WILLIAM B. EERDMANS PUBLISHING COMPANY

GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN

Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

4035 Park East Court SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

www.eerdmans.com

© 2019 Kelly James Clark

All rights reserved

Published 2019

25 24 23 22 21 20 191 2 3 4 5 6 7

ISBN 978-0-8028-7691-1

eISBN 978-1-4674-5655-5

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

To my aunts and uncles:

Karen and Kenny Severson,

Ginny and Jim Kelham,

and Tom and Leslie Leech

Contents

Foreword by Justin L. Barrett

Acknowledgments

Abbreviations

1.Disproof of Heaven?

2.Brain and Gods

3.The Rational Stance

4.Reason and Belief in God

5.Against Naturalism

6.Atheism, Inference, and IQ

7.Atheism, Autism, and Intellectual Humility

8.Googling God

Appendix: Inference, Intuition, and Rationality

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Foreword

I have a two-and-a-half-year-old friend who has recently discovered monsters in his bedroom. By normal indicators, he has a belief in monsters: in garbled English he can articulate that the monsters are there, he shows emotional signs of genuine fear (and says, I scary, meaning that he is scared), and he modifies his actions based upon these beliefs. We could easily conclude that this little boy has an irrational belief in monsters—but is it irrational? Just because a belief is false does not mean that the belief is irrational. People can sensibly and rationally form beliefs that turn out to be false. Furthermore, do we even know that there are not monsters in his bedroom? Children of his age have many abilities that adults have lost, including the ability to perceive subtle differences in sounds. Maybe preschoolers are also better at monster perception (I hope not). Deciding whether someone else’s beliefs are rationally or justifiably formed is no easy business—though it’s often tempting to proceed as though it is—and perhaps even more so when the beliefs in question don’t match our own.

In today’s climate, large and diverse batches of information on people’s thoughts, values, and commitments from all over the world are readily available through electronic and print media. This level of accessibility makes two mistakes common when evaluating whether someone’s beliefs are virtuously formed and held. The first mistake is to assume that the other’s beliefs (such as their religious or moral beliefs) should be mistrusted because of tribalistic sentiment—for example, "those other people haven’t been as careful as I have in forming my beliefs." In this line of thinking, my beliefs are thoughtfully and carefully formed through rational reflection and the reliance on good evidence and sound arguments, and they are backed up by the authority of qualified experts; their beliefs are hastily produced through dubious methods. The second mistake is to conclude that the vast diversity in beliefs—about, for instance, whether there are spirits, whether humans have immaterial souls, whether some objects are really sacred, and whether there is a cosmic creator God—implies that no one’s beliefs are any better than anyone else’s. Who am I to say that my beliefs have been more appropriately formed than anyone else’s? The humility in that sentiment is valuable, but it’s erroneous to conclude that, on the basis of the vast diversity of beliefs, we can’t really know anything or at least be justified in claiming we know it. Both of these mistakes arise from failing to know how beliefs are formed and why it matters.

Enter science.

Ever since psychology began getting its scientific legs beneath it in the late nineteenth century, it has dabbled with trying to account for religious beliefs. The past twenty years, however, have seen an unprecedented blossoming of scientific attempts to explain religious beliefs. Where do they come from? What causes them? Unsurprisingly, such investigations have been quickly followed by asking whether these causal explanations bear on whether religious beliefs are true or false, rational or irrational. Neuroscience, as well as cognitive, developmental, evolutionary, and social psychology, have matured enough in their theories and methods to begin making real headway concerning how beliefs are formed, and this progress has been turned to studying the causes of religious beliefs. Most prominent in these efforts is the interdisciplinary space known as cognitive science of religion, which is the main focus of this book. As in times past, these scientific treatments of religious beliefs have been quickly followed by philosophical treatments concerning what the science means for whether religious beliefs are good or bad, justified or not, rational or irrational. As a philosopher of religion with a gift for making complex ideas and arguments accessible, Kelly Clark has been among the leaders of this philosophical engagement with cognitive science of religion.

Dr. Clark’s interest in the area began in the late 1990s when I first became a psychology professor at Calvin College, where he was teaching philosophy. I gave a seminar to my Calvin colleagues, presenting scientific research that would later be known as cognitive science of religion, and Dr. Clark was the only non-psychologist in attendance. When I finished, Dr. Clark made a point of coming over and paying me what I choose to take as a compliment: Gee, I didn’t think you could do anything interesting with psychology. And now here we are a few years later with an entire book on the subject.

Dr. Clark has chosen to write a book that falls at the intersection of philosophy, religious studies, theology, and several scientific disciplines. Doing so is no easy feat, and even in the hands of a communicator as gifted as Dr. Clark, understanding what is at stake is not straightforward. To help a bit, I offer a few distinctions.

First, causes are not reasons. In common talk, we may answer the question, Why do you think that? by reference to the reasons for belief—for example, I believe the economy is shaky because of labor-force participation data, or I think we have enough potatoes for dinner because I counted them and checked the recipe. Reasoning is the process of connecting impressions, feelings, and thoughts to other thoughts. Causes, on the other hand, refer to the mechanisms of belief formation. What are the social dynamics, the psychological processes, the brain states, or the chemical processes that make a belief more likely to come about? An example of this connection might be I believe a ball is in front of me because light waves reflected off the ball into my eye, causing activation in my retina, which sent a signal to my brain that was processed as indicating an object resembling a ball. But what about a statement like You believe the Beatles are greater than Drake because you are old? Traditionally in logic, taking the causes for beliefs as invalidating the beliefs is considered a fallacy. Just because your belief is caused in some part by your age group, for instance, does not mean the belief is faulty. Likewise, simply discovering a cause for religious beliefs does not invalidate that religious belief. All beliefs have causes of one sort or another, and the sciences that study belief formation, including cognitive science of religion, are in the business of uncovering these causes. Whether these causes do indeed upset the reasons for belief in some cases is the central question of Dr. Clark’s book.

Second, in terms of scientific inquiry and explanation, minds are not brains. Brains, along with the rest of the nervous system, are very important in generating mental states such as thoughts, feelings, and experiences; thus the brain sciences and mind sciences are closely related and even overlap (as in the fields of cognitive neuroscience and neuropsychology). Nevertheless, when it comes to understanding religious or any other sort of beliefs, it is the mind and mental processes that matter more immediately than brains and neural dynamics. Beliefs are mind things; neural activation patterns are brain things. The difference is akin to the difference between learning how a computer works on the level of operating systems (e.g., How do I get this thing to print my document? How do I save this file in another format?) and learning how a computer works at the level of microprocessors and circuit boards (e.g., Why doesn’t the sound work anymore? Why is this computer so much faster than that one?).

A third distinction to track when considering whether various religious (or anti-religious) beliefs are virtuously formed and held is the difference between individual- and cultural-level explanations. This distinction is subtle enough that many of us working in the field sometimes lose track of it. (I, too, have been guilty.) Nevertheless, explaining why beliefs are common in a culture versus why an individual holds the beliefs that he or she does are two different things. To illustrate, an individual may have a high commitment to the existence of ghosts because of a frightening personal experience that seemed to be a confrontation with someone recently deceased. Or a cultural group could be characterized as having strong ghost-beliefs, even though very few people in a generation actually witness a ghost, because ghost-beliefs are a strong part of the group’s history and are ensconced in regular ritualized practices. Whereas the two levels of analysis are related, an explanation on one level cannot be assumed to simply and completely map onto the other level.

Finally, when considering scientific treatments of religious thought and their implications, I find it helpful to keep in mind that not all religious thoughts are formed the same way, even if they carry the label religion in popular or scholarly discourse. In fact, from a scientific perspective, religion might be no more than a useful heuristic category, much in the way tree is only a rough category for tallish, woodier-than-average plants that have appendage-like parts. For a botanist, some things called trees are much more closely related to non-trees than to other trees. Likewise, once we start considering the causes for beliefs and practices commonly called religious, it may turn out that many of these are more closely related to nonreligious beliefs and practices than other religious beliefs and practices. I regard belief in gods as having more in common with the nonreligious belief that other human beings have minds than with the religious belief in karma. The causes for cleansing rituals may be, in some ways, more closely related to how people brush their teeth than to other religious rituals such as weddings. Consequently, a scientific explanation of a particular religious belief, such as believing in a cosmic creator God, may have few implications for the status of other religious beliefs (e.g., a belief in ancestor spirits) but tremendous implications for the status of some seemingly more distant beliefs (e.g., that living things seem to have value and purpose in the world).

These distinctions, along with the apparent complexities of how beliefs seem to be formed—religious or otherwise—should give us pause before hastily condemning other individuals’ or other cultures’ beliefs as irrational, unjustified, or unworthy. Finding others’ beliefs somewhat mystifying at times is probably inevitable. Nevertheless, as Dr. Clark encourages, when we consider our own and others’ beliefs, a scientific consideration of how religious beliefs are formed should encourage a spirit of intellectual humility. My toddler friend may not have monsters under his bed, but I can empathize with him for believing there might be. Hopefully, he’ll extend the same grace to me when he’s old enough to listen to the Beatles.

JUSTIN L. BARRETT, PHD

Fuller Theological Seminary

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1 borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark, Spiritually Wired: The Science of the Mind and the Rationality of Belief and Unbelief, Revista Brasileira de Filosofia da Religião 3.1 (2016): 9–35.

Chapter 2 borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark, Rappin’ Religion’s Solution to the Puzzle of Human Cooperation, Huffington Post, November 11, 2015; Kelly James Clark, How Real People Believe: Reason and Belief in God, in Science and Religion in Dialogue, 2 vols., ed. Melville Y. Stewart (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 1:481–99; and Kelly James Clark, Reformed Epistemology and the Cognitive Science of Religion, in Stewart, ed., Science and Religion in Dialogue, 1:500–513.

Chapter 3 borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark, Is Theism a Scientific Hypothesis? Reply to Maarten Boudry, Reports of the National Center for Science Education 35.5, 5.2 (September–October 2015); Kelly James Clark and Justin L. Barrett, Reidian Religious Epistemology and the Cognitive Science of Religion, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79.3 (2011): 639–75.

Chapter 4 borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark and Justin Barrett, Reformed Epistemology and the Cognitive Science of Religion, Faith and Philosophy 27.2 (2010): 174–89.

Chapter 6 borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark, Atheism, Inference, and Intuition, in Advances in Religion, Cognitive Science, and Experimental Philosophy, ed. Helen De Cruz and Ryan Nichols (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), 103–18; and Kelly James Clark, Is Atheism Irrational?, Big Questions Online, https://www.bigquestionsonline.com/2014/01/28/atheism-irrational/.

The appendix borrows from and adapts Kelly James Clark, Atheism and Inferential Bias, European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 9.2 (2017).

Abbreviations

CHAPTER 1

Disproof of Heaven?

You Just Believe That Because

As a first-year university student, I had a humanities professor who dismissed the whole of Christianity, which he claimed was invented whole cloth by Paul, in a single, sneering, unsubstantiated, anecdotal medical diagnosis. Paul, then known as Saul of Tarsus, converted to Christianity while on a mission to hunt down and imprison or even kill the first Christians; indeed, Saul witnessed and approved of the stoning of Stephen. On his way to Damascus, Saul, still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples, is surrounded by a sudden and brilliant flash of light that knocked him to the ground. Then he hears a majestic voice say, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? When Saul asks the voice to identify itself, he hears this reply: I am Jesus (Acts 9:1–5).¹ In a single ecstatic vision, Saul sees God, hears and understands that Jesus is God, and learns that Jesus’s disciples are God’s people. In 2 Corinthians 12:4, perhaps reflecting on this vision, Paul reports that he was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things. One explanation of Paul’s ecstatic experience is that God overwhelmed him in spirit and truth. Another explanation, the one offered by my first-year humanities professor, was that Paul, who admitted to having a painful thorn in the flesh, was suffering from temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE); Paul’s visions were nothing but neural misfirings commonly experienced when undergoing an epileptic seizure. Paul believed that Jesus was God in the flesh because of a complex partial seizure of his temporal lobe.

My professor relied on an easy but dubious way to win an argument: play the You just believe that because . . . card. Consider some things that one might hear someone say (or that one might think): You just believe in raising taxes (in spite of the evidence that wealth redistribution is ineffective) because you are a Socialist. You just believe that your feelings are important (as opposed to the really good reasons I just gave you) because you are a woman. You just believe that the earth is only 10,000 years old (in opposition to compelling science) because you are a fundamentalist. By showing the (nonrational or psychological) causes of another’s belief ("you believe that because"), you think you have undermined or diminished the rationality of the person holding the belief. You condescendingly claim that your opponent (or friend or even spouse, for that matter) rejects obvious evidence because their ideology or gender or religion or prejudices made them do it. They are irrational, you triumphantly imply, because their belief was caused by psychological impulses. You, on the other hand, are coolly rational, basing your belief on a sober assessment of the compelling evidence. You think that, by revealing their psychological impulses to believe (instead of your rational way), you have shown them to be irrational. You declare yourself the winner.

There are a lot of You just believe that because . . . claims in areas related to God and the mind. Most famously, Sigmund Freud argued that religion is a psychologically infantile form of wish-fulfillment: in the face of an uncaring cosmos we feel helpless and guilty, and so we invent a father-like God who grants us security and forgiveness. Freud, in paraphrase: You just believe in God because you have not grown up and faced reality without your psychological crutch. Contemporary Yale psychologist Paul Bloom offers an explanation of belief in gods based on malfunctioning psychological systems; he goes on to claim that religion is an incidental by-product of cognitive functioning gone awry.² Biologist Richard Dawkins similarly argues that the irrationality of religion is a by-product of a built-in irrationality mechanism in the brain. You can hear Bloom and Dawkins saying, You just believe in God because of a malfunctioning cognitive faculty. We will examine a related claim that God is nothing but a brain spasm because religious experiences are simply neural processes in the brain—You just believe in God because the neurons in your brain’s temporal lobe were overstimulated—and a claim based on the so-called God gene, which alleges that some humans are, and others aren’t, genetically disposed to spiritual beliefs: You just believe in God because your genes predisposed you to believe. Uncover the neurological, psychological, or genetic substrata of a belief, so the claim goes, and you have thereby undermined it.

Although we will discuss in some detail both of these claims, first we will examine near-death experiences (in which possibly dead individuals claim to have experiences of God): You just believe that because your stressed-out, nearly dead brain was awash in chemicals. When we separate out some of the hysterical chaff, we will focus on the well-established scientific wheat. And then, in the remainder of the book, we can ask if that wheat, properly understood, undermines rational religious belief.

Proof of Heaven

In 2008, rare and deadly bacteria began feasting on the brain of Harvard neurosurgeon Eben Alexander. While he valiantly resisted the hidden invaders, slowly but surely the bacteria overwhelmed. Alexander’s brain eventually succumbed, and he slipped into a deep coma. For seven days he was constantly monitored by his physicians, who clinically documented his decline: his neocortex, the part of the brain that most clearly makes us human, had completely shut down. His rector and friend, Rev. Michael R. Sullivan, was called to his side and prepared to read him his last rites. Just as Alexander’s doctors were on the verge of shutting off his life-support system, he sprang back to consciousness.³

Before entering the hospital, Alexander did not believe in God. No scientific proof, he said. When Alexander woke up from the coma, he was a convinced believer in God and the afterlife.

His account was published in a cover story in Newsweek. During his coma, while his brain was turned off, Alexander’s consciousness left his body, or so he claimed, and traveled into an inexplicably beautiful world, guided by a startlingly beautiful woman. His consciousness, freed from his brain, wandered freely through a muddy darkness and into an embracing light. Here is what he experienced:

I was in a place of clouds.

Big, puffy, pink-white ones that showed up sharply against the deep blue-black sky.

Higher than the clouds—immeasurably higher—flocks of transparent orbs, shimmering beings arced across the sky, leaving long, streamer-like lines behind them.

Birds? Angels? These words registered when I was writing down my recollections. But neither of these words do justice to the beings themselves, which were quite simply different from anything I have known on this planet. They were more advanced. Higher.

A sound, huge and booming like a glorious chant, came down from above, and I wondered if the winged beings were producing it. Again thinking about it later, it occurred to me that the joy of these creatures, as they soared along, was such that they had to make this noise—that if the joy didn’t come out of them this way then they would simply not otherwise be able to contain it. The sound was palpable and almost material, like a rain that you can feel on your skin but that doesn’t get you wet.

Seeing and hearing were not separate in this place where I now was. I could hear the visual beauty of the silvery bodies of those scintillating beings above, and I could see the surging, joyful perfection of what they sang.⁴

At the end of his journey, his lovely guide spoke to him without sound and without words. She said, You are loved, deeply cherished, forever. There is nothing you have to fear. You will always be loved, and there is nothing that you can do wrong.⁵

Finally, she told him that he had to return to this world, to his life. Then he woke up.

Alexander had the richest, most real experience of his life at precisely that time when the part of his brain involved in consciousness, thought, memory, and emotion was completely turned off. His deepest thoughts and most profound emotions, which would coalesce into his deepest memory, occurred without the support of his brain. He journeyed in brain-free consciousness into a newer, larger, better world and, so he claims, experienced God’s love face-to-face.

Prior to his own experiences of the next world, he had always pooh-poohed claims of out-of-body experiences, believing them to be scientifically explicable—perhaps near death the brain is flooded with neurochemicals that produce these remarkable sensations.

But, Alexander wondered, how could he have had such experiences when the neural superstructure of such experiences had completely collapsed? He didn’t have a place within his body to produce such experiences.

And so Alexander came to believe—was forced, really, to believe—in the eternity of our souls, that there is a bigger and better and longer life after this life, and that God is waiting to embrace us.

After interviewing Alexander, Oprah Winfrey exclaimed, I just talked to the man who saw God.

There were, of course, the predictable skeptical and sarcastic responses to Alexander’s proof of heaven. Max Read, editor and blogger, said that this is "possibly the most embarrassing cover story Newsweek has ever run." He proceeded to deconstruct, line by line, Alexander’s account of heaven by comparing it with firsthand accounts of tripping on LSD or mushrooms.⁶ Sam Harris, famed atheist, wrote: Alexander’s account is so bad—his reasoning so lazy and tendentious—that it would be beneath notice if not for the fact that it currently disgraces the cover of a major newsmagazine. Alexander’s conversion, he mocks, required a ride on a psychedelic butterfly.⁷ Physicist Victor Stenger, author of God: The Failed Hypothesis, dismissed Alexander’s account as ignorance pure and simple.⁸

Oliver Sacks, professor of neurology and renowned author, joined the skeptics. Such out-of-body experiences, he argued, are illusions that prey on precisely the same portions of the brain that process and store very real experiences.⁹ They seem real because they occur in the real-experience portion of the brain and are stored in the real-memory portion of the brain. Such illusions, then, have the inescapable feel of reality; such memories of a spirit world are indistinguishable from memories of a long-ago trip to Disneyworld. Alexander’s illusions were nothing but neurological events in his poorly functioning brain.

The pre-coma Alexander may have written something similar.

Hallucinations

Oliver Sacks has his own story of an unusual contact. Sacks was once hiking alone in the mountains of Norway when he happened upon an enormous and cantankerous bull. The bull startled him, and as he fled, he fell down a steep cliff, landing with his leg twisted beneath him. With his dislocated knee in excruciating pain, he fashioned a splint from his umbrella and anorak and began his lonely and painful descent. On the way, believing himself to be near death, he began feeling helpless and increasingly desperate. His body was screaming Give up, and his mind was beginning to agree. He was just about to stop and rest when he heard a strong, clear, commanding voice, which said, ‘You cannot rest here—you cannot rest anywhere. You have got to go on. Find a pace you can keep up and go on steadily.’ Yielding to the voice, he found the strength to carry on in spite of the crippling pain in his useless leg. He writes, This good voice, this Life voice, braced and resolved me. I stopped trembling and did not falter again.

Where some might have come to believe that they had heard the still, small voice of God and given thanks, Sacks, instead, claims the voice was a hallucination. He attributes his hallucination to perfectly ordinary and not uncommon cognitive processes.

But suppose it was not a hallucination.

If there is a God, one who occasionally speaks to people in dire circumstances like those Sacks found himself in, there is a not implausible scientific explanation for Sacks’s unbelief. Autistic individuals, studies suggest, lack the mental tools necessary for relating to a personal God. (I discuss the relation between autism and unbelief in chapter 7.) And Sacks may have suffered from a mild form of autism. Autistic individuals, who may experience very mild to severe forms of autism, lack, to various degrees, the ability to impute thoughts, feelings, and desires to personal agents. This undergirds, again to various degrees, difficulties in feeling or expressing empathy, which can hinder their ability to enter into normal interpersonal relationships. The loving parent may speak to them, reach out to them, and embrace them, but some autistic children may be incapable of recognizing and responding to them.

In short, autistic individuals have difficulties cognizing a personal relationship with God (if there is a God). God may speak to them, reach out to them, and embrace them. But they find it difficult to recognize a personal God.

Autism has various symptoms, in varying degrees. Most notable, of course, are difficulties with social interactions. The autistic individual’s inability to start or maintain conversations may, in children, be attributed to shyness. They are often loners, unable to make friends or sustain friendships, preferring to spend time alone. But in the autistic child, the diagnosis of shyness gives way to a much more pervasive and persistent condition.

Is it possible that Sacks was afflicted with such a condition? Sacks suffered his entire life from a malady called prosopagnosia, more popularly called face blindness. Those who have face blindness lack the ability to recognize or remember faces, sometimes even the faces of members of their own family or close friends. Sometimes when they look at their mother, for example, they may see a stranger; they may recognize their mother’s smell or distinctive gait, but they simply cannot recognize their mother’s, or anyone else’s, kindly gaze. Sacks was often incapable of recognizing his own face in a mirror. Interesting as this may be, here is the key point for our discussion: face blindness is common among people with autism spectrum disorders. How can you tell what a person is thinking or feeling when you cannot distinguish a face from an object, recognize the person speaking to you, or read a face? And if you cannot tell what a person is thinking or feeling, you cannot respond to them as persons.

Sacks has described himself as mostly a loner and his shyness as a