The Case for Polytheism

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Contents

What is a God?

Preliminary Thoughts

Yes, home they went, and all things beautiful,
All things high they took with them,
All colours, all the sounds of life,
And for us remained only the de-souled Word.
Torn out of the time-flood, they hover,
Saved, on the heights of Pindus.
What shall live immortal in song
In life is bound to go under.

This is the final stanza of 'The Gods of Greece' by Friedrich von Schiller, who in excellent romanticist fashion mourns the death of the gods and the world they represented, slain by reason or the 'de-souled Word'. This seems to embody a common sentiment nowadays: human reason has decommissioned many ancient ideas, and polytheism is one of them.

But from the time I first read this, my mind revolted against it. The polytheism of ancient paganism implied a world full of mystery and adventure, and struck me as interesting and beautiful. Yet I simply could not bring myself to believe it. In fact, I sincerely albeit begrudgingly thought it was false, and even studied to be a Catholic priest for a few years. I could only dream about being pagan at this point in my life. However, the time sometimes comes when our minds are seized and directed in unpredictable ways, and that time came for me with neither haste nor delay.

The following investigation is an exercise in natural theology. A natural theology is just a systematic attempt 'to prove or show to be probable the existence of God or gods, and to acquire knowledge about them, on the basis of evidence or premises that can be accepted by non-believers, such as empirical knowledge about the natural world.

For centuries now natural theology has been dominated by monotheists. Whether arguing from the apparently fine-tuned initial conditions of the universe for intelligent life, the remarkable specified complexity of the cell, or practically any other phenomena — physical, moral or conceptual — the arguments marshaled by theists have been almost exclusively intended to motivate monotheism.

Polytheism, which once held the place of prominence in natural theology, has thus been sorely neglected. On the one hand, this kindles an eagerness for a renaissance in polytheist philosophy. On the other hand, however, there is urgency for caution, as conclusions may only be seen to be premature after the discussion has developed.

Bearing this in mind, a natural theology is still a very important component of a theist's philosophical worldview, others include a developed opinion on what morality concerns, the nature of the mind and what knowledge consists in. As fascinating as it would be to construct (or at least defend) distinctively polytheist positions in these and related fields, I must reserve our attention for natural theology in this project.

It will not particularly matter whether the polytheist is Christian, Jewish or Pagan, the philosophical foundation I intend to lay will be able to support many different forms of polytheism. However, in the interests of full disclosure, I should let the reader know that I am a pagan, and will try to keep my biases in check.

In claiming that this natural theology is a philosophical foundation, I do not mean to comment on what role arguments ought to play in belief formation. Perhaps the appropriate (or even exclusive) means of attaining deeply seated belief in the gods is experience rather than reasoning. Whatever the case, the question before us is what reasons there are to believe that gods exist, not what role reasons ought to play in discerning whether gods exist.

My hope is that this work will help inspire thoughtful individuals to discuss and reevaluate the merits or demerits of polytheism.

Godhood

Let's begin by developing a working understanding of what gods might be like. With that in hand, we can then turn to discussing whether any gods exist, and if so, how many.

Fortunately, we don't have to start from scratch as if the concept of a god had never even crossed someone's mind before. On the contrary, we have handfuls of paradigmatic examples to draw from. However, these examples can differ to such an extent that it is difficult to find the common denominator between them that explains why they are gods instead of something else. For example, some might be completely disembodied, others composed of rock or sea, some remarkably benevolent, and others just downright nasty.

But our inability to uncover the individually necessary and jointly sufficient conditions of godhood is nothing to call home over. Like any other cluster of concepts correlated through a family resemblance, we only need a description that is recognizable as that of a god. For example, one way to tell whether something should count as a god or not is to compare it with our paradigmatic examples of deities. If it resembles them in the sense and to the extent that they resemble each other as gods, we should recognize it as a god.

But I want to take an easier — though no less effective — route. By using a selection of our paradigmatic examples of gods, I propose the following three conditions as sufficient for godhood:

(i): Disembodied consciousness

(ii): Immensely more powerful than evolved minds

(iii): Remarkable greatness

Let's unpack each in turn.

Disembodied Consciousness

I wouldn't dare be so bold as to try and define what a conscious mind is. Given how little we know about it, the chances of my statements about the mind being true are proportional to their humility. But what I can do is describe my experience of the conscious mind and this will at least provide us with a basis for analogy.

Describing the experience of consciousness is not without its challenges though, as we quickly run out of words that are capable of breaking it down into more comprehensible notions: it's a very basic concept. Be that as it may, I feel my experience of it is best described as that of awareness. Sometimes it's an awareness of actions, other times of objects and their properties, and at other moments of events and situations.

Our awareness is largely mediated by senses. Taste, touch, hearing, sight and smell, all of which are ways we can become aware of things. But a disembodied consciousness would not have these, at least essentially — although it might be able to incarnate and take them on. This stirs trouble in the minds of some, and they fairly ask how such a thing is possible. You can't just ... be aware of an object's dimensions or scent can you? Something must mediate that information to you. If, whilst sitting at my desk, I genuinely heard a dog barking it would be because the air-vibrations striking my eardrum have transmitted that information to me. Without any of these senses, what mediates the information of things — such as spatial dimensions, color or scent — to one's awareness? And what is awareness if you're not aware of anything?

Well, it is a very widely accepted view that consciousness does not entail intentionality. Intentionality is the property mental states — such as beliefs, thoughts or desires — typically have of being about something. When we believe, we believe something. When we think, we think about something. Our mental states are usually aimed at or directed toward things. However, through meditative techniques we are able to achieve a thoughtless awareness. So, that consciousness is able to persist in the absence of intentionality is testable and verified. But how can intentional consciousness exist without the senses? That is, how can we be aware of things without our senses informing us of them? The information concerning what the object is like must get to us somehow if we're to be aware of it.

Let me begin by responding with a caveat: to argue that there are no senses available to a disembodied mind because we are ignorant of them is to commit the fallacy of argumentum ad ignorantiam. So, we must be very careful with what we are inferring here. Secondly, it is precisely because of our ignorance that we are unable to say with any confidence that disembodied conscious minds would have no way of receiving information about things, for they would only lack the physical mediators we're aware of, or are used to at any rate. Perhaps such minds would intuit things, in the same way that we intuit that nothing is taller or older than itself, for example. This information, which is true of all things that exist, certainly didn't filter in through our retinas! We may not know how intuition works, but that it does seems reasonable. Thus, we are not really in a position to say it is unlikely that disembodied minds would acquire information by intuition. Perhaps our experience of proprioception can function as an analogue of what such awareness would be like. Finally, it seems the consensus that what most human beings have formed on this subject must count for something. The overwhelming majority of human beings have been either theists — who affirm the existence of numerous disembodied minds (including gods, angels, and even souls) — or atheists, who deny the existence of such disembodied minds. But in affirming or denying such things, we're acknowledging their coherence. If the concept of an intentional disembodied mind were unintelligible, it couldn't be true or false. And an implication of the principle of charity, which we've learned anew from Condorcet's Jury theorem, is that a consensus does not create truth: truth creates a consensus.

Many of our paradigmatic examples of deities would have disembodied consciousness: God is conceived of as being immaterial in the Bahá'í faith.

Traditional forms of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam each conceive of God as an immaterial, nonphysical reality ... Because of the shared conviction that God is immaterial, Christians along with Jews and Muslims have historically opposed material conceptions of God or gods such as one finds in Stoicism, according to which God is a vast material being, a world soul or animal, and in polytheism, according to which there are hosts of material deities.

As Taliaferro remarks, polytheism has traditionally been committed to the existence of material deities, though not exclusively. Many ancient traditions would assign divine status to material bodies like the Earth, sky, sun, mountains or rivers. In fact, numerous people maintain these traditions with a certain understanding of the so-called 'Gaia hypothesis'. Taliaferro means that polytheism affirmed hosts of essentially material deities since Christianity is not opposed to deities taking on material forms (Cf. Jesus' incarnation). But keep in mind that I'm not proposing disembodied consciousness as a necessary condition of godhood.

Immensely More Powerful than Evolved Minds

This property is deduced from the former. Consider that in common experience, I am able to move my hand just by willing it. But we don't ordinarily have this control over other material bodies: if I will to move your hand, I have to perform intermediate actions such as directing it with mine. Our actions are severely limited by our physical bodies. I cannot cross any distance without performing dozens of intermediate actions, and I am unable to acquire information, such as what something looks like, without utilizing the proper physical medium, even then retaining it only as long as the coffee I have digested permits me.

I take it that we should expect all evolved minds to have physical bodies. An evolved mind is just a consciousness that arises as a result of evolutionary processes. Un-embodied minds would be above the fray of such processes, as they only operate on material bodies. Liberated from such chains, these minds would be much more capable than embodied minds, making them superior in what they can apprehend, retain and achieve.

Granted, the phrase 'immensely more powerful' is ambiguous. But it is easier to recognize the immensity of this power than it is to define it. I do not think the cases of this power that we shall be considering will be vulnerable to this ambiguity.

Remarkable Greatness

Unfortunately, I have found it challenging to state just what exactly greatness is; but it seems to be that which is deserving of our awe. When you stand before a truly magnificent accomplishment, dwarfed in the shadow of a great pyramid for example, you might be struck by a sense of awe. It is reverence we feel, and we're impressed by it.

I recall being overcome by this impression when I visited Crazy Horse in the Black Hills, South Dakota. Its original sculptor — a Polish immigrant by the name of Korczak Ziolkowski — began this monumental tribute with only a couple hundred dollars in his pocket. But after pouring his soul into that mountain, he left behind something truly worthy of our respect.

It is important to describe greatness as that which deserves our awe instead of as that which happens to elicit our awe, because our awe may be elicited by something that is not great. For example, your sensus magnae (sense of greatness) would be malfunctioning if a team of wayward neuroscientists manipulated you to feel awe whenever you had to use the restroom. To deserve our awe is to be worthy of it.

With this initial understanding of greatness in hand, what do I mean by 'remarkable'? Well, I do not wish to claim that the greatness of these gods would be unsurpassed or unsurpassable, for I know of no good reason to think so. But it seems to me their greatness should be befitting of the greatest of gods. Perhaps this would be located in their extraordinary power, or unparalleled knowledge. Whatever the case, they would be as the Olympian gods were, compared to lesser deities.

Religions have time and again sacralized a subset of deities, setting them apart from everything else, recognizing in them a remarkable greatness.

Being immortal, they were next, as a consequence supposed to be omnipotent and omniscient. Their physical strength was extraordinary, the earth shaking sometimes under their tread. Whatever they did was done speedily. They moved through space almost without the loss of a moment of time. They knew all things, saw and heard all things with rare exceptions. They were wise, and communicated their wisdom to men. They had a most strict sense of justice, punished crime vigorously, and rewarded noble actions ...

In all mythologies the principal actors in the drama of cosmic creation begin as spirit beings so fundamental or so aweinspiring, or both, as to be describable only as generalities.

Ps. 77:13, Your way, O God, is holy; What god is great like our God?

Ex. 15:11, Who among the gods is like you, O LORD? Who is like you — majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders?

Ps. 86:8, Among the gods there is none like you, O Lord; no deeds can compare with yours.

Allah is called 'Lord of the worlds' (Surah 1:1:2), and none are like him. Further, the Qu'ran ascribes 99 names to Allah, and these make it abundantly clear that Allah is thought to stand at the height of greatness. Finally, Muslims praise Allah as the 'greatest' whenever they utter the Takbir, or the phrase Allahu Akbar (idiomatically meaning Allah is the greatest), which is recited in numerous contexts throughout their lives including their obligatory prayers and the adhan initiating them. Their greatness would be unmistakable!

I hope the foregoing has painted a recognizable image in our minds, one that we could feel comfortable with identifying as a god. It was derived from our paradigmatic examples of gods, after all. Obviously, gods would have innumerable other properties, but we're looking for something basic to begin with.

Now, one might object to the foregoing thought by raising various counter-examples. For example, a Christian, Jewish or Muslim theist might ask whether angels and demons satisfy our stipulated condition of godhood. If they do, perhaps such theists have good reason to believe our condition is insufficient for godhood, as entities could meet the condition but still fail to be gods. However, I ask the reader to take any particular angel or demon in mind and imagine that we had not learned of them through the sources we have, but that they had instead appeared within ancient pantheons, worshiped as gods. They would no longer be candidates for counter-examples, would they? Likewise, if we take a given deity and imagine we had instead learned of it through, say, an Abrahamic faith, which depicted it merely as an angel or demon, it would not be included in our paradigmatic examples of deities. What this tells us is that what might differentiate angels and demons from gods is not a matter of ontology, but of something else, perhaps even something so semantic and simple as the job they perform. After all, 'angel' does mean messenger, and polytheists believed in messenger gods — Hermes and Iris, for example.