I thought I would take a step back in this post and give an overview of cosmological arguments in general.  As our regular reader (I'm not entirely sure how many "regular" readers we have, but I'd say the probability is in my favor if I use the singular rather than the plural here) knows, Steve has just completed a two-post series on the Kalam Cosmological Argument.  Those entries can be found here and here.  And if we look way back in the archives of the internet (you know, in the labyrinth of tubes which extends deep below the earth), we'll recall that I did a post on Thomas Aquinas' First Way, or Argument from Motion, when this blog was first started up. You can find that post here (wow, that was over two years ago. I wonder how many mistakes I made back then that would tempt me to deny the persistence of Self in order to be absolved).  I also plan to do a series of posts on the Leibnizian Cosmological Argument in the near future. Those are all examples of cosmological arguments, and anyone who even slightly follows Philosophy of Religion knows that there are a handful of others which are well known. 

So what is a cosmological argument?  What does is seek to do?  Why should we care?  "A cosmological argument takes some cosmic feature of the universe -- such as the existence of contingent things or the fact of motion -- that calls out for explanation and argues that this feature is to be explained in terms of the activity of a First Cause, which [...] is God." [1]  One strength of this type of argument, in my opinion, is that it is broad enough to withstand charges that it is simply a "God of the Gaps" objection.  Such an argument would seek to insert God into a gap in our knowledge of the world.  The problem is that many of these gaps end up being filled with the causes discovered by science (a common example/analogy is the explanation of lightning being caused by the god Zeus).  The gap might have a material or efficient cause found within the universe, and similar cases in the past have been determined to have such causes.  But a cosmological argument is much bigger than that.  It argues from some grand cosmological feature which could not even in principle have a material or efficient cause which could be discovered by science.

There are four problems, as outlined by Alexander Pruss, which every cosmological argument must face. Its success against these problems determines whether the argument is successful and convincing, and its methods for solving these problems determines what type of cosmological argument it is.  I will make reference to Steve's posts on the KCA to provide examples of how an argument will deal with those problems.

1. The Glendower Problem
2. The Regress Problem
3. The Taxicab Problem
4. The Gap Problem

The Glendower Problem is that just because a feature of the universe calls for an explanation, does not mean that such an explanation exists.  This name was coined by Pruss in honor of the exchange from Shakespeare's Henry IV:

Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man; but will they come when you do call for them? 

Usual solutions to this problem involve the defense of a causal or explanatory principle.  As we saw in Steve's post, the Kalam deals with this by defending the premise "Everything that begins to exist has a cause."

The Regress Problem has to do with how to deal with an infinite regress of causes or explanations.  Is it possible for such an infinite regress to exist?  And if so, is there no need for an ultimate cause or explanation?  Again, one of the premises of the KCA both takes this into account, and argues against a past infinity of causes. 

The Taxicab Problem has to do with what happens when the explanatory or causal principle invoked in response to the Glendower Problem gets applied to the First Cause. As Steve noted in his posts, the name of this problem comes from a quip made famous by Schopenhauer. Again, the Kalam deals with this in the first premise by defending the premise that only those things that begin to exist must have a cause-- therefore the causal principle invoked does not apply to the First Cause.

Lastly, the Gap Problem refers to the gap that we are left with once we have successfully argued for a First Cause. What of religious interest follows from a First Cause?  How do we identify this First Cause as the God of some particular religion?  Often, the cosmological argument can get us part way there by extrapolation of certain properties inherent in the First Cause. We saw this in Steve's second post on the KCA-- the First Cause must be incredibly powerful, immaterial, it must transcend space-time, and it must be personal.  Different arguments will leave us at different places, but often supplemental arguments are required to get us closer.

There are three main categories of cosmological arguments-- Kalam, Thomistic, and Leibnizian.  The Kalam and Thomistic arguments will utilize a type of causal principle. These two types of argument are then split on how they respond to the Regress Problem. The Kalam, as I mentioned above, argues against a past infinity of causes on either (or both) a priori or a posteriori grounds. The Thomistic argument does not rule out the possibility of an infinite past, but uses a variety of methods to argue against the hypothesis that there is an infinite regress of causes with no First Cause. Leibnizian variations usually invoke a very general explanatory principle, such as the Principle of Sufficient Reason which is then applied to some cosmic state of affairs. The Regress Problem is usually handled by arguing that even if an infinite chain of causes or explanations exists, without a First Cause, we are unable to explain how the whole chain of causes exists.

This post should give you a very basic understanding of cosmological arguments in general. Each argument has its own uniqueness, which comes with different difficulties that need to be overcome, and different merits upon succeeding. I'll end this post with a request-- that you at least take the cosmological arguments seriously.  Certainly, many people have researched these arguments charitably and come to the conclusion that they are false. But these arguments have been put forth by some of the brightest thinkers in human history (Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Maimodes, al-Ghazali, Duns Scotus, Leibniz, and the list goes on), and certainly deserve your earnest attempt to understand them before rejecting or dismissing them.

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Notes:

1.  Pruss, 2012.  Much of the content of this post is from the same source.

I am currently reading through a book called God and the Philosophers, which is a compilation of the Christian (and one Jewish) testimonies of twenty philosophers.  Some of these testimonies focus more on personal experiences, while others draw heavily on arguments and reason to show how these philosophers came to believe in God (in most cases, the Christian God of the Bible).  I have enjoyed reading it because it provides insight into the thoughts of very intelligent men and women who have come to the conclusion that belief in God is highly rational.  One of my favorite segments thus far has been that of Peter Van Inwagon, a philosopher at the University of Notre Dame.  He has an impressive intellect, and the rare ability to convey his thoughts to those of us who are less intelligent in a comprehensible way.

One story in particular stood out to me as helpful as I occasionally struggle with doubts about my Christian faith.  Van Inwagon recounts the time shortly after he had become a Christian, when he struggled intensely with doubts about his beliefs.  What was interesting about this ordeal, is that there wasn't really a single claim or argument which made him doubt because he found it convincing.  Rather, each specific argument or claim had a reply that he did find intellectually convincing.  Yet his doubts continued to plague him in spite of this.  He refers to this portion of his life as the "Dark Night of the Soul," and has come up with a deft analogy to explain what he was going through.  Consider this quote:

Perhaps the best way to describe my state of mind would be by an analogy.  You don't believe in ghosts, right?  Well, neither do I.  But how would you like to spend a night alone in a graveyard?  I am subject to night fears, and I can tell you that I shouldn't like it at all.  And yet I am perfectly well aware that fear of ghosts is contrary to science, reason, and religion.  If I were sentenced to spend a night alone in the graveyard, I should know beforehand that no piece of evidence was going to transpire during the night that would do anything to raise the infinitesimal prior probability of the hypothesis that there are ghosts.  I should already know that twigs would snap and the wind moan and that there would be half-seen movements in the darkness.  And I should know that the inevitable occurrences of these things would be of no evidential value whatever.  And yet, after I had been frog-marched into the graveyard, I should feel a thrill of fear every time one of these things happened.  I could reason with myself: "I believe that the dead are in Heaven or Hell, or else that they sleep until the General Resurrection.  And if my religion is an illusion, then some form of materialism is the correct metaphysics, and materialism is incompatible with the existence of ghosts.  And if the church and the materialists are both wrong and there are ghosts, what could be the harm in a ghost?  What could such a poor, wispy thing do to one?"  And what would the value of this very cogent piece of reasoning be?  None at all, at least in respect of allaying my fear of ghosts. 

Possibly, if one were subject to an irrational fear of ghosts, one would eventually lose it if one were forced to spend every night alone in the graveyard.  Something like that seems to have happened to me as regards the irrational fears that underlay what I have called the counterattack.  Eventually, they simply faded away.  I am now unclear about what the time frame of all this was.  I know that the full force of it lasted several years and that it was horrible.  I am sure that I could say nothing that would convey the horror of it to someone who had not had a similar experience, just as someone who was "afraid of ghosts" (without believing their existence) could do nothing to convey to someone who was free from this fear what was so horrible about spending a night alone in a graveyard or an abandoned and isolated house.  The fears, while they lasted, were tireless and persistent.  [...]  Reason is impotent in such situations, since one is already intellectually convinced that there is nothing to fear.  (Fear replies, Ah, but you have reasoned wrong.  "How have I reasoned wrong?" I said; you have reasoned wrong.)  And prayer, whatever its objective benefits, brings no immediate psychological comfort, as it can do in many kinds of affliction; on the psychological level, prayer merely aggravates the fear that there is No One There by making the question whether there is anyone there momentarily inescapable, and letting the fears loose on it. 

Somehow, with God's help, I got through this period.  (I often wonder whether it was some kindergarten version of "the Dark Night of the Soul," but I have never really understood what that phrase means.  I hope it never returns.  I hope that the part of me on which it operated is dead, swallowed up in that death into which we are baptized.  But God has, as is His usual practice, given me no guarantees, and, for all I know, it could start again tomorrow.[1]

Van Inwagon's full testomony is actually available for free online here if you you are interested in reading it.

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Notes:

1. Van Inwagon,1994, pp. 38-39.

Several years ago, a blogger for The Secular Outpost name Keith Parsons wrote an article titled The Strongest Argument for Christianity. If you are unfamiliar with Keith Parsons, he is a very outspoken atheist who taught philosophy of religion for a number of years, and published several books on the subject. So unfriendly to Christianity is Parsons, that he reportedly had this to say about why he decided to stop teaching Philosophy of Religion (I say reportedly because the original post has been taken down and I can only find others quoting it):

I now regard “the case for theism” as a fraud and I can no longer take it seriously enough to present it to a class as a respectable philosophical position—no more than I could present intelligent design as a legitimate biological theory. BTW, in saying that I now consider the case for theism to be a fraud, I do not mean to charge that the people making that case are frauds who aim to fool us with claims they know to be empty. No, theistic philosophers and apologists are almost painfully earnest and honest; I don’t think there is a Bernie Madoff in the bunch. I just cannot take their arguments seriously any more, and if you cannot take something seriously, you should not try to devote serious academic attention to it. I’ve turned the philosophy of religion courses over to a colleague.

He still writes extensively on the subject at the Secular Outpost blog and other mediums, even if he does not teach. He has written much against the arguments for Christianity, focusing especially on the historicity of the resurrection and the Gospels. I give such a lengthy introduction to this man, because with such an obvious disdain for the Christian faith, we should all be very interested to hear what he considers to be the strongest argument in defense of that faith. In the post linked above, he tells us very frankly that he considers the "inherent rottenness of human beings" to be the key:

Continuing on with my series summarizing the book Four Views of Divine Providence, this post will cover the the view of Molinism, defended by William Lane Craig. Previous posts in this series can be read here, here, and here.

Craig begins his section by noting that orthodox theologians have always agreed that God's omniscience includes his "hypothetical knowledge of conditional future contingents."¹ This knowledge is called knowledge of counterfactuals, which are "conditional statements in a subjunctive mood."² For example, God knows that if Austin owned a Nintendo 64 with Mario Kart, he would be playing it right now instead of typing a blog post.



 What Christian theologians have disagreed on for centuries, however, is "when" God has this knowledge.  Since God is timeless and eternal, I am not referring to some actual time when God obtained such knowledge. Rather, the question is where this knowledge falls logically relative to God's other knowledge: that is, his Natural Knowledge and his Free Knowledge. Theologians have always agreed that God's Natural Knowledge came logically prior to his creative decree. This includes knowledge of those propositions which are necessarily true, such as his knowledge of all possible worlds that he could create. His Free Knowledge, knowledge of contingent truths that obtain in the actual world that he created, is agreed to be logically subsequent to his creative decree. But what about his knowledge of counterfactuals? Traditionally, the Dominicans and Calvinists have argued that God's knowledge of counterfactuals is also subsequent to, and a result of, his creative decree. God knows what is because he created it as such, and he knows what would have been, because he could have created it as such. The Jesuits, influenced by Luis de Molina, argued that God's knowledge of counterfactuals is prior to his creative decree; this would put it in between his Natural and Free Knowledge, which is why it has been called God's Middle Knowledge. Under this view, instead of exhaustively determining a world which would bring about his ultimate purposes, God created a world in which he knows that his creatures will freely choose those actions that will bring about his ultimate purposes.

Check out this excellent post from The Gospel Coalition:

"Who cares what Aristotle thinks about a severed hand," retorted an exasperated philosophy student on a wintery night in a Midwestern university. My lecture screeched to a halt. As the class stared at me, enjoying the showdown, the subtext of my student's comment was not lost on them or me: "Aristotle's view of substance provides me with no 'real world' benefit, so it is useless knowledge."

I wish I could tell you my student's comment that night was an exception to the rule. It is not. Her comment highlights a widely held misconception about the discipline of philosophy and those of us who like to think of ourselves as philosophers: philosophy provides no worldly good, no non-cognitive benefit, and is of limited value. Those of us who have committed the double sin of being a Christian and a philosopher risk further marginalization, often viewed with suspicion by the church as well. Like Socrates and his uneasy relationship with Athens, Christian philosophers can be seen by the faithful as unwanted "gadflies" that ask annoying questions in Sunday school and instigate doubt in the minds of young believers.

As we navigate an increasingly pragmatic university setting and the suspicious gaze of the church, it is easy to feel—like a severed hand—a bit homeless. But before you pass the hemlock, I plead my case: the church needs philosophers and philosophers need the church.

[...]

The Church Needs Philosophers and Philosophers Need the Church

The work of Alvin Plantinga has not garnered much attention outside the world of philosophy.  I thought it worthwhile to spend some time on his work, so that readers could gain an appreciation for some of his arguments and realize the profound influence he has had on Christian philosophy.  While most of his work has not entered the general public's consciousness, one argument has gained the attention of the atheist community, and therefore their ire.  It is known as the Evolutionary Argument Against Naturalism.

While the argument has found serious consideration in the philosophy community, some of the reactions from the outside have been downright vitriolic.  It's a rather curious phenomenon.  Part of it has to do with the fact that Plantinga recently wrote his first popular-level book - Where the Conflict Really Lies, which has found a wider audience than his previous books.

First, we will cover the argument itself, then briefly discuss some of the reactions to it.

Part IV of this series ended with somewhat of a cliffhanger.  Marx and Freud seemed to think that religion arose through purely naturalistic processes.  Not only that, but the aim of religion was not truth, but something less legitimate - for Marx it was an escape from the harsh reality of existence, and for Freud it was "wish fulfillment."  At any rate, this all makes religion irrational, whether or not it's true.  This Alvin Plantinga came to call the de jure objection.  The root issue is whether or not religious belief - and Christian belief in particular - has any justification.

In Part II, we looked at Plantinga's analogy between belief in God and belief in the existence of other minds.  In this post we will look at some later work of Plantinga that also deals with the rationality of belief in God.  Obviously, his earlier work could not tackle all the possible objections, and some of his work in epistemology since then has also shed light on the issue.

De Jure vs. De Facto

In order to determine whether or not belief in God is rational, or intellectually acceptable, Plantinga makes a distinction between two types of objections to Christian belief: de jure and de facto.  De facto objections argue against the truth of Christianity.  The Problem of Evil is a good example, as it seeks to show that God cannot exist.  There are other objections that are de facto as well, such as the claim that some doctrine or other is incoherent, and therefore Christianity cannot possibly be true.  There are also arguments that Jesus couldn't possibly have risen from the dead.

De jure objections, on the other hand, do not deal with the truth of Christianity; they seek to show that Christian belief, "whether or not true, is at any rate unjustifiable, or rationally unjustified, or irrational, or not intellectually respectable, or contrary to sound morality, or without sufficient evidence, or in some other way rationally unacceptable, not up to snuff from an intellectual point of view."¹  It covers a broad spectrum.  The two things to keep in mind with respect to a de jure objection is 1) it doesn't seek to prove Christianity is false, in fact it has nothing to say as to whether or not Christianity is actually true and 2) it does seek to show that one shouldn't believe in Christianity.

In this last post of the series on the problem of evil (here are parts one and two), I will skim the surface of the two issues that now take up most of the conversation among contemporary philosophers.

The Evidential Version

The evidential version of the problem of evil (also known as the probabilistic version) differs from the logical problem in that it does not claim there is an explicit contradiction in God and evil both existing; rather, it simply seeks to show that God's existence is improbable, given that evil exists, especially the amount of evil we see.

It certainly seems to have some force.  While it is possible that God has morally sufficient reasons to allow evil, it does seem, in light of the horrors that have taken place as well as their disturbing frequency, rather unlikely.  Many of these evils we see seem utterly pointless.  The evidential version is also easier to prove, since it does not seek a definitive deductive proof.  William Rowe and Paul Draper (from our alma mater!) have put forth their own versions of the evidential argument.  The conversation remains lively today.

Talk with just about any self-proclaimed atheist sitting next to you on an airplane, at Starbucks, or online; if you try to critique their own position they will almost invariably say, "Ah, atheism isn't a belief that there is no God, it is simply a lack of belief in God or gods."  Or something to that effect, sometimes much less charitably.  This is often done in attempt to pin the burden of proof in the theist.  (Such a position can trace its roots to the work of Antony Flew, especially his brief - but very influential - paper, The Presumption of Atheism, in which he argued that atheism should be presupposed until evidence of God surfaces.)

In simple point of fact, this is not the traditional definition of atheism.  Further, it is rather telling that no atheist philosopher subscribes to such a definition.  All the same, it hints at a useful distinction, despite the definitional blunder.

The distinction is between what is known as positive (or "strong") atheism and negative (or "weak") atheism.  A positive atheist not only lacks belief in God but affirms that there is no God.  Therefore, the positive atheist must have justification for their lack of belief and must demonstrate that their arguments against the existence of God are compelling.  A negative atheist, on the other hand, simply lacks belief in God.  The negative atheist does not provide any arguments against the existence of God; she simply believes the arguments for the existence of God are not compelling.¹

Here we have two separate series' converge.  This is the second part of three on the problem of evil, but it is also the third part of the ongoing series on Alvin Plantinga.  While the first two parts of the Plantinga series were almost a book summary (as the book itself is credited by the likes of William Lane Craig for kicking off Christian philosophy's comeback), this post deals with a single argument.  It was his second great contribution to the world of philosophy of religion.

Before continuing, it's worth keeping in mind that the Free Will Defense is only an answer to the logical problem of moral evil (see my previous post for a refresher on the various distinctions).  This is not to say that the argument is weak - it just has a particular focus.  Further, the logical problem of moral evil was for years so often used by philosophers to dismiss the traditional view of God. 

The Free Will Defense made a pretty big splash in the philosophical world.  Today, arguing against the existence of God based on the logical problem of moral evil has fallen quite out of style.  Contemporary discussions about the problem of evil now focus on the evidential problem and the problem of natural evil.  It is really only laymen that continue to peddle the logical problem.

Historically, the problem of evil is without a doubt the most famous and most compelling argument against the existence of God.  More broadly, the existence of evil is something with which every person must grapple, regardless of religious views.  The staggering amount of evil in the world, on display in the news, in our own lives, and in the books of history defies understanding.

It is unsurprising, given the prevalence of evil from day-to-day life to the world stage, that the problem of evil is often considered a powerful argument of against any sort of benevolent creator.

This is the development of a thought experiment that I took part in coming up with on a fourm a while back. Consider the following three hypothetical situations:

In my last post, we ended with Plantinga's rather disappointing conclusion that the arguments for the existence of God are not compelling.  In the quest to determine whether belief in God is rational, he moves on to some of the arguments against the existence of God.  It should come as no surprise that the main argument discussed is the Problem of Evil.

Arguments of Natural Atheology

For most atheologians of the time, the force of the problem of evil is that it shows a logical inconsistency in the core tenants of theism.  They take the following five propositions as being essential to theism:

a. God exists

b. God is omnipotent (all-powerful)

c. God is omniscient (all-knowing)

d. God is wholly good

e. Evil exists

Here we already run into a snag.  These five propositions do not entail a formal contradiction.  This may not be readily apparent to you, and it almost certainly isn't to an atheist with whom you might be debating.  Nonetheless, the point remains.  H. J. McCloskey apparently did not realize this; however, J. L. Mackie - one of the most brilliant atheist philosophers of the 20th century - did .  He realized that in order to arrive at a formal contradiction, at least one other proposition must be added.

Alvin Plantinga, now 80, is professor emeritus at the University of Notre Dame and has taught at Calvin College and Wayne State University, when it was a hotbed for analytic philosophy.  He studied at Calvin College, Harvard, the University of Michigan, and received his PhD from Yale.  He has been a visiting professor at Harvard, Chicago, Michigan, Boston, Indiana, UCLA, Syracuse, and Arizona.  He has also given lectures in several prestigious lecture series, including being a Gifford Lecturer twice.  Further, he has honorary degrees from numerous universities.  His family's accomplishments are correspondingly sickening, with various professorships, degrees, etc. etc.

It would not be a stretch to say that Alvin Plantinga was the most prominent Christian philosopher of the 20th century.  His influence continues into the 21st, where he remains a leader not only in the philosophy of religion but also epistemology, and has contributed to the field of metaphysics as well.  His most notable contributions in the philosophy of religion include his famous Free Will Defense in response to the logical problem of evil which has received wide acceptance (which is a rarity in philosophy), the school of thought known as reformed epistemology, his modal ontological argument for the existence of God, and his Evolutionary Argument Against Naturalism (EAAN).

Reasonable Faith, the organization of Dr. William Lane Craig, has recently made an animated video on the Kalam Cosmological Argument. The KCA argues for the existence of a first cause of the universe, which it posits as God. We plan on doing some extensive writing on the KCA in the future, based on the section of the Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology with the same name. In the meantime, this video is an excellent presentation of the argument in a very concise format. Enjoy!

Videmus enim quod aliqua quæ cognitione carent, scilicet corpora naturalia, operantur propter finem (We see that things which lack intelligence, such as natural bodies, act for an end).
~Thomas Aquinas

In order to move things along, I have decided to forgo explanations and arguments for Aquinas' Third and Fourth Ways, the Arguments from Contingency and Degree, respectively, and skip to the Fifth Way. There are a number of reasons for this decision. First, this series has already been going on for almost ten weeks and there are so many other interesting topics sbout which I would like to write. I would prefer to complete this series sooner, rather than later. Second, out of the five main arguments put forth by Aquinas, his Third and Fourth Ways are the ones which I personally find the least convincing. This does not mean that they are not ultimately correct and sound, but simply that if I were an atheist I would likely not be convinced by those arguments (whereas I find the Arguments from Motion, Efficient Causality and Final Causality to be very persuasive, indeed). The last reason, which is likely tied to the second, is that my understanding of these arguments is not as full as the others; they would be the hardest for me to explain and defend. So, in brief, this will be my last post for a while in this series on Aquinas. It should be noted again, that much of this post (as with previous posts) is taken directly from Edward Feser's work in Aquinas and The Last Superstition. Without further adieu, let's get to work!

"A flabby mind is no badge of spiritual honor." ~David Hazard

Many circles in Christianity have been accused of anti-intellectualism. In many cases, rightly so. There is often an intellectual laziness that affects the minds of some Christians. In terms of defending the faith, it most often shows itself as an underlying assumption that any argument that concludes God exists or that Christianity is true must be sound. This results in nothing but embarrassment for those genuinely seeking to carefully evaluate or defend their faith.

In this post I hope to cover a few truly terrible defenses of theism, in the hopes that readers will both see the errors in the arguments and avoid such arguments. Like terrible objections to theism, they only serve to obstruct meaningful dialogue. In a later post I hope to outline why it is so important for Christians to think carefully and defend the faith in an intellectually responsible and gentle way.

After a short break, we will now continue along in our series on Thomas Aquinas, focusing today on the first two of his arguments for the existence of a First Cause, or God. These first two "ways of knowing God," can broadly be categorized as cosmological arguments. According to the philosopher Alexander Pruss, "a cosmological argument takes some cosmic feature of the universe -- such as the existence of contingent things or the fact of motion -- that calls out for an explanation and argues that this feature is to be explained in terms of the activity of a First Cause, which [is God.]"¹ Aquinas' first two arguments attempt to do just that-- the first with respect to motion or change, and the second with respect to causation itself. Most of this post will focus on the first way, the so-called Argument from Motion, because the second way is very similar to the first. I apologize in advance because it will be quite impossible to do these arguments justice in a single blog post, and I encourage readers to check out Aquinas themselves along with some modern commentary for a better understanding.

"The philosophical case against Christianity is rather easily dealt with.  There is no philosophical case against Christianity." ~G.K. Chesterton

There are many objections to the existence of an all-powerful creator God, and even more to Christianity.  They range from the powerful  -  even compelling - to the truly embarrassing.  This blog will tend towards examining some of the more interesting objections.  But some of the truly terrible objections are so pervasive today that they must be dealt with even in passing.  Otherwise, they only serve to provide a roadblock to meaningful dialogue between atheists and theists.  This post will tackle only a few.  My next post will deal with a few really bad defenses of Christianity.