LJ3

Date: December 3, 2025

Question 1: What are the key differences between monotheism and polytheism?

Both monotheism and polytheism represent humanity’s attempts to make sense of the cosmos, yet they differ profoundly in their metaphysical structure, their conception of the divine, and their relationship to morality. After reviewing the Gifford Lectures and reflecting on my own secular worldview, I find that while neither system is “better” in any objective sense, they carry distinct philosophical implications worth examining.

The most obvious difference is numerical: polytheism posits multiple gods with specialized domains, while monotheism affirms a single, supreme deity. However, the Gifford Lectures reveal deeper structural distinctions (Webb, 1924). In polytheistic systems, the gods are typically part of the cosmos, subject to fate or some higher principle. The Greek gods, as Fairbanks (1898) notes, possessed “strong human characteristics”—jealousy, lust, anger, and pettiness (p. 295). They were magnified humans, not transcendent beings. Monotheism, by contrast, posits a God who exists outside the cosmos as its creator and sustainer, typically conceived as morally perfect and infinite in power.

Perhaps more significant is the relationship between religion and morality in each system. In polytheism, morality was often separate from religious practice; the gods could be immoral, and one could fulfill religious obligations without being virtuous. Monotheism, particularly in its Abrahamic forms, grounds morality in divine command—what is good is good because God wills it, and orthodoxy (correct belief) becomes paramount. This emphasis on exclusive truth claims is largely absent from polytheistic traditions, which tended toward greater tolerance of other beliefs.

From my secular perspective, I cannot endorse either system, as both lack sufficient epistemic justification. However, if forced to evaluate them comparatively, polytheism seems to have certain advantages. Its separation of morality from religion avoids the pitfalls of Divine Command Theory, and its lack of orthodoxy reduces the potential for religious persecution. That said, the fundamental question remains: what difference does it make what you believe if you do not have good reasons for believing it?

My personal experience with religion has been limited. Growing up in small-town America, I observed how deeply embedded churches were in my community—the social glue they provided, the rituals that marked life’s passages. My parents were what one might call “Christmas and Easter Christians,” if even that. Religion was never a central part of my upbringing, which perhaps allowed me to approach these questions with a certain detachment. I have no visceral attachment to either monotheism or polytheism; I simply find neither compelling on evidential grounds.

Question 2: Do you think there are good arguments explaining why a purely good God would allow bad things to happen to good people?

No, I do not believe there are good arguments that successfully reconcile the existence of a purely good, omnipotent God with the reality of suffering. This is the classic Problem of Evil, famously articulated by Epicurus:

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?” — (as cited in Lactantius, ca. 313 C.E./2003)

The major theodicies—attempts to defend God in the face of evil—each fail upon examination.

The Free Will Defense

The Free Will Defense argues that evil is the necessary price of human freedom—that God could not create beings capable of genuine love without also permitting the possibility of hatred and cruelty. This is the most logically coherent theodicy, yet it collapses under a simple question: Do souls have free will in Heaven?

If yes, yet there is no sin or suffering in Heaven, then it is demonstrably possible to have free will without evil. Why, then, did God not simply create that world from the beginning?
If no, then Heaven is a prison for the mind, hardly a paradise worth aspiring to.

The Soul-Making Theodicy

The Soul-Making Theodicy claims that suffering is necessary for spiritual growth and the development of virtue. I remain unconvinced there is such a thing as a soul, so why should I accept evil as necessary for “spiritual growth”? Furthermore, an omnipotent God could simply instill such virtues in us from the outset. An all-loving God would not use torture as a pedagogical tool.

The Greater Good Argument

The Greater Good argument—that evil serves a purpose in a divine plan we cannot comprehend—is frankly insulting. It smacks of the same philosophically empty comfort as saying “everything happens for a reason.” This is not an explanation; it is an admission that one has no explanation. Stating that our perspective is too limited to comprehend an “ultimate plan” in which babies die of leukemia before they learn to walk is simply acknowledging the absence of justification. The limits of one’s imagination are not evidence of anything.

The Privation Theory

Finally, the Privation Theory—that evil is not a “thing” but merely the absence of good—feels like a philosophical dodge. If I build a car and leave out the brakes, I have not “created an accident”; I have merely created a “lack of safety.” Yet when that car crashes and kills someone, I am absolutely responsible for the design flaw that caused the death. A God who designs a world with such “absences” is equally culpable.

An Absurdist Response

From my Absurdist perspective, the existence of suffering is not a problem requiring theological gymnastics—it is simply a feature of an indifferent universe. As Camus (1991) understood, the universe offers no justification for suffering; meaning comes only from our refusal to accept it passively.

Question 3: Although a humanist, Paine believed in God and the afterlife. Explain his reasoning and offer your own.

Thomas Paine represents a fascinating case study in the compatibility—and tension—between Humanism and religious belief. As a Deist, Paine rejected organized religion, scripture, and miracles, yet he maintained belief in a Creator God and an afterlife. His reasoning was quintessentially Enlightenment: he believed that God’s existence could be discerned through reason rather than revelation, that the “book of nature” demonstrated design, and that the afterlife was a matter of hope and justice—virtue, he felt, should ultimately be rewarded. In the context of the 1700s, before Darwin’s theory of evolution and modern cosmology, Deism was a reasonable stopping point for an intellectually honest thinker who could not accept the dogmas of Christianity.

Humanism, as Dr. Furedi (2013) argues, places humans as the authors of their own destiny. The American Humanist Association (n.d.) defines it as:

“A progressive philosophy of life that, without theism or other supernatural beliefs, affirms our ability and responsibility to lead ethical lives of personal fulfillment that aspire to the greater good of humanity.”

Crucially, Humanism emphasizes reason, ethics, and human flourishing while rejecting supernatural authority as the basis for morality. Paine’s Deism fits within this framework insofar as he grounded ethics in human reason rather than divine revelation. He was a humanist in method if not in metaphysics.

My Own Reasoning

My own reasoning diverges from Paine’s. Deism, to me, often amounts to an argument from incredulity: one looks at the complexity of the universe, finds it difficult to fathom how it arose naturally, and posits a designer. This is a “god of the gaps” that shrinks with each scientific advance. Living in a cold, indifferent universe without special purpose or ultimate meaning is uncomfortable, especially when grieving. This is precisely why Camus (1991) devoted so much attention to the concept of “Philosophical Suicide“—the lies we tell ourselves in exchange for comfort.

My father died when I was 23 years old. Twelve years later, as I write this just days from his birthday, do I want to believe I will see him again? Of course. There is not much I would not trade for that certainty. Yet we do not choose our beliefs; we are either convinced by evidence or we are not. I care deeply about whether the things I believe are true and whether I have good reasons to believe them. If the death of my father could not provide sufficient impetus to commit that philosophical suicide, I do not think any circumstances can.

On the Compatibility of Humanism and Religion

Is Humanism compatible with religious belief? Historically and practically, yes—Paine demonstrates as much. Many churches do genuine good in their communities. However, I remain uncomfortable with the means by which they acquire their capital—human, monetary, or otherwise—through threats of eternal punishment and cultivated guilt. Even with the purest intentions, at best this is misleading; at worst, it is deception.

For me, meaning and purpose must be created, not discovered in cosmic design. Living authentically, uplifting fellow strugglers, being genuinely concerned with what it means to be a “good” person—this is where I find my humanism, unburdened by metaphysical commitments I cannot justify.

References

American Humanist Association. (n.d.). Definition of humanism. https://americanhumanist.org/what-is-humanism/definition-of-humanism/
Camus, A. (1991). The myth of Sisyphus and other essays (J. O’Brien, Trans.). Vintage Books. (Original work published 1942)
Fairbanks, A. (1898). Literary influence in the development of Greek religion. The Biblical World, 11(5), 294–305. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3137300
Furedi, F. (2013). Alternative lectures: What is humanism (Part 1) [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGs_Q2mfb0E
Lactantius. (2003). De ira Dei [On the anger of God]. In A. Bowen & P. Garnsey (Trans.), Divine institutes. Liverpool University Press. (Original work published ca. 313 C.E.)
Webb, C. C. J. (1924). God and personality: The Gifford Lectures delivered in the University of Aberdeen in the years 1918 and 1919. George Allen & Unwin.