Part VII: Christianity and Morality

20 - Natural Law and Divine Law: The Objective Foundations of Morality

"[E]ach of us knows," D'Souza states in chapter twenty, "however disingenuously we deny it - that there are absolute standards of right and wrong" (p. 226). Despite this assurance being offered time and time again by countless apologists and evangelizing believers, it has repeatedly failed to be proven. I see this claim as no better than the one for relativism which D'Souza vigorously denounces in the chapter. Looking at the diversity of moral views in the world is not sufficient grounds for declaring morality to be a subjective illusion, nor is the conviction of a few absolutists sufficient grounds for declaring morality to be absolute. Yet the worst part of D'Souza's statement is to presume the moral sensibilities of every man, woman, and child on the planet: you may think morality is an illusion, but deep down you know there are absolute answers! This seems to be just the kind of presumptuous arrogance that turns off many people to moral objectivism. D'Souza actually goes so far as to encourage his readers to punch a relativist in the face to "educate" them on what they really believe (p. 231).

While I do believe objective moral values exist, I reject the abhorrent notion of moral absolutes. Objective values are independent of personal opinions and customs, though a value like 'do not kill' may change in light of circumstances or context, such as self-defense, war, or assisted suicide, for a few examples. Absolute values, on the other hand, are taken to be true at all times, without regard for circumstances or context. 'Do not steal' would be enforced on everyone, even the father who steals food to feed his starving family. It is fitting, then, that D'Souza calls his absolute values "moral laws" throughout most of the chapter, because he sees morality in the same way a monarch or dictator might see their precepts. It's all about obedience, and nothing else matters. Always the Kant-worshipper, D'Souza espouses deontological morality, which is precisely this breed of strict obedience and fulfillment of duty. No other moral theories are addressed in the chapter. It's as if old Dinesh doesn't want you thinking outside of his box.

However, D'Souza's case for moral laws/absolute values is practically non-existent. A lot of space is spent on criticizing relavitism, and the only argument our author seems to put forward for the existence of his moral laws is the fact that we can't always get along well without making an appeal to some sort of independent standard for morality. We all have strong convictions about right and wrong, he says. Relativists will often express themselves in non-relative terms when they are punched in the face. This paltry bit of speculation amounts to nothing more than a convenience in believing moral absolutes exist. Far better cases for objective values have been made by philosophers, but I will not go into them here. What matters for this chapter is exposing D'Souza's utter failure to link any of this - objective values, absolute values, or universal values - to god or faith.

For exposing this failure, Dinesh gives us a priceless opportunity when he states that, "Without heaven and hell, life on earth becomes very unjust" (p. 232). Does the promise of an afterlife judgment truly justify what we endure on Earth? One may think that a lifetime of suffering could be made right by an eternity in paradise, but is it fair or just to punish a lifetime of sin with an eternity of the worst suffering? Why doesn't D'Souza seem to think that suffering is unjust in itself? Is someone who lost an entire family of loved ones in this life going to be that better off in heaven than someone whose family made it well into their later years? It is not self-evident that an eternity of bliss can right all wrongs, and it is especially controversial that an eternity of pain can set anything right. I learned at a young age that life isn't fair, and often times you just have to play the hand you're dealt, but D'Souza seems unsatisfied with living in reality. He wants that "happily ever after" at the end of the story. But even with it, life on Earth would remain unjust.

One of the most puzzling statements in the chapter is where D'Souza explains that "it is the essence of morality to operate against self-interest" (p. 235). Yet again this betrays his bias toward his favored moral framework: deontological ethics. Utilitarianism, egoism, and other consequentialist theories of morality actually operate by self-interest. Even deontology can be based on self-interest depending on the rules or duties one chooses to follow. If D'Souza considers the Golden Rule to be a moral duty - as it seems he does from the chapter - then his own framework is structured around self-interest, for how can the Golden Rule successfully promote good unless we have our best interests in mind when we consider how to treat others? Morality is not about working against self-interest, it is about using self-interest to interact with others. The very question of 'why be moral' is a question of self-interest.

No one should be surprised that D'Souza uncritically endorses C.S. Lewis' view that human conscience is "nothing other than the voice of God within our souls" (p. 237). He doesn't have much of anything else to go on for this chapter, and I suspected this was what D'Souza thinks before even reading it. There's something about naively simplistic answers that come with little to no supporting arguments that seem to resonate in D'Souza's mind on almost every page of What's So Great About Christianity. Dinesh, if your conscience inspired you to write half of what's in this book, then I'd say the god speaking to you is neither educated nor rational.

21 - The Ghost in the Machine: Why Man is More Than Matter

I've never understood why some people think that recognizing man as a purely natural organism, with no touch of the divine, will somehow devalue human life. Believing in a soul or 'godly image' in man hasn't stopped countless Christians, Muslims, Jews, and other religious believers from killing their fellow humans. There is no demonstrated progression from materialism to murder either. But D'Souza has it half right: man is more than matter. We are conscious, self-aware beings capable of forming advanced and meaningful relationships with one another. We are husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, parents and children. Though we may be composed only of matter, there is so much more to us than that. And there's no need to think the supernatural is involved.

For chapter twenty-one, D'Souza attempts to argue that there is something immaterial to humans, namely the soul. Once again, no definition is provided, and the sole (excuse the pun) argument given seems to revolve around the lack of a convincing naturalistic explanation for consciousness. D'Souza begins by disputing Richard Dawkins' suggestion that we may overcome our genetic imperative to reproduce.

What strikes me as far more strange is how D'Souza can believe in evolution, accept the descent of man from ancestral primates, and still think that modern humans hold some special place of advantage among the animal kingdom, thanks to a thing called the soul that's been bestowed on us by a supreme being. At what point did the soul come into the picture? If it's far back in the past, D'Souza runs the risk of implying that some other primates also have souls. But any point on the timeline will be arbitrarily chosen, because there is no indication in scripture or in science for when such an event of soul-installation may have happened. Does this not make it abundantly clear that D'Souza is more interested in the subject for religious reasons, rather than providing a real and useful explanation for the origin of consciousness?

It is possible for us to rebel against our genes because we have evolved into conscious beings that can make the choice to rebel. Computers, cheetahs, and meteors are incapable of choosing rebellion. They just don't have the mental equipment that we do. Consciousness may have arisen as an evolutionary advantage that allowed us to contemplate our actions and think about the world around us. An animal that is able to premeditate a course of behavior may be more likely to survive and prosper than one that does not. The fact that human beings dominate the earth in such large number today would seem to confirm this. In a bizarre way, natural selection gave us the ability to override its driving impulses, so that we might increase our odds of survival.

D'Souza's approach to consciousness is known as Cartesian dualism, which is the idea that the mind and the brain are separate things that interact with each other. Under this view, "I," or the self, is an immaterial phenomenon called the mind/soul, to be distinguished from the organ in our head called the brain. This is why D'Souza scoffs at the portrayal of the brain as "perceiving, feeling, thinking, or even being aware of anything" (p. 243). The self and the brain are distinctly different things to D'Souza. But his simple disagreement is not an argument against materialism. If the self is a product of the brain - the compilation of various perceptions, as David Hume believed - then it is fitting to say that the brain is actually responsible for perceiving, feeling, thinking, and awareness. Of course, this is much too great a subject for this review to cover, and it is still a hotly debated issue today, but the point here is that, once again, D'Souza pretends his bias is non-controversial fact.

The main argument made against materialism in the chapter seems to be the experience of "unity." Our author draws two analogies to Shakespeare's Othello and Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, saying that it would be inappropriate to reduce either one to a collection of words or a collection of notes. We experience them differently, just as we experience life as more than just matter interacting with other matter. But why is it that we find Othello and the Fifth Symphony to be more than the sum of their parts? It is because, through experience, we have given them purpose and meaning. As I said previously, I also think humans are more than bundles of atoms and molecules. We are more than that because of the purpose and meaning we give to our own lives, that we give to others, and which others give to us. It doesn't take a belief in the soul or anything supernatural to value human beings.

22 - The Imperial "I": When the Self Becomes the Arbiter of Morality

For the twenty-second chapter, D'Souza argues that secular morality elevates the individual as the source for a standard of right and wrong. "The 'culture wars' in America," he says, "involving issues like abortion, divorce, and homosexual marriage, can be largely understood as a clash between traditional morality and secular morality" (p. 251-252). While I would agree that an issue like gay marriage is mostly opposed on the basis of religious teaching, other issues, like abortion, and especially divorce, are far more diverse in reasoning than D'Souza suggests. Divorce is one of the most hotly debated subjects among modern Christians, and there are many who do use scripture and theology in support of their views, not preferring to simply leave religion out of it, as a secular moralist would. The same can certainly be said on the issue of abortion. These issues cannot be boiled down to religion versus secularism.

D'Souza explains that "Secular morality differs from Christianity not in rejecting the notion of the good but in positing a self-sufficient inner source for what is good" (p. 255). I think a better way of rephrasing this would be that while Christianity believes the individual consults an external source of morality by inner reflection, secular morality omits the belief in reaching that external source of morality. Secular morality is not even a denial of the divine, it is simply morality that is not dependent on religion. As I said before, the Golden Rule is an example of secular morality because it makes no appeal to gods, and it also assumes a self-sufficient inner source of morality, as D'Souza puts it. One wonders why D'Souza doesn't seem concerned with Jesus' advocacy of the Golden Rule, considering all the garbage Dinesh implicates as the result of secular morality in this chapter and the next. If it was good enough for Jesus, is it good enough for us?

The main criticism of secular morality offered by D'Souza is that it tolerates specific issues of which our author is not a fan. Aside from this, he claims that "Secular morality in most prevalent forms is irresponsible. It offers no check on those who invoke 'self-discovery' as an excuse to engage in behavior traditionally considered improper and immoral" (p. 258). I am of the opinion that issues like abortion, divorce, and homosexual marriage are not terrible immoralities that secularism is wicked for tolerating, and I am joined in this view by many non-secularists who happen to find no scriptural or theological reason for accepting D'Souza's fundamentalist interpretation. Remember when D'Souza told us all about his superior bible comprehension skills in the introduction? You may notice that he hasn't really made much use of them. Sure, he'll quote scripture when it suits his purposes, but there's almost never an actual exegesis or a critique of alternate interpretations. It's as if D'Souza wants his readers to assume that all true Christians think like he does, and if you don't, then you're just plain wrong.

Let's return for a moment to look at some of the more outlandish statements and implications made in this chapter. My personal favorite is the claim that "art has largely replaced religion as the institution to which secular people pay homage" (p. 256). Come again? No explanation or citation for this comment is given, making it hard to know exactly what D'Souza is referring to. Yet the National Endowment for the Arts reported in 2008 that there has been a long pattern of declining interest in the arts here in the United States [1]. According to a recent article in The New York Times, art institutions in Europe are also suffering, to the point that some have begun integrating advertisements [2]. Even if there was a rise in art interest corresponding to a decrease in religious observance, D'Souza's remark would still not fly, since correlation does not imply causation.

I'll bet you didn't know that Oprah's guests could be evidence for how secular morality retains some Christian influence. According to our author, the "confessions" of guests on the Oprah show and the general popularity of self-disclosure can be traced back to Christianity (p. 255). Yes, D'Souza apparently thinks that remorse itself is an originally Christian trait! Next thing you know, he'll be claiming that Christianity invented repentance. One primary thing Dinesh blames on secularism is the excuse of personal feeling: 'I felt like doing x, so I did,' or 'Love made me do it.' This, he suggests, has resulted in high divorce rates in the Western world, among other so-called ills. But what is the real difference between this and claiming that 'I felt the spirit tell me to do x, so I did,' or 'God made me do it'? D'Souza doesn't bother to account for these possible excuses for divorce, which I in fact heard from more than a few believers when I was a Christian.

Finally, it seems that in this chapter D'Souza throws his whole case straight out the window when he announces that the Christian solution is conscience (p. 258-259). Just how does this differ from relying on our "higher self" or that inner voice that Dinesh is so critical of secular morality for trusting? He may believe the human conscience is "nothing other than the voice of God," but it is ridiculous to make such a suggestion with no argument to back it up, while simultaneously attacking another morality that also advocates listening to our conscience. Everything D'Souza raises against secular morality can be raised against his Christian morality, now complicated by the addition of a god and its association with conscience. How does D'Souza know the inner voice he calls conscience isn't the devil speaking to him? How do you tell apart your own selfish voice from god's voice? Isn't it more dangerous to fool yourself into thinking you have a divine mandate from the creator than to think that you are simply internally wrestling with your own behavior and emotions?

23 - Opiate of the Morally Corrupt: Why Unbelief is So Appealing

In chapter twenty-three we have a new contender with chapter four as the worst and most presumptuous topic in What's So Great About Christianity. Although it's hard to beat the ravings of an ultra conservative Christian about the evil secular liberal education system, here D'Souza takes on the task of explaining the psychological appeal of unbelief. And wouldn't you know what his thesis is: the real reason people don't believe is because they want to sin! "[A]theism provides a hiding place for those who do not want to acknowledge and repent of their sins" (p. 267). Is it really that significant that atheists persist in "sin" when sin is a religious concept that the atheist rejects? Why would we feel the need to repent for blaspheming a god we don't believe in? D'Souza wants his readers to think that atheists have rejected faith specifically so that they can sin, but this is pure conjecture.

First of all, I have to agree with Dinesh that most of the attempts to psychoanalyze religious belief are unconvincing on the whole. The explanations offered by Marx and Freud are descriptive of many religious believers, to be sure, but they do not account for all believers. If D'Souza realizes this, he should also realize that, even if his caricature fits 75% of atheists, it doesn't serve as an explanation for the appeal of atheism itself. I don't doubt that there are atheists who are atheist because they dislike the constraints of religious morality, but this is no more of a basis for presuming an insight into the reason behind all atheism than it would be to presume that fear is the reason behind all religion because we've noticed a good number of fear-infested believers. How many times is this now that I've had to point out that correlation doesn't imply causation?

D'Souza seems to imply that most, if not all, atheists are incredibly immoral hedonists. But what does he base this claim on, and what does he think atheists are doing that is so condemnable? "It is chiefly because of sex that most contemporary atheists have chosen to break with Christianity," he states (p. 269). Sex? As in the illicit kind that our primarily Christian nation likes to engage in? D'Souza apparently believes that religion is so powerful that it drives some sinners to quit because they want to keep on sinning, and yet the statistics on adultery, divorce, and promiscuity in the United States are taken from a population that has the largest amount of Christians of any nation - over 220 million [3]. None of these men and women felt compelled to renounce their faith in order to commit these so-called sexual sins.

While we're on the subject, it seems that the idea of divine forgiveness is more likely to foster an apathy to sin than non-belief is. Atheists feel no guilt because we reject the concept of sin along with the existence of god. You can't really disobey an imaginary being. If a person is forgiven of sin, then they are freed of guilt as well. Acknowledging forgiveness means that the wrongdoing is left in the past, that we let bygons be bygons. It is taught in numerous passages of scripture that god remembers our sins no more once we are forgiven (Isaiah 43:25, Jeremiah 31:34, Hebrews 8:12). If anything is done with the intent of sinning without guilt, it seems that it would be accepting Jesus as your savior!

On the issue of sex, D'Souza quotes Bertrand Russell and Christopher Hitchens, hoping you will ignore the fact that neither one says anything about sexual immorality being the cause of their unbelief. Russell and Hitchens merely criticize religion's relationship with sex and Dinesh attempts to spin this into a confession about their ultimate reason for being atheists. Let's see how it looks when I play this game with D'Souza. In chapter 19, D'Souza downplays the oppression of the Spanish Inquisition and criticizes atheist use of the Inquisition as an example of religious violence and intolerance. This must mean that D'Souza is really a Christian because he wants to be allowed to torture, suppress, and murder anyone who disagrees with him. Do you see how absurd this presumption is? Least of all, an atheist denouncing sexual oppression in religion would not necessarily engage in the sexual freedoms they advocate, let alone partake of adultery or promiscuity, as D'Souza implies.

But the real icing on this turd cake of a chapter is the declaration that abortion is a "sacrament" of atheism (p. 269). "If America were a purely secular society," D'Souza says, "there would be no moral debate about child killing" (p. 271). This is ignorance and agenda-bias on a scale usually reserved for whackjobs like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell. Dinesh completely disregards groups like the Atheist and Agnostic Pro-Life League, which has been in operation since 1999, as well as the testimony of Christopher Hitchens, who is an outspoken pro-life atheist. Abortion is also accepted by many Christians, which D'Souza undoubtedly knows. There is absolutely no grounds for considering abortion an atheist "sacrament."

D'Souza stretches his argument paper thin while trying to argue that unbelief is the result of immoral behavior. It's never wise to presume someone else's motivations, since you can't get into their head. The only time one is really justified in making such a statement is when the person gives you enough information to form an accurate assessment, but even then that line is still not often easy to find. In the chapter, D'Souza not only assumes way more from his subjects' statements than he is warranted in assuming, but he goes further yet - claiming to uncover the real, hidden psychological motivation for unbelief that Hitchens, Dawkins, and other atheists would never fess up to in person. When one so detaches himself from reason and evidence in order to endorse a preconceived bias, he can make up any claim about motivation. What Dinesh D'Souza would never fess up to is that his whole reason for writing this book was not to argue the truth but to capitalize off his fellow religious conservatives.

24 - The Problem of Evil: Where is Atheism When Bad Things Happen?

In my critique of chapter three, I explained that atheism is not an ideology or even a belief itself, but is the absence of a belief (that being theism). For chapter twenty-four, D'Souza persists with his inaccurate and biased definition of atheism as ideology. "Atheism may have a better explanation for evil and suffering [than theism]," he admits, "but it provides no consolation for them" (p. 274). First of all, I object to the notion of atheism offering any explanation for evil and suffering. As the lack of belief in any god, the most atheism can say on such things is that they don't come from a deity. But describing what something is not is not the same as explaining what it is and why it exists. Atheism provides no explanation of evil and suffering, nor does it need to.

The same goes for consolation. Atheism is a response, a reactionary position, not an ideology or belief system that sells a bill of goods, like religion. If one is seeking consolation, there are plenty of ways to feel better about the problem of evil that anyone can participate in, such as doing humanitarian work to relieve suffering, keeping a good group of friends, and so forth. Of course, D'Souza wants more consolation than that, but pie-in-the-sky promises are often wishful thinking, and too much comfort is probably not desirable when there is so much injustice to be dealt with in this world.

Dinesh asks where atheism was after the Virginia Tech shooting, noting that religious sentiments seemed to dominate the media. Should this be surprising, given that the overwhelming majority of America is religious? In fact, this raises a big question about the implications drawn by D'Souza in the chapter. If these people have been conditioned to think that only a certain kind of consolation works for them, what is the real significance in atheism's absence from these predominantly religious crowds? Actually, then, atheism IS there for some people - for those who find consolation in knowing that evil is not an insurmountable cosmic force, and that an allegedly loving supreme being is not turning a blind eye to suffering throughout the world, because it doesn't exist. And just as atheist explanations may not console most religious Americans, religious explanations are unlikely to console non-religious persons. Realizing this, D'Souza's suggestion practically vaporizes.

This mishmash of muddled logic shows just what an amateur philosopher D'Souza is. We are certainly not rivers. We are complex sentient beings that form attachments, have memories, and much more. These facts hold true even if we are purely material beings, which means that the comparison in D'Souza's analogy is unsuitable. We are capable of objecting, yet a river cannot object, nor can it feel or think. D'Souza plays dumb about the reality of differing types of material arrangements, some which constitute beings like ourselves, and others which constitute non-living, non-sentient pathways of water. Our author also takes it for granted that we can distinguish between good and evil, when this apprehension of right and wrong is nowhere near as clear cut as he makes it sound. Just look at the diversity of views among Christians regarding what is and is not sinful. Sure, there may be some things we usually recognize as bad, and others we usually recognize as good, but generally popular moral sentiments are no reason for presuming the existence of an external moral standard. Finally, D'Souza's ending question from this excerpt amounts to an argument from ignorance. Your inability to imagine what other source could account for a moral standard does not justify you in plugging in whatever you prefer as the answer.

Free will is a common excuse among Christian apologists for the existence of evil, and D'Souza invokes it too on page 277. Such an argument presumes that there is greater good in allowing choice than in eliminating evil, but this has yet to be demonstrated, it carries some troubling theological implications, and it is a problem that goes entirely unacknowledged by D'Souza. Evil being a product of free will is not a view that finds any support in scripture. Still, D'Souza assures us that "In no way is God responsible for evil; He is responsible only for using evil to bring forth good" (p. 278). But if god operates by a perfect plan and if he created all that exists, then it stands to reason that god is responsible for evil, since he would have to allow for its existence so that it would serve in his plan to bring about good. Evil, under this view, is a means to an end for god, and Christians ask us to believe that, in this case, the end does justify the means. Couldn't an all-powerful deity have done things differently, though, giving us free will without the byproducts of evil and suffering? Isn't that what Christians believe Eden and heaven are like?

D'Souza believes that "the only way for us to really triumph over evil and suffering is to live forever in a place where those things do not exist" (p. 279). The irony is that D'Souza also believes those who reject his Jesus will be spending their eternity in a place of tremendous suffering along with those who have committed atrocious evils. So "those things" will certainly exist in the afterlife, but they will be out of sight and out of mind. The triumph is not ours, then, and not even god's, because evil and suffering will persist. In fact, it seems like they will be preserved for all eternity thanks to D'Souza's god! On the other hand, if death is the end, we will no longer be plagued by such problems when we die. It turns out that materialism is what truly provides a release from evil and suffering.

Part VIII: Christianity and You

25 - Jesus among Other Gods: The Uniqueness of Christianity

If you were to personally interview a number of conservative Christians and ask them to explain how Christianity is different from other religions, it's very likely that you'd hear just about the same thing from each of them. D'Souza's case for the uniqueness of Christianity contains lines that I was exposed to in youth group, during sermons, while studying apologetics, and while reading various internet forums and websites. The number one mantra of conservative Christianity for this topic seems to be that other religions are about man trying to work his way to god, but Christianity is about how god worked his way to man. D'Souza expresses this view on page 286.

It deserves to be pointed out that this idea causes a lot of theological dissonance. If Christianity is not about man's effort to reach god, like with those other religions, then is it really appropriate to say that people accept Jesus as their savior? Rather, it seems that Jesus accepts them, but if this is the case, then where does free will or choice come into it? People like D'Souza make a big fuss about how god wants 'willing believers,' not flesh-covered robots, and yet this would imply that man does play a role in reaching out to god. It may be more subtle than in Judaism or Islam, where rituals are regularly performed as part of the religion, but Christianity is still a human attempt to connect with the divine, and pretending otherwise won't make it so.

Oddly, D'Souza bashes reformed Jews and Muslims for 'giving up' on their religious codes (p. 288), yet seems to ignore the fact that Christianity itself is a massive abandonment of the laws of Judaism. Sure, Dinesh would probably object to calling it that, specifying that god just "fulfilled" his law by Jesus' sacrifice. But since Christians no longer observe the food commandment, and many don't consider circumcision to be anything more than a preference or choice now, it is undeniable that Christianity has dropped some of the religious code it originated from, and is, in a sense, a kind of reformed Judaism. What's the big deal about changing one's view on a religious code anyway? Didn't Dinesh just get through saying that Christianity is unique (and he would presumably say it's better too) among other religions because it doesn't have that aspect of man trying to reach god by his own actions? Following a code of laws would be an example of just that.

Another unique aspect of Christianity, according to D'Souza, is that "in order to enter God's kingdom we must be perfect. Not good, but perfect" (p. 288). This, he says, is impossible for humans to achieve on their own, which is where the sacrifice of Christ comes in. Even if this is a feature that's truly unique to Christianity, it strikes me as a condemnable difference rather than a praiseworthy one. It's significant that D'Souza explains that it's not about being good, it's being perfect, because the way in which perfection is understood in his brand of Christianity makes goodness completely irrelevant. It doesn't matter how good you are in this life, because the only way to salvation is to believe in Jesus. You can be a horrid monster to everyone around you, you could rape and kill children your entire life, and if you sincerely repent before you die, then god will accept you into his kingdom. This is one of those unique features that shows what's so wrong about Christianity, or at least what's wrong with D'Souza's conservative brand of it.

Finally, D'Souza asserts that the notion of god becoming a man is unique to Christianity. The problem with this claim is that there are various ideas of the incarnation, and it's not quite clear when the idea of god becoming a mortal man really emerged. The synoptic gospels give, at best, a portrait of a man called Jesus who has some relationship to the divine, though it is never explicitly stated that he is god in the flesh. John's gospel, written nearly 60 to 70 years after Jesus' alleged death, gives a very different picture of Christ as a divine being, but here his humanity is now downplayed. Early Christians debated the incarnation fiercely, with some believing Jesus was merely a human messenger of god, others considering him to be a purely spiritual being, and still others believing something in between. It wasn't until 325 CE, at the Council of Nicea, that the doctrine of the incarnation - as understood by D'Souza - was finally put into writing and became the predominant view. So this unique feature may have developed from later believers.

If there's one thing in this chapter that I can agree with D'Souza on, it would be that all religions are not the same, nor can each one really be called a path to god. Christianity makes very distinct claims from Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and other religions. I have no trouble agreeing that there are unique aspects to Christianity, but where I part company with Dinesh is in his belief that these differences somehow reveal the superiority of Christianity. Common themes don't necessarily reveal that there is some universal truth behind it all, neither does uniqueness necessarily mean a greater chance of truth.

26 - A Foretaste of Eternity: How Christianity Can Change Your Life

Part eight is what the entirety of What's So Great About Christianity should have focused on. Why is Christianity appealing? What are the reasons for belief? How can Christianity benefit me, as opposed to any other religion, or to abstaining from religion? These are the questions that can make a case for the perceived greatness of something. Instead, D'Souza has spent much of the book making razor thin arguments based on correlation, tying Christians into abolitionism, science, reason, and other Western developments. Even if his claims are true, it doesn't give us reason to think Christianity is great, only that these certain Christians were great people. Even if Christianity did provide a thought, verse, or concept that inspired a particular movement that we value in the West, it doesn't mean Christianity alone was responsible or that only Christianity could account for such a thing. Inspiration comes by many different avenues, as does greatness. And this is where D'Souza's case for Christianity is most inadequate: it persistently fails to explain why Christianity's greatness should matter.

In the final chapter of the book, we are given several benefits of Christianity. It makes sense of who we are, it gives purpose to life, it teaches that it's better to suffer wrong than to do wrong, it enables us to become better persons... but why does any of this matter? D'Souza is making the case for Christianity as some kind of self-improvement therapy, but not as a source of truth. On the one hand, I think this is the best chapter in the book, because it avoids the farsical accusations against atheism and secularism, it omits the philosophical arguments for god that only truly supplement faith, and it cuts right to the core of why D'Souza believes and the strength and encouragement he finds in his religion. This is all well and good for a personal testimony, but on the other hand it doesn't establish that Christianity is great. Truth, I believe, is always greater than comfort or personal utility. If there's no reason to think that Christianity is true, then its greatness occupies the same gallery as any other greatness found in mythology, fiction, poetry, and the other religions.

To show the reality of this, let's take a few of the benefits D'Souza attributes to Christianity and see how they can apply to other religions, maybe even sources outside of religion. "Christianity makes sense of who we are in the world" (p. 300). What religion doesn't attempt to account for humanity's place in the universe? Creation myths abound in ancient history and each one provides a theory on how we got here and where we stand amidst the rest of the cosmos. "Christianity also infuses life with a powerful and exhilirating sense of purpose." Krishnans can and do say the same about their religion. Even a musician like myself could say that music has infused my life with a powerful and exhilirating sense of purpose. "The Christian knows that... it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong" (p. 301). Non-violence is the cornerstone of Jainism, and Buddhists and Krishnans could also make such a statement regarding their own religions. Despite D'Souza's assertion here, some Christians have adopted the opposite view, preferring to oppress others, such as homosexuals, instead of 'suffering' the tolerance of gay marriage.

"Christianity also offers a solution to the cosmic loneliness we feel" (p. 301). Frankly, I don't feel any "cosmic" loneliness when I've got plenty of family and friends to actually interact with in this life, but such a need (assuming it isn't just apologetic lip service) could be met by any religion that posits cosmic beings or forces. "Another benefit of Christianity is that it helps us to cope well with suffering and death." Denying the finality of death is coping with death in the same way that denying the severity of pain is coping with pain. It may provide superficial comfort, but there's no guarantee that it's any better than simply accepting the intensity of pain or the permanence of death. "Christianity enables us to become the better persons we want to be." I prefer to say that hard work and diligence are the root cause of that, not Christianity, but once again, a Muslim, Buddhist, Krishnan, or other religious believer could make the very same claim.

But it's not just about making the same claims, it's also about the fact that there is no demonstrable reason for assuming that a Muslim is any worse off in these benefits than a Christian. Or that a religious believer is any better off than an atheist. What can D'Souza say to those of us who don't feel his "cosmic loneliness" and who find greater comfort in accepting the finality of death than pretending that life goes on? He may suspect we're lying or that our lives are emptier because of it, but this is why, as I said, it's unwise to presume the feelings and motivations of others without good reason. I am a genuinely happier person now as an atheist; while I used to dread and fear death as a Christian, I consider it no threat as a non-believer.

D'Souza concludes the book by discussing Christianity's promise of an end to this world, saying "come, Lord Jesus. We are ready." It's interesting that there is no wrap-up to recall and justify the greatness of Christianity. Instead we have something more like a benediction from a sermon, and perhaps this once again reveals D'Souza's true aim behind the book, not as an intellectual case for Christianity, but as a devotional intended to placate a certain audience of believers distressed by the so-called New Atheists. Nonetheless, we find very little about Christianity that can be called great in D'Souza's book. What we do find are plenty of half-truths, whitewashings of history, fallacious arguments, and non sequiturs in practically every single chapter. I give What's So Great About Christianity 2 out of 5 facepalming Jesuses.

           

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3. (2000) Christian Statistics: The Largest Christian Populations. Adherents.com. Retrieved Oct. 19, 2011.