A philosopher who is honest about the source of his atheism

My favourite living philosopher may be Thomas Nagel. I found his book, What does it all mean? A Very Short Introduction to Philosophy very helpful.

In a 2003 he wrote a fascinating essay about the relationship between physics, biology, and his atheism. In the following, he is refreshingly honest.

"Even without God, the idea of a natural sympathy between the deepest truths of nature and the deepest layers of the human mind, which can be exploited to allow gradual development of a truer and truer conception of reality, makes us more at home in the universe than is secularly comfortable. The thought that the relation between mind and the world is something fundamental makes many people in this day and age nervous. I believe this is one manifestation of a fear of religion which has large and often pernicious consequences for modern intellectual life.

In speaking of the fear of religion, I don't mean to refer to the entirely reasonable hostility toward certain established religions and religious institutions, in virtue of their objectionable moral doctrines, social policies, and political influence. Nor am I referring to the association of many religious beliefs with superstition and the acceptance of evident empirical false‐hoods. I am talking about something much deeper—namely, the fear of religion itself. I speak from experience, being strongly subject to this fear myself: I want atheism to be true and am made uneasy by the fact that some of the most intelligent and well‐informed people I know are religious

believers. It isn't just that I don't believe in God and, naturally, hope that I'm right in my belief. It's that I hope there is no God! I don't want there to be a God; I don't want the universe to be like that.

My guess is that this cosmic authority problem is not a rare condition and that it is responsible for much of the

scientism and reductionism of our time. One of the tendencies it supports is the ludicrous overuse of evolutionary biology to explain everything about life, including everything about the human mind. Darwin enabled modern secular culture to heave a great collective sigh of relief, by apparently providing a way to eliminate purpose, meaning, and design as fundamental features of the world. Instead they become epiphenomena, generated incidentally by a process that can be entirely explained by the operation of the nonteleological laws of physics on the material of which we and our environments are all composed. There might still be thought to be a religious threat in the existence of the laws of physics themselves, and indeed the existence of anything at all—but it seems to be less alarming to most atheists."

The Last Word (Oxford UP, 2003), Chapter 7, "Evolutionary Naturalism and the Fear of Religion, pages 130-1. 

I first became aware of this quotation through a sermon at church by Jeremy Wales in August 2025.

Engaging Biblical narratives of violence against women

This month at the theology reading group, we are discussing "Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives" by Phyllis Trible. I read the 40th Anniversary edition that has a beautiful foreword by Gale Yee, highlighting the enduring influence of the book.

It is not a comfortable read due to the content. Trible expounds four Old Testament texts that recount terrifying violence against women:

1. Hagar: The Desolation of Rejection (Genesis 16:1-16, 21:9-21)

2. Tamar: The Royal Rape of Wisdom (2 Samuel 13:1-22)

3. An Unnamed Woman: The Extravagance of Violence (Judges 19:1-30)

4. The Daughter of Jephthah: An Inhuman Sacrifice (Judges 11:29-40)

Her methodology combines a feminist reading with rhetorical (literary) criticism. The former

interprets stories of outrage on behalf of their female victims in order to recover a neglected history, to remember a past that the present embodies, and to pray that these terrors shall not come to pass again. In telling sad stories, a feminist hermeneutic seeks to redeem the time. (page 3)

With the latter

"accent is upon the inseparability of form, content, and meaning; the rhetorical formation of sentences, episodes, and scenes as well as overall design and plot structure; and the portrayal of characters, most especially the violated women.

If literary criticism is the methodology and feminism the perspective, Jacob’s wrestling at the Jabbok provides the story for our journey (Gen. 32:22– 32)...

As a paradigm for encountering terror, this story offers sustenance for the present journey. To tell and hear tales of terror is to wrestle demons in the night, without a compassionate God to save us. In combat we wonder about the names of the demons. Our own names, however, we all too frightfully recognize. The fight itself is solitary and intense. We struggle mightily, only to be wounded. But yet we hold on, seeking a blessing: the healing of wounds and the restoration of health. If the blessing comes—and we dare not claim assurance—it does not come on our terms. Indeed, as we leave the land of terror, we limp." (pages 3-5)

Each chapter has a frontpiece of a sketch of a gravestone memorialising the afflicted woman featured in the chapter. 

The most striking thing about the book is just how disturbing these texts are. The violence itself is chilling but made even more disturbing by the context and fallout, and the duplicity, deception, passivity, and rationalisation of some of the protagonists and observers. Furthermore, where is God?

The two things I appreciated most about the book was how Trible is so respectful of the Biblical text and how attentive she is to details (particularly in the original Hebrew) in order to wrestle with it and extract something from it.

Here are some examples. The first shows the use of names/identities in the interactions between Sarah and Hagar.

The presence of Ishmael in Canaan plagues the future of Isaac, whose inheritance is threatened. In her move to eliminate the danger, Sarah debases Hagar and Ishmael while exalting herself and Isaac. The phrase “her son,” without the name Ishmael, counters “my son . . . Isaac.” The description “this slave woman,” rather than “my maid” (cf. 16:2), increases distance between Hagar and Sarah. Not only is the possessive adjective my missing, but also a change in nouns connotes a change in status. From being a maid (šipḥâ) to Sarai in scene one, Hagar has become a slave (’āmâ), serving the master of the house as his second wife. By contrast, Sarah, the first wife, enjoys power greater than ever because she has born a son. As the life of the mistress has prospered, the lot of the servant woman has worsened.

With a disturbing twist, the words of Sarah anticipate vocabulary and themes from the Exodus narrative. When plagues threatened the life of his firstborn son, Pharaoh cast out (gr!) the Hebrew slaves. Like that monarch, Sarah the matriarch wants to protect the life of her own son by casting out (gr!) Hagar the slave. Having once fled from affliction (16:6b), Hagar continues to prefigure Israel’s story even as Sarah foreshadows Egypt’s role. Irony abounds. (pages 20-1)

 A second example involves noting feminine verb forms that are not present in English.

Hagar wept. Pointedly, the Hebrew text says, “She lifted up her voice and she wept” (21:16c). From ancient times, however, translators have robbed this woman of her grief by changing the unambiguous feminine verb forms to masculine constructions. Such alterations make the child lift up his voice and weep. But masculine emendations cannot silence Hagar. A host of feminine verb forms throughout this section witness unmistakably to her tears: she departed and she wandered in the wilderness; she found a place for the child to die; she kept a vigil; and she uttered the dread phrase, “the death of the child.” Now, as she sits at a distance from death, she lifts up her voice and she weeps. Her grief, like her speech, is sufficient unto itself. She does not cry out to another; she does not beseech God. A madonna alone with her dying child, Hagar weeps. (pages 24-5).

A third example is the use of a chiasmus (a symmetrical literary structure where something (words, concepts,...) is repeated in the reverse order). This is used in the description of the rape of Tamar by her brother Amnon.

In this central unit, form and content yield a flawed chiasmus that embodies irreparable damage for the characters. Amnon’s commands and various responses to them mark the beginning and the end. Within the inclusio Amnon and Tamar are the sole participants. In the first half come his command and her response, followed by a conversation between the two. In the corresponding section of the second half, their conversation collapses into his command and her response. The rape itself constitutes the center of the chiasmus. This design verifies the message of the preceding circular patterns: Tamar is entrapped for rape.

a Amnon’s command to the servants and their response (13:9de)

b Amnon’s command to Tamar and her response (13:10– 11a)

c Conversation between Amnon and Tamar (13:11b– 14a)

d Rape (13:14b– 15b)

c′- b′ Conversation between Amnon and Tamar: Amnon’s command to Tamar and her response (13:15c– 16)

a′ Amnon’s command to a servant and his response (13:17– 18)  (pages 43-4)

Trible's attention to these details helps us appreciate more the careful construction of the Biblical texts. Moreover, we experience the power of the text.