Chapter 2: Divine Hiddenness
- Andrew Mytaf
- Jan 28
- 21 min read
Updated: Mar 19
When adopting the stance of a religious advocate, the first challenge is to address the apparent absence of rational justifications for divine concealment. This issue, known as the "argument from divine hiddenness" as articulated by Schellenberg, often divides into two main parts.
The initial argument suggests that if, as many religious beliefs hold, God desires the flourishing of His creation, and if this well-being depends on understanding and emulating its divine source, then it would be reasonable for an omnipotent God to make such comprehension as accessible as possible. Absolute Love, if it exists, should surely be evident in every conceivable form of engagement (within human constraints). If our capacity for understanding could one day be expanded, what logic explains why this privilege is withheld now—especially if God is as omnipotent as claimed?
The second part of the argument naturally follows: this situation appears to create artificial grounds for sceptics to reject God—not from unwillingness, but from genuine misunderstanding. These individuals, known as "non-resistant non-believers," find themselves in the peculiar position of having their very honesty act as a barrier to belief.
Alex O'Connor, a young philosopher known for his unique approach to sceptical discourse, articulates this issue aptly: "Why would we need to search for an almighty God through a microscope, merely observing 'the works of His hands'? Why doesn't He just manifest Himself and put an end to all the disputes and misinterpretations of His will (which arguably have caused more harm than disbelief itself)? Instead, we're left with subjective experiences that are hard to distinguish from self-suggestion. One could confidently assert that the religious majority has not arrived at their belief in God's existence through reasoned argument!"
Imagine, even just once, a clear, undeniable "Here I am!"—personalised for each individual if necessary—that would allow people to understand and live by true norms of good and evil. Wouldn't God, by doing so, transform many of His adversaries into allies and collaborators?
The common response to this dilemma questions the sincerity of the sceptic's openness and honesty. For example, in one survey, 87% of atheists reported that they could not envision any evidence that would convince them of God's existence. However, this survey doesn't represent all atheists worldwide. Furthermore, just because someone doubts a particular argument's persuasive power doesn't mean they would reject it after careful consideration if it proved genuinely compelling.
A thought experiment serves as a further illustration: if the Almighty were to reveal Himself to all humanity at once, how could we distinguish this event from a mass hallucination or an advanced hoax? Even when faced with seemingly incontrovertible evidence, a sceptic could still argue that the most plausible explanation would be an unknown natural phenomenon, a global prank, or the intervention of a highly advanced extra-terrestrial civilisation. To avoid circular logic, an atheist might argue that while they do not know what would convince them, God certainly would—and if God chooses not to reveal this, He either does not wish to or does not exist.
I intend to approach Schellenberg's argument without pretending I can revitalise it entirely or make it less unpalatable to the sceptic. Yet, I can clarify a few key aspects:
The concept of a "non-resistant non-believer" should not be dismissed outright; doing so would be intellectually dishonest and unfair to those who genuinely claim such openness. However, those identifying as non-resistant must acknowledge that definitions come with logical criteria. For instance, this description may not fully apply to someone who dismisses anything beyond physical reality, despite admitting that God, by definition, transcends it. Here, we see openness to tangible experience but not to the probability of God's existence—certainly not a willingness to seek explanations for the lack of tangible experience. (We'll set aside, for now, objections about self-deception in these matters.)
The most sincere approach would involve not only seeking a rational basis for the origins of physical reality, which could form a bridge to broader understanding, but also proposing the most plausible model for a transcendent reality. This does not imply convincing oneself of anything improbable; rather, it entails constructing a logical framework that elevates humanity’s intrinsic aspirations towards the transcendent, channelling them into a path promoting societal development—much like how the systematisation of natural patterns once transformed isolated alchemists into a cohesive scientific community. Consequently, the clearest marker of a sceptic’s openness is an active pursuit of a model aligned with physical evidence, logical reasoning, and intuitive morality—creating a coherent framework that can be recognized as the most probable or, at the very least, the most constructive, capable of coexisting with standard conceptions of reality.
Non-resistant sceptics may indeed be rare, as suggested by the prevalent tone in atheistic discourse—one shaped by evolutionary biases, a drive for group loyalty, and the personal commitment to uphold one's ideological "tribe." In this context, accusations from the theistic community that an 'agnostic' may, in fact, be adopting the reverse stance—merely posing as open to seeking God—are not entirely unfounded. The impulse for group solidarity may unconsciously shape openness, leaning towards loyalty to pre-existing beliefs rather than an unbiased search.
Of course, no one questions the sincerity of openness to physical data—that is the essence of materialism, though it does not convey the meaning implied by the concept of a non-resistant non-believer. From those who claim to be 'non-resistant non-believers,' one might expect to hear statements like, "I'd accept such-and-such a God," "I'd appreciate these or those qualities in Him," or "Given the existence of God, I'd interpret worldly phenomena in this way." Ultimately, such a person is often sketching an idea of God they would find acceptable, independent of what actually unfolds in the world.
If someone fails to develop any conceptual model capable of explaining factual reality, they will likely not accept any model of God, even if it fully aligns with and explains all observable processes. Moreover, such a person might even reject a real God, should one manifest, for we often accept facts we don't prefer or desire. If those facts could be altered at will, we'd likely reshape them to create our ideal world—an attitude even more readily applied to matters that lie within the hypothetical realm.
For example, I am not open to the existence of mermaids. Not only do they defy the factual basis of reality, but even if explained by some form of magic—such as an ability to whimsically transform atoms or through parallel worlds—I would still find the concept unappealing. If I could erase the idea by thought alone, I certainly would. I feel no need to pursue rationalisations. Even if I tried, the ‘mermaid’ would lose its original form. I might stretch its tail back over a billion years, connecting it to ancestral fish. Alternatively, I might reimagine it as a rational entity, evolving new properties. In that sense, my stance is firmly ‘anti-mermaid.’
If reality were to reveal itself full of absurdities beyond rational explanation, I certainly would not attempt to survive or adapt to it; I would behave as disoriented as a shell-shocked soldier wandering blankly through cannon fire. In such a scenario, it would make more sense to imagine something grander—an extraordinary concept that transcends limitations and aligns with coherence and purpose. It hardly matters what phrase or image you attach to this. Just as a Darwinist has no real preference for calling it the 'tree of evolution' over, say, the image of a 'mermaid,' a 'unicorn,' or even a 'leprechaun'—what's essential is that the content aligns with logical structure and physical data. This would sound no more mystifying, after all, than the term "disharmonious coevolution of molecular mimicries."
But what about those who claim to have fully immersed themselves in theistic concepts, explored them deeply, and then found rational explanations for them within psychology? Can this be reconciled with the God hypothesis?
Let us assume that God intentionally creates a balance where enough evidence exists to support belief in God, while equally compelling evidence allows one to live without Him, with no force strong enough to compel a choice against one's will. If someone doubts, they exercise their freedom to reject such a reality. There must always be room to say, "What if the sense of God interacting with me is just a statistical coincidence, and the warm feelings from the internal dialogue are psychosomatic, like the placebo effect?" Without the right to such a conclusion, one would be imprisoned by obligation, trapped in an alien reality, dictated by external circumstances and the desire for acceptance within their community.
True freedom is the right to ask, "What if God isn't good?" or "What if God isn't God but a superstition stopping people from living fully?" One could then look around and see confirmation of this, realising how religion has affected the world, forced them to live under control, stolen their life, and left only scars. Reaching this conclusion means they have crossed a threshold to a reality that feels closer and more just.
There is also a third possibility: an inner draw to the idea of the absolute and the moral principles it represents while rejecting religious institutions and their interpretations. Such a person re-examines their perception of God, and either finds a religious community that aligns with their sensibilities or remains isolated, believing in the absolute or at least admitting its possibility, becoming an open-minded agnostic. It must be noted that this is a delicate state, one not everyone can reach!
Sceptics might see such openness as a form of self-delusion rather than genuine receptivity to reality. Yet we can all agree that human perception is inherently limited; even with our most advanced tools, we cannot claim to have reached the fundamental essence of reality. Therefore, when someone claims to be open to a hypothetical aspect of reality but insists it must conform to observable constraints, they may, in fact, be closing themselves off to the concept of absolute reality.
If we think of God as creating a world balanced between belief and non-belief, divine hiddenness might be viewed as an act of cosmic diplomacy. Imagine a reality where enough evidence exists for those inclined to believe while space for doubt remains for the sceptical. There are no grand miracles—no booming voices—only a quiet invitation, a subtle hint. For the agnostic seeking irrefutable proof, this subtlety may feel evasive, yet perhaps it reflects God's respect for human agency. The ability to say "no" becomes as meaningful as the ability to say "yes." In this light, God's hiddenness is not an absence but a profound acknowledgement of human autonomy, allowing each person to chart their own path to happiness.
Imagine, then, being part of a community where a peculiar condition causes generations to be born blind. Now, a revelation suggests that it is possible to perceive the volume and distance of objects without touch. The community might admit this as a theoretical possibility, though it contradicts their lived reality. They may express openness if shown how to sense volume at a distance with their fingers, noting the value of such an ability. Yet, the breakthrough lies in an internal shift and the will to perceive—training dormant parts of the mind. Some might eventually succeed, unable to provide concrete evidence to others. Others might dismiss any fleeting perceptions as wishful thinking, mere trans-tactile imagination. Some would assert that only tangible touch matters, seeing any suggestion otherwise as self-deception.
But there would be a rare few who, despite initial failure, stay open continuing to seek reasons why it hasn't worked, ways to refine the approach, and what it might mean to truly see if it ever did work.
Hidden Love as a Form of Preserving Personality
To unpack the first part of Schellenberg's syllogism on divine hiddenness, we need to navigate a complex maze of reasoning, which I'll delve into more deeply in later chapters. For now, one plausible way to justify the dilemma of God's hiddenness is to demonstrate logically that revealing Himself to humanity would ultimately cause more harm than anticipated benefit.
One possible rationale worth exploring—and which leads us into a thicket of further questions—is the value of making decisions without undue influence. Consider the commonly accepted practice of election silence, a brief period before voting when all campaigning ceases. This tradition acknowledges our tendency to be swayed by the most vivid and recent impressions rather than by careful evaluation of options. We're rather like moths, drawn towards the brightest light, especially in the absence of thoughtful reflection.
Similarly, witness protection laws shield people from intimidation, recognising that fear can derail both objectivity and sincerity. One could cite various other examples where keeping something hidden serves a greater good, but there's no need to belabour the point.
But should objectivity and sincerity be prioritised when it's someone's happiness or misery at stake? Why not breach the rule of silence if we know with certainty that one candidate's victory would eradicate world suffering? Or why not permit fear of supernatural power to sway us into accepting laws that some might find unreasonable? If a hypothetical deity were indeed perfect and His laws genuinely beneficial, wouldn't a bit of pressure to obey them seem, well, justifiable?
Yet some individuals might envision God, virtue, and justice in entirely different terms, to the extent that they would choose any fate—whether eternal suffering, oblivion, or endless reincarnation—over living under such values if they felt them morally oppressive.
And yet, humanity has always known how easily coercion—whether through torture or subtler psychological means—can force even the firmest principles to bend. Sometimes, just the sight or that piercing, high-pitched cry of a spirit standing defiant (let's call him R. Hawkins, for argument's sake) is enough to make even the most steadfast pause. (Naturally, any resemblance to actual persons, living or otherwise, is entirely coincidental). Even without the looming threat of torture, the mere thought of endless existence—or, indeed, the utter void of non-existence—can be enough to prod people into compliance for the sake of securing a place among the favoured few.
This dynamic is vividly illustrated in societies where personality cults take root. Take, for example, an incident from 1968 when Pakistan's foreign minister visited China and gifted Mao Zedong a consignment of mangoes. Mao, in turn, distributed the fruit to workers, who revered it as if it were sacred. Factories displayed mangoes in untouched splendour, and in one instance, a mango on the verge of decay was ceremoniously boiled in water, so each worker could taste the resulting broth. For years, China witnessed the rise of a mango cult, complete with parades of mango effigies and plastic replicas for sale, rooted in a single, silent gesture from Mao.
Even the most 'rational' members of secular societies are not exempt from such forces. If, for instance, the scientific establishment were to make an offhand gesture akin to Mao's with his mangoes, even the most mundane object could become a national symbol. Should such an authority stage a global social experiment (claiming, for example, that receiving electric shocks outperforms physical exercise, video games cultivate minds better than books, chocolate rivals fruit as a health food, or that necrophilia has a genetic basis), the public would rush to quote obscure studies, convoluted theories, and complex causal links—essentially, to defer to authority. This would occur largely because few would truly grasp the processes at play or possess the means to challenge them. If a minority of independent scientists offered alternative theories, they'd likely be overlooked. Evolution has conditioned us to follow the dominant tribe, even at the expense of our comfort, contentment, or moral compass.
Eternal, tacit agreement with what one subconsciously perceives as unjust and absurd can hardly be called bliss. True, there are those who rise above evolutionary instinct (or, for the theists among us, the baser instincts of the flesh), but God must take into account the majority, not just the exceptions. Even if we assume that these exceptions form a minority, it is for their sake that God should maintain a divine silence and take the necessary time to discern their true desires.
Those who, even in life, demonstrate an inclination toward the absolute good for humanity over subjective biases would naturally expect a rational scenario after death. In such a scenario, each person would be judged based on how they envisioned goodness, love, and perfect virtue: whether they substituted clear societal good with tribal allegiances or ambitions of superiority, indulged in fleeting pleasures at the expense of long-term harm (merely because of their own weaknesses), relied on biased yet intuitively inconsistent statistics for the sake of that same sense of superiority, or narrowly interpreted facts through an ideological lens while semi-consciously avoiding personal distress. Did they succumb to intellectual laziness, failing to forecast the consequences of their actions? In essence, did they contribute to that kaleidoscopic tapestry we call life?
The human brain, as studies in neurobiology and cognitive psychology reveal, functions with an almost existential mechanism for self-preservation. According to neuroscientist David Eagleman, when individuals encounter facts that challenge their beliefs, they don't assess them for truth as much as for their alignment with pre-existing values. Neuroimaging has shown that confronting contradictory information activates the same brain regions as physical pain. This explains why people tenaciously hold on to their beliefs despite contrary evidence—changing one's mind is, quite literally, 'painful' for the brain.
Rising above this intrinsic, self-defensive instinct to pursue the objective good is no minor feat; it is an endeavour worthy of recognition. Those who genuinely empathise with the notion of an objective good may eventually embrace it after death. However, every worldview harbours its own biases, so expecting universal agreement—even under perfect conditions—remains unrealistic. If we consider that God embodies goodness, He would not permit an enduring inner conflict for those who, even after full comprehension, reject His vision of goodness. Human beings are not easily swayed, even with complete understanding.
Imagine the irritation when a teenager informs you that your three-year-old iPhone could have had Face ID instead of displaying a passcode trail on the screen. Or consider António Egas Moniz, the Nobel laureate who devoted his life to advocating for lobotomy, steadfastly defending it even as evidence mounted against its ethical standing and it faced legal bans. Moniz continued to deny the harmful consequences of this procedure until the end of his life, showcasing that people often cling to familiar beliefs more tenaciously than to objective reality itself.
These examples illustrate that some individuals would reject a reality contradicting their beliefs, making earthly revelation insufficient for universal acceptance. For some, divine revelation would intensify internal turmoil, making life unbearable. In such a context, divine manifestation might create more suffering than divine concealment. Some might argue, "Yes, some would suffer mentally, but wouldn't God's revelation reduce evil, much like police presence deters crime?"
On the contrary, those suffering—whose numbers may be unpredictable—could channel their anguish outward, inciting further turmoil. Consider individuals who, in desperation, have sought to harm others to share their pain, such as those who, in a fit of despair, stab strangers with infected needles. Thus, divine revelation would not merely serve as a catalyst for contemplation; it would necessitate constant intervention in human affairs. In such a case, it becomes reasonable to speak not only of God's revelation as a source of guidance and decision-making but also of intervention in ongoing lawlessness and the need for perpetual oversight.
And if God is omnipotent, would we not expect prevention rather than post-facto punishment? This raises the question: should evil thoughts be pre-emptively eradicated? Yet doing so would strip humans of their capacity for conscious choice, erasing not only the option to choose evil but also the ability to choose good. If the 'good' were programmed as a default, the essence of love itself would dissolve, for love, at its core, is the internal process of choice which defines preference.
Consider why we thank those who help us—it's not just for the help itself but for the knowledge that they put our needs above their own. If beings were programmed to choose good by default, the concept of gratitude would cease to activate any reward in the brain. We might thank the programmer but never the programme. This would disable the primary motivators of human behaviour, the pleasure of feeling needed and appreciated, rendering relationships and interactions devoid of significance. (The arguments for this thesis are too extensive for one chapter, so they are scattered across others and may merit a separate book).
Finally, consider this: you wouldn't believe yourself capable of loving porridge if it were the only dish ever served. True goodness must emerge from the potential for its opposite.
Alternative Versions
One approach to addressing this dilemma is to preserve human desires and free will while nullifying the physical consequences of negative intent. This could involve prohibiting alterations to physical reality, resulting in a paradise governed by God's unchanging principles, yet maintaining human will and the drive to challenge these laws.
A lecturer acquaintance of mine phrased it well: "If this hypothetical Being is truly perfect and benevolent, desiring joy and love for Its creation, why not allow them to live as they please, providing only the essentials of life without imposing a mandated mindset or actions that this sacrificial Being considers correct? Such an act would be even more noble, like someone gifting their estate to their children, bearing pain and suffering for their happiness and freedom." Some may liken this idea to the parable of the prodigal son, symbolising humanity's fall from grace. Yet in that parable, suffering stemmed from finite resources; a boundlessly generous God could fulfil human desires indefinitely, preserving individuality and personality.
Practically, this might mean God rescinding the rule of "death for sin," ceasing to curse the Earth and removing pain and death from existence. In such a world, no one would suffer: the freedom to love wouldn't lead to illness or unintended pregnancies, physical violence would be painless, and we would live happily while God bore the cost of His broken rules—a true sacrifice for humanity's sake, rather than His own.
Attractive as this sounds, in practice it would likely unfold differently. If God preserved physical laws while abolishing moral ones, we might find ourselves in a mental hell, as our consciousness would no longer interact with reality in ways that align with our thoughts and intentions.
Consider the frustration of being unable to respond physically to an insult. The opponent could mask their moral distress in the face of our words, leaving us feeling unjustly deprived of the satisfaction of retribution. Fistfights, competitions, and wars would lose their purpose, eliminating any sense of victory, fulfilment, or the possibility of triumph. No one could realise their ambitions or assert themselves, and even a simple hunt would be impossible. Those who crave fleeting pleasures and shallow spectacles would exhaust their nervous systems in frustration.
Feelings of dominance, pride, and superiority would be mere pretences, as everyone would share beauty and wealth, reducing those who chase dopamine through such pursuits to fits of rage. Harmful habits as means of relaxation and pleasure would cease to have any effect. Poisons would become harmless, nicotine would no longer paralyse the nervous system to induce relaxation, alcohol would not kill and block brain cells, drugs would not disturb the endocrine system, and coffee would lose its stimulating edge mimicking epinephrine (a hormone that mobilises the body's resources for emergencies)—plunging many into depression, as Freud noted, that much of our pleasure derives from destruction. "The death instinct can manifest itself in a person's inclination towards self-destruction and aggressive behaviour".
Punishment would be futile, as physical pain would be absent, while moral suffering would be all-encompassing.Immortal offenders would inevitably escape—sooner or later, they would dig or break through any barriers, only to emerge angrier. Efforts to motivate anyone to labour in exchange for resources would fail. Above all, despair would arise from the impossibility of ending one's existence, turning the world into an endless hell where people are ensnared by hatred, idleness, and rage, filled with screams, groans, and gnashing of teeth. In such a world, God wouldn't be the only one to suffer.
The situation with love would be even worse. If we truly understood love, we might see that secondary pleasures should give way to primary ones in an ideal world. Put simply, in moments of closeness, reflexive impulses would seem dull without the awareness of the other person's pleasure, their interest in you, ideally even their admiration. The more appealing the personality, the more enjoyable the experience. For some, simply imagining all of the above is enough; the mind cannot do without it, even in dreams. Without such awareness, one would feel discomfort rather than pleasure—like the relief of sneezing, lacking depth. To illustrate, compare the sensation of touching a door frame to that of feeling a loved one's hand on your shoulder.
In such a world, reproduction would be superfluous, making organs for nurturing, wide hips for childbirth, and even genitals vestigial. Impulses and hormonal signals triggered by reproductive maturity would likely be redundant—a thought that may be devastating to some. Of course, we might do things differently, but it may turn out that, on Earth, beyond the task of reproduction, these chemical stimulants served to project allegories of future good. Perhaps a rational God included these elements to represent virtues yet to come: family life training us in caring, sharing, and living for others, while child-rearing provided a step toward selfless social interaction, fostering a broader sense of responsibility.
If we reproduced by budding, like amoebas, we would likely exterminate each other with even more enthusiasm; without sympathy, empathy would vanish.
Such an altered form of love would compound the frustration from unfulfilling violence with a nostalgic longing for the entropic world. At this point, many would likely feel the apathy hunters may have experienced several paragraphs earlier.
But suppose God is less rational or allows some concessions, permitting minor deviations in a perfect world, like aimless friction or occasional yawns and coughs. People would likely rush into whatever debauchery remained, yet due to mental dissonance, primary pleasures would be dulled, and secondary ones might disappear entirely. Furthermore, if emotions, as facets of personality, remained unchanged, we would still encounter jealousy, judgement, and contempt, as diverse worldviews would fuel conflict. Even ardent advocates of such happiness might grow weary and disgusted without the mix of interpersonal connection.
Of course, attempts would be made to reason with the angry masses, but this would likely be as successful as current attempts to unite the world in common beliefs. Moreover, we cannot be sure we're infallible in all our concepts of good, where our regulated right to personal good and pleasure could lead to suffering for many, both now and in the future. For instance, consider modern efforts to legalise and destigmatise behaviours like incest and necrophilia (through public education due to their apparent zero harm with modern capabilities and increasing consent and tolerance from relatives), the fight against stereotypical notions of various forms of sadism, where it is proposed to breed special animals, inject them with painkillers and give the right to pleasure to those who cannot be happy without it and are on the verge of suicide. There are over two million ignored representatives of various minorities worldwide, suggesting a possible hidden and latent state of tens of times more and potentially exponential growth of those who may discover new facets of themselves with increased public support. Social dilemmas often rest on cultural stereotypes alone. In such a scenario, the aim of unity in eternity may be no more compelling than the subjective emotional resistance we see today to earthly notions of the "greater good."
One might assume that people would eventually accept the impossibility of fulfilling negative intentions. However, global prison practices reveal that merely blocking one's will doesn't change a person; it only preserves them.
You may have noticed that we already experience these emotions yet do not live in such a mental hell. This is because we retain the ability to pursue ambitions, passions, and fulfilment through action, pain, and mortality. The freedom to act, at a cost, allows us to feel in control.
Some may call me a pessimist or accuse me of lacking faith in humanity. But alas, no state exists without a police force. Despite efforts to educate, principled adherence to societal rules remains the domain of a minority. Imagine what would happen if all governance, policing, and allied forces disappeared from society.
Of course, some might suggest, ‘Then let Him remove the restrictions on the alteration of physical principles in areas where individuals find pleasure and consider it good.’ But when everyone has their own concept of pleasure and goodness, conflict is inevitable.
Perhaps our current reality is the least destructive way of preserving free will and, consequently, the personalities capable of expressing it.
Separate individual worlds based on group preferences would necessitate altering consciousness—effectively eliminating the original personality—so that individuals remain unaware of their separation, as each minority and worldview group seeks dominance over reality. To feel oneself confined, knowing that others disregard your existence, is perhaps the most sophisticated form of psychological torment. Furthermore, most of these desires are rooted in entropy and irrationality, leading inevitably to self-destruction, which requires constantly recycling the life they are fighting against. The same groups whose desires align with the principles of life and logic would embody the very Source of life itself, which in turn intensifies dissatisfaction and resentment in others—provoking hostility toward the concept of Absolute Good, with dependence on it becoming a source of deep discomfort.
You might consider several hybrid models with an optimistic belief in universal human sanity, but such a notion goes beyond reality, ignoring human nature and the laws of logic.
In exploring all possible outcomes, one might conclude that the best option is one where entry into paradise depends on alignment of views with an ideal God or, at the very least, intuitive agreement.
Faith, in this sense, becomes a simple, intuitive accord. If God embodies life, good, and rationality, then desiring a rational, good life brings alignment with the personification of these ideals. If God is rational and your definition of absolute good is correct, God would likely consider you a follower. If you seek entropy and irrationality as good, you would find existence with such a God intolerable.
In conclusion, the arguments for divine hiddenness reveal the need for sincerity. If someone does not perceive this good, eternity would become their hell. Indeed, earthly life may already feel like hell when people realise that opposing principles deny them happiness and purpose. If God were to visibly rule humanity in its current state—where creation increasingly rejects Him, or at least exists in a state of uncertainty—He would either be a complete tyrant or an entity lacking psychological insight.
In this sense, the maxim "absence of evidence is not evidence of absence" is logically sound, albeit not proof in itself. Yet, if we were to encounter direct evidence of God, it would paradoxically demonstrate that such a God need not be believed or aligned with.
Conclusion:
1. The hiddenness of God, in this context, seems essential to minimizing total suffering, which is allowed only to achieve the highest good. This good embodies key qualities such as the existence of life, positive experiences (joy, pleasure, happiness), and, most importantly, self-awareness. These three fundamental qualities should define the Deity, and it is logical to expect that such qualities would be imparted to His creation.
2. The highest good is determined by these three fundamental conditions in their absolute state, each governed by the law of non-contradiction (in other words - logic), which makes the concept coherent. For instance, the absence of knowledge cannot be the same as knowledge, just as the absence of life cannot be life. This law underpins patterns of well-being, and violating these patterns disrupts the integrity of personality, happiness, and life itself.
The notion that God could alter or erase these patterns would inevitably lead to the collapse of reality itself, reducing existence to non-being. In non-being, the concept of good cannot exist. If something exists, it must adhere to consistent patterns; without them, nothing can exist. Thus, those who reject these patterns, whether knowingly or unknowingly, are rejecting the very structure that sustains life and reflects God’s essence, ultimately gravitating toward non-existence.
God's concealment serves several purposes:
• Providing the opportunity to experience the goodness of life without transforming it into an unbearable reality akin to hell.
• Preserving the sense of personal autonomy as the ultimate stage of self-awareness.
• Allowing the chance to reassess and transform one’s value system.
• Demonstrating the coherence and sustainability of life’s patterns to all created beings.
This veiling of God provides an opportunity to experience goodness for those who find intuitive morality unacceptable in the form of a personalized phenomenon. This is a more noble alternative to non-existence, allowing them to sample a ‘trial version’ of a state of God through its three facets.
3. If God were constantly and directly apparent, it's unlikely this would resolve disputes, even among believers, as people generally aim to establish their own correctness regardless of worldview. Some might view the unmistakable presence of God as a sign of malicious forces, exacerbating opposition toward both this God and each other. The lives of such individuals would become a constant apocalyptic turmoil, laden with fear, stress, hatred, and a leaning towards self-destruction.
4. Within some theistic frameworks that permit the existence of beings in other realms or dimensions who reject divine patterns but cannot—or are not permitted to—ignore God and His principles, such entities would be in perpetual conflict and enmity. They would endure a relentless state of hatred and suffering, chafing under what they would see as an unjust reality bound to God and His rules. (The Bible is among the few sacred texts that discuss such a condition in the context of fallen angels.)
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