Jordan Peterson. What should we make of him?

I have given this question considerable thought and it turns out that the answer lies in which "we" one is talking about.

As a conservative, it is delightful to watch Peterson own the libs again and again. Sometimes he leaves them literally speechless, opening and closing their mouths like a fish out of water as they struggle to respond to his latest riposte. So if the "we" is "political conservatives," then we should welcome him with open arms and celebrate the fact that he is sometimes (but not always) on our side.

But if the "we" is "people of faith," my answer is different. As a Christian, I wonder if he does more harm than good. Peterson remains a committed philosophical materialist. Yes, he pushes religion, but he pushes it for instrumentalist reasons. In other words, he advocates for religion because he believes it is useful as a countervailing influence on harmful behaviors. He does not advocate for Christianity because he believes Jesus was literally the Son of God and that he literally died to save us from our sins and that he literally was resurrected on the third day.

People ask Peterson whether he believes in God. He is always cagey and sometimes dismissive. If pushed, he will say that he lives "as if" God exists. But it is clear that he does not really believe.

Andrew Klaven has the best take I have seen on Peterson's instrumentalist views: "He wants us to accept the conclusion of a syllogism (behave as if God exists) the premises of which he rejects (God does not exist)."

Paul warned us against such false teaching. "If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain, your faith also is in vain." Christianity denuded of its historical truth claims about the resurrection is ultimately useless. Indeed, it is a lie.

If God does not exist, Dawkins is right. "The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference." The only difference between Dawkins and Peterson is that Dawkins is willing to face the conclusions compelled by his materialist premises. Peterson is not. Instead, he fights for an illusory tertium quid ("third way") that, by definition, can never exist.

Peterson venerates Dostoevsky and often quotes him. But Dostoevsky's most famous quotation is this: "Without God, all things are permitted." This is Dostoevsky's way of saying that the concepts of objective good and evil can be grounded only in God's existence, and if God does not exist, Dawkins is right; those concepts are objectively meaningless. Peterson himself even trots this very quotation out from time to time, which is deeply ironic because Peterson believes we are "without God."

Peterson believes he can escape Dostoevsky's dictum through narrative. If we can tell a story that is compelling enough, the people will act as though the hero of the story (God) really exists even if all of the smart people know he doesn't. But if our hope for salvation depends on people believing "noble lies" about a God Who is Not There, our hope hangs from a gossamer thread that cannot bear the terrible weight of human nature.

At the end of the day, God either exists or he does not. If the former, the good, the beautiful and the true also exist. If the latter, they do not. Hume's guillotine will have its bloody due.

An instrumentalist view of Christianity is futile. C.S. Lewis put it this way: "Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important." Peterson thinks Christianity is moderately important as a noble myth in which to ground an ethos. He is wrong for the reasons already discussed.

I believe in God and hence the Good that is grounded in his being. But if someone were to ask me whether I would try to make the best of it à la Peterson if I were to become convinced that God does not exist, I would say "what is the point?" In the face of an absurd and meaningless universe without God, I would surely despair. Then, with Albert Camus, I would say the only serious question in philosophy is whether to commit suicide.