Philosophy is in the business of looking for arguments. Why do we think something is true or false? What reasons are there, really? The philosophical process tends to end when and only for as long as the mind is satisfied. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t more arguments to be given on behalf of a view, or to be asked for, especially by other minds who were not satisfied by the reasons given so far.

The logical pathways between propositions that we call ‘arguments’ will still be there no matter what we make of them at different times, or whether anyone even knows about them.

I bring this up because it’s easy to forget all this once our minds find satisfying answers. Once the lightbulb goes off, and things click; once it is clear and distinct to us that something is true or false, we tend to forget that these impressions and beliefs of ours are not above wonder. Nothing is. And so it is that one needs only so much as continue to ask for the arguments after everyone else has stopped that entire worlds get turned upside down.

This was the crime of Socrates; the first ‘devourer of libraries’. He took away people’s unmerited peace of mind by finding the epistemic pressure points that form when beliefs are made out to be more than they really are, and so end up bearing much more weight than they ever should.

And so as we turn to the main arguments of this post, as in any other enterprise, remember to continue to ask where the arguments are. Even after we think we’ve found a decisive objection or response; an atom that cannot be split, especially then, ask again.

I am not saying be annoying. But also don’t just let people off the hook.

In the history of thought, only a few reasons have been given for thinking that the logical pathways to polytheism are unworthy of travel: (i) it’s impossible, and (ii) it’s too complicated. (Other reasons have been given, but I think they either collapse into these categories or are not serious enough to even consider)

In this post, we’re going to try and really dig into (ii) through the prism of Occam’s Razor.

I’m not going to rehearse the history or literature of the Razor here, except to note that it is much, much older than Occam (another win for the pagans!). I prefer Aquinas’ formulation of it (S.T. 1.2.3.obj.2), actually. I have… a lot I could say about this. Perhaps enough to justify a chapter in a book, or a monograph in its own right. But I want to strike a balance between comprehensiveness and concision.

If the Razor gets brought up in a discussion about polytheism, the idea is very often something along these lines: when we are trying to figure out how many Gods to posit, we need additional reasons for each God posited. So before even looking out into the world, polytheism is asking a lot of us: we have to believe the world meets all these conditions before even getting to look at it, and that means we have more chance for error. We are taking a risk. Why take that risk when there are safer alternatives?

So we should start out by positing the least amount we can, and then see if the data calls for more.

But when we do turn to the data, there just aren’t any compelling reasons to posit additional deities. Could the universe have been fine-tuned by two intelligent designers instead of just one? Sure. But was it? All the data says is that it was fine-tuned, not by how many. And the same goes for other pieces of data, such as the temporal beginning of the universe, or the contingency of the universe, or whatever.

So it’s just plain wrong to say any of these arguments is just as good for polytheism as it is for monotheism: both might be able to explain the data, but the data itself never calls for more than one. So what are we in the business of doing here? Are we into serious theorizing; wanting to know what really is the case? Or do we not let the data itself get a word in edge-wise, because we have already made our minds up?

And so it is thought that the initial complexity of polytheism is never really overcome. When coupled with widespread depictions of pagan Gods as amoral cryptids, the whole thing will seem rather incredulous to many. Especially if one goes on to believe that the God initially posited revealed himself in one of the mainline religions.

So what are we to make of all this? Is polytheism initially complex? Does it ever make up for that?

Remember, always ask where the arguments are.

Indeed, consider the assumption behind this whole thing, that we even are positing Gods as theoretical entities, or that we should be at any rate. What reasons are there to think that?

Certainly, classical theists would disagree: God is not hypothesized at all, let alone on account of this or that piece of data. Rather, he is deduced, strictly, from metaphysical demonstrations.

And if one were to propose the Razor to a classical theist as, say, a reason not to consider the first principle ‘divine’, they would respond that the attributes of God, like his existence, are not ‘posited’, but demonstrated.

Curious, then, that classical theists should turn and appeal to Occam’s Razor in response to polytheism. Why does that which is divine suddenly become hypothetical? This is an epistemic pressure point; the first we’ve uncovered so far: something is being taken for granted as if it did not need an argument.

But let’s set it aside and proceed as if all is well.

The next thing I notice that the Razor takes for granted is Occam’s Razor only applies to quantifiable things. But are Gods quantifiable? What reasons are there for thinking so? This is one of those things that’s pretty obvious and commonsensical to people.

Of course, Gods are quantifiable… the ancient Greeks counted 12 Olympians, for instance, and Hindus are well-known to have thousands. By contrast, monotheists have insisted there is only one God. Trinitarians and unitarians even count how many divine persons there are. Indeed, ‘quantity’ is the whole difference between polytheism and monotheism: it’s a disagreement about how many Gods there are. That’s the whole difference between atheism and theism!

Isn’t it?

Well… if Gods are like people, then sure. Monotheism, polytheism, and atheism are just a disagreement over math.

Part of there being, say, distinct, disembodied centers of consciousness just is for there to be a determinate amount of them.

But, while Gods might manifest as such centers of consciousness, or as otherwise ‘quantifiable’ things, who said that is all there is to them?

Classical theists will insist, in spite very often of a belief in physical incarnation, that God is prior to measure and quantity, he is infinite, uncategorizable, and transcendent. In other words, it does not make sense to try and ‘count’ God. This would involve a sort of tracing of God’s outlines, discerning his definiteness within certain boundaries or limits, such that it is of that determinateness that there is ‘one’.

Curious, then, that classical theists should turn and treat Gods as countable with polytheism. Another pressure point.

If Deity really does precede number, as it were, then no determinate number affixes itself to the ‘amount’ of Deity: it is, strictly speaking, numerically indeterminate, or prior to number. There is no upperbound limit, no ceiling to how many Gods there are.

With this in mind, it makes sense that we could ‘count’ manifestations of Gods, but not Gods themselves. Or rather, Gods qua Gods.

You might think this is a non-arbitrary reason to think Gods are not quantifiable, and so that Occam’s Razor is a fundamentally wrong-headed way of thinking about them.

But, you needn’t give up on parsimony so soon. Indeed, this whole thing can be turned on its head.

Consider the view that there is no determinate upperbound number of Gods. This does not ask a lot of us. It does not posit a complicated picture of things that, before looking at the world, would involve more chances of being wrong.

In fact… it posits no more conditions than monotheism or atheism! On this formulation, polytheism merely denies the numerical limit that monotheism and atheism posit! That is, rather than the amount of Gods having a determinate number, such as 1 or 0, they simply do not.

Nor is this denial incongruous with our background knowledge, or speculative: it’s actually just the straightforward result of taking a classical position to its logical conclusions. It’s what you get with things like transcendence, aseity, and ineffability.

There is a simplicity to this, a non-ad hoc tidiness, that deserves exploration.

But, this may not resonate with you at all. So let’s suppose it’s all wrong.

Gods are hypothetical things we posit, and they are ‘countable’.

Trivially, then, polytheism posits more of the same thing that monotheism does. How should this disparity strike us? Well, it all depends. Specific amounts given aside from reasons have an arbitrariness to them and call for explanation. ‘One’ overcomes this by being the least needed. ‘Two’ would be pretty strange, and so forth for greater numbers. So why do that? Why not instead just say ‘many’? In this way, we avoid asking more of reality; for it to be a very specific way. In fact, there is a certain elegance in doing this, because we avoid making any such specific claims.

Indeed, the evidence needed for monotheism would be pretty exhaustive and specific, whereas any indication of distinctness or multiplicity of Gods could do the trick for polytheism.

Put another way, prior to knowing anything about what the world is like, would you rather bet that out of all the possible ways it might be, only one is a deity, or would you rather hedge your bets?

Something to consider is that you’d need an explanation for what prevents divinity from being multiple. Why think that? This limitation calls out for explanation, and monotheism loses simplicity because of that.

I say all this not to be disagreeable, but to really take seriously the claim that polytheism is complex. What should complexity feel like? Should it be off-putting, or eyebrow raising? How bad is the complexity of this case? The more I have dug into this, the less I have felt its force.

This point becomes especially important when we do turn to the world and discover that the world we ended up in is one where polytheism is the oldest, most widespread religious orientation on the entire planet and that our species is chock-full of different religious experiences, and no compelling indication from any piece of data that ‘all the other’ Gods are ‘fake’ beside whichever one a particular age monotheitizes.

This post is longer than my usual, but like all my work, I intend it to be a conversation starter more than a conversation ender. As I indicated earlier, there is so much more that I could say! So much on these sorts of topics, that I will need to start a podcast to get all these ideas out there.

But I hope the next time someone gives you the old parsimony objection to polytheism, you ask if they’ve read the one where a polytheist takes on the razor.