Thought Experiment between Revealed Theology and Narrative

Abstract

The paper addresses the problem of the epistemic value of thought experiment, in revealed theology, insofar as it possesses a fundamental trait in common with fiction. Starting from Fehige’s proposal to reread St. Anselm’s ontological argument as a thought experiment of revealed theology and in the light of important differences between the use of scientific and theological thought experiments, it is possible, even in theology, to speak of an indirect or ‘reflexive’ nexus between thought and action. On the basis of this nexus, one can rethink the epistemic role of the theological thought experiment in relation to the art of narration that brings theological thought experiments and fiction closer together. However, it is always the context in which the thought experiment is considered that determines its value and role.

1. Introduction

In the context of the natural sciences, it would seem very difficult to dispense with the link between thought experiment and real experiment (cf. Buzzoni 2004, 2008, 2013a, 2013b), but if we try to question the role of thought experiments in the theological sphere, their relationship to the plane of real experimentation no longer seems so obvious and immediate. In what sense can we recognize a connection between thought and action when the object of our research is not the natural world but God and his attributes? In the first part of the paper, I will attempt to answer this question by examining, on the one hand, W. Löffler’s proposal to construct a logically valid argument in favour of a certain religious faith (Löffler 2009), and on the other hand, the need, stressed by J. Wisdom (1965), to broaden the concept of rationality, investigating the limits and potentialities of a rational thought that can take on the characteristics of a reflective thought.

Both authors propose to go beyond the stringent term of ‘proofs’ for the existence of God, in order to speak of evidence linked to each individual’s personal experience. This does not imply the renunciation of a certain intersubjective communicability, which, however, must be understood in a different sense than the properly scientific one. It is true that the problem of God’s existence cannot be solved through calculations or statistics, but it is also true that it is neither meaningful nor beyond the reach of thought. On the contrary, religious and theological assertions can help us gain a new awareness of the reality we live in, leading us to act in a certain way.

Although in a different sense from the scientific context, in which it is always necessary, at least in principle, to translate, on a technical-operational level, all the procedural steps that led to discovery, in the theological sphere too we can grasp an important link, albeit indirect, between the plane of thought and that of action. On the basis of this link it is then possible to rethink the cognitive value of the theological thought experiment.

The aim of the second part of this paper will consist precisely in recognizing the cognitive value of thought experiments in theology, with respect to the narrative function of thought experiments, through which, in an indirect manner, thought influences action. Following, in particular, Fehige’s proposal to reread Anselm’s ontological argument as a “thought experiment of a revealed theology”, an attempt will be made to define the theological field through a comparison with fiction. The thought experiment, in fact, would seem to fulfil a similar function in both the theological and narrative spheres. If we understand thought experiments as “facilitators of intuition” (Fehige 2009a), we can think of an intuitive process that, in a counterfactual manner and through narration, modifies the way we reason and relate to the real world. The narrative element thus assumes a central role, both in fiction and in theology. However, this does not prevent us from reflecting on the differences between the two fields, differences that emerge above all in relation to the use and purposes for which the same thought experiment is conceived. Indeed, from a context unrelated to faith, there may be no difference between a biblical account and a narrative account. The difference can only be grasped by those who fully adhere to the scenario described by the biblical tale, through an act of faith. Such adherence changes one’s being in the world and one’s view of reality. Only in this sense then can one speak of the biblical account as a thought experiment of a revealed theology, valuing the text as the object of constant hermeneutic work.

2. Thought and Experience in the Face of the Problem of God’s Existence

Although thought experiments run through the entire history of philosophy, it is only since Mach that the expression ‘thought experiment’ has become firmly established in the philosophical vocabulary, and it is only since the 1980s that it became the subject of systematic investigations1.

The first challenge that needs to be answered concerns the cognitive efficacy of a so-called ‘thought experiment’, an experiment understood as an instrument of thought capable of grasping the nature of things, in the most diverse fields, from the natural sciences to philosophy, from history to theology, from mathematics to narrative.

Questioning the cognitive efficacy of the thought experiment is tantamount to asking how it is possible to learn about reality through the medium of thought alone: where does information about the world come from if not from actual contact with the field we are dealing with? How is it possible to distinguish good from bad use of thought experiments without reference to empirical reality?

The main problem concerns the relationship between thought experiment and real experiment. While thought experiment can be considered as a tool for understanding reality, the question arises as to how a thought experiment, which is not based directly on elements derived from experience, can lead to unexpected conclusions, thus undermining well-established empirical theories.

As has been noted, the importance that the thought experiment has had and still has in empirical science would hardly be explained if there were not an intrinsic link between real experiment and thought experiment. The attempt to define this relationship raises a deeper reflection on the very limits and conditions of possibility of experimental knowledge, and if on the one hand it is possible to erase any difference between real experiment and thought experiment, considering the latter as a counterfactual anticipation of the former, on the level of imagination, on the other hand, however, it is precisely in this ‘imagining’ that the principled, properly transcendental difference between thought experiment and real experiment lies (cf. Buzzoni 2004, 2008, 2013a, 2013b).

The need to recognize, from an epistemological point of view, the relationship between thought experiment and real experiment corresponds to the need to hold together, while distinguishing them, the planes of thought and action. This connection, within the empirical sciences, emerges in an almost intuitive manner, something that cannot be said for theology, which, however, as we shall see, in many cases makes use of thought experiments.

The aim of this first part of the paper is to investigate the epistemological status of thought experiments by shifting the focus from the natural sciences to the theological level (cf. Fehige 2009a, 2012, 2013). If in the natural sciences there is an intrinsic link between thought experiment and real experiment, a link that corresponds to the need to hold thinking and acting, theory and praxis, together, one must ask oneself whether such a link can also be recognized in the theological sphere. Can we speak of a relationship between the dimension of thought and that of action when the object of investigation no longer falls within the sphere of natural science, becoming the focus of an act of faith? The analysis of the relationship between thought experiment and real experiment in theology responds to the even deeper need to investigate and expand the very concept of rationality. To this end, reference will be made to two authors2, close to analytical thought, who have addressed the relationship between logical discourse and experience with respect to the problem of God’s existence.

The first author is W. Löffler (2009), according to whom seeking philosophically valid arguments for the existence of God does not simply mean relying on stringent demonstrations capable of persuading any reasonable interlocutor. The problem has to be approached from another angle, by first investigating the status of the philosophical doctrine on God, which is defined as “the metaphysical branch of the philosophy of religion” (Löffler 2009, p. 26, my translation), since it investigates the possibilities, the contents, but also the limits of assertions about God. In a general sense, a double connection can be attributed to the philosophical doctrine of God: on the one hand, it relies on the phenomenology of religions, from which it derives a primordial concept of God; on the other hand, this doctrine is intertwined with a purely metaphysical discourse.

If one wishes to speak philosophically about God, therefore, it is necessary to have a vague initial concept of Him, acquired through the phenomenology of religions. It is not a fixed idea, not susceptible to future modification, but it must assume a kind of guiding role, for those who wish to philosophically access the truths of faith. Undoubtedly, the most appropriate philosophical point of departure is that of a radical atheism, according to which it would be necessary to “consider as totally unknown and therefore in need of explication what such an extra-worldly Being is” (Löffler 2009, p. 28, my translation). The initial attitude of those who wish to construct a philosophical discourse on God cannot ignore a number of assumptions. Firstly, a philosophical argument for the existence of God should develop from an empirical point of view, taking into account certain aspects of experience, understood in a broad sense:

It is therefore not only the methodically researched and experimentally reproducible experience, in the sense of the natural and social sciences, but other forms of experience are taken into account, insofar as they are in some way publicly demonstrable. By contrast, references to purely private experiential episodes, in principle perhaps not even accessible to others (as is sometimes said of certain forms of religious experience) are not suitable as a starting point—at least not as an argumentative basis for others.

(Löffler 2009, p. 30, my translation)

Argumentation cannot be based on certain private and incommunicable forms of experience; intercultural dialogue on religious issues is built on the basis of shared experience, which makes manifest the connection between a discourse on God and rational thought.

Secondly, it is essential that arguments in favour of the existence of God are always recognized as part of a precise ‘worldview’, the expression of which corresponds not so much to a subjective system of values, but to a mostly unexpressed set of rather obvious existential convictions concerning reality.

The third useful element is the negation of the regress to infinity. An adequate concept of God must always be a concept-limit, beyond which further explanatory demands are meaningless. In a general sense, in fact, believers of all religions, in their worldviews, tend to regard God not as an object among others, but as a reality somehow distinct from the natural universe.

Finally, all the assumptions listed must, in turn, respond to a fundamental demand that they belong to an admissible and acceptable logical system, from an intersubjective point of view. It is a question of demanding a certain logical correctness, rather than unquestionable demonstrability. It therefore makes less sense to speak of ‘proofs of God’sexistence’ than of arguments: “for a topic as biographically charged […] as the question of God” (Löffler 2009, p. 37, my translation), one cannot rely on proofs, in the literal sense of the term, proofs that constrain reasoning. However, one must demand that the arguments used follow an admissible logic that allows anyone to retrace the different conceptual stages.

The example of a philosophically plausible argument for the existence of God that Löffler gives originates from the standard cosmological model. The author refers to the argument put forward by William L. Craig (cf. especially Craig and Smith 1993), who, starting from the big bang theory, develops a series of logically consistent steps. (1) What has a beginning in time has a cause for its existence. (2) The universe has a beginning in time. (3) The universe has a cause of its existence. (4) If the universe has a cause of its existence, it must be personal and possess additional attributes: beginningless, powerful, etc. (the cause of the universe cannot share attributes and limits with it). (5) Therefore, there is a personal cause with these attributes.

In this case, all the requirements proposed by the author seem to be met. The example shows us a way of accessing, through logical reasoning, an area where the explanations of physics seem insufficient. However, one should always keep the field of science distinct from that of religious faith: it is not a matter of filling certain explanatory gaps in the cosmological model, but rather of trying to elaborate a series of logically correct arguments in support of one’s religious beliefs. The fact of adhering, for example, to one cosmological model rather than another remains a matter of free certainty, which can still rely on certain grounds (cf. Löffler 2009, p. 42).

From this assertion, it would seem that the final word rests with faith, but with a faith enriched by logically valid arguments in favour of God’s existence. One could therefore answer the question posed by the author “What should one expect from a philosophical argument in favour of the existence of God?” by recognizing such arguments as having not demonstrative but ‘reflective’ validity. By ‘reflective’ is meant the kind of rational knowledge that J. Wisdom, our second author of reference, defines as sui generis, since although it is not demonstrable, in the traditional sense of the term, there is a logic capable of supporting it.

Particularly interesting is the distinction made by Wisdom between two ways of understanding rationality: on the one hand, a belief can be rational if it is expressed in intelligible and empirically verifiable utterances; on the other hand, the rationality of the belief may not simply depend on its capacity for empirical prediction, but may coincide with reflection on common experience.

This second meaning of rationality is well exemplified by the attitude of the second interlocutor (B) in The Logic of God, an essay in the work Paradox and Discovery (Wisdom 1965). Here, two interlocutors (A and B) discuss the possibility of rationally proving the existence of God. A represents the positivist position and assumes the idea that an assertion cannot have any meaning if it is not established by observation or logical-mathematical procedures. Matters that do not fall into this category are not even considered real, but merely verbal matters, linked to feeling and emotion. B, on the other hand, represents Wisdom’s philosophical position, according to which issues that cannot be resolved through experiment or logical reasoning cannot simply be relegated to a purely emotional realm. On the contrary, assertions that cannot be proved end up being of greater importance than those that can be verified, since they force us to reflect. Both A and B agree that the question of God’s existence cannot be answered unequivocally, yet their arguments start from very different assumptions and come to opposite conclusions.

From the positivist perspective, it makes no sense to say that God is invisible and yet there is evidence of His existence in nature, just as in a watch there are traces of its maker, for example. In fact, when we think of a watchmaker, we know what the object of our imagination is, and we can find confirmation of our inferences in reality; with regard to God, on the other hand, we have no idea what it means to see Him or to be before Him, since the very logic of God excludes the divine from being visible or discoverable, like any phenomenon. Questions such as ‘God exists’ or ‘God is in His heaven’ are not considered real because they cannot be answered by experience or deduction. Religious assertions express nothing more than an absolutely personal feeling; there is no unanimous agreement on the question of God, since there is no evidence to deny or affirm His existence. The comparison between the logic of God and the logic of Energy also proves inadequate, for even if we cannot see energy, we are able to measure it, to know where it flows and what the laws of its transmission are; the ways in which we can know energy, therefore, have nothing to do with the potential tools that man would have at his disposal to enter into a relationship with God (cf. Wisdom 1965, pp. 13–15).

The second interlocutor, on the other hand, poses the question by trying to give the terms rational and real a broader valence. The very fullness of God’s being prevents us from finding conclusive proof of His existence; this, however, does not mean denying the possibility of finding some evidence of God in reality. Such evidence is not proof, in the traditional sense of the term, but can be found in experience, through reflective thought. Order in nature, for example, does not necessarily prove the existence of God; however, one who believes in God can learn to see the order of natural events from a different perspective. It is possible, therefore, to agree on the character that the order of natural events must assume in order to count in favour of the affirmative answer or in favour of the negative answer to the question of God’s existence; if there were no valid grounds on which to agree, the question would be meaningless.

When we ask the question of God’s existence, the boundaries between the said and the unsaid are never so clear-cut: on the one hand, it is true that such questions cannot be resolved by mathematical calculations or statistics, but on the other hand, the problem of God’s existence is not meaningless, nor is it beyond the reach of rational thought. On the contrary, it requires “a new awareness of what has so long been about us” (Wisdom 1965, p. 22), but which we may never have been able to bring into focus.

A rational and reflective proof of God’s existence necessarily requires a personal decision, thanks to which the subject can discover new aspects of reality. Religious and theological assertions, therefore, cannot be reduced to pure emotional attitudes, since they help us reflect on certain aspects of experience, proposing real alternatives to thought. The well-known “parable of the gardener” clearly exemplifies these aspects: two people find themselves, after a long period of absence, in their garden and discover among the grasses some vigorous and well-tended plants. The first is convinced that a gardener has come to take care of the plants during the period of their absence, the second denies this. Both, however, fail to see any evidence to confirm the hypothetical presence of a gardener, apart from the beauty and vigour of the plants. There is no explanation as to how a gardener could work so quickly, without being seen by anyone, not even the neighbours; however, the first person is convinced that the hand of an experienced gardener was behind that obvious order, the second is not. The dispute is not about the evidence, because both people see the same things, but rather about the meaning of what is observed. The two different conclusions: ‘A gardener comes unseen and unheard’ and ‘There is no gardener’ are undoubtedly expressions of two different sentiments, although the difference in sentiment or emotion between the two positions is not the only one; if this were the case, there would be no point in asking who is right, whereas when faced with such a question, the question of the reasonableness of the constructed hypothesis immediately arises (cf. Wisdom 1969, pp. 154–55).

Similarly, the hypothesis of the existence of God, even if it does not find any valid proof in the facts, as is the case with the empirical sciences, cannot be merely the expression of an emotional attitude, since its analysis includes a type of rational argumentation. One must, however, ask what the tools of such a logical argumentation are. To this end, Wisdom presents three examples that can be approached with the logic of God problem (cf. Wisdom 1969, pp. 156–59). The first concerns the field of pure and applied mathematics: here we are dealing with disputes, which cannot be solved experimentally, where one side may be right and the other wrong, but we are far from the logic of God, since the question of divine existence cannot be solved in any case by calculation or deductive processes. The second example concerns disputes in the courts, where the solution is essentially the result of a personal decision by the judge. This is not an arbitrary decision, even if the judge’s reasoning does not fully coincide with either deduction or induction. The analogy with God’s logic is, in this case, purely methodological, since even in the case of legal proceedings, the personal decision is still accompanied by a certain degree of knowledge or ignorance of the facts. Finally, the third example is the one most akin to God’s logic and concerns aesthetic experience. In front of a work of art or a sunset, some experience beauty, see beauty, others do not. The object of vision does not change, the difference is not in the facts, yet it is possible to identify a kind of logic through which even those who are blind can be guided towards aesthetic vision. It consists not so much in reasoning or arguing as in re-presenting the work of art over and over again. Aesthetic disputes can be resolved by re-watching a painting at different times and moments or by re-listening to a music track. Even with regard to the hypothesis of the existence of God, there is no reason to assume that there is nothing right or wrong in it, no rationality or irrationality: on the contrary, as in aesthetic experience, it is possible to identify a strategy that allows us to enter into it, through reflection on lived experience (cf. Wisdom 1969).

What is the object of reflective thought cannot be demonstrated through the tools of traditional logic; it is a rational knowledge sui generis, since although it cannot be demonstrated, there is a logic that offers a series of tools capable of supporting it. The prejudice that must be overcome consists in thinking that there are only two types of discovery: scientific discovery, which occurs through observation and experiment, and deductive discovery, based on logical rules (Wisdom 1969). Overcoming this prejudice means recognizing the possibility of investigating reality through assertions that do not tell us anything, directly, about reality but lead us to reflect on the ‘familiar’, bringing to light certain aspects of our own existence, hitherto unknown.

Knowledge of reality is always mediated by logical-conceptual structures, and reflexive thought also cannot do without the use of the concept; however, its way of proceeding differs from that of traditional logic, since it aims to construct a series of structures that mediate the subject-object relationship, while reflection on common experience is characterized by the attempt to deconstruct or remove established conceptual structures, in order to intervene on reality through choices or actions.

The attempt to broaden the rational horizon by going beyond, as the authors examined suggest, the stringent term of ‘proofs’ of the existence of God, in order to speak of evidence linked to a reflexive thought connected to each person’s experience, allows us to rethink the role of the thought experiment in theology as a useful means to carry out a deconstruction of those ‘conceptual structures’ in which theology itself is articulated and develop.

3. The Role of the Thought Experiment in a Revealed Theology

To investigate the possibility of using thought experiments in fields other than the empirical sciences, it is necessary to analyse the context itself and the purposes for which the thought experiment is employed. As already pointed out, the connection between thought and action, and thus between thought experiment and reality, in the theological domain, may not be as obvious and immediate as in the empirical sciences. However, as we shall see in this second part of the paper, it is possible, bearing in mind the indirect link between thought and action in the face of theological questions, to recognize the cognitive value of the theological thought experiment, especially if we consider the narrative function of the thought experiment and the relationship of unity, on the one hand, and distinction, on the other, between theological and literary thought experiments (cf. Fehige 2009a, 2009b, 2011, 2012, 2019; Fehige and Stuart 2014; Stuart et al. 2018). The art of narration can be understood as a means by which, in theology, as in fiction, the ability to imagine possible scenarios succeeds in exerting an indirect or reflexive influence on our lived experience.

But before assessing the possibility of constructing thought experiments in theology, it is necessary to clarify which theology we are talking about. To this end, a reference to M. Polanyi and his attempt to link scientific activity to religious experience by means of a knowledge that, at every level, is defined as personal3 may be useful. Without going into detail, I would like to emphasize the Hungarian philosopher’s invitation to recognize at the heart of religious experience an obscure nucleus, a profound mystery that is essential to faith and that distinguishes the relationship between man and God from any other relationship that man may experience in his socio-cultural environment:

It is illogical—Polanyi writes—to attempt the proof of the supernatural by natural tests, for these can only establish the natural aspects of an event and can never represent it as supernatural. Observation may supply us with rich clues for our belief in God; but any scientifically convincing observation of God would turn religious worship into an idolatrous adoration of a mere object, or natural person.

(Polanyi 1958, p. 300)

Thought and experience can, therefore, provide insights into the ‘direction’ of God, but the need to rationalize and unravel the mystery of God would inevitably lead to the end of religion, and also distance theology from its actual task. Theological knowledge, in fact, must not prove the existence of God, but must be aimed at revealing the implications of a religious faith that already exists; only a Christian can fully understand the theology related to his or her belief and grasp the religious meanings of the sacred text: “While theological attempts to prove the existence of God are as absurd as philosophical attempts to prove the premises of mathematics […]—underlines Polanyi in Personal Knowledge—theology pursued as an axiomatization of the Christian faith has an important analytic task” (Polanyi 1958, p. 297). This task consists in showing, in more or less detail, the assertions of faith, to which a believer is deeply attached, without making explicit what, in the religious sphere, must necessarily remain in a tacit dimension. The theological illustration of God, and not his rational explanation, appears loaded with meaning only in the eyes of the believer. Theology, therefore, offers “a framework of clues which are apt to induce a passionate search for God” (Polanyi 1958, p. 297), but this framework is only visible within faith. Acceptance of the Christian religion, then, does not depend on observable facts, but on an act of conversion, which cannot be understood as the immediate result of a logical procedure. This, however, does not preclude logical thought from making its way into a sphere that remains distant from it.

The theology we refer to, in order to grasp the cognitive role of the thought experiment, is therefore a revealed theology, based on the exegesis of biblical texts, rather than a philosophical or natural theology. This is an aspect that is amply elucidated by Fehige (2012, 2009a), in his proposal to reread Anselm’s ontological argument as a “thought experiment of a revealed theology”:

The ontological argument has been understood exclusively as a line of reasoning in philosophical or natural theology. And as such it seems not to be of much cognitive efficacy. However, I want to make the proposition that it is still of cognitive power for revealed theology. The difference between revealed theology and natural theology is that the former has revelation as its basic source of knowledge. […] Natural theology is philosophical theology and has therefore reason as its basic source of knowledge.

(Fehige 2009a, pp. 258–59)

This thesis is supported by three reasons: (1) Anselm presents the argument in the form of a prayer and in the first chapter of the Proslogion implores God to teach him how to search for it; (2) knowledge of God’s essence cannot be separated from divine revelation; (3) Anselm places particular emphasis on the role of faith (cf. Fehige 2009a, pp. 259–60). However, Fehige does not intend to deny reason its intuitive capacity: the ontological argument does not lose its cognitive value if one interprets it as thought experiment of a revealed theology. Thought experiments are in fact defined as ‘facilitators of intuitions’4 and intuitions are understood as “mental propositional attitudes that are relatively stable and commonly shared” (Fehige 2009a, p. 255). Intuitions emerge from a hypothetical scenario in which data are changed in a planned and controlled manner: “Such hypothetical scenarios help to show in an artificial situation how variables are functionally dependent on each other. These hypothetical scenarios of experimentation depend on some background hypotheses or background theories in order to analyze and evaluate the experiment” (Fehige 2009a, p. 255). If we consider the ontological argument, the scenario to consider will be that of a revealed theology, based on the interpretation of biblical texts, in which faith in the existence of God is already presupposed: “Ontological argument assumes what it ought to demonstrate, namely the necessary existence of god” (Fehige 2009a, p. 263). The central issue addressed through the ontological argument is not the demonstration of God’s existence, but the relationship between God’s undeniable existence and His essence. The ontological argument, as a thought experiment, by providing the counterfactual scenario of God’s non-existence, facilitates intuitions of God’s ‘metaphysical perfection’, intuitions that pertain to the pure divine essence and that only take on cognitive value through revelation. Anselm’s own words seem to confirm Fehige’s thesis:

And You, Lord our God, are this being [something-that-which-a-greater-cannot-be-thought]. You exist so truly, Lord my God, that You cannot even be thought not to exist. And this is as it should be, for if some intelligence could think of something better than You, the creature would be above its Creator and would judge its Creator- and that is completely absurd.

(Anselm of Canterbury 1998, p. 88)

The cognitive value of thought experiments within revealed theology consists in increasing knowledge of the divine nature while remaining within the framework of revelation. Whereas in philosophical theology the possibility of denying God’s existence is contemplated, in revealed theology, divine existence is already assumed as certain and progress on the cognitive level concerns the reworking of a concept, divine perfection, defined through a series of attributes, the validity of which becomes the object of demonstration.

Fehige’s answer to the problem of the cognitive efficacy of the thought experiment is, therefore, to recognize a ‘theoretical creativity’ in the thought experiment (Fehige 2012, p. 280), which methodologically unites science and theology5. Thought experiments are able to provoke a series of insights that would otherwise remain inaccessible to consciousness and that, on an unconscious level, influence human judgements and behavior.

Fehige’s interpretation seems somehow close to the platonic version of thought experiments proposed by Brown (cf. Brown 1991a, 1991b, 2004, 2005, 2007a, 2007b). Brown argues, in fact, that, in some cases, it is necessary to go beyond the empirical datum in order to acquire an ‘a-priori knowledge’ of nature; through an intuition that goes beyond the empirical level, Galileo is said to have discovered that the speed with which bodies fall does not depend on their weight, thus refuting the Aristotelian theory of motion by means of a thought experiment.

Unlike Brown’s Platonism, however, the intuitive experience Fehige speaks of requires interactions with the natural and social context in which the thought experiment is processed. Intuition “is not a capability of the mind’s eye” (Fehige 2012, p. 280), as there is always a relationship with the context that determines the purpose of the experiment itself: “Thought experiments have a limited scope in the sense that they do not necessarily speak to everyone, not even to every physicists or Christian theologian” (Fehige 2012, p. 281).

A thought experiment acquires meaning only within a precise framework that establishes its rules and modalities, and the dependence between the thought experiment and the context does not constitute an impediment in the intuitive process enacted by the thought experiment, but on the contrary, the setting of the thought experiment in a natural and social context becomes the condition for the development, on the level of thought, of the experiment itself. In this sense, the thought experiment can be defined as an instrument capable of bringing out a series of intuitions hidden from consciousness, intuitions of reality that remain at an unconscious level but influence human behaviour. “Empirical psychologist advise us therefore to observe our behaviour or to keep a diary in order to detect what is going on unconsciously. Thought experimentation […] is a way of ‘keeping diary’. Through thought experiments physicists and theologians alike are able to access intuitions that affect their theoretical work” (Fehige 2012, p. 281)6. Indeed, one of the functions of the thought experiment is to prevent ‘the theoretical stagnancy’, the risk of which is much higher in faith-bound theology than in science. The cognitive value of the thought experiment, in theology, is to be traced back to the ability of the thought experiment itself to promote a certain ‘progress’ in theological thought, through a re-examination of the ‘metaphysical-epistemological’ structure in which the assertions of the Christian tradition are embedded7.

The cognitive efficacy of thought experimentation in theology is further exemplified through reference to two well-known thought experiments related to the theological sphere: that of the incarnation and that of the crucifixion (cf. Fehige 2012). The former consists in imagining what would have happened if human beings had not known sin and aims to determine the theological significance of the incarnation; the latter constructs the scenario of a hypothetical natural death of Jesus, with the aim of determining the theological significance of the crucifixion. From the Christian perspective, the two thought experiments are dependent on each other since the meaning of the incarnation lies in the final redemption, which cannot be realized except through crucifixion. Both thought experiments invite us to reflect on the relationship between historical facts and theological questions, against the background of the Christian faith, trying to avoid a twofold risk that characterizes theological thinking: “There is the risk in Christian theology either to ignore the historical facts and to engage in abstract theological reasoning, or to fall prey to a form of historicism where any kind of theological meaning of history evaporates” (Fehige 2012, p. 275)8.

As the author points out, both experiments in the long course of history, have been the subject of numerous interpretations: from the Thomistic point of view, for example, the incarnation is justified by the fact that salvation is addressed to every human being, while John Duns Scotus emphasizes the absolute independence of the incarnation from sin, considering the incarnation the act of perfecting the divine creation. During the twentieth century, numerous theologians, such as Tehilard de Chardin, Karl Rahner, Francisco Suarez, explored these issues by supporting one of the two points of view or seeking a meeting point between the two theses. In this sense, the thought experiment can become that tool capable of modifying theological thinking, avoiding the risk of ‘theoretical stagnancy’.

Similarly, the thought experiment of the crucifixion, by constructing the hypothetical scenario of a natural death of Jesus, allows one to reflect on one of the central issues of theological thought, namely the relationship between historical data and theological reasons, in relation to the crucifixion event. In this case, some church fathers argue for the necessity of the cross to overcome the power of evil, others, such as Anselm, emphasize that the meaning of the crucifixion lies in God’s attempt to save humanity from sin. More recently, the thought experiment of crucifixion has been taken up outside Christian theology to reflect on the significance of crucifixion in the progressive establishment of Christianity as a religion (cf. Eire 2006). Considering briefly these examples of thought experiments in theology, the aspect that needs to be stressed is the capacity of each thought experiment to be re-thought, re-considered, in ever new historical contexts; this aspect, as Fehige (2012) points out, highlights the interdisciplinary value of thought experimentation and the cognitive efficacy of this methodological tool, which, in a counterfactual manner and through narration, is capable of modifying not only our way of thinking, but also our very relationship with factual reality. In the specific case of theology, one cannot speak of ‘factual reality’ as in the empirical sciences, but it is possible to recognize in the practice of the thought experiment the ability to revise certain beliefs and modify certain theological concepts, which in turn, can modify the very object of one’s own and personal experience of faith. A narrated event, such as the crucifixion, is always open to new interpretations, taking on different meanings, which lie, from the perspective of Christian faith, beyond the narrative itself. The role of the thought experiment to prevent ‘theoretical stagnancy’ coincides, therefore, in the theological context, with hermeneutic work, aimed at bringing out the profound meaning of the Scriptures.

But if in the thought experiment, and particularly in the theological thought experiment, the narrative element assumes a central role, it is then possible to clarify certain aspects of the thought experiment in theology by reference to the field of narrative.

The possibility for narrative fiction to be a source of knowledge of the real is today the subject of much debate (see for example Sorensen 1992; Green 2017; Chamberlain 2020; Elgin 2007, 2014; Swirski 2007; Davies 2007; Gendler 2007; Egan 2016). The main question concerning the role of literary fiction is similar to that concerning the epistemological status of scientific thought experiments: is it possible through fiction, through an imaginary scenario, to be able to learn something new about the world?

The similarities between scientific thought experiment and literary fiction are numerous and obvious and mainly concern the work of the imagination, in the development of a narrative: “A thought experiment is an imaginative exercise designed to investigate what would happen if certain condition were satisfied. […] A thought experiment has a narrative structure, with a beginning, middle, and end. It is subject to interpretation, and to reinterpretation if the background assumptions change” (Elgin 2014, p. 231). The scientific thought experiment, however, cannot be defined as a ‘pure fantasy exercise’ since, through thought, numerous hypotheses concerning reality are elaborated and defined, and the very conditions under which the thought experiment is developed are always recognized and shared by the community of experts: “Thought experiments are not essentially private; nor are they particularly mental. Although they are imaginative exercise, they are publicly articulated, discussed, illustrated and disputed” (Elgin 2014, p. 227). There is an intersubjective dimension in which the scientific thought experiment is shared and made accessible to all, on the basis of common assumptions. Certainly, theological and literary thought experiments also aim at intersubjective agreement, attempting to shed light on the reality of things as they are, but the relationship between the experimental world and thought experiment in the empirical sciences cannot be the same, neither in theology nor in narrative (cf. Buzzoni and Savojardo 2019). As already mentioned, what uniquely characterizes the scientific thought experiment is the link between theory and praxis in the construction of a certain experimental apparatus. This, however, does not prevent us from recognizing the cognitive value of theological and literary thought experiments, a value connected to the capacity of narrative fiction to exercise our reflexive thinking, achieving an indirect knowledge of reality, capable of also influencing our life choices. Narrative fictions always produce an indirect relationship with reality (Elgin 1996), helping us to re-see or re-consider certain aspects of our world that we may have always taken for granted, but which, if brought into focus, can orient our choices towards new possibilities.

In the literary sphere, we think, for example, of D. Defoe’s story The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. The adventures of the young English sailor shipwrecked on an island in the Atlantic, where the protagonist will remain for twenty-eight years, lead us to reflect on many aspects of our natural and social universe: the human being’s ability to adapt, the power of ingenuity, the need for inter-human relationships, the fear of loneliness. The reader is confronted with a series of hypothetical scenarios in which he or she is called upon to identify with the narrative; thus, the reading and re-reading of a literary text induces us to think about ourselves, our social relations, and what is indispensable or superfluous around us. Such reflection can open up a new view of things and induce us to act in a certain way, within our personal reality.

The same cognitive processes can apply to a passage from Holy Scripture. Let us think, for example, of the parable of the prodigal son in the Gospel of Luke: we are faced with a very specific scenario involving two sons and a father; the first son leaves home and goes to squander all his father’s wealth, while the second remains faithful and works honestly alongside his parent. What happens when the first son returns home repentant, asking for help? The father takes pity on him and takes him in, throwing a big celebration and provoking envy and resentment in the second son. This scenario also confronts us with ourselves, questioning our deepest existential reality and leading us to reflect on the meaning of forgiveness, on our difficulty in loving others, on the value of family relationships. This story, however, as we shall see, unlike any narrative, can take on a further meaning, in relation to one’s religious faith, one’s personal relationship with God.

Literary fictions seem to act directly on our thoughts or beliefs and, indirectly, on the reality with which we relate, and this applies to both narrative and theological matters. On the one hand, the thought experiment always makes use of literary fiction; on the other hand, narrative itself makes use of the thought experiment as a tool for investigating the reality it narrates. Swirski (2007) speaks of the cognitive functions of the literary thought experiment: the narrative form helps the memorization of past experiences; it allows, through the construction of a hypothetical scenario, the reorganization of one’s own linguistic-conceptual apparatus; it enables the human mind to make the transition from an ideal plane to a real situation, as when we feel compassion for the protagonist of a story by identifying with him; it is able to highlight the internal contradictions of a belief system and, finally, it causes thought to proceed through the use of symbols and metaphors (cf. Swirski 2007, pp. 111–23). What we learn from fiction, whether in narrative or in the theological sphere, however, is played out between the said and the unsaid: “Articulation of what is learnt is a meta-process categorically distinct from learning itself, which frequently manifests itself on the behavioral level, through action rather than formal analysis” (Swirski 2007, p. 123). The connection with the plan of action exists but may remain at a tacit or unconscious level: we cannot always fully communicate what reading or listening to a narrative has aroused in us. Here lies the important difference with the scientific thought experiment, which, although based on the work of the imagination, is founded on a series of assumptions that, in the experimental sense, are always traceable to the scientific community. However, we cannot deny that reading a work of fiction produces a certain cognitive progress that does not simply consist of a change of opinion but leads us to see the world in a new way (cf. Elgin 2007). We know that we have learnt something new about our existential, historical, cultural condition from the tale, but the definition of what we have learnt “is epistemologically problematic” (Elgin 2007, p. 43) because we are aware that the tale, through which we have attained certain truths, is far from the truth. A solution to this problem consists precisely in grasping the connection between literary fictions and thought experiments9. How to explain the transition from knowing nothing to knowing something? Or from knowing little to knowing a lot?And above all, how to understand our cognitive endeavour? Science, philosophy, like art are cognitive endeavours, but what is it that unites these endeavours in apparently such distant fields? A possible answer to these questions, through which the connection between scientific thought experiments and literary fictions emerges even more clearly, is in Elgin’s (1993) definition of understanding:

Not being restricted to facts, understanding is more comprehensive than knowledge ever hoped to be. We understand rules and reasons, actions and passions, objectives and obstacles, techniques and tools, forms and functions and fictions as well as facts. We also understand pictures, words, equations, and diagrams. […] Understanding need not be couched in sentences. It might equally be located in apt terminology, insightful questions, effective nonverbal symbols.

(Elgin 1993, p. 14)

Aesthetic understanding is similar to scientific understanding, as both science and art make use of exemplification: “An experiment can metaphorically exemplify properties like power, elegance, panache and promise; a painting, properties like electricity, balance, movement and depth” (Elgin 1993, p. 16). But what is important to emphasize, for the purposes of our discourse, is the process that takes place through exemplification: the characteristics that an object exemplifies refer to a series of categories that reconfigure the object itself, showing new or completely unexpected aspects. In this sense it can be said with Elgin that “an exemplar can […] revivify the obvious” (Elgin 1993, p. 18). In the scientific thought experiment, this process is quite evident: just think of Galileo’s famous thought experiment designed to prove that the speed of fall is proportional to the time of fall and not to the weight of the graves, as the traditional Aristotelian theory held. If we had two spheres made of the same material but of different masses and tied them together, we would arrive at an important contradiction. Following Aristotle’s theory, we could state that: (a) the lighter sphere, being slower, should slow down the heavier one; but also (b) the two spheres bound together should fall faster than the heavier sphere, since the weight of the two spheres together is greater than that of the heavier sphere considered alone. The contradiction can be overcome by denying the Aristotelian theory that the fall depends on the weight of the graves. In this sense, through a fiction, an imaginative act, there is a reconfiguration, or a new view of a phenomenon familiar to us, and the processes underlying this reconfiguration, in science, not only can, but must be intersubjectively shared.

As far as the literary narrative is concerned, we can exemplify this act of reconfiguration by thinking of a work cited by Elgin herself (Elgin 2007) to show how literary fictions can coincide with a certain type of thought experiments, in reference to the cognitive progress that in both science and narrative fiction passes through narration. The example concerns Orwell’s 1984, which can be read as an epistemological thought experiment: “Orwell’s 1984 shows that our first-order epistemological commitments about justification and reliability need to be backed by second order commitments about the conditions under which they obtain. By seeing how various machinations of the state can undermine knowledge, we discover that knowledge is possible only if no such machinations are at the base of our belief” (Elgin 2007, p. 51). The cognitive work, associated with literary fiction, consists in exemplifying certain features of our reality that we would otherwise miss. Through the construction of hypothetical situations, the human subjects have the possibility of re-considering certain aspects of the world, modifying not only their conceptual apparatus, but also their actions, their way of interacting with reality. Reflection from literary fiction is always, in an indirect manner, connected to action, although, as we have repeatedly stressed, in a way quite different from science, which is subject to real experimentation.

The role of narration brings the field of literature closer to that of the theological thought experiment, whose cognitive function lies precisely in narration.

The biblical account possesses, in fact, from a formal point of view, the same characteristics as a literary tale. From a context unrelated to faith, the biblical account can be totally equated with a literary account; an atheist reading a biblical account reads a literary account. Where then is the difference? It only emerges from the point of view of one who fully adheres to the scenario described by the biblical account and, through an act of faith, is prompted to reinterpret his or her existential experience in the light of the narrative, which then takes on a sacred value. The symbols and metaphors in the story speak to the reader’s life, as happens in every literary tale, but, in the case of the biblical text, the believer’s complete adherence to the story translates into adherence to a very precise lifestyle, enlightened by faith in God, which does not happen in the case of an ordinary literary tale. It is the context in which the thought experiment is set that makes the difference and defines the use and function of the experiment itself in relation to the reference reality.

The reference to context is essential and needs clarification in order to understand the cognitive value of the theological thought experiment and the criteria that make it ‘work’. The context in which a theological thought experiment is considered valid can be delineated by what Malm Lindberg calls “the overall aim of religious practice, which is to make the world existentially intelligible” (Malm Lindberg 2021, p. 129). The adverb ‘existentially’ allows us to define our attempt to understand the world as both epistemic and practical. Even in this case, the kind of ‘understanding’, to which the theological thought experiment tends, does not coincide with the knowledge of new facts but with a new awareness of ourselves, in a deep and personal relationship with God: “Coming to see that there is a God involves seeing a new meaning in one’s life, and being given a new understanding” (Phillips 1970, p. 18). This also implies a change in lifestyle: “For example, because of her belief that the world is created by God she may come to view her environment differently: as sacred or worthy of respect. It may also change her behavior because she believes that she now has a duty of care for the world” (Scott 2017, p. 136). The value and use of a theological thought experiment depends on our way of living religious ‘practice’ and our commitment to a faith always lived at a community level, in a relationship with the world that can constantly renew itself, in the face of the different meanings contained in the texts examined.

In a revealed theology, the use of the thought experiment as a tool for the investigation of our personal reality makes sense. The exegesis of the biblical account opens up to a multiplicity of hidden meanings that emerge in the light of a faith that is already present, but in need of further ‘axiomatization’. In this case, recognizing the fact that a text can be open to innumerable interpretations does not presuppose the risk of a radical relativism regarding the profound meaning of the biblical text, since the free and personal relationship with Scripture always takes place from a shared context that already presupposes faith in God. The theological thought experiment has the task of ‘re-structuring’ or ‘axiomatizing’ the meanings that emerge from the sacred text. It is not a matter of proving the truth or falsity of certain theological assertions, but of recognizing a set of beliefs that emerge from the biblical account, re-reading and re-interpreting it:

Thus it seems that we are left with a set of non-rational beliefs, those beliefs about God’s evaluations of world, which cannot be justified by a rational methodology. Yet these beliefs, it would seem, would determine to a large extent our attitude toward life and the world and have serious consequences for our actions. But these are beliefs which can only be accepted or rejected on the basis of faith.

(Clarke 1964, p. 341)

In revealed theology, the truth or falsity of certain statements about God or His nature are irrelevant; the focus shifts to the biblical account, in which the scenarios described have value for their own sake, beyond any historical explanation. As is well known, in the Summa Theologica St. Thomas writes: “The author of Holy Scriptureis God, in whose power it is to signify His meaning, not by words only (as man also can do), but also by things themselves. So, whereas in every other science things are signified by words, this science has the property that the things signified by the words have themselves also a signification […] That signification […] is called the spiritual sense, which is based on the literal, and presupposes it” (Summa Theologica I, Q, I, a. 10, in Thomas Aquinas 1945). The spiritual meaning of Scripture can be an allegorical, moral or anagogical meaning. In the latter case “the events, or things, of the sensible world are taken not as signifying some future event, or thing, in the world of sense, like the allegorical, nor are they taken as signifying how we should act in this life, like the moral, but as signifying our eternal glory—that is, signifying something about God” (Clarke 1964, p. 338–339). Statements such as ‘Jesus is the Messiah’ do not have a descriptive function but are justified by virtue of their anagogical meaning, as an expression of God’s characters from the perspective of revelation (cf. Clarke 1964).

The theological thought experiment should not, therefore, be considered as an instrument, proper to philosophical theology and aimed at proving the existence of God, but as a means endowed with cognitive value only from the perspective of revelation, in relation to the various ‘spiritual’ meanings of the sacred text. In this sense, the problem of the cognitive value of the theological thought experiment becomes a hermeneutic problem and is played out in the relationship between symbol and interpretation, where the symbol is understood, in the Ricoueurian sense, as that structure of meaning in which a direct, primary, literal sense designates in addition another indirect, secondary, figurative sense, which can only be apprehended through the first (cf. Ricoeur 1969), thus leaving room for hermeneutic work. Symbol and interpretation are correlative concepts: “There is interpretation where there is multiple sense and it is in interpretation that the plurality of senses is made manifest” (Ricoeur 1969, p. 26, my translation). The hermeneutic problem depends on the very structure of the symbol which, by disguising and unveiling at the same time, “induces thinking”, i.e., demands work on the part of philosophical reflection (cf. Ricoeur 1965).

Now, returning to the question of the role of the theological thought experiment, one could think of the thought experiment as a means of which reflective thought makes use, in relation to a symbolic language, loaded with meanings, such as that of the biblical account. Such reflection, developing from the symbol, is not, however, sufficient on its own and appeals to an interpretative work involving the human person in his or her totality, in relation to his or her natural and cultural being at the same time. The exegesis of the biblical account thus opens up to a multiplicity of hidden meanings, which emerge in the light of a faith that nonetheless requires reflective work. The task of reflection can be attributed to theological thought experiments, which do not, as we have already stressed, have the role of proving the truth or falsity of certain theological assertions, but enact, through the construction of a counterfactual scenario, an ‘axiomatization’ of the revealed contents, avoiding the risk of ‘theoretical stagnancy’ and always pushing reflective thought forward10. The work of ‘axiomatizing’ or ‘structuring’ the different meanings that emerge from the biblical account thus becomes a task that is constantly renewed and requires the human mind not to stop, but to broaden its horizon, in the ever-renewed relationship between the person who interprets and the symbol that allows itself to be interpreted, without, however, annulling itself in the conceptual schematics of rational thought.

4. Conclusions

The first challenge that needs to be answered, when talking about thought experiments, concerns their cognitive effectiveness and ability to learn something new about reality through thinking. Undoubtedly, one has to address this question by considering the differences between the fields in which thought experiments are used for a variety of purposes. Indeed, thought experiments prove to be valuable tools for investigating the nature of things in profoundly different contexts such as the natural sciences, economics, history, mathematics, philosophy, religion, theology and fiction. We started from Buzzoni’s view about the relationship between thought experimentation and reality, a relationship founded, in the empirical sciences, on the inseparable link between thought and action, in our technical-practical intervention in reality. But I have then raised the question in what terms can we think of this link in a sphere, such as the theological one, in which the use of thought experiments is nonetheless and frequently used?

As we observed in the first part of this work, through the proposals of W. Löffler and J. Wisdom, when the object of our attention is not the natural world but the mystery of God, the need to broaden the rational horizon arises, appealing to a reflexive thinking that, on the one hand, cannot do without the concept, but, on the other, differs from that of traditional logic, aiming at deconstructing certain consolidated conceptual structures that orient our life choices.

This kind of thinking has allowed us to reconsider the cognitive value of the theological thought experiment, starting, in particular, from Fehige’s proposal to reread St. Anselm’s ontological argument as a thought experiment of a revealed theology. It would seem, in fact, that one can only speak of a theological thought experiment within a revealed theology, a theology that develops with and through faith. If, as we saw in the second part of the paper, on the one hand, the cognitive value of theological thought experiments depends on the narrative function of the thought experiment and the link with the narrative sphere, on the other hand, it is precisely the scope of faith that distinguishes the use of thought experiments in theology and fiction. As has been attempted to demonstrate, there are numerous similarities between the theological thought experiment and the thought experiment in narrative: both are distinguished from the scientific thought experiment, for which a link with empirical reality is always assumed, subject to real experimentation, whose assumptions are traceable and sharable by all; in both contexts, moreover, the narrative aspect assumes central importance, and the biblical account possesses, from a formal point of view, the same characteristics as a literary account. However, it was necessary to highlight that the thought experiment only acquires meaning within a precise context that establishes its rules and modalities. The context does not constitute an impediment in the intuitive process enacted by the thought experiment, but becomes its condition of development. In this sense, the thought experiment, in theology, can help us reflect on certain aspects of our reality, deconstructing certain rigid structures and opening the way to insights into reality that may remain even at an unconscious, tacit level, but which influence human behaviour and relationships.

The Bible can only be seen as a sacred text if it is regarded as divinely inspired or, more generally, as a text that provides us with absolute criteria towards which to orient our lives. This is why the analogy between theological and literary thought experiments presupposes their distinction, and the problem of the theological thought experiment becomes a problem that is played out, above all, on a hermeneutic level, in the interweaving of what the symbol simultaneously masks and reveals. The exegesis of the biblical narrative thus opens up to a multiplicity of hidden meanings that emerge in the light of a faith that is already present, but always need of further ‘axiomatization’. In this sense, the narrative allows thought to exercise its own reflective work on reality, work that, in the case of theological thought experiments, is enriched and expanded by one’s own personal experience of faith.