Rebecca Newberger Goldstein’s 36 Arguments for the Existence of God

36 Arguments for the Existence of God opens with its protagonist, the famous atheist author Cass Seltzer, in the middle of an existential crisis: he thinks—perhaps even furtively hopes—that he has finally found a rational argument in favor of god’s existence that he can’t refute. The book that had made Seltzer famous came in two parts: the first described the many kinds of religious type experiences, from faith in god to romantic love, and the second, an appendix, listed 36 arguments and counterarguments about the existence of god. Cass’s appendix is included in the novel and it is crisp, elegant, and witty in its exposition. A few of the arguments arise in the text as well, most prominently during the climactic debate about god between Cass and a conservative economist.

I doubt that I need to issue a spoiler alert to write that the preponderance of the philosophical evidence here requires a reader verdict for the atheists, at least as far as logical arguments are concerned. But Goldstein avoids the simplistic shrill paradigm of the New Atheists who deride religion as a moral outrage. Instead, she paints religious worship as one of many ways in which we all flail towards answers to the necessary and universal questions about life’s purpose and meaning. The answers, Cass tells us, may not exist. We are not entitled to them existing. But we have to look for them anyway.

This universal search for meaning is the adventure of Goldstein’s characters’ lives. They are people who live mostly in their heads and to whom ideas matter. They base life decisions on the truth, importance, and joy of understanding abstractions like rigid designators, theodicy, and game theory equilibriums, and—incredibly—Goldstein makes all this completely believable and then wisely leavens this thick mix of ideas with a dash of dramatic irony. There’s an absurdity to a life filled with overthinking everything. In one scene, Cass is so mystified by a cryptic note from a classmate that asks him to meet at the “view from nowhere” that he enlists the help of a reference librarian. She finds a philosophy book with that title, and Cass gratefully peruses the volume for clues—only to discover, hours later, that the View from Nowhere is the town dive bar.

Still, in this book, philosophy and theory are the focal point rather than decorations, mere names and allusions artfully arranged throughout for atmospheric effect. I’m not quite dogged enough in my pursuit of substance, I suppose, because I skimmed a few parts. I discovered that despite choosing to read this book for its promise of a smorgasbord of ideas, I can’t, despite my best efforts, muster enthusiasm for every shiny new thought excavated from the bowels of a university library. Yet Goldberg’s wit, erudition, and craft are thrilling. In the end, I wouldn’t recommend this novel for everyone. But given to the right person at the right time, this book will astound with its brilliance.