two of them would have been noticed by somebody. But is (W) in fact true? Of course, if
(N) is true, then (W) is also true. But here we are trying to go in the other direction, using
(W) as a reason for thinking that (N) is true. And if we do not begin with the assumption
that (N) is true, then what reason might we have for thinking that (W) is true?
Hume claims that there is a uniform experience against resurrections, and against
miracles in general. But the fact is that there is not a uniform testimony against these
things. For better or worse, the testimonial picture is mixed. There are many people who,
speaking about their own experience, can sincerely say that they have never observed a
resurrection. And there are apparently a few people who say that they have observed a
resurrection. Among these are people who said that they had seen Jesus alive a few days
after his death, that they talked with him, had breakfast with him, and so on. This sort of
mix in the testimonial picture—a lot of testimonies that reflect the pervasive uniformity
of the world, and a few that report strange and anomalous events—is just what we should
expect if miracles are indeed real but rare.
It seems to me, therefore, that there is no good reason, or at least no experience-based
reason, to think that the probability of (N) is high. And so we cannot properly use (N) to
justify assigning a low probability to (J). But where does that leave us with respect to the
probability of (J)?
We can construe the probability of Jesus' resurrection as being very low in the same way
as we construe the probability of Henry's winning the grand prize as being very low. If
we take Jesus to be just a randomly selected person among the many millions of human
beings who have lived in the world, and if we assume that resurrections are at best very
rare in the world, then the antecedent probability of Jesus' being resurrected is very low.
But this is just the sort of case to which the Lottery Surprise applies. That is, it is just the
sort of case in which a single testimony generates an enormous change in the subsequent
probability.
At the very end of his essay Hume throws out an intriguing suggestion:
So that, upon the whole, we may conclude, that the Christian religion not only was at first
attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable person
without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of its veracity: and whoever is
moved by faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his own person,
which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to
believe what is most contrary to custom and experience. (1777, 131)
This statement may be merely ironic and sarcastic, a final poke at the credulity and
gullibility of Christians. I think that is the way most commentators have interpreted it.
But even jokes and sarcasm can include an element of truth. And maybe there is more
truth in Hume's statement here than he realized. Taken at face value, the statement
suggests another way in which a miracle might have an epistemic effect. Rather than
hearing testimony about miracles or even witnessing a miracle themselves, believers
might be the subjects of a miracle. The principal effect of this miracle, perhaps it's only
effect, would be that of producing an epistemic change in the subject. Miracles, in
general, produce effects that would not have happened in the ordinary course of nature. In
this case, the effect that would not have happened otherwise is the believer's coming to
have faith in the Christian religion. Despite the insufficiency of “mere reason”, and so on,
the person would find himself or herself with faith.
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