The Creative Redefinition of God

“Whatever is at the top of that hierarchy of values, serves the function of God for you.”
^{— Jordan Peterson}

Imagine I proclaimed that every song you hum is your “national anthem,” or that every chair you sit on is your “throne.” You’d likely smirk at the absurdity—humming a tune doesn’t pledge allegiance to a nation, and lounging on a couch doesn’t make you royalty. Yet, this is the kind of definitional acrobatics at play when thinkers like Jordan Peterson or Christian apologists declare, “Whatever sits at the top of your value hierarchy is your God.” By stretching “God” to encompass any ultimate concern—whether it’s love, ambition, or even a morning coffee ritual—they assert that everyone, even atheists, worships something. This tactic is a rhetorical tour de force, but it crumbles under scrutiny like a sandcastle under a rising tide. This essay includes a rigorous philosophical analysis, imaginative analogies, and a deeper exploration of the tactic’s implications for discourse and culture.

The Nature of the Claim

The “everything is a God” tactic posits that every individual operates with a highest value—be it family, justice, or personal fulfillment—that serves as their functional “God.” Jordan Peterson frames this as a psychological necessity: humans, as meaning-driven creatures, inevitably crown something as the apex of their value pyramid. Christian apologists amplify this into a theological weapon: rejecting the Christian God isn’t disbelief but idolatry, a misdirected worship of false gods like ideology, self, or pleasure.

This move is not a neutral observation but a calculated redefinition. It seeks to universalize theism by making worship inescapable. An atheist who cherishes reason? That’s their god. A humanist devoted to compassion? Another deity. By labeling all priorities as “gods,” the tactic insists that theism is universal—atheists don’t reject God; they worship poorly. This framing is both a rhetorical trap and a philosophical overreach, conflating psychological tendencies with metaphysical commitments in a way that obscures more than it illuminates.

Why It Works Rhetorically

The tactic’s persuasive power is undeniable, a masterclass in rhetorical sleight-of-hand. Its strengths are manifold:

1. Definitional Supremacy: By redefining “God” as any ultimate value, the apologist casts a net so vast it ensnares everyone. No matter your worldview—devout, agnostic, or militantly atheist—you’re caught because you must prioritize something. It’s a victory won not through evidence but through linguistic conquest.
2. Moral Sting: The claim carries an emotional barb. Labeling an atheist’s values as “false gods” frames disbelief as moral failure—idolatry rather than freedom. It paints the unbeliever as enslaved to inferior deities, a narrative that resonates with audiences primed to see purpose as divine.
3. Burden-Shifting Brilliance: Instead of defending their own theological claims, apologists pivot to interrogating the opponent’s priorities. “What’s your god?” they ask, dodging questions about their deity’s existence. The debate becomes a critique of the atheist’s values, not a defense of theism.
4. Psychological Resonance: The tactic taps into a universal truth: humans seek meaning. By framing priorities as “gods,” it feels profound, aligning with our intuitive sense of purpose. It’s like a mirror held up to our deepest drives, reflecting them back as divine.

This rhetorical alchemy transforms a vulnerable argument into a seemingly unassailable narrative. It’s a magician’s trick—dazzling until you spot the hidden wires.

Why It Fails Logically

Despite its rhetorical charm, the tactic collapses under logical scrutiny, committing a litany of philosophical sins:

1. Category Error: Equating a psychological priority (e.g., valuing justice) with a metaphysical entity (a deity with ontological status) is a categorical blunder. It’s like calling your favorite book a “library” because it holds your attention. Priorities are subjective; gods, in theological terms, are objective entities with specific attributes.
2. Definitional Inflation: By redefining “God” as “whatever you value most,” the term loses all theological specificity. A word that can mean anything—career, love, or a Netflix binge—means nothing. It’s like calling every sound “music”; the term becomes so broad it no longer distinguishes between a symphony and a car horn. The claim becomes trivially true but intellectually barren.
3. Self-Defeating Logic: If “God” is merely the apex of one’s value hierarchy, then Christians, too, are not worshipping a transcendent deity but simply prioritizing a concept labeled “God.” This undermines the theological distinctiveness the apologist seeks to defend, reducing faith to a psychological preference.
4. Unfalsifiability: The claim is engineered to be immune to counterexamples. Reject the label of “god” for your values? The apologist retorts, “That rejection is your god.” This tautology—where every outcome confirms the premise—lacks epistemic weight. A claim that cannot be disproven is not profound; it’s empty.
5. Equivocation: The tactic slips between two meanings of “God”: a subjective human value and an objective, supernatural being. This bait-and-switch starts with a descriptive observation (“everyone has priorities”) and pivots to a normative judgment (“your priorities are false gods”). The shift is subtle but fallacious, banking on the audience missing the sleight.

These flaws expose a strategy that prioritizes persuasion over precision. It’s a philosophical mirage—enticing from a distance but dissolving upon closer inspection.

Analogies to Expose the Absurdity

To illuminate the tactic’s overreach, consider these expanded analogies, each a lens to reveal the distortion of meaning:

• Every book is “sacred scripture.” Claiming your tattered copy of 1984 is your Bible because it shapes your worldview ignores the theological, historical, and cultural specificity of sacred texts. Similarly, calling your career your “god” erases the supernatural attributes of divinity.
• Every meal is “holy communion.” Savoring a burrito doesn’t make it a sacramental act. Equating a mundane pleasure with a ritual rooted in doctrine mirrors the conflation of everyday priorities with divine worship.
• Every walk is “a pilgrimage.” Strolling to the coffee shop isn’t a sacred journey to Jerusalem. The term “pilgrimage” carries spiritual weight, just as “God” implies more than a personal preference.
• Every opinion is “a constitution.” Holding a strong view on pizza toppings doesn’t make it a governing legal framework. This parallels the overreach of labeling any value a “god,” ignoring the theological scaffolding of divinity.
• Every friend is “a soulmate.” Calling every close companion a soulmate cheapens the term’s romantic and existential depth, much like equating a hobby with divine worship strips “God” of its metaphysical resonance.
• Every choice is “a vow.” Choosing a red shirt today isn’t a sacred oath. This mirrors the tactic’s inflation of ordinary decisions into acts of worship.
• Every spark is “a wildfire.” A fleeting emotion isn’t a catastrophic blaze. Similarly, a personal value isn’t a deity, no matter how intensely felt.
• Every doodle is “a masterpiece.” Scribbling on a napkin isn’t the Sistine Chapel. The tactic’s redefinition of “God” flattens profound distinctions into triviality.
• Every whisper is “a prophecy.” Muttering about the weather doesn’t make you an oracle. This echoes the tactic’s attempt to elevate mundane priorities to divine status.
• Every step is “a dance.” Shuffling to the fridge isn’t choreography. The tactic’s overreach similarly transforms ordinary acts into something they’re not.

Each analogy underscores the same flaw: stretching a term beyond its boundaries obliterates its meaning. The “everything is a god” tactic is not clarification but conceptual vandalism, dismantling the very distinctions it claims to uphold.

Philosophical and Cultural Implications

The tactic’s flaws extend beyond logic to broader philosophical and cultural consequences. Philosophically, it trivializes both theism and atheism. By reducing “God” to a catch-all for human values, it diminishes the majesty of theological claims about a transcendent creator. A God who is merely “whatever you value most” is no God at all—just a mirror reflecting human psychology. Simultaneously, it misrepresents atheism as covert theism, denying nonbelievers the integrity of their worldview. This erases the possibility of genuine disagreement, forcing all perspectives into a theistic frame.

Culturally, the tactic reflects a broader trend of rhetorical overreach in polarized debates. It thrives in a climate where winning arguments often trumps seeking truth. By framing all human endeavors as worship, it exploits a primal fear of meaninglessness, suggesting that without a “proper” God, life is adrift. Yet, this fearmongering avoids the harder work of engaging diverse worldviews on their own terms. It’s a shortcut that prioritizes emotional impact over intellectual honesty.

Historically, the tactic echoes patterns of intellectual control. Redefining terms to silence dissent is an old playbook—think of medieval scholastics branding all challenges as “heresy” or authoritarian regimes labeling opposition as “treason.” The “everything is a god” move is a modern variant, wielding language to corner opponents rather than persuade through reason. It’s a power play disguised as philosophy, seeking to dominate discourse rather than enrich it.

Moreover, the tactic risks alienating those it aims to persuade. By dismissing atheists’ values as “false gods,” it shuts down dialogue before it begins. Instead of inviting exploration—say, asking why someone prioritizes reason or compassion—it imposes a framework that feels patronizing. This is not bridge-building; it’s rhetorical bulldozing.

A Path Forward: Clarity Over Capture

For meaningful discourse, we must reject definitional gamesmanship. The concept of “God” deserves better than being a rhetorical catch-all; it carries profound implications—ontological, moral, and existential—that demand precision. Likewise, human values deserve to be understood on their own terms, not forced into theological categories. An atheist can prioritize family without deifying it. A humanist can champion justice without worshipping it. And a theist can defend their faith without resorting to semantic traps.

A more honest approach would embrace the distinction between psychological priorities and metaphysical claims. It would engage with evidence and reason, not linguistic sleights. For theists, this means defending their deity’s existence through argument, not by redefining disbelief as misdirected worship. For atheists, it means articulating their values without being cornered into a theistic framework. True persuasion lies in grappling with ideas, not rigging the dictionary.

Conclusion

The “everything is a god” tactic is a rhetorical siren song—captivating, intuitive, and morally charged, but ultimately hollow. It seduces with its universalizing sweep, framing all human priorities as acts of worship, but it collapses under the weight of its own logical flaws. By inflating “God” to encompass every value, it strips the term of meaning, turning a profound concept into a trivial label. Like calling every step a dance or every whisper a prophecy, it obscures more than it reveals. For those seeking truth over triumph, the path forward is clear: let “God” mean God, let values be values, and let dialogue thrive on clarity, not capture.

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