I like people who cite my work (for the right reasons, that is). People like Joel Watts over at The Church of Jesus Christ.

Joel links to my material on the well and truly debunked copy cat theories surrounding the origin of Christianity. According to those theories, Christianity is founded on myth, and the person that Christians refer to as Jesus of Nazareth is a fictional re-writing of any one of – or perhaps a mixture of – saviour hero figures from various other ancient religions. I’ve commented at length on such creative revisionism before and may do so again, but won’t be doing so today.

What prompted me to blog today was the very first comment that appeared on Joel’s blog entry, made by one Robert Wilson.

There’s no such thing as an “historical Jesus”, since there are no non-Biblical records supporting the existence of the Jesus character.

Thanks to the internet, a number of people believe this. They don’t necessarily believe it because they’ve looked in the direction that any of the relevant evidence might lay, although some of them may, in all fairness, have looked at someone’s presentation of the evidence (that is, the alleged evidence that there are no non-biblical records supporting the existence of the Jesus character. Among ancient historians, the thesis that there literally was no historical Jesus on which the early Christian movement was based is like belief in a flat earth. It’s silly, not taken seriously, and there’s really no need to so much as acknowledge the fact that such a theory even exists. But the internet is another story. In order to get online, nothing has to pass peer review. There are no expertise-based prerequisites to post something at a blog (and yes, that applies to my blog as much as to any other). Stories – the wilder, the more damning of people with whom you disagree, and the more scandalous the better – spread online. This story is one of them, leaping like a virus from one message board to another, from one blog to the next. There is no evidence, we are told, none of any sort – and certainly not from ancient historical records – that there even existed a first century person who we now refer to as Jesus of Nazareth. And by “historical,” we naturally mean “outside of the Bible.” Of course.
Interested? Read the rest.

This is the second time in a pretty short space of time that I’ve criticised something said by Stephen Law. I don’t want people to think that I’m picking on him. It’s a coincidence, I swear. I had a book of his out of the library and critiqued his (apparent) claim that Christians who use the fine-tuning argument commit the lottery fallacy. Then when I was in that same library a couple of days ago that same book caught my eye because I recognised it as the book that I recently had out. Right next to it was another book by Stephen Law. It was bright green, so it stood out. That’s how I came to be reading him again and how I spotted the comments that I’m about to comment on. I promise, it’s nothing personal.

Having said that, it’s still an example of some pretty bad philosophy. Law’s book The Philosophy Files is basically an introduction to philosophical issues for young people. In general, it’s good; enjoyable, clear, helpful and it has nifty pictures. (I have on my desk the edition published in 2000).

But just as with his other book that I commented on, The Philosophy Gym, things head south when it comes to the section on theism (belief in God). Now of course we should cut him some slack. The book isn’t an in-depth text book. It provides an introductory coverage of issues for people who may never have encountered them before. But even in a simplified presentation, surely we have a duty to represent people’s positions in a way that doesn’t mislead, and that doesn’t portray people that one disagrees with as using arguments that are much worse than the arguments that they use in real life.
Interested? Read the rest.

Recently I read a few comments by Richard Dawkins on the phrase “a Christian child” or “a Muslim child” etc. he writes:

A phrase like “Catholic child” or “Muslim child” should clang furious bells of protest in the mind, just as we flinch when we hear “One man, one vote.” Children are too young to know their religious opinions. Just as you can’t vote until you are eighteen, you should be free to choose your own cosmology and ethics without society’s impertinent presumption that you will automatically inherit those of your parents. We’d be aghast to be told of a Leninist child or a neo-conservative child or a Hayekian monetarist child. So isn’t it a kind of child abuse to speak of a Catholic child or a Protestant child? Especially in Northern Ireland and Glasgow, where such labels, handed down over generations, have divided neighborhoods for centuries and can even amount to a death warrant?

Catholic child? Flinch. Protestant child? Squirm. Muslim child? Shudder. Everybody’s consciousness should be raised to this level. Occasionally a euphemism is needed, and I suggest “Child of Jewish (etc.) parents.” When you come down to it, that’s all we are really talking about anyway. Just as the upside-down (Northern Hemisphere chauvinism again: flinch!) map from New Zealand raises consciousness about a geographical truth, children should hear themselves described not as “Christian children” but as “children of Christian parents.” This in itself would raise their consciousness, empower them to make up their own minds, and choose which religion, if any, they favor, rather than just assume that religion means “same beliefs as parents.” I could well imagine that this linguistically coded freedom to choose might lead children to choose no religion at all.

There’s a certain disanalogy here with political points of view. Being a “Hayekian monetarist” or a “Leninist” is largely (or at least to some extent and in an important way) about cherishing certain values, whereas religious belief has more to do with affirming certain claims as metaphysically true.

But more importantly, Richard Dawkins is on record as treating all factual beliefs as “scientific” beliefs. There’s a factual answer to the question of whether or not the moon orbits the earth, or how many protons there are in an atom of lead. I doubt that Professor Dawkins would look kindly on the parent or teacher who answered a young boy’s question about the moon by saying “I’m sorry Timmy, you’re too young. I can’t possibly impose my view of the moon’s movement upon you. How dare I try to make you share my beliefs.” I’m interested in your thoughts. Do you agree with Richard Dawkins? Should fact claims that most people would consider “religious” be treated as exceptional – unlike all other beliefs – and excluded from the beliefs we share with our children? If so, why?

I do wonder, too, how Richard Dawkins would answer his own child (hypothically) if she asked him: Is there a god?

We live in a world of slogans. The title of this blog is a slogan (and a delibrately provocative one). Just recently, the 2010 budget was announced by the National led government. Well before it was announced, people (well, some people, namely opponents of National and supporters of the opposition) were harping on about the way that the budget would represent an attack on the poor, and it would be a budget for the rich, and so on. That didn’t really eventuate. On the whole, it looks like low and middle income people will be roughly as well off as they were before.

However, people are still claiming that it’s a rich person’s budget, because the top tax rate is now lower, so people on very high incomes will have thousands more each year. Now, it’s true, they will. But does that make it a rich person’s budget? It’s not fair to simply compare the new tax rates to the old ones. Imagine if an old law permitted the government to burn down rich peoples’ houses and torture them every week, but the new version of the law only let the government do this once a month. Would anyone say the new version of the law was kind to the rich? Of course not. It may be slightly less unjust to them, but it’s hardly kind.

I even heard someone say recently that our tiered income tax system takes away a greater percentage of the disposable income of those on lower incomes than those on higher incomes (disposable income is gross income minus tax). Beliefs like this have really passed from the realm of ordinary statement of fact, testable and subject to evaluation, to a kind of creedal epithet, believed on pain of being unjust, uncaring, or anti social justice. The trouble is, it’s just mistaken. It is a mere matter of a basic error in mathematics. Let’s compare two people, one earning $20K per year gross (this makes them low income), and one earning $100K. Let’s compare what they will pay in income tax per year, based on the new budget figures. Any reader can check these figures.

You can view the new income tax rates (and how they differ very slightly from current rates) HERE.  OK, on with the comparison.

Individual person on $20,000.00 gross
Dollars paid in income tax: $2,520.00
Percentage of gross income paid in tax: 12.6%
Disposable income: $17,480.00
Tax as a percentage of disposable income: 14.42%

Person on $100,000.00 gross
Dollars paid in income tax: $23,920.00
Percentage of gross income paid in tax: 23.92%
Disposable income: $76,080.00
Tax as a percentage of disposable income: 31.44%

There’s no mistake here, these are pretty simple calculations (well, actually calculating the tax obligation isn’t that simple, but it can be done without too much trouble). In dollar terms, in percentages of gross income, and in percentages of disposable income, we tax the rich far more than we tax the poor. The new budget, whatever critics might say, simply does favour the poor and “punish” the rich (if, of course, you think that being taxed disproportionately higher is a punishment).

Nothing profound has been said here. In this blog post I have not claimed that the above state of affairs is good or bad. I only posted these observations to counter a strange but common false claim, so that I can direct the attention of the next person who makes it to this page. That is all.

You might read the title of this blog entry and think that I’m kidding. Well, I’m being intentionally provocative I’ll grant, but I’m not kidding.

Every now and then someone asks me if I would recommend that they go ahead and get a PhD in philosophy or theology. As rule of thumb, I wouldn’t. Why not? Didn’t I enjoy my experience? Yes, very much. I got a scholarship to pay for all my fees and a living allowance, so I got to do stuff I love for three years and get paid for it. It was great! And if that’s all you’re after – three years of doing what you love, then I take back my warning. Go ahead, do it, because you will very probably get what you want.

But what if you’re not doing it just for the satisfaction and pleasure. Are you going to do it for the knowledge? Read books. Start a blog and write articles. You don’t need to get a PhD to know about your subject. Actually you would only go after a PhD if you already knew your subject well enough to say something lengthy about it.

And then we come to the more likely culprit. You want to get a PhD because you think you’ll be able to enter professional academia once you’ve got a PhD, and perhaps a few publications. Now, some people ask me this because – no boasting intended – they admire what they think I’ve achieved. I’ve got a PhD, so I would know if it’s a good idea for them, because I’ve been there and done that. Well here’s the thing: Did you also notice that even though I completely finished the PhD in mid 2007 and it’s now mid 2010, I haven’t had a single academic job – not even a job interview?

Imagine that I’m in a rowboat, in the middle of a lake. So are a hundred other people. The lake is big enough to hold just one hundred rowboats. We all have fishing rods, and our heavily baited hooks are in the water. There’s a single fish in the water, and everyone on the lake knows it. You’re standing at the shore and you call out, “so…. should I bring my boat and rod out there too?” Another illustration: There’s an elevator full of people. No, not just full, it’s absolutely stuffed with people, and the crowd overflows out into the lobby, where still more people – dozens of them, are pressing in as hard as they can, trying to get into the elevator. Should you try to get in? Imagine that the scene before you does not change. The people in the elevator are quite happy to stay there, and the crowd pressed hard up against them just keeps on pressing it, showing no sign of letting up. You haven’t even entered the mob yet. Should you stand around for hours waiting to get in?

Consider the New Zealand scene in philosophy: Your options for universities are Auckland, Waikato, Victoria, Canterbury and Otago. There are a few smaller places (e.g. polytechnics) that may have an elective paper or so in philosophy, but these are the main options. Do they all hire new faculty each year? No of course not. There might – might – be two full time recruitments each year in the nation. How many graduates do you suppose there are? I don’t care to guess. Take into account, too, the fact that departments will not only consider New Zealand candidates. The situation is the same on a larger scale in the US, the UK, and Australia. As a PhD grad in philosophy, you will almost certainly not get a job on a philosophy faculty. Period. Should you get a PhD in philosophy? If you’re doing it for the love of it, sure why not. It’s expensive, but whatever. If you’re thinking of doing it to enter the academic profession with that degree, then you had better be special. Or you had better know somebody – in which case someone better than you is going to get screwed over. So you’d better be special. But can I recommend, in general, that you fling yourself into a pool of candidates – a pool that I am in – that already faces impossible odds? No. I can’t. The best advice I can give to most people (read: to normal people, who might happen to have a keen interest in philosophy and teaching) is simple: Don’t do it.

Glenn Peoples

The following is a message that I have sent out to a number of email lists of philosophy graduates and faculty:

I’m looking at establishing a New Zealand based online peer reviewed journal of philosophy called The Philosopher’s Stone. As far as I am aware this would be the first such journal based in this country. Pre-empting doing this successfully, I’ve created a website for the journal here.

From the “About” page:

The Philosophers’ Stone is the name of the legendary substance dreamt of by alchemists, supposed to be able to transform lead into gold, and believed by some to serve as an elixir for eternal life.

The Philosopher’s Stone is an online journal of philosophy founded on the conviction that the job of philosophers is to serve humanity by transforming the lead of confusion and uncertainty into the gold of clarity, understanding and upright living. What else could be the product of genuine and good philosophy – which is, after all, the love of wisdom? The intention of this journal is therefore to attract work aimed at promoting not only academic discussion of philosophical issues (something that is certainly hoped for), but also to promote the public understanding of those issues and of philosophy in general in an engaging and enjoyable way.

The target audience of TPS is wide: From philosophy students who want good resources to get a handle on their subject matter, to professors who want a good source of material to both draw on and recommend – and to read for their own enjoyment and edification – to members of the public with an interest in philosophy. The journal covers fresh expositions of thorny philosophical issues, good natured interaction between scholars at opposite ends of disagreements, exciting tales of recent developments in philosophy and more.

TPS is based in New Zealand and scholars from Australasia are especially encouraged to contribute, however contributions from further afield are certainly and always welcome.

At this stage I would envision that the journal would be a quarterly publication.

I am now asking for qualified people in New Zealand and Australia who might be interested in constituting an editorial board for the journal to register their interest. The actual commitment required would be fairly minimal. Primarily, it would involve being willing to either peer review submitted material, or to assist in identifying and approaching a suitable peer reviewer for submitted papers. The editor would liaise between contributors and editorial board members. I’d like to hit the ground running with at least fifteen members (but ten would be enough to signal sufficient interest in the world of antipodean philosophy to get the ball rolling).

[end of message]

Let’s see how this develops!

The kalam cosmological argument is a version of the argument from first causes. It is part of a philosophical case for the existence of God, and goes like this:

1. Whatever begins to exist has a cause of its existence (This is the major premise)
2. The universe began to exist (This is the minor premise)
3. Therefore the universe has a cause of its existence (This is the conclusion)

A response has been offered to the argument. You won’t find this response in textbooks or peer reviewed journal articles on philosophy of religion, but it’s out there – on movie and video game discussion forums, in YouTube clips (and in the comments section of YouTube clips) and the like.
Interested? Read the rest.

Greetings readers (and listeners). I have a request.

It’s no secret that I’m trying to land a teaching job at a university, or a role that makes use of my training and abilities. To that end, I’m putting together a CD that I’ll be sending out to organisations and colleges. I’m requesting something that I’d like to put on that CD – as well as on this site and to use in general for promoting the podcast and blog.

When Someone gets a letter, email or job application from me saying that I run one of New Zealand’s most popular blogs, or that I run the most popular podcast in the humanities in the country, and perhaps in Australasia, I’m never really sure that anyone’s impressed. What I’m looking for is endorsements from people who follow the podcast or who have listened to a substantial number of episodes. I include the blog in what I’d like people to endorse, but the podcast is more important, because a teaching role has more to do with the ability to convey ideas verbally.

I hate to get all elitist, but the reality is that I’m applying for roles in higher education, so people who view my material are more likely to care about the opinion of qualified people who work in the field. So here’s what I’m looking for: I’m looking for brief statements of endorsement of the blog and especially the podcast, from people who have postgraduate qualifications in philosophy and/or theology, and who are employed at a college of higher education (or any organisation that you think might be relevant in regrad to your teaching role) to teach and/or research in an area with a heavy philosophical component (any area of philosophy is fine: philosophy of religion, ethics, metaphysics, epistemology, political philosophy or political science, philosophy of science, critical thinking, take your pick). If you’ve ever recommended an article or episode here to students (or even just the blog/podcast in general), that would be an excellent thing to include as well.

If you’re willing and able to do this, then you have my sincerest thanks and appreciation. Be sure to list your qualifications, your position, and the college or organisation that you work for. Drop me a line HERE if you can help.

The following scenario represents Newcomb’s paradox (non-relevant details may have been changed): I want you to imagine that there exists a person called The Predictor. He predicts human decisions, and has always gotten it right. Due to his legendary status, some say he’s a man, others a machine, others an angel. One thing everyone is sure of, however, is that if the predictor predicts that a person will make a particular decision, then you would be smart to bet the house on that decision being made, such is his amazing strike rate.

Now imagine that one day as you’re walking along the street, a black van pulls up alongside you, a bag is pulled over your head, and you’re bundled inside. The van speeds away as you lose consciousness. When you wake up, you’re in a brightly lit room, sitting in a chair, unrestrained, at a table – a bit like one you’d expect to see on the pavement outside a coffee shop. On the table in front of you are two black cube shaped boxes, each about one litre in volume. You can’t see inside them because they have closed lids. They are each labelled with a large white letter. One is A, the other is B. Sitting across the small table from you is a man who you’ve never seen before. “Hello,” says the grey haired man in an old, wise sounding voice. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the predictor. And as for these boxes you see here, you can keep either both of them, or, if you prefer, just box B. The reality is, of course, that I already know which option you’ll pick. I predicted it, you see, and I’ve never been wrong before. Remember, I’m the predictor!”

“You’ve never been wrong before? Wow… can you see the future?” You ask. “No, not as such,” he replies. “What I offer are predictions about things that I haven’t seen. They are forecasts. My prediction about which box or boxes you will choose isn’t based on me have been told by God, or through having a magic window on the future. I’m just a very, very, very good predictor.”

You’re convinced, but still a bit stunned by the whole experience. You ask “What’s in the boxes?” He replies, “Why, money of course. I chose how much money to put into them based on my prediction about which option you would choose. Box A contains one hundred dollars, you can be quite certain of that. As for box B, listen very closely: If I predicted that you would choose boxes A and B, then I didn’t put anything in box B. It’s empty. If, however, I predicted that you would choose only box B, then it contains one million dollars.

A million dollars sure sounds nice. So, which option should you choose – Box B, or both boxes. Why? I’ll wait for a few people to answer before I say any more.

Some arguments are like mosquitoes. They get slapped and well and truly squashed – unambiguously defeated in plain sight for all to see, obviously crushed. The smeared body is witnessed. But then as soon as you try to relax again, that familiar whining sound fades in again. You think, Didn’t I just squash you? Yes you did, and it’s back.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, objections to divine command theories of ethics are a good example of arguments like this. But they’re not alone. Another is the Lottery Fallacy Fallacy. I know, calling something a “fallacy” is a bit of a rhetorical device, but I use the term because the argument that I want to rebut – again – is one that trades on using that word for rhetorical effect, so my use of the word twice must surely double the effect!
Interested? Read the rest.