Recently there has been some discussion here about the moral argument for theism, with a couple of correspondents announcing with great certainty (but unfortunately little else) that the argument is just terrible. I beg to differ. Today I appeared on an episode of the Unbelievable? radio show, hosted by Justin Brierley (actually we did two shows), and the other guest was atheist Arif Ahmed.

I’ll have some more things to say about the show another time (these discussions always leave one wishing that more had been said, or “I wish I had thought of this reply at the time!”, plus there are the inevitable structures of the radio show itself). For now, however, I just want to present the version of the moral argument that I used. What follows is the “prepared” version, as though I were giving a presentation on the argument – a very simple presentation, intended for a radio audience consisting of laypeople. Of course, in a discussion style radio show it wasn’t presented as one continuous explanation like this, and plenty of parts were left out – even important ones. Time is short on such occasions, so not everything gets said. But you get to read it anyway Here it is:
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My current lunch time reading project is the 2007 book by Nancey Murphy and Warren Brown, Did My Neurons Make Me Do It? Philosophical and Neurobiological Perspectives on Moral Responsibility and Free Will (Oxford University Press). Although I’ve only just broached the first chapter, I can already tell that I’m really going to enjoy it immensely, and from time to time I might share some of the really good bits as I work my way through it.

The book is basically a defence of the view that there is a plausible physicalist conception of the mind that is compatible with moral responsibility and free will, but along the way you end up getting a great introduction to the position in philosophy of mind called nonreductive physicalism.

Like the authors, I’m a physicalist. I’m not a mind-body dualist like a large number of my Christian peers who believe that we are a combination of two very different and (potentially) independent substances: intelligent, conscious souls, and mundane matter. An observation really leapt off the pages at me today. I can so easily relate to this observation, because I sometimes observe my Christian peers who are mind-body dualists struggle with the idea of physicalism for just this reason.

Mary Midgley characterised physicalism like this:

If certain confusions result from Descartes’ having sliced human beings down the middle, many feel that the best cure is just to drop the immaterial half altogether … The philosophers who favour this programme are known as Physicalists.¹

I suppose technically someone who does this is a physicalist, since he will have to say that people are made only of physical stuff, but I would hate to think that anyone would assume that because I am a physicalist I am committed to this view. In a Cartesian view (i.e the view of Descartes) The mind is the true self, the seat of all consciousness, the marker of personal identity, the active ingredient in the person whereas the body is passive, unnecessary and more of a machine than anything else. Any decent variety of physicalism (and certainly nonreductive physicalism) is not just dualism with the soul removed. Radical dualism and physicalism have very basically different views not just on the nature of the mind, but also on the capacity of the body. If we were to just accept the Cartesian view of the body with the soul stripped away, we would be left with nothing but a machine, something like a zombie – which (although incredibly cool in it’s own way) is nothing like what your average physicalist is likely to believe in.

To use another analogy, I’m reminded of the words of Nursie on Blackadder II when she recounted the birth of Queen Elizabeth I:

Out you popped, out of your mummie’s tumkin and everybody shouting, ‘It’s a boy, it’s a boy!’ And somebody said, ‘But it hasn’t got a winkle!’ And then I said, ‘A boy without a winkle? God be praised, it’s a miracle. A boy without a winkle!’ And then Sir Thomas More pointed out that a boy without a winkle is a girl, and everyone was really disappointed.

It’s obvious what’s wrong here. A girl isn’t just a boy with a missing penis. Every DNA molecule [EDIT: this should read "every cell"] of a girl’s body is different from that of a boy. Remember, physicalists don’t just reject the dualistic view of the mind. They also reject the dualistic view of the body, and physicalism is not just dualism minus the soul.

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In the “nuts and bolts” series, I explain and discuss some of the fundamental ideas in philosophy (and theology sometimes) that are taken for granted within the discipline, but which might not be very well known to ordinary human beings. This time the subject is nominalism.

Do tables exist? Do all red apples (assuming that apples exist) have something called “redness” in common? These might strike most people as pretty weird questions, but questions like these are at the heart of the distinction between realism and nominalism. They’re both ways of addressing the problem of universals. We classify things all the time; as circular, as yellow, as an elephant, as a mountain, as a snail, as wooden, as evil, and so on. Nominalism and realism are alternative ways of thinking about what we’re actually doing when we classify things this way. I’m going to be zooming in on nominalism here, but I’ll be simplifying heavily in the spirit of only attempting to provide the nuts and bolts, without going into a whole lot of depth.
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J. L. Mackie was famous for defending two claims. Firstly, God doesn’t exist (a claim defended in his book, The Miracle of Theism). Secondly, there are no moral facts (a position called moral nihilism or an error theory of morality, defended in his book, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong). According to Christian thinkers over the centuries, these two claims have been thought of as closely related, and the second claim is really a consequence of the first. If God does not exist, then moral facts do not exist either. Interestingly enough, this was Mackie’s position as well.
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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.

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Episode 35 is an analysis of a recent talk given by Sam Harris on science and human values. The talk was part of a TED conference, and you can see part 1 here. Harris thinks that he has argued that moral facts are actually scientific facts. I think he has failed, and here I offer an explanation of how I think he has failed. In brief, I think his entire presentation is an exercise in circular reasoning.

Harris has a new book on the subject, The Moral Landscape, which is to be released later this year. If you’d like to order a copy, please use this link and the Book Depository will look kindly on me.

 Episode 035: Sam Harris, Science and Morality [46:28m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Thomas Aquinas is famous for – among other things – his five arguments for Christian theism, arguments called “the five ways” (quinque viae). The first way is the argument from the unmoved mover. The second way is the argument from the first cause (commonly called the cosmological argument). The third way is the argument from contingency and the fifth way is the argument from purpose (not from design, contra Richard Dawkins), namely the teleological argument.

What is the fourth way? In popular apologetics (and anti-apologetics) it is often referred to as the “moral argument” for God’s existence. However, if it is a moral argument, it is unlike any other moral argument you’re likely to hear. In Aquinas’ words:

The fourth way is taken from the gradation to be found in things. Among beings there are some more and some less good, true, noble and the like. But “more” and “less” are predicated of different things, according as they resemble in their different ways something which is the maximum, as a thing is said to be hotter according as it more nearly resembles that which is hottest; so that there is something which is truest, something best, something noblest and, consequently, something which is uttermost being; for those things that are greatest in truth are greatest in being, as it is written in Metaphysics. ii. Now the maximum in any genus is the cause of all in that genus; as fire, which is the maximum heat, is the cause of all hot things. Therefore there must also be something which is to all beings the cause of their being, goodness, and every other perfection; and this we call God.

If after reading this you’re wondering “where’s the moral argument in that?” you’re not alone. I’m not faulting the argument itself in saying that. It’s an argument in its own right, it’s just not a moral argument.

The moral argument as we know it was overtly introduced into philosophy of religion by Immanuel Kant. His was an argument that sought to explain the existence of moral duty, which is what we’ve come to expect of moral arguments. Moral duties are lacking in Aquinas’ fourth way. Aquinas’ argument is a platonic argument (an argument influence by Plato). In Plato’s thought, things that exist in the world are shadows of ideal things that exist in the world of forms or ideas. For example, a thing is a good train to the extent that it resembles the train, a blueprint of the perfect train, a train existing in the world of forms. This is the form of a train. Likewise, things that have goodness in this world, the “world of sight” as Plato put it, are good to the extent that they resemble the good, the perfect form or idea of goodness in concrete form (concrete in the sense that Plato spoke of “the good” rather than the more abstract “goodness”).

What Aquinas is really arguing here is that something perfect exists. After all, he reasons, degrees of perfection exist in things around us, but if degrees of perfection exist, then something maximally perfect exists, something that all other things resemble to the extent that they exhibit perfection.

Maybe you could re-tool the argument into a moral argument along the following lines: The best people in the world are righteous, and the worst are wicked, and this is a matter of fact. But if we measure things as righteous or wicked then there must be some standard according to which we measure them, something perfectly righteous that people can either resemble or fail to resemble. And this perfectly righteous thing is God. Make no mistake, this was not Aquinas’ argument. It also would not be the best version of the moral argument, even if Aquinas had argued this way. I’m not even sure that it’s sound, but if you want a moral argument closely modelled on Aquinas’ fourth way, that’s about as good as it gets.

Glenn Peoples

NB: My opinion is subject to change without notice.

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Alexander Pruss recently presented this “fun argument for dualism” at his blog:

(Premise) Our embodiment is universally seen as funny.

(Premise, justified inductively by 1) Our embodiment is objectively funny.

(Premise) The essence of the funny is incongruity.

(Premise) If materialism is true, there is no incongruity in our embodiment.

(Premise) If materialism is false, then dualism is true.

There is incongruity in our embodiment. (2 and 3)

Materialism is false. (4 and 6)

Dualism is true. (5 and 7)

My reply: Don’t ever do that again, or anything like it.

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Here’s the fourth installment on my series on the mind-body problem.

In this episode I look at the argument against physicalism from the afterlife. Here, some dualists argue that if physicalism were true, then the resurrection of the dead would be logically impossible. Their argument is:

1. The doctrine of the resurrection of the dead entails that people will be raised back to life who are the same people who died long ago. In other words, they will have the same identity.
2. Sameness of identity requires unbroken metaphysical continuity (that is, the continued, uninterrupted or “non-gappy” existence of whatever thing the functioning person is, whether a physical thing or an immaterial mind).
3. In physicalism, it is logically impossible for there to be unbroken metaphysical continuity between a physical person who died a hundred years ago and a person who will be raised to life in the future.
4. Therefore if physicalism is true, the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead is logically impossible. Stated differently, a physicalist cannot consistently believe in the resurrection of the dead.

How might a physicalist respond to this line of argument? Listen to find out. As promised in the episode, here are a few pieces of work by Trenton Merricks that relate to some of the material I cover:

“How to Live Forever Without Saving your Soul,” in Kevin Corcoran (ed.) Soul, Body, and Survival: Essays on the Metaphysics of Human Persons (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 183-200

“There Are No Criteria of Identity Over Time,” Noûs 32:1 (1998), 106-124.

“The Resurrection of the Body and the Life Everlasting” in Michael J. Murray (ed.), Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 261-286.

Enjoy.

Oh, one other thing: I’ve added a new feature to the blog: Buy me a beer. So if you like this episode, feel free to shout me a pint!

Glenn Peoples

 Episode 032: In Search of the Soul, Part 4 [48:03m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Recently I posted a blog entry on the difference between ethical naturalism and ethical non-naturalism (explaining that the former of which is not the same thing as metaphysical naturalism). I also indicated there that not everyone shares the same understanding of what “naturalism” really refers to, and I explained what I think. In brief, I think the most helpful way to distinguish between ethical naturalism and ethical non-naturalism is as follows: In non-naturalism, moral “goodness” is a basic quality, not constituted by anything other than itself, not defined in terms of any non-moral facts, and not caused by any descriptive state of affairs. If any of these conditions (or anything relevantly like them) are met, then the view in question is a species of ethical naturalism. Yet another way of putting this is to say that ethical non-naturalism affirms the existence of sui generis, irreducible, brute moral facts. Stated differently yet again, according to ethical naturalism, the true claim “X is morally wrong” has a truthmaking set of true statements that do not use moral terms like “wrong” or “right.”

I entertain a divine command theory of ethics, and I think that one of a couple of versions of the theory (or anything that is similar to these versions) is the most plausible version. According to those versions, either: a) God’s willing or commanding that we do or not do an action causes that action to be morally right or morally wrong, or b) The property of being morally right or morally wrong just is (i.e. is identical with) the property of being morally right or morally wrong.

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