Making Sense of Morality: Shifts from the Scientific Revolution

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Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Introduction

Like we have seen with Thomas Aquinas, the Scholastics’ Aristotelianism in the Middle Ages stressed metaphysics, especially real, immaterial, and universal qualities. This applied not only to human nature, but also to virtues and moral principles. As universals, many particular, individual humans can exemplify the very same quality (a one-in-many).

The Shift

With this stress upon universals and their essential natures, Aristotelianism lent itself to a more a priori (in-principle), deductive approach to science. But, this position started to shift with William of Ockham (d. 1347). Ockham rejected universals, and in its place embraced nominalism. Unlike universals, nominalism maintains that everything is particular. For instance, while we may speak of the virtue of justice, each instance of justice is particular, and they do not share literally the identical quality. Now, Plato’s universals, which held that universals (or forms) themselves are not located in space and time, and this would fit with their being immaterial. But, nominalism rejects that view. On it, all particulars are located in space and time. That implies that they are material and sense perceptible.

About two and one-half centuries later, two key philosophers in the early modern period, Pierre Gassendi (d. 1655) and Thomas Hobbes (d. 1679), embraced nominalism. Gassendi also revived Democritus’ atomism, on which the material world is made up of atoms in the void. Hobbes and Gassendi also adopted a mechanical view of the universe: it is a large-scale machine, and so are the things within it. These views shift away the reality of immaterial things and embrace instead materialism.

These philosophers helped set a basis for natural philosophy (science) in the emerging modern era. Johannes Kepler (d. 1630) adopted the mechanical view, and scientists such as Francis Bacon (d. 1626), Galileo Galilei (d. 1642), Robert Boyle (d. 1691), and Isaac Newton (d. 1727) endorsed mechanical atomism. Yet, there was a key difference in the atomism of this period from that of Democritus. Probably due to the influence of Christianity in Europe in this time, people tended to think that atomism applied only to the material realm, but not the spiritual one. They still had room for the reality of minds, souls, angels, and God.

The qualities of matter (e.g., size, shape, quantity, and location) were thought to be primary qualities. In contrast, the qualities of the spiritual realm (e.g., colors, tastes, or odors) were considered to be secondary qualities. Secondary qualities either were subjective qualities in the mind of an observer, or words that people used. In other words, they did not exist objectively.

Here, we must note something of immense importance. It was not scientific discoveries which drove this shift away from universals and a dualistic view of reality. Instead, it largely was due to the adoption of philosophical theories, namely, nominalism and mechanical atomism.

The Rise of a New Scientific Methodology

What is the significance of this shift? Boyle illustrates it well; he thought secondary qualities and Aristotelian universals were unintelligible due to what he conceived to be real in the material world. Of course, that conception was informed deeply by mechanical atomism and nominalism.

Instead of the Aristotelian paradigm, a new scientific methodology developed. It stressed empirical observation of particular, material things. On the new paradigm, things did not have essences that necessitated certain causal effects. Instead, the new scientific methodology focused on contingent causes and induction. While Aristotelianism had encountered empirical problems (e.g., the discovery of new species of which he did not know), the new methodology provided an advancement. Instead of relying overly on metaphysical theories, it emphasized the importance of empirical observation of the world.

Conclusion

These shifts in the nature of what is real, and how we know it, became deeply entrenched, and they affected ethics too. Next, I will look at Hobbes’s ethics. The key question will be: can his ethics preserve core morals?

For Further Reading

Alan Chalmers, “Atomism from the 17th to the 20th Century,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophyhttps://plato.stanford.edu/entries/atomism-modern/

Eva Del Soldato, “Natural Philosophy in the Renaissance,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophyhttps://plato.stanford.edu/entries/natphil-ren/.

Galileo Galilei, Il Saggiatore [The Assayer], in Discoveries and Opinions of Galileohttps://www.princeton.edu/~hos/h291/assayer.htm#_ftn19. Jürgen Klein, “Francis Bacon.” https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/francis-bacon/


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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.


Good God: Interview with David Baggett

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From Logically Faithful

What logical reason is there that God is good? In this episode, I Interview David Baggett. Dr. Baggett author of Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality. The book won Christianity Today’s 2012 apologetics book of the year of the award. He published a sequel with Walls that critiques naturalistic ethics, God and Cosmos: Moral Truth and Human Meaning. A third book in the series, The Moral Argument: A History, chronicles the history of moral arguments for God’s existence. Dr. Baggett has also co-edited a collection of essays exploring the philosophy of C.S. Lewis, and edited the third debate between Gary Habermas and Antony Flew on the resurrection of Jesus. Dr. Baggett currently is a professor at Houston Baptist University

Click here to listen to the podcast.


Making Sense of Morality: Islamic Ethics

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Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

A Spectrum of Views

In this period between the ancient Greeks and the Scientific Revolution, there also was the rise of Islamic ethics. In Islam’s “classical” period, several schools of thought developed, which cover an epistemological spectrum of how we know what is right. At one end were the rationalists, including Avicenna and Averroes. In their view, moral truths exist objectively, even apart from Allah. Reason can discover moral truths, which does not conflict with revelation.

Next along this spectrum were the Mutazalites. For them, too, morals exist objectively. We can know them from the Qur’an, the Traditions of Mohammed, or independent reason. Some thought we could know morals independently of revelation. Further, they reasoned that theistic voluntarism (morality is based solely on Allah’s will) could lead to some immoral conclusions.

In response, Sunni theologians (or traditionalists) held the sovereignty of Allah as their supreme principle. They disputed the Mutazalites’ view that there are objectively real moral principles that even Allah follows. Such truths would exist independently of Allah’s sovereign will. In effect, independent reason limited Allah’s power, and objective morals had to be rejected. For Ashari, morals are what Allah commands, which ultimately we know only from revelation.

For traditionalists, ethics is one of action (doing Allah’s will). While there has been room for virtue in Islamic ethics, for traditionalists, virtues are not ends in themselves. Instead, the beginning of Islamic ethics is submission, and the end is obedience. Since the traditionalist view realizes both the fundamental point of Allah’s omnipotence, as well as revelation as the basis for knowing what is right, it is easy to see how this view came to dominate.

So, can the traditionalist view preserve these core morals? Yes, but only if Allah so wills that they are valid. But, there are no limits on Allah’s sovereignty, as is the case with the Judeo-Christian God’s character, so conceivably Allah could will they are invalid, and we would have no basis for complaint.

For Further Reading

George F. Hourani, Reason and Tradition in Islamic Ethics

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, ch. 3


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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.


Making Sense of Morality: Plato and Aristotle

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Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Introduction

To begin our historical tour, I will start with the ancient Greeks. I will focus on Plato and Aristotle, who still much influence on western ethics.

Plato

For Plato, morals are not human products. Instead, they exist objectively in the intelligible realm, which includes the forms. A form is a universal that itself is not located in space and time (it is metaphysically abstract). A universal is one thing, yet it can have many instances in the visible, sensible realm. For example, justice is a universal, and there can be many just people. The identical quality, justice, can be found in many instances.

A comparison of these two realms:

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Plato’s Two Realms

Justice can be instanced in a human being because humans are a body-soul duality, and the soul is their essential nature that defines them as the kind of thing they are. All humans should be just, and to reach their true goal, or telos, they need a proper balance of the good, the true, and the beautiful.

Yet, it is hard to reach the telos, for the process of education in the knowledge of the good is very difficult. His “cave” illustration shows that only a few people leave the “shadows,” a place of illusions which they mistake for reality. Instead, only a few strive toward the true light outside the cave and acquire knowledge of the forms.

In this, Plato questionably assumes all people want to be virtuous. All they need is education and effort. Furthermore, though he realizes people should be virtuous, he seems to lack a “connection” between the moral forms and human nature. Why is justice appropriate for our souls?

Today, it is hard for many even to conceive that there could be immaterial and objectively real entities. Still, can Plato’s view sustain the four core morals? It seems it can; the virtues of love and justice, as well as the principles that we should not murder or rape, would be universals that are normative for all. Moreover, we know these morals by reason, which fits with our intuitive knowledge of their validity.

Aristotle

For Aristotle, there is a deep unity between the body and the soul. The body is appropriate for humans due to the kind of thing they are (i.e., our essence). Similarly, the cardinal virtues (prudence, temperance, justice, and courage) are appropriate for humans due to their soul’s nature. As one’s essence, the soul enables a person to grow and change and yet remain the same person. That is, one’s personal identity is constituted by one’s set of essential properties and capacities (even for virtues), which do not change. If people changed in some way essential to them, they’d no longer exist! Yet, they can undergo other kinds of changes, like the development of the virtues, and still be the same individuals.

Aristotle’s ethics is practical, seeking how to achieve the function of a human being, which is to guide one’s actions by reason. The virtues are developed by habituation and training. This involves being apprenticed to someone who has the virtues. Moreover, virtues are a mean between two extremes. For instance, courage is a mean between cowardliness (a vice of deficiency) and rashness (the vice of excessiveness). Moreover, like Plato, the good is found in community; Aristotle would not support the western, autonomous individual.

Like Plato, Aristotle believed in universals, though they always had to be instanced in particulars. Still, immaterial, objectively real universals exist, which rubs against today’s common belief that humans are just physical things. Moreover, he was pretty confident in human abilities to use our reason and know universal truths, as well as in our abilities to be virtuous by habituation. Even so, like Plato, it seems his views can preserve the four core morals and our knowledge thereof. Of course, we will have to see later if it is reasonable to believe there are real, immaterial universals.  

Further Reading

Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics

Plato, The Republic, Books, 4, 6, 7, & 10

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, ch. 2


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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.

Making Sense of Morality: Judeo-Christian Ethics

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Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Between the time of the ancient Greeks and the Scientific Revolution, western ethics was dominated by religious traditions. I will give a broad overview of several key thinkers from Jewish and Christian thought. Could these ethical views preserve these core morals?

Jewish Thought

First I will focus on the Hebrew Scriptures. There, ethics are grounded ultimately in God’s moral character and thus what He commands. Those commands, or laws, were not arbitrary. Instead, He always would will what fits with His morally perfect character. Thus, it was a deontological (duty-based) ethical approach.

As God’s people, Israelites were to be like God. For instance, because God is just, holy morally pure and undefiled by sin (evil), and compassionate and loving, they too were to practice justice (Micah 6:8), be holy (Lev 19:2), and be compassionate and loving.

In addition, there was room for other forms of ethical reasoning. The wisdom literature appealed at times to utility (consequences) of actions (e.g., Prov 6:20-29). There also was room for self-interest (e.g., Deut 28:1-7, 15, where Moses spells out blessings of obedience, and the consequences of disobedience). There also was room for appeals to reason, or natural law. People should know particular moral principles based on how God has created them and nature (e.g., from observing nature, be diligent, Prov 6:6-11; do not slaughter pregnant women to extend one’s territory, Amos 1:13).

Also, Maimonides (d. 1204) lived in Spain, home of the Jewish intellectual center during the Islamic empire. He tried to synthesize Aristotle’s thought (which he received through Islamic sources) with the Mosaic Law, or Torah. To him, God’s revelation is perfectly compatible with natural law. Moreover, both sources give us knowledge of objective moral truths, which ultimately are grounded in God. As with Aristotle, Jewish thought has room for virtues, but the primary emphasis is obedience.

Christian Ethics

Christians draw ethics from both the Old and New Testaments. However, unlike Israel in the Old Testament, Christians do not live under a theocracy. Moreover, they are not under the Mosaic Law, but grace, to be in relationship with God. Still, they should obey the moral law out of love for God.

Specifically, they are to love God with all their being, their neighbors as themselves (Matt 22:37, 39), and one another as Jesus has loved them (John 13:34). They also are to care for the vulnerable (James 1:27, Luke 14:16-24) and, generally, to embody Jesus’ kingdom’s values. Moreover, there is a continued stress upon obedience, but with special emphasis upon heart attitudes (Matt 5:17-20). However, Christians cannot do this apart from the power of God’s Spirit in them. Virtues continue to matter, for Christians are to become like Christ, their telos (Eph 4:13, Col 1:28).

Augustine (d. 430) built upon the biblical teaching that God is intrinsically good and sovereign. Since God only does what is good, His creation is good, so He did not create evil. Instead, evil arose from humans’ feely willed rebellion against God. Evil, then, is spoiled, perverted goodness.

Augustine posited two cities, or kingdoms: that of humans, and that of God. Members of the city of man live after their sinful desires. At best, they can achieve a rough peace and justice, and they follow their love of themselves. In contrast, members of the city of God follow God’s Spirit, and they have the peace of God and with God. They are motivated by God’s love.

Augustine adopted the cardinal virtues and tied them to the theological ones, faith, hope, and love. Yet, he refocused the cardinal ones in terms of the love of God. Due humans’ sin, it is impossible to be truly virtuous by their own efforts.

As a Catholic, Aquinas (d. 1274) synthesized Augustinian theology with Aristotelian philosophy. Aquinas posited two realms that can be depicted variously: the heavenly and the earthly; revelation and reason; sacred and secular; supernatural and natural; and grace and nature. The supernatural realm includes the theological virtues, while the natural realm includes the cardinal, or natural, virtues.

In each pair, each realm is for the other. For instance, God cares for and gives revelation to creation, and creation is to glorify God. Also, revelation is intelligible by reason, though reason cannot exhaust what we know by revelation.

Aquinas also blends both deontological and virtue ethics. Christians should embody the theological and natural virtues, while non-Christians should embody the natural ones. So, his ethics applies universally, and we can know ethics by reason and revelation.

In all these Christian and Jewish views, there is a body-soul dualism, with the soul as humans’ essence. So, the virtues and commands are appropriate for humans due to their nature, and morals exist objectively. In these ways, it seems they can preserve our four core morals.  

For Further Reading

Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, First Part of the Second Part (on law), and the Second Part of the Second Part (on virtues)

Augustine, City of God, and The Enchiridion

Robert M. Seltzer, Jewish People, Jewish Thought, 393-408

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, chs. 1, 3


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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.

Making Sense of Morality: Introduction

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Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Our Moral Landscape

Today, in the west, we live in a time with many different moral “voices” and competing claims. When I was a graduate student in Religion and Social Ethics at the University of Southern California from 1995-2000, this was quickly apparent. Many of my fellow grad students rejected any kind of objectively real morals. Instead, they saw morals as their own construct, which were based on a wide range of preferred views. One person, a Reformed Jew, tried to integrate her religious tradition with the insights of Jacques Derrida’s deconstructionism and the sociology of knowledge. Many rejected their Catholic roots and instead embraced some form of critical theory, which is deeply liberationist in spirit. Some followed Foucault and queer theory, while others embraced Nietzsche. Still others followed various feminist theorists.

Like them, many people think morality is simply “up to us”; morals are just particular to individuals or communities. Indeed, they are deeply suspicious of any claims that there are morals that transcend and exist independently of us. They think that to impose others’ morals, including “objective” ones, on people is deeply imperialistic and oppressive. After all, who are you to say what is right or wrong?

There also are different social visions that align with these moral viewpoints. For example, progressives seem to be secular, such that morals for society should be based on secular, public reasons, not narrow, sectarian, or religious reasons. Otherwise, how could we come together and be a society in which there are so many different, private moral visions?

Shaping Influences

Now, for those influenced by western thought, and especially those who have grown up in the west, it easily can seem that not only is this moral diversity the way things are, but also the way things should be. After all, in the west (and especially the U. S.), we prize the value of autonomy, which we understand as being free to determine our own lives. Coupled with the view that morals are basically “up to us,” we should expect there to be an irreducible plurality of viewpoints, norms, and values.

Over time, in the west a large number of competing moral theories have been advanced. But these did not come out of a vacuum. They have a history with many shaping influences, leading even to the mindset that morals are up to us. One of the things I will do in this series is to explore those shaping factors. Two of them are the Scientific Revolution, and the “fact-value split” in the late 1700s.

Core Morals

Despite this great plurality of ethical views, it still seems there are at least some core morals all people simply know to be valid. For instance, people want justice to be done. They may disagree about what constitutes justice, or their theories about justice. But, it seems people know that justice is good and should be done. Love is another virtue people know to be good. They may disagree about what the loving action should be, but they still seem to agree that we should be loving

Image by Mary Pahlke from Pixabay

Image by Mary Pahlke from Pixabay

Besides these virtues, there are some principles that people simply seem to know are right. For instance, it seems people simply know murder is wrong. While some may disagree about what act should count as murder, nevertheless, we know that murder (as the intentional taking of an innocent person’s life) is wrong. I would add that rape is wrong too. These four morals seem to be core –we simply seem to know they are valid.

Some might add other moral principles and values to that short list. For example, for many, it is clear that genocide and chattel slavery are wrong. In this series, I will focus on those four core morals. I will look at the various types of ethical views in western historical context, to see if they can preserve those core morals. If a theory cannot do that, then it seems we should reject it. In that process, a key question I will ask is this: what kind of thing are these core morals? But, before I start that survey, I will explore the influences from the Scientific Revolution on our ethical thinking.


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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.

Moral Apologetics and Biography, Part III

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In previous installments I have spoken of three experiences from my past—from my childhood, in fact—that shaped me as a moral apologist. These were the following: being raised in the holiness and camp meeting tradition, watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, and seeing a poignant television commercial about a relief organization’s work in an underprivileged part of the world. All of those experiences were what we might call positive ones—inspiring me to think about what moral goodness is, what it looks like, and what it feels like.

Not all of the experiences that shaped me, though, were positive. Like all of us, there were also plenty of negative experiences from my past, so today I’m going to share one of those in particular. It is an especially difficult chapter from my past to share. It is the source of a fair amount of shame, because it was no small moral infraction.

More than once I had the opportunity to put a stop to a particular kid getting bullied. He was an easy target, not a physically strong boy, and in various ways an outlier, just not fitting in. Although more than once I had a strong impulse to reach out, to protect him, to include him, to befriend him, I did not. And on more than one occasion I actually saw him getting cruelly bullied and did nothing about it. I have thought about this many times since then, and I am still ashamed for not doing the right thing.

In fact, my resounding silence and abject failure to do the right thing was actually doing the radically wrong thing. My failure to act was wicked, and the reason, I’m convinced, I felt guilty about it is because in fact I was guilty. The feeling was indicative of a deeper problem, tracking the reality of an objective condition. I knew to do right and failed to do it, and in so failing I did something unspeakably awful. I know that now, but I knew it then, too.

In his Confessions, Augustine shared with laudable transparency his own painful childhood lesson in depravity. The example seems trivial—stealing pears—but the key to grasping its import is understanding that beneath its garden-variety nature lurked something far more sinister. He elaborated like this:

I wanted to carry out an act of theft and did so, driven by no kind of need other than my inner lack of any sense of, or feeling for, justice. Wickedness filled me. I stole something which I had in plenty and of much better quality. My desire was to enjoy not what I sought by stealing but merely the excitement of thieving and the doing of what was wrong. There was a pear tree near our vineyard laden with fruit, though attractive in neither [color] nor taste. To shake the fruit off the tree and carry off the pears, I and a gang of naughty adolescents set off late at night after (in our usual pestilential way) we had continued our game in the streets. We carried off a huge load of pears. But they were not for our feasts but merely to throw to the pigs. Even if we ate a few, nevertheless our pleasure lay in doing what was not allowed.

Such was my heart, O God, such was my heart. You had pity on it when it was at the bottom of the abyss. Now let my heart tell you what it was seeking there in that I became evil for no reason. I had no motive for my wickedness except wickedness itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved the self-destruction, I loved my fall, not the object for which I had fallen but my fall itself. My depraved soul leaped down from your firmament to ruin. I was seeking not to gain anything by shameful means, but shame for its own sake.[1]

Of course all human beings have their redeeming characteristics and moral strengths—each of us is made in God’s image, after all. We are far from being as bad as we can be. Still, only after recognizing our need to be forgiven—our having fallen short of the moral law, both our draw and repulsion to the good, our love and hate of shame, our indulgence of darkness, our taste for wickedness—are we able to apprehend just how good is the good news of the gospel.

In an essay called “Christian Apologetics,” in God in the Dock, C. S. Lewis identifies salient features of those in his generation, and his analysis is perhaps even timelier today. Among such features was skepticism about ancient history and distrust of old texts; another one—most relevant for present purposes—was that a sense of sin is almost totally lacking. Lewis writes that

Our situation is thus very different from that of the Apostles. The Pagans … to whom they preached were haunted by a sense of guilt and to them the [g]ospel was, therefore, “good news.” We address people who have been trained to believe that whatever goes wrong in the world is someone else’s fault—the Capitalists, the Government’s, the Nazis’, the Generals’, etc. They approach God Himself as His judges. They want to know, not whether they can be acquitted for sin, but whether He can be acquitted for creating such a world.

In attacking this fatal insensibility it is useless to direct attention (a) To sins your audience do not commit, or (b) To things they do, but do not regard as sins. They are usually not drunkards. They are mostly fornicators, but then they do not feel fornication to be wrong. It is, therefore, useless to dwell on either of these subjects. (Now that contraceptives have removed the obviously uncharitable element in fornication I do not myself think we can expect people to recognize it as sin until they have accepted Christianity as a whole.)

I cannot offer you a water-tight technique for awakening the sense of sin. I can only say that, in my experience, if one begins from the sin that has been one’s own chief problem during the last week, one is very often surprised at the way this shaft goes home. But whatever method we use, our continual effort must be to get their mind away from public affairs and “crime” and bring them down to brass tacks—in the whole network of spite, greed, envy, unfairness, and conceit in the lives of “ordinary decent people” like themselves (and ourselves).[2] 

In class I sometimes ask how best to address this ubiquitous notion nowadays that none, or at least hardly any, of us are deep sinners in need of forgiveness. It is a challenging situation to confront, but very often a prominent part of our current context. Perhaps one way is to talk about one’s own failures, rather than our neighbor’s. For another, Lewis directed folks to consider their chief sin of the previous week. Yet another approach might be to reframe the question like this: Ask folks to consider the biggest mistake they ever made, and then ask them what went into that mistake. Specifically, is there, in their resultant regret, any moral element? That may edge people closer to considering their moral failures.

Of course, for Christians encouraging such reflection, the point is not to put people under condemnation to leave them there, but to share the news of liberation from guilt and reconciliation with a loving God anxious to save them to the uttermost. Not the false liberation of defiantly denying, or simply failing to recognize, one’s guilt, but the true freedom that comes from knowing the truth.

I also hope one day I run into the man who had been that bullied boy, and tell him I am sincerely sorry for my wretched cowardice and complicity in cruelty.


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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.



[1] Saint Augustine, Confessions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 29.

[2] C. S. Lewis, “Christian Apologetics,” in God in the Dock (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1970), 95-96.

The Necessity of a Cosmic Mind

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Anyone who is anyone in apologetics has heard of the kalam cosmological argument. Short, concise, and powerful; the kalam argument notes the causal agency behind the origins of the universe. Simply put, the kalam argument holds:

1. Everything that begins to exist has a cause.

2. The universe began to exist.

3. Therefore, the universe has a cause (C&M, 102).

After further researching the kalam argument, it was discovered that an ontological reality underlies the argument. That ontological reality is that one cannot escape the necessity of a Cosmic Mind for three reasons.

1. Necessity from Absolute Beginning of All Physical Universes. Physicists like Stephen Hawking and others posit that this universe is but one of many endless universes. Some theories contend that an endless movement of branes (not brains) collide and cause universes to “pop” into being. Other theories hold that an eternal multiverse gave rise to universes like ours. However, William Lane Craig and others have noted that the BGV theorem, named for its founders (Arvind Borde, Alan Guth, and Alexander Vilenkin), indicates that any and all physical universes demand an absolute beginning. I do not deny that a multiverse could exist. A multiverse is entirely possible as are many other universes. Neither is problematic for the Christian worldview. When one notes the enormity of God’s Being, multiple universes become child’s play for such a God. Nonetheless, mindless universes cannot be the answer for why something exists as they too would require an explanation for their existence.

2. Necessity from an Impossibility of an Infinite Regress. Second, it is impossible for an infinite regress of physical past events to have occurred. That is, endless physical events of the past are impossible. There comes a point where something beyond the scope of the physical world is required to explain physical origins. Craig offers two philosophical arguments to verify this claim.

1. An actual infinite cannot exist.

2. An infinite temporal regress of events is an actual infinite.

3. Therefore an infinite temporal regress of events cannot exist (W&D, 390).

While mathematical infinities can exist, Craig notes that such infinities are a different story when considering physical infinities. Craig does not dismiss infinities. Rather, he holds an Aristotelian model of time where time is viewed as eternal but broken into segments (C&M, 114; W&D, 398-399). However, infinite past physical events are impossible given that actual infinities do not exist in spacetime.

            Additionally, Craig argues,

1. A collection formed by successive addition cannot be an actual infinite.

2. The temporal series of events is a collection formed by successive addition.

3. Therefore, the temporal series of events cannot be an actual infinite (W&D, 396).

Herein, no universe or universes could hold an infinite number of additions in time’s past. Thus, physical universes are temporal and finite.

3. Necessity from the Inability of Forms to Explain the First Cause. Some, like Erik Wielenberg, agree that the answer to the finitude of the universe is not found in an infinite regress of events, but rather in transcendent entities. However, these transcendent entities are not God, per se, but mindless Platonic Forms. Yet this is a fairly simple objection to answer. Mindless entities can do nothing. If mindless entities exist in the world of Platonic Forms, they just are. They do not do anything. They exist. Thus, a transcendent Mind is the only logical answer to this problem. This Cosmic Mind would need to be, as Swinburne and Craig note, “immaterial, beginningless, uncaused, timeless, and spaceless” (C&M, 193). Interestingly, the Cosmic Mind that is necessitated sounds a lot like the God of the Bible.

If one follows the trail of necessities, one lands at the necessity of a Cosmic Mind. While this does not necessarily connect the God of the Bible with the Cosmic Mind implied, the similarities are so intricately connected that it would take more faith not to connect God with the Cosmic Mind than to connect the two. This Cosmic Mind knows all and sees all. Thankfully, this Cosmic Mind eventually became the Incarnate Son who provided redemption for all who would receive him.


Source

Craig, William Lane, and J. P. Moreland, eds. The Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology. West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012.

Walls, Jerry L., and Trent Dougherty, eds. Two Dozen (Or So) Arguments for God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018.

 


About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served as a pastor in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2020. BellatorChristi.com.

Moral Apologetics and Biography, Part II

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In the second installment of this series, I want to talk about two other childhood experiences that shaped me as a moral apologist. Last time I talked about being a child of camp meetings. Experience number two was this: One of my earliest memories as a child was watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Fred Rogers had a saying, and it went like this: he wanted to “make goodness attractive.” I still remember a few years ago when a documentary was released about his life and work, and how grown men could be seen openly weeping as they watched and remembered. I have read, and from my experience as both students and teacher I suspect it is true, that students won’t always remember what a teacher says, but won’t forget how teachers make them feel. Fred Rogers was, for many of us, one of our first teachers, and he had an uncanny knack for making people feel better about themselves, for making people feel loved, respected, and appreciated. He most definitely made goodness attractive, and the documentary was so powerful, in part, because it was a reminder that moral goodness isn’t vacuous sentimentality, but something real and solid. Rather than a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. Fred gave viewers, young and old alike, an experience of goodness, and especially to give a child such an experience is truly a gift of great value.

I bring up Fred Rogers in the context of moral apologetics because when I think of morality, I think of one like him. I don’t think of rules and regulations; burdensome, onerous requirements; projections of piety and suffocating sanctimony; goody two shoes; or someone afraid of living life to the full for fear of offending the heavens. I do not think of moralism, legalism, holier-than-thou attitudes, fear of sex, avoiding tobacco or alcohol, or never getting angry. Nor does morality invoke the specter of weakness or carry connotations of something effete or enervating. Rather it is about strength and character, integrity and fidelity, and an abundant, rich, creative life. It is about excellence and living as we were intended to live, and it is about loving our neighbor as ourselves, and seeing the infinite dignity and value and worth of every human being we encounter as creatures made in the very image of God, the sort of thing Auden had experienced with his fellow teachers on that one occasion. A man like Fred Rogers, though anathema to Nietzsche, was, contra Friedrich, a man of incredible strength, willing to do the hard work of loving even his unlovely neighbors, a man who strove to make goodness attractive—not in a mousy, Pollyannaish way, but in a genuine, transparent, risk-taking, courageous way. Mention of morality doesn’t make me cringe or turn sheepish, nor tempt me to engage in derision and derogation. It rather inspires and ennobles. When I think of morality, I think of Fred Rogers.

Now, experience number three: When I was very young, maybe six or seven, I saw a television advertisement. The commercial was designed to raise money for a relief agency helping needy people in a different country. One image struck me as particularly poignant, and it was this: A relief worker handed a piece of food to an obviously hungry child. I still remember vividly how visceral my reaction was. There was something about the scene that struck me as remarkable, and in a quite specific sense. It seemed to me at the time morally remarkable—it was more than merely proper or appropriate, nice or kind; it was those things, for sure, but it was more than that. I may not have had all the vocabulary at the time, but I had at least the cursory concepts, and it was beautiful and right; it was altogether lovely and good. Although I was very young, I remember what seemed for all the world to me at the time as an apprehension of sorts. It was nothing less than an epiphanous moral experience for me, and one that would exert a quite long-term effect. It was as if in that moment I became deeply convinced that morality is something real. A thought occurred to me at the time that I have never forgotten, and of which I remain convinced, namely, that I will never be surer of anything else than I was that what I had seen was a morally good action. Of course there were other formative childhood experiences, including ones that shaped my eventual vocation, but this was certainly an important one.

Children of course can be mistaken, and they often are. In fact, on some models of childhood development children are morally immature and often predominantly egoistic at least early on. But former University of Massachusetts philosopher Gary Matthews some years ago challenged that idea by suggesting that there are numerous ways to measure moral maturity, of which descriptions of moral theory are but one. It is true children are not good at doing that, but there’s another important measure, something like empathy, and he wrote that children often put adults to shame on this score. They often display great capacity for recognizing and empathizing with suffering. So he thought children have much to teach adults about ethics, contra those who in condescending fashion look down on children as morally stunted. I think I can honestly say that I have spent much of my professional career trying to get a better grasp on what I took that day to be a rock solid foundation on which to build. I don’t pretend for a moment to think this establishes the thesis of moral realism. A variety of challenges to moral realism are on offer and in need of careful assessment. Nevertheless, much of what moves me about the moral argument is a sturdy commitment to moral realism that none of my work in philosophy ever since has undermined. In fact, it has strengthened it.


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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.

Fatherlessness and Incarceration

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Sometimes various folks like to adduce statistics to drive home the value of being raised with two parents. Of course two parents are not always better than one—one deeply loving parent is better than having two cruel ones, for example—but there are some compelling statistics that provide reason to think that the nurture and stability of two-parent homes, generally speaking, better conduce to healthy socialization. A commonly cited figure pertains to incarceration. Empirical studies show that 85% of youths in prison grew up in fatherless homes. On occasion pastors will point to such statistics as a quick way in which to encourage parents to stay together and raise their children in a healthy environment.

All that is well-rehearsed material, but here I would invite folks to consider how a kid, say, from a fatherless family may interpret such statistics. Perhaps he’s in church as a youngster, and the pastor cites these numbers, or any of plenty of others that indeed reveal how growing up without a father is disadvantageous. I ask you to consider such a scenario because I know of a young man who had this very experience, and for years afterwards he struggled with what the statistics meant for him. Since he wasn’t old enough to process the information, he (mistakenly and understandably) confused what he had heard with the thought that it was likely that he himself, as one growing up fatherless, would end up behind bars. Although this was a mistake, logically speaking, that’s the sort of thing kids are naturally wont to do, and it was hardly his fault. Sadly the experience left him feeling for years that he was doomed to a subpar life, perhaps even something like prison. Worse, he thought this was one of the messages the church itself had to offer him.

It dawned on me today that the math of this matter is a good problem for Bayes’ Theorem, and the result is telling and, for this young friend, hopeful. So the question is this: What is the probability that someone raised without a father will end up incarcerated? There are three variables: the antecedent probability of becoming incarcerated; the antecedent probability of growing up fatherless; and the conditional probability of being fatherless if one is incarcerated. Respectively, those figures go like this: .00716, .39, and .85. The formula looks like this:

P(IlF) = [P(FlI)P(I)]/P(F)

This is to say that the probability of becoming incarcerated if one grows up without a father is the product of the (conditional) probability of being fatherless if one is incarcerated and the (antecedent) probability of being incarcerated, divided by the (antecedent) probability of being fatherless. Plugging in the values, the result is .0156. Which is to say that there’s about a 1.56% chance, if one grows up without a father, of ending up incarcerated. Admittedly this is all course grained, and it remains several times higher than for those who do not grow up without a father. But it is nothing like the initial, stark conditional 85% probability of having grown up fatherless if one is incarcerated.

Fathers are important, undoubtedly. Having been blessed with a great one myself, I am aware of this truth very well. However, especially for vulnerable kids without the capacity to make sense of and process troubling statistics, perhaps we can and should, with some sensitivity and delicacy, empathy and kindness, save them some heartache, dissonance, and angst by carefully avoiding the suggestion that to be raised without a father probably relegates them to an inferior life. Such a nonredemptive message isn’t just bad math, it is bad theology. We are called to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, not add to their burden, even if unwittingly.

Reference:

Abwesende Vater statistik, aktualisierte Forschung | Lovefreund.de


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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.

Moral Apologetics and Biography, Part I

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When I was in graduate school, a very good teacher of mine once suggested that I “purge the personal” from my work. It was generally good advice, which I tried to follow, and I was appreciative of his insight. It is indeed often best to do so as we strive to write about a topic objectively and dispassionately. But when it comes to moral apologetics, it is not always easy or even possible for me and others to do so at a distance, and sometimes it does well for us to consider some of the reasons why.

So in series of short posts I intend to discuss moral apologetics and various ways in which it has reverberated in my life and the lives of others. This is important, I suspect, for several reasons, one of which is this. In order for something like morality to be taken as importantly evidential in a person’s life, something about morality must seem especially striking. Unlike a geometric proof that need not engage one’s affective or imaginative sides (though for some it may), the moral argument, to have purchase in a person’s life, likely requires a requisite prior experience of goodness. Likewise with an aesthetic apologetic, requiring enough prior experience of beauty. Goodness and Beauty are quite analogous in this way, which makes a great deal of sense if anything in the vicinity of Plato’s view is right that they are practically flip sides of the same coin. Both of these “Transcendentals” are deeply experiential realities.[1]

The anecdotes in this post, then, are designed to illuminate an aspect of moral apologetics that logically and often chronologically precedes close examination of a formal moral argument. These are the sorts of experiences that prepare the ground, as it were, make fertile the soil of our hearts and minds to hear the argument and feel its force. Perhaps the reason why some remain largely unmoved by the moral argument is that they lack the requisite experience of goodness, and as a result the argument lacks purchase for them. In the same way some raised without a loving father in their life have a harder time believing in a loving Heavenly Father—while, interestingly, some with missing or unloving parents naturally gravitate to a loving God like a ravenous man to a delicious meal.

Acknowledging the contours of our personal stories is not the same as reducing questions of evidence to psychology. It’s rather simply to apprehend how various aspects of our past have helped shape us, sometimes giving us eyes with which to discern what’s there, and sometimes serving as blinders or obstructions impeding our vision. Just as good intellectual habits make more likely our acquisition of truth, and a rule of reason is a bad one that prevents us from discerning truth and evidence that are really there, likewise our formative experiences can either help or hinder our quest for reality.

In my own life story, three episodes in particular stand out as shaping my vocation as a natural theologian and moral apologist. One is that I was a child of the holiness tradition. To this day I can still smell the sawdust trails of camp meetings from my earliest years. We often attended more than one camp meeting a year, and any summer season I now experience bereft of a visit to camp meeting strikes me as emaciated somehow. A few years ago Marybeth and I wrote a history of a camp meeting in Michigan I attended for many years, and it started like this:

Eaton Rapids Camp Meeting has touched my life profoundly. One of my earliest memories, in fact, was looking high into the air at the windows near the top of the tabernacle. It was after an evening service, if my faint memory serves, and I must have been herded back to the main auditorium after the youth service was done. People were milling about and darting in various directions. I still recall seeing some tables set up with various advertisements (likely from Bible schools and the like) at the back of the tabernacle, and the outstanding impression I experienced at that age was the sheer enormity of the structure. It was simple but elegant—it seemed well-nigh ornate to me—with doors propped up all around its perimeter. Its capacious wooden canopy was enough to mesmerize my imagination for quite some time. I am guessing I was around five or six years of age. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was smack dab in the center of a vintage piece of classic Americana. This was camp meeting, in Eaton Rapids, Michigan, and it was, to my best guess, 1971 or 1972.[2]      

Camp meeting shaped my soul. I had been taught many of the same things in church, of course, but camp meeting was like church on steroids, and it drove home a great many lessons. God is love, for example—essentially, perfectly love—and God desires the very best for each of us. He loves us enough to send Jesus to die for us. God does not merely want us to believe in him, or treat him like a miracle dispenser to bail us out of trouble. He want us to know him, find our vocation in him, and love him. God’s grace is sufficient for us, and enough both to forgive for our committed sins, and deliver us from our condition of sinfulness.

Longtime Asbury College president Dennis Kinlaw once wrote that even our good deeds, done for Christ and in his strength, can be tinged with self-centered self-interest that permeates the depths of our psyches and defiles even our best. “This raises the question of a clean heart and of an undivided heart full of the love of God…. That is why the experience of a clean heart and of a perfect love for God is often described as ‘a second work of grace.’ The identification of this need in the believer’s life and the provision in Christ for a pure heart is the special mission of the camp meeting.”[3] 

When Kinlaw was in his nineties, Marybeth and I went to visit him in Wilmore and were able to pummel him with questions for a few hours. Still sharp as a tack, he regaled us with stories as college president, presiding over the famous 1970 revival at Asbury, pastor, professor, administrator, camp meeting preacher. He was an eminently impressive person, just brilliant, but something about him struck me as particularly interesting. He didn’t point to his tenure as college president as central to his identity, nor his PhD in Old Testament from Brandeis, but to an experience he had as a thirteen year old boy at Indian Springs Camp Meeting in Georgia. In the twilight of his life, with the benefit of all the hindsight afforded a 90-year-old man, he pointed to those altar experiences he had as a boy, when he met God in person—under the preaching of another longtime Asbury college president, its founder Henry Morrison, no less—as what was at the heart of who he was. More than anything else from his experiences, that was what he saw as defining him.

My next post will discuss a second feature of my childhood that softened my heart and opened my mind to the moral argument.


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With his co-author, Jerry Walls, Dr. Baggett authored Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality. The book won Christianity Today’s 2012 apologetics book of the year of the award. He published a sequel with Walls that critiques naturalistic ethics, God and Cosmos: Moral Truth and Human Meaning. A third book in the series, The Moral Argument: A History, chronicles the history of moral arguments for God’s existence. Dr. Baggett has also co-edited a collection of essays exploring the philosophy of C.S. Lewis, and edited the third debate between Gary Habermas and Antony Flew on the resurrection of Jesus. Dr. Baggett currently is a professor at Houston Baptist University.


[1] Readers are strongly encouraged to listen to David Horner’s remarkable talk “Too Good Not to be True,” accessible here: https://www.moralapologetics.com/wordpress/video-too-good-not-to-be-true-the-shape-of-moral-apologetics-david-horner.

[2] David & Marybeth Baggett, At the Bend of the River Grand (Wilmore, KY: Emeth Press, 2016), xi.

[3] Ibid., 265.

The Paradox of Preservation

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Accustomed to the tumultuous turquoise of the Pacific, the static, dusty-emerald undulation of Yosemite’s slopes, floors, and ridges transfixed me. Traversing 2,500 miles of open ocean every time I left my home of Honolulu, Hawaii gave me a sense for vast spaces. But in Yosemite I, a land mammal, found an untamed vastness where I could do more than dabble around the edges; I could enter. Fueled by light, cool air, exertion that would have been toilsome between the Tropics flowed easily. Wind and vistas, not exhaustion, stole my breath as I followed a trail from the canyon rim to the valley floor.

Enjoyment of Nature

Yosemite National Park comprises 761,747.50 acres of the 50,543,372.74 acres devoted to National Parks in the United States.[1] These parks reflect the value judgement that preserving land from human habitation is worthwhile. While National Parks existed before 1916, the 1916 act establishing the National Park Service enshrines in law the rationale behind their existence:

To conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wild life therein and to provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.[2]

John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club and chief advocate for preserving Yosemite, placed a similar emphasis on the capacity of wilderness to bring abiding joy to humans. Against proposals to dam a portion of the Yosemite protected area, he wrote, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike.”[3] At first blush, both the founding documents of the National Park Service and Muir’s statement imply that protecting land from human habitation is important because doing so enables a different, more refined human use—enjoyment. 

Beneath this superficial human-centeredness, however, lies a deeper value judgement. The splendor of glaciers and granite, of foliage and fiery sunsets, brings joy to humans precisely because nature is good; joy is the emotional consequence of experiencing nature’s goodness. Enjoyment of nature can be human-centered even as friendship can be me-centered. But both enjoyment of nature and enjoyment of a friend can stem from recognizing and reveling in the goodness of the other. The non-human world brings health and cheer at least partly because it is not a world of our own making; its value enjoins preservation.

Enjoyment of Nature and the Paradox of Preservation

The U.S. National Parks reflect the value judgement that preserving human enjoyment of nature is worth significant national resources. To the 318,211,833 people who enjoyed these parks in 2018, U.S. National Parks also made an assertion; they asserted that nature is good and thus worthy of preservation.[4] But the manner of this assertion, enjoyment of nature, is paradoxical. Nature is good apart from us, but we recognize this goodness only in relationship with it. To hear nature’s proclamation of its value, we must enter it. And by that act, we render it less natural—by entering the non-human world, we render it part of the human world. By venturing into a world that is not of our own making, we make it, if only marginally, a world we have made.

This paradox is present in nearly all preservationist ecological endeavors, not just the National Park system. Preservationist ecological endeavors are motivated by experience of nature, but they require withdrawal from nature. They demand, often in moral terms, that humans make a double movement, both towards nature in ecological enjoyment, study, and intervention and away from nature by restraining our presence in it.

It seems that this dual movement of humans towards and away from nature requires a framework in which humans are both part of and distinct from the rest of nature. For human enjoyment, study, and mere presence in nature to be legitimate, this presence must not be unnatural; it must not be inherently corrupting. But to justify the moral mandate that humans exercise restraint in interactions with nature, preservationist ecological endeavors require that humans are not just another part of nature—if humans ought not to thoughtlessly decimate miles of rainforest, but Army Ants are under no similar obligation, then there must be some distinction between humans and ants. If preservation is, as is widely recognized, good (and perhaps even morally obligatory), there must be some way to both uphold and adjudicate between these paradoxical principles of human unity with and distinctness from nature.

Naturalism and the Paradox of Preservation

Naturalism, for instance, can uphold each of these principles. Historically speaking, evolutionary naturalism suggests that there is unity between humans and the rest of nature because we all have the same ancestors; all that separates us from other animals is a few genetic mutations. In contrast, an emphasis on present empirical observation of humans’ seeming intellectual uniqueness suggests a large divide between humans and other animals. Thus, naturalism provides some justification for each of the paradox-producing principles that are assumed in preservationist ecological endeavors.

But naturalism does not seem to provide a way of navigating this paradox. Naturalism must do more than simply state that humans are both a part of and distinct from nature; it must explain how these two seemingly contradictory truths can be integrated. While naturalism can account for either human unity with nature or human distinctness from nature, it provides no non-arbitrary way of integrating these two principles, no grounds for discerning when we should move towards nature per our unity with it and when we should move away from nature per our distinctness from it. It takes something more than naturalism to account for what we know about our relationship with nature.

Christianity and the Paradox of Preservation

Christian Theism seems to provide this something more. Whether they are interpreted evolutionarily or not, the first few chapters of the Christian Bible teach that humans are both part of nature and distinct from the rest nature. Humans are part of nature in that they, just like the rest of nature, are created by God, from whom they derive their identity and value. God designed humans and the rest of his creation to harmoniously cohabit the Earth. But these same chapters also teach that humans are distinct from nature in two ways, one positive and one negative.

Positively, humans are the only part of the world that is said to be created “in the image of God.” This means that humans are not just another part of creation, which helps explain the fact that humans have ecological moral obligations, while ants do not. Negatively, these chapters recount that, while God created humans to live in harmony with God and the rest of God’s creation, humans rejected right relationship with God. By doing this, humans corrupted themselves and their relationship with all of God’s creations. Human presence in nature introduces an unnatural, corrupting element because we have, within ourselves, an unnatural, corrupted element.

Thus, Christianity, like naturalism, upholds the paradoxical principles of human unity with and distinctness from nature. But it also goes beyond naturalism by providing a principle for navigating this paradox. Christianity says that humans should engage with nature in all of the ways that are in accord with God’s design for our presence in it and withdraw from nature when our corruption would corrupt God’s design. Admittedly, the specifications of God’s design are much debated among Christians. But this does not minimize the fact that, because Christianity appeals to a God who is beyond both the human and natural realms, it has a basis for defining these two realms and describing how they should interact.

National parks and other preservationist ecological efforts stem from one of our era’s great moments of moral clarity. But these efforts rely on a paradox that naturalism can at best uphold, not navigate. By both upholding and navigating this paradox, Christianity provides a better accounting for our known ecological moral obligations.


[1] National Park Service, Land Resources Division. 2019. “Summary of Acreage.” September 30, 2019. https://www.nps.gov/subjects/lwcf/upload/NPS-Acreage-9-30-2019.pdf.

[2] “The Organic Act.” 1994. In America’s National Park System: The Critical Documents, edited by Larry Dislaver. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers. https://www.nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/anps/index.htm.

[3] Muir, John. 1908. “The Hetch Hetchy Valley.” Sierra Club Bulletin VI, no. 4 (January): 211-220. https://vault.sierraclub.org/ca/hetchhetchy/hetch_hetchy_muir_scb_1908.html.

[4] National Park Service. n.d. “Frequently Asked Questions.” Accessed January 16, 2020. https://www.nps.gov/aboutus/faqs.htm.

4 Popular Objections to Theistic Ethics

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I’ve had the opportunity to teach ethics and philosophy as an online adjunct for about five years now. During that time, I’ve noticed that students often express similar concerns about the moral argument specifically and theistic ethics in general. Here are the four most popular objections to theistic ethics I’ve encountered and a brief reply.

1.     People can be good without God. Theistic ethics says that people need God to be moral, but there are many good atheists. So, theistic ethics must be incomplete or incorrect.

First, it will help to settle what is meant by “good” atheist in this context. Most of the time, when we say Ms. Smith is a good person, we just mean it in a relative sense. Relative to other people, Ms. Smith is a good person. She is kind to others, she donates to charity, she is generous, and so on.

This objection usually comes from a misunderstanding of the implications of one of the premises of the deductive moral argument. That argument goes like this:

1.     If objective moral values and duties exist, then God exists.

2.     There are objective moral values and duties.

3.     Therefore, God exists.

A correct implication of (1) would be that morality requires God and, therefore, one needs God to be good. God must exist for there to be morality at all. However, (1) does not imply that atheists cannot be good, moral people. All that (1) implies is a view about moral ontology, and not a view about what it takes to be a moral person. Nothing in the moral argument suggests that an atheist cannot be a moral person. An atheist is someone who disbelieves in God. Disbelief of this sort does not make it impossible to be a good person. God can be the ground of morality and atheists can be good people. These are not contradictory statements.

Some may think that while the moral argument doesn’t say that one must believe in God to be good, the Bible nonetheless does. So, if one is committed to a theistic ethical theory that affirms the teaching of the Bible, then she is, at the end of the day, saying one must believe in God to be good. However, I am not convinced that is what the Bible teaches. A key verse in this debate comes from Romans 3:10 “…there is none righteous, not even one.” Often, the verse is interpreted to mean that, apart from salvation in Christ, there are no good people. However, “righteousness” here has a specific, forensic or legal meaning.[1] A better gloss might be “no one is justified, not even one.” In this case, at least, the Bible has in view something different than what me mean by “good person.”

Some may think that the Calvinist doctrine of total depravity stipulates that atheists cannot be good people. But this is not always the case. According to one theological dictionary, 

Total depravity refers to the extent and comprehensiveness of the effects of sin on all humans such that all are unable to do anything to obtain salvation. Total depravity, therefore, does not mean that humans are thoroughly sinful but rather that they are totally incapable of saving themselves.[2]

Total depravity only says no one can earn that forensic status of righteousness.

So, neither the moral argument nor the bible implies that an atheist cannot be a good person or do good things.  

2.     Theistic ethics is too narrow. Not everyone agrees that God exists, so not everyone could have moral knowledge. We need an ethical theory that’s accessible to all.  

This might be the most common of these four objections and it leverages an important concern: the availability of moral knowledge.  As a preliminary reply, we can point out that this sort of critique would work for any ethical theory. We could argue against the utilitarian: Well, not everyone believes that the good is identical to utility (or pleasure), so not everyone could have moral knowledge. Or against the Kantian: Well, not everyone agrees with the categorical imperative, so not everyone could have moral knowledge. The objector might say that in both those cases, one gains moral knowledge through common sense or introspection. These modes of investigation are available to all people, while access to divine commands are not.

There are three vital points to make in response. First, if some ethical theory implies that moral knowledge will be inaccessible, that does not entail it is false. It may be a problem for that ethical theory, but problems can be addressed. Plato’s ethical theory is a good example of this. Morality is grounded in the Forms, but from our present position and with our current abilities, we cannot access the realm of the Forms. Thus, Plato proposes some alternative means through which such knowledge can be attained, including his ambitious doctrine of pre-existence. Possibly, Plato’s ethical theory is correct and moral knowledge just is hard to come by.

Second, most versions of theistic ethics, despite the impression of many, say that moral knowledge is widely accessible, and by means like common sense and introspection. Clearly, this is the case with theistic natural law theories, but it is also the case for divine command theory, which is usually the target of this sort of objection. If we consider the sort of divine command theory offered by David Baggett and Jerry Walls in Good God, we can see how this is so. They say that God’s commands are not arbitrary, but flow from his nature. God’s nature, in their view, is identical to the good. Therefore, one can infer, purely based on reason and her implicit knowledge of the good, what is right and wrong in many cases and, thus, what God has likely commanded. For example, given these things, one should easily see that it is wrong to murder, even if she doesn’t know that God has prohibited murder. In this way, someone has access to much of moral knowledge without access to special revelation; a point consistent with the teaching of Romans 1.

Third, from the Christian perspective, God has revealed himself dramatically and publicly in the person of Jesus Christ and there is sufficient evidence of this (ably demonstrated by scholars like Gary Habermas and Michael Licona). That some people find the evidence unconvincing does not imply that evidence is, in fact, insufficient. If the Christian perspective is correct, then God has provided direct, sufficient, and accessible evidence for his moral authority and the authenticity of his commands through Jesus and his resurrection.

3.     The meaning of the Bible is unknowable. No one really knows that the Bible teaches. It’s all open to interpretation and we don’t know what it originally said anyway.

When I run across this objection, students often give one of two motivations for their view. First, they often say something like this: “The Bible has been copied so many times! All we have is a translation of a copy of translation. It’s been copied and translated so many times, who knows what it really said at the start!” This concern represents a widely held misunderstanding of the origin of our modern Bibles. Our modern Bibles are not copied from other translations; they are copied from the original languages. Some pieces of these texts even date to the second century for the New Testament and the seventh century B.C. for the Old Testament. The source texts for the modern Bible are early and they are in abundance. Through careful study, textual critics of the New Testament conclude that what we have now accurately represents over 99% of the original manuscripts. So, we know with a high degree of confidence what the books and letters of the Bible actually said.

The other motivation seems to come from a general skepticism about the clarity of the Bible. Certainly, there are unique interpretive challenges when it comes to the Bible. It was written in another time, place, and culture. Some passages remain deeply debated and mysterious. However, much of the Bible can be understood on its face, in a straightforward way. This is true in the case of the Bible’s central ethical teaching, presented by Jesus himself: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). This command in particular does not seem especially hard to understand or interpret. On many central ethical issues, the Bible is perspicuous. But even in those cases where the Bible presents readers with an interpretive challenge, one can still often discern the correct meaning with careful, methodical hermeneutics. Therefore, we do know what the Bible originally said, and we can know what it originally meant.

4.     The Bible is unenlightened. The Bible is full of bronze age ethics that we know are immoral now. Theistic ethics needs to be discarded in favor a more modern ethical theory that fits with a modern perspective.

My aim here is not to respond to all of the specific ethical issues in the Bible, but I will offer a general reply in two directions. First, in defense of the Bible, it is very likely that for many of the difficult passages, we are simply misreading them. The Bible can often be read and understood at face value, but not always. Not infrequently, our modern assumptions distort our reading and understanding of the Bible. A possible example of this comes in the Conquest of Canaan narratives. In the ancient world contemporary to the Conquest, it was common to exaggerate one’s victory over the enemy. Language of total destruction of cities, including its citizens, was often used, when it is clear from the surrounding context that such cities were not utterly destroyed. One example of such a text comes from Joshua 10:40:

Thus Joshua struck all the land, the hill country and the Negev and the lowland and the slopes and all their kings. He left no survivor, but he utterly destroyed all who breathed, just as the Lord, the God of Israel, had commanded.

Paul Copan notes of passages like this:

Joshua’s conventional warfare rhetoric was common in many other ancient Near Eastern military accounts in the second and first millennia BC. The language is typically exaggerated and full of bravado, depicting total devastation. The knowing ancient Near Eastern reader recognized this as hyperbole; the accounts weren’t understood to be literally true.[3]

It may be that similar interpretative issues exist for all the ethically difficult passages in the Bible. However, that is unlikely to be the case.

Second, it would be rather strange if the moral vision of the Bible comfortably fit our own. That some parts of the Bible cause us discomfort suggests that the Bible is not a mirror for our own views or some pliable clay to be shaped to our own liking. Rather, it suggests that in the Bible we encounter a moral perspective that is not our own. It belongs to someone else, even if we have adopted it in some measure.

In The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis wrote this:

Divine "goodness" differs from ours, but it is not sheerly different: it differs from ours not as white from black but as a perfect circle from a child's first attempt to draw a wheel. But when the child has learned to draw, it will know that the circle it then makes is what it was trying to make from the very beginning.

Lewis argues that our moral knowledge is not exactly correct. Our knowledge of the good is not univocal, but analogical. It’s off by some margin of error.

If morality is objective, this is what we should expect. If morality was made in our image, a mere human convention, then moral truth should cause us no discomfort or distress. But if morality comes from without and not within, then so long as our moral vision is imperfect, there will be some incongruence between what is actually the case and what we merely believe to be the case. That’s exactly the experience we have when reading the Bible. Significantly, though, this dissonance runs in multiple directions. The wrath of God on display in the Bible may make us shudder, but the Bible also teaches that we should love our enemies, that we should give without withholding to the poor and destitute, that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. This incredible calling sounds its own discordant note in our modern, Western minds. The horizons of our moral vision are widened by the Bible. An effect that should come as no surprise if in it we find an ethic from someone else.

 

 

 


[1] Moo, D. J. (1996). The Epistle to the Romans (p. 203). Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Here’s a fuller comment from Moo on this passage (including Romans 3:12):

10b–12 The quotations begin with a series of phrases taken from Ps. 14:1–3 (LXX 13:1–3) (Ps. 53:1–3 is almost identical). As is the case with most of the quotations in this series, Paul’s wording agrees closely with the LXX.28 But there is one important difference: where the Psalms text has “there is no one who does good,” Paul has “there is no one who is righteous.” Granted the importance of the language of “righteousness” in this part of Romans (cf. 3:4, 5, 8, 19, 20), the word is almost certainly Paul’s own editorial change.29 It will thus carry with it Paul’s specifically forensic nuance (cf. 1:17). What he means is that there is not a single person who, apart from God’s justifying grace, can stand as “right” before God. This meaning is not far from David’s intention in the Psalm, as he unfolds the myriad dimensions of human folly.

Here is what Kruse says in the Pillar commentary on Romans:

Paul’s purpose in listing these quotations is to say that as a people Jews are no better than Gentiles. Paul would certainly know of the many righteous persons spoken of in the OT, not least Abraham, to whom he refers in the next chapter (4:1–25). However, it must be said that such ‘righteous’ persons are not the morally flawless, but those who have responded with repentance to the goodness of God. Not one of them would have been declared righteous by God because of their peerless behavior. Thus Paul’s conclusion that follows in the next verse stands.

Still, some Calvinists, like R.C. Sproul, seem to understand total depravity and the thrust of Romans 3:10-12 to be teaching that only Christians can do good things. Sproul says this in his commentary on this passage:

Is Paul saying here that unless a person is a believer in Christ, he will not ever do a good deed? That is precisely what it means. It may seem outrageous, but nobody ever does a single thing that is good, we are so corrupt that our sin infects even the best of our deeds.

However, even in this very strong view of the implications of the passage, Sproul clarifies that Paul here is using “good” in a technical sense. A good deed consists in right and action and right motivation. Only Christians can have the right sort of motivation, pleasing God, so only Christians can do what is good. But if Paul has this technical sense of “good” in mind, that does nothing to undermine the idea that atheists or other non-Christians can do “good” things in the everyday sense of that word.

Sproul makes the dubious claim that actions are either motivated by selfishness or a desire to please God. It seems obvious from human experience that many actions are motivated by a sincere concern for others, without explicit reference to God (that this is appropriate is perhaps evidenced by the fact that Jesus says that there are two commands that sum up the law: Love of God and love of neighbor. cf. Matt 22:40). Further, even if my actions are motivated by a concern for my own interests, that does not entail that they are not good actions. If we suppose, for the sake of the argument, that Bill Gates, an atheist, works on eradicating malaria because it brings him satisfaction, the fact that he is the sort of person that finds satisfaction in curing malaria rather than spreading it is an obviously good moral quality. So, it seems to me, that Sproul’s binary understanding of moral motivation should be rejected.

[2] Grenz, S., Guretzki, D., & Nordling, C. F. (1999). In Pocket dictionary of theological terms (p. 37). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

[3] Paul Copan, Is God a Moral Monster?: Making Sense of the Old Testament God, vol. 1 (Baker Books, 2011), 171.

Socrates and Jesus on Allegiances

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You have probably heard the saying, “Great minds think alike.” I think there is more truth to the claim that we might imagine. The ancient philosopher Socrates had a conversation with Plato’s eldest brother Glaucon about transcendent truths known as Forms. Forms are metaphysical truths that exist independently of personal opinions and the physical world. His conversation with Glaucon is recorded in Plato’s book The Republic. Socrates explains Forms and the importance of pursuing them in his Allegory of the Cave (Republic 514a-517a).

The Allegory tells the story of a group of men held captive since their youth. They are held in a cave and tied down so that the only thing they can see is the shadows cast on the cave’s wall by their captors playing in front of a fire. This life is the only life these men know. All their knowledge of the world stems from the shadow puppets cast for their entertainment pleasure. But, Socrates inquires, what if one of the captives was released and allowed to see the world outside of the cave? The light from the sun would hurt his eyes. His mind would have trouble comprehending the beauty of the exterior world that is so new to him. The birds, the sky, the animals of the field, and the beauty of flowers and trees would overwhelm his imagination. Socrates further questions Glaucon by asking, what if the man wanted to free his brothers in the cave? What if he were to return to tell of the wondrous things that he had seen? Would his brothers not think him to be a madman and eventually kill him? Socrates holds that this is the response of individuals living only with a mindset on the Particulars (the physical attributes of the world) to those who observe the beauty of the Forms (the unseen realm).

Jesus told a parable somewhat comparable to Socrates’s called the Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen or the Parable of the Bad Tenants in Matthew 21:33-46; Mark 12:1-12; and Luke 20:9-19. The parable is about a group of tenant farmers who gave a portion of their harvest to the owner for payment for the use of the landowner’s property. The harvest was part of their rental agreement. Rather than paying the agreed harvest, the wicked tenant farmers beat and killed the servants sent by the landowner to acquire payment. Last of all, they killed the son thinking that they would steal his inheritance. Finally, the landowner came after the tenant farmers and destroyed those wicked men. While the two parables differ substantially, they hold three common truth claims.

The Reality of the Unseen Realm. Both Socrates and Jesus point to the reality of the unseen realm. The unseen realm of Forms is clearly in view in the Allegory of the Cave. However, the same is in view in the Parable of the Wicked Tenants. The landowner represents God who is unseen in the parable. At God’s command, the servants and son are sent, and the wicked tenants are punished. The reality of God’s existence at least to some degree verifies unseen transcendent truths. This is not to say that Jesus defends the Platonic Forms, but it does draw a similarity between the two stories, although the philosophical implications cannot be pressed too far. Both stories show that there is more to the world than just the physical reality one sees.

The Advocates Proclaiming the Truths of the Unseen Realm. In both stories, the authors hold that servants of the unseen truths are often ridiculed and abused. This is true of the freedman in Socrates’s Allegory of the Cave and the servants and son in Jesus’s Parable of the Wicked Tenants. It is also fascinating to consider that both Socrates and Jesus were executed by the authorities because of their teachings. Jesus’s execution was far more torturous and viler. Nonetheless, both Jesus and Socrates asked questions. As one professor pointed out to me, it can sometimes be dangerous to ask too many questions.

The Choice Between God and the World. Socrates, like Jesus, was likely a monotheist living in a polytheistic world, a henotheist at the very least. By his own admonition, Socrates claims to have encountered the one true God. Regardless of the case, Socrates challenges his readers to make a choice to either live in a world of shadows by only looking to the physical world, or to step out of the cave and experience the transcendent, metaphysical truths of the divine. In like manner, Jesus noted that it was impossible to serve both God and the world (Matt. 6:24), a point that Paul addresses in Colossians 3:23-24. For whom are you working? What are you seeking? Everyone must make a choice. A non-choice is a choice. Whatever masters your heart, masters your life.

Amid the uncertainties of life, we all must ask ourselves where our allegiances lie. If you decide to work for the world, then know that it is of no profit to gain the whole world and lose your soul (Matt. 16:26). If you are only living for the here and now, then you are missing out on a larger portion of reality. Reality is like an iceberg. The part we see is minuscule compared to the realm we cannot see. If you choose to serve God, your life will not necessarily become easier. In some ways, it may become more difficult. But you will find that your life holds greater purpose and value if you do.

 


About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has been in the ministry for nearly 20 years and serves as the Senior Pastor of Westfield Baptist Church in northwestern North Carolina.

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© 2020. BellatorChristi.com.


Moral Apologetics 101: Ethical Theory and Moral Realism

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Editor’s note: In this series, we introduce the basics of building a moral argument. In this first installment, we explore the concept of ethical theory and two main positions on ethical theory: moral realism and anti-realism.

Some people think the earth is flat and they have a theory about that; that is, they have a justification or explanation for why it is rational to think that the earth is flat. This theory might involve nefarious and shadowy figures working in the dark corners of power to fake the moon landings, among other things, but there is a theory that (attempts) to explain why the earth is flat.

The same is true for other claims. Us round-earthers have a theory about why it’s rational to believe the earth is sphere shaped. Maybe the theory is a simple as this: “That the earth is round has been the consistent testimony of people in a position to know for over 2000 years and that sort of testimony is trustworthy.” The sense of theory here is broader and looser than its use in a scientific context, where theory has a narrower meaning.

Our theories extend beyond these, roughly, scientific concerns about the shape of the earth. We have theories about mundane things as well. For example, I might have a theory about why my wife is angry. Likely, she is angry because I forgot to take out the trash, though I promised I would. I have a belief and I have reasons for my belief. We can call those reasons collectively my “theory” about why my wife is angry. Now, that theory could be right or wrong. It could be partly right and partly wrong. But it is my explanation for why my wife is angry.

When we think about “theory” this way, it seems fair to say that any time we assert that something is the case (that is, we take the attitude “What I am saying is true or correct”), then we have reasons for that view. We have a theory about why we are right.

Even though this is a simple idea, there’s an important objection to consider. Sometimes, we have not reflected on why we think something is true or correct. We do not have internal, cognitive (thoughtful/meaningful) reasons for some of our beliefs. Sometimes, we simply inherit a view from our culture or our parents or some other source. If one asks a sixth grader, “Why do you think the earth is sphere shaped?” she might not have a ready explanation for why she thinks that is the case. She simply “absorbed” the view of her culture or her parents. We might say this an “external” cause of belief. It’s not a belief that is held because of investigation or introspection, but because one was caused to believe by something external to one’s self. (Significantly, an externally caused belief can be correct and rational to hold. Our sixth grade would certainly be correct that the earth is a sphere, for example). 

So, one may find herself believing that certain things are true, like the earth is a sphere or that a spouse is angry, and she either has reasons for those views that internal to herself (they are her reasons) or they are external (she was caused to believe something). Or, to put it in other words, whenever we believe that something is so, we have a theory about that something that is either held on the basis of introspection and reflection or it is given to us by our surroundings (culture/parents/friends). We have considered theories and given theories.

This is a general point, true in all aspects of life, but it’s also true when it comes to ethical theory. We all have moral or ethical beliefs that we take to be correct or true. For example, we might consider the following statements:

Stealing is always wrong.

The government should pay for healthcare.

Sometimes, it is ok to tell a lie.

People have a right to defend themselves.

It is always wrong to torture children for fun.

The best sort of life requires good friends.

It is your duty to vote.

Claims about what one ought to do, what one should do or should not do, claims about what sort of life is worthwhile and whether people have essential rights, these are often moral claims.[1] Likely, most would have a certain attitude of affirm or deny to each of these moral claims. For example, someone might take the attitude toward the proposition “stealing is always wrong,” that this moral claim is false; one might disbelieve that it is always wrong to steal.  Perhaps, thinks this person, it is right to steal if it is the only way to feed one’s family.

These reasons for a moral belief, whether they come from within oneself or from their surroundings, are an “ethical theory.”

If one believes that at least some moral claims are true, then she thinks there are “moral facts” and she is a “moral realist.”

A moral fact is a true proposition that makes some morally relevant claim.

A moral realist is a person who thinks that there are at least some moral facts.

A moral anti-realist is a person who denies that there are any moral facts.

Sometimes people are tempted to say that there are no moral facts because of “grey areas.” We’ve all heard the term “moral grey area” before. A moral “grey area” occurs when there is not  an obviously right or wrong answer to a moral question. Some moral claims are more obvious than others and, in some cases, we might not have a specific attitude toward a moral claim. For example, if I ask whether it’s morally right that the government provide healthcare, someone could say that he sees good reasons for both sides and that he’s not sure whether it is a moral obligation or not. However, if one is not sure, that does not imply that there’s no fact of the matter about whether the government should provide healthcare. It could be there is a fact of the matter, but some simply cannot discern what that fact is very easily.

However, it may be that there is no fact of the matter about whether the government should provide healthcare. If that were the case, that would not imply that there are not “deeper” moral facts about the rights of individuals, the obligations for communities to care for those who need assistance, and so on. It is important to see that the moral realist claims only that there are some moral facts and not there is a fact about every moral issue.

When asked to give an example of a moral fact, moral realists want to give what they consider to be the most obvious, least controversial example. One oft used example is this: “It is always wrong to torture children for fun.” If anything is a moral fact, this would have to be a moral fact. If one agrees that it is really, actually true that “It is always wrong to torture children for fun,” then one is a moral realist.

Some moral philosophers deny that there are such things as moral facts. They are “anti-realists” about morality and their view is called “anti-realism.” According to this view, no moral claims are correct. All moral claims may be false or even meaningless. An anti-realist might say that proposition, “it is always wrong to torture children for fun” has nothing that makes it true; no moral proposition does. Perhaps moral claims are simply statements about one’s own feelings. In that case, if one asserts that “It is always wrong to torture children for fun,” she can only really mean that she dislikes child torture or that it makes her feel bad. Asserting it is wrong like saying, “Boo! Child torture Boo!”  Anti-realists may also say that moral claims are merely conventional statements that have only a provisional meaning based on custom, tradition, or habit.

Therefore, with respect to moral judgments, we can see that there are two camps: realist and anti-realist. The realist says that there are at least some moral facts, moral claims are cognitive (they have meaning and they are intelligible) and the anti-realist denies that there any moral facts. There’s nothing to ground moral truths, in this view, or, perhaps, moral claims are non-cognitive expressions of emotion or preference.  

As we can see, in terms of ethical theory, there are deep disagreements and the natural question, at this point, would be why. What motivates these fundamentally different views about ethical truth?

In general, moral realism is considered the “default” position and so, often, moral anti-realists are saddled with the burden of proof. According to an informal survey of philosophers (PhilPapers Survey), most agree that moral realism is the correct view while about 30% argue that anti-realism is correct. Geoff Sayre-McCord, a philosopher teaching at the University of North Carolina, claims that “moral realism can fairly claim to have common sense and initial appearances on its side.”

The reason that Sayre-McCord might say that moral realism has this advantage is that most of us simply find ourselves believing in moral realism and we find ourselves having a high degree of confidence in these beliefs. It seems obvious to most people that there are at least some moral facts. A simple argument for moral realism might go like this: “I am surer that it is wrong to torture children for fun than I could be of any argument against this belief.”

This might not seem like a very good argument for moral realism, and perhaps it is not. Although, this sort of reply is a widely employed reply to other kinds of skepticism.  For example, suppose that Joe looks at a tree outside the window. For Joe, this means he has the experience of looking out the window at a tree. For Joe, it seems there is a tree out there. In walks Jim. Jim just finished watching The Matrix and now Jim thinks that the external world is an illusion created by very sophisticated robots. Jim sees Joe looking at the tree and says, “There’s no tree out there, Joe. Wake up!”

What might Joe’s response be? Joe could develop a number of replies to this distressing assertion, but it also seems warranted for Joe to reply like this: “Jim, I am more sure that there is a tree out there than any harebrained argument you might give! I see the tree; it’s right there!”  For many, the truth of moral facts are impressed on the mind in a way analogous to the way the “tree out there” is impressed on Joe’s mind. It is a basic fact of experience and, therefore, one is rationally warranted in believing there are trees out the window as well as that there are moral facts.

Still, one might have good reasons for thinking there actually is not a tree out there and so that basic belief in “the tree out there” might lose its warrant. What if Joe had evidence that he actually did live in a simulation?

Anti-realists have two main strategies in defense of their view. First, anti-realists often argue that there is dis-confirming evidence of the existence of moral facts. In our analogy, they would offer Joe some evidence that undermines Joe’s belief in the tree out there. It’s important to see that anti-realists don’t need to show that there are no moral facts; he could simply show that we are not justified in believing there are any moral facts.

One of the most popular ways to argue this point flows from what is called “the diversity thesis.” The diversity thesis is the observation that there is widespread moral disagreement in the world. People disagree about what is moral, and they disagree frequently and substantially. That this is so is obvious from human experience (and is admitted readily by moral realists), but it may be that sometimes the depth of moral disagreements is exaggerated. Nevertheless, some anti-realists think this is an important piece of evidence. They might use this piece of evidence like this: If there were moral facts, then we would expect that people would mostly agree on these facts. However, people disagree on virtually any candidate for a moral fact. Therefore, the level of moral agreement is inconsistent with there being moral facts. Likely, then, there are no moral facts (or, at least, moral facts are indiscernible).

The diversity thesis is the observation that there is widespread moral disagreement in the world.

Anti-realists might also build a more positive case. They might begin by assuming a materialist perspective, or a sufficiently similar view. Materialism is the view that only material things exist, things like space, energy, and matter. For there to be moral facts, there must be something to make these facts true; there must be a moral “truth-maker.”  But there is no obvious way that facts about material things can ground moral facts. What sort of truth about atoms and energy could ground something as strange and exotic as morality? Moral facts, if such things exist, would seem to be facts about something qualitatively different than merely material things. Of course, that is not to say that all materialists are anti-realists. A good many are moral realists. Many materialists who are not, though, would argue there just is no real connection between the real (material) world and our moral assertions.

Realists might also develop a positive case. One common assumption among moral realists is that there are moral facts and there is something that makes these moral facts true. There is a reason or ground for moral facts. Earlier, I suggested that people are entitled to belief in some moral facts on the basis of a certain kind of impression on the mind, like someone is entitled to believe “there is a tree out there” when things align in such way that he has a certain kind of impression that “there is a tree out there.” But moral realists can go beyond appealing to moral experience (which many consider sufficient grounds). One might argue first for something that could ground moral facts and then that this thing actually does ground moral facts. Perhaps the most obvious and popular way to do this would be to argue that God exists. God would be the sort of thing that could ground moral facts, since he is the “greatest conceivable being,” or that is how God is thought of in the Western philosophical tradition. So, if God exists, it is natural to think that moral facts also obtain.

There are other ways to argue for a ground of moral facts, though. One might argue that some sort of realm of abstract objects is needed to make sense out of language and to solve the problem of the one and the many. If there is some non-material realm which gives sense and meaning to our concepts, perhaps this realm could also ground the sense and meaning of moral claims. Why think that claims about abstract ideas like triangles and mathematics are fundamentally different sorts of claims than moral ones? Perhaps, like Plato thought, the Good exists and has the power to determine the truth or falsity of moral claims.

What we see from these examples of positive cases is that different views about what is ultimately real or the ultimate nature of the world make a difference in how moral claims are justified (if they are justified) and they may, as we will see later in term, make a difference in what is considered moral in the first place.

To sum up: We have seen that people make moral claims and that when a moral claim is made, it assumes something about the world. If a person thinks that her moral claims are true, then she assumes some form of moral realism. This is how most people think about their moral claims; they think they are true. However, some people doubt that moral claims are true or that they can be known to be true. These are moral anti-realists.

[1]One can distinguish between a moral should/ought and a merely teleological should/ought. If I want to achieve X, then I should do Y which results in X.  If I want to be a better bowler, then I should invest bowling lessons. This is a merely teleological use of should/ought. 

Assessing Evolutionary Debunking Arguments (Crash Course Apologetics Interview with Dr. Tomas Bogardus)

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From Crash Course Apologetics:

In this interview, Dr. Tomas Bogardus joins me to discuss his paper "Only All Naturalists Should Worry About Only One Evolutionary Debunking Argument." The pdf of the paper is linked below. In the paper, he presents three versions of evolutionary debunking arguments (EDA's) against moral knowledge and shows why each fails. He then presents a fourth version of an EDA that is successful, but explains why it should only concern naturalists.

https://philpapers.org/archive/BOGOAN...

Introducing a Thomist Moral Argument

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Editor’s note:

Here at MoralApologetics.com, we are really excited at younger scholars turning their attention and directing their considerable talents to variations on the moral argument. Moral apologetics can come in lots of stripes and shades, depending on the particular moral phenomena in need of explanation, the methodology involved in argumentation, the alleged tightness of the relationship between evidence and conclusion, and the operative variant of theistic ethic employed. Here Suan Sonna shares some highlights of his ongoing research project in which he proposes a moral argument predicated on natural law. We suspect that Suan’s voice will a prominent one indeed in this discussion for many years to come, and we are delighted to showcase his perspicacious work today.


My moral argument took form while studying Judith Jarvis Thomson’s defense of abortion. As a Thomist, I wanted to tackle her thought experiments and whatever metaethical foundations prevented her from accepting my view. I read her paper “The Right and the Good” and was positively shocked. Thomson appealed to teleology, except she used the words “design functions”, to ground her approach to ethics. Rather than embracing teleological realism, however, she settled for teleological nominalism. I was curious thereafter and wondered if other philosophers were borrowing ideas from the Aristotelian-Thomist (AT) synthesis for their theories. As I began combing through the literature, I noticed a subtle pattern emerge – when moral philosophers contemplated the metaethical commitments of their theories, they all depended upon some idea of teleology, some notion of “fulfillment” as goodness, and deployed concepts that sounded awfully familiar to me as a Thomist – consider Moore’s understanding of the simplicity and indefinability of the good which rubs right into the classical theist conception of God! Over time, I decided to develop a moral argument for God’s existence from these observations.

Here is the argument:

(1)   Moral realism is true.

(2)   Moral realism requires a foundation that yields (A) objective moral truths, (B) is comprehensive, and (C) is compelling.

(3)   Either theistic or nontheistic moral realism is true.

(4)   Nontheistic moral realism fails to meet at least one of the three requirements.

(5)   Therefore, nontheistic moral realism is necessarily false.

(6)   Therefore, theistic moral realism is true.

(7)   If theistic moral realism is true, then God exists.

(8)   Therefore, God exists.

I divide versions of moral realism into those that imply the existence of God (theistic moral realism) and those that do not (nontheistic moral realism). Nontheistic versions of moral realism simply might have nothing to say about God’s existence or perhaps depend upon foundations incompatible with His existence. And, by “foundation” here I mean the ultimate explanation or grounding of moral facts whether it be our intuitions, some evolutionary norm, reason, or God. Theistic moral realism must say that the foundation of moral facts is God, while nontheistic moral realism need not.  

I then present in (2) three overarching standards for testing which of the two moral realisms is true. I maintain that moral realism requires a source that yields objective moral truths, is itself comprehensive and compelling.

By “objectivity” I mean the nature of the foundation or explanans must itself be consistent with the explanandum. It would be strange to get an objective theory of ethics from a purely subjective, mind-dependent foundation.

“Comprehensiveness” means that the foundation in question must tackle the most relevant metaphysical and epistemological questions for a proper account of moral realism. For instance, the foundation should help us understand the nature of normativity, it should yield an account of moral knowledge, and ensure we have reliable faculties for moral comprehension. Here, I narrow the debate down to five fundamental explananda – normativity, semantics, causation, cognition, and ontology.

In other words, the foundation should explain both the nature and origin of normativity. Regarding semantics, it should avoid making the world unintelligible but render its information content accessible to our intellects. Even the causal order itself requires an explanation such that we demystify the connection between facts about the world and our actions, the behavior of objects and persons in our unfolding moral drama. The foundation should not simply take for granted that we have reliable cognitive faculties for moral reasoning but explain the origin and reliability of those faculties. Finally, this foundation should illumine us on who or what counts as a moral subject, what is the good, the bad, the right and the wrong? This is the most demanding requirement of the three. And, I propose it in order to avoid moral realisms that are simply constructed to suit our ends or attempt to avoid the ultimate question. We are seeking the version of moral realism that actually covers the relevant and required explananda.

Of course, we also need a way of discerning which foundation most compellingly explains the explananda. I propose here several standards:

1)     Intuitive Fit

2)     Empirical Adequacy - “consistency with what we know about the world, including our best scientific knowledge.”1

3)     Epistemic Access - “the theory should include some account of how we could come to know its truth.”2

4)     Metaphysical Fecundity - “the theory should shed light on a variety of metaphysical issues.”3

5)     Unification - “We should not accept a bifurcated, disjunctive account of thought and of knowledge as long as a unified account is possible.”4

6)     Simplicity - “A good metaphysical theory should not be in need of ad hoc rescues or endless epicyclic tinkering.”5

The standard of unification staves off the objection that the comprehensiveness standard is too demanding. If there is a unified explanation that can explain all of the explananda and do it well, then that unified theory is to be strongly preferred. In other words, comprehensiveness is not too demanding since it is a burden that can be carried by other approaches and perhaps not the objector’s.         

 

Over the course of my research, I found that the AT synthesis simply bests its competitors. It provides an objective, comprehensive, and compelling foundation of moral realism in the very existence of God.

AT moral realism is founded upon six highly plausible metaphysical theses that simultaneously yield a comprehensive moral theory and proofs of the existence of God. The theses are the principle of sufficient reason (PSR), the causal principle (CP), the principle of proportionate causality (PPC), real essentialism (RE), the convertibility principle (TCP), and the principle of finality (PF).

The PSR means that, “Everything that is the case must have a reason why it is the case. Necessarily, every true or at least every contingent true proposition has an explanation. Every event has a cause.”6 Aside from the PSR being highly intuitive, I think Alexander Pruss and Robert C. Koons have provided powerful reasons for suggesting that its denial simply costs too much, including the intelligibility of the universe itself.7

The CP is inspired by Aristotle’s response to Zeno’s denial of change. Zeno argued that true change requires non-being to produce being, since what was not there before must suddenly emerge. Aristotle unraveled the paradox by proposing the CP: change is the actualization of an object’s potential by an already actual actualizer, meaning that being can be divided into being-in-act and being-in-potency. It also appears that denying the CP eviscerates the intelligibility of the universe and the reality of change.

The PPC simply follows from the PSR and CP, since there is an explanation for why events occur and this explanation must preserve the transaction of being. St. Thomas Aquinas defines the PPC as “effects must be proportionate to their causes and principles”8 so that “whatever perfections exist in the effect must be found in the effective cause.”9 To put it more straightforwardly, “a cause cannot give what it does not first have.”10 Consider for instance how materialists argue that consciousness cannot be immaterial, since our origins are purely material and so too is the fundamental nature of the universe. Like things beget like things.

RE is “... the metaphysical position that everything in the world has an essence or nature that fixes its identity.”11 and “The essence of a thing is its nature, that whereby it is what it is. It is what we grasp intellectually when we identify a thing’s genus and specific difference.”12 Things have a real definition of what they are, which makes possible our distinguishing one kind of thing from another kind. It is not that we are inventing the difference between a mushroom and a human but there really is something different about the two, and this difference is ultimately due to the nature of human beings and other plants. To deny this point seems to place a huge hole in evolutionary theory and the project of speciation, or even the trustworthiness of our perception since it seems to really be the case that humans, horses, and fish are not absolutely the same kind of thing and one can identify their differences.

TCP states, “... goodness is the same as being itself, but considered from a particular point of view - that of fulfillment of appetite.”13 In other words, goodness is the actualization of potential, a kind of fullness. For example, we say that one thing is better than another when said thing is more as it should be. A triangle drawn with a radiograph pen is better than one etched into the seat of a shaky bus. The instantiated triangles are obviously aiming towards triangularity and are hence held to that standard. Likewise, human beings are ordered towards “humanity,” and humans are better when they are more in harmony with and fulfillment of their human nature. The fullness of triangularity is the measure of goodness for a triangle. The fullness of humanity is the measure of goodness for a human.

Finally, the PF sates that “... every nature is ordered to an end; that nature does not act in vain; that the end is the first principle of activity; and that the end is the reason for all movement.”14 and “In short, if A is by nature an efficient cause of B, then generating B must be the final cause of A.”15 Another way of framing this is that nature behaves with intentionality or directedness. For instance, the laws of nature do not describe mere accidental regularities but they reveal the natures of the objects in question and how they act under certain conditions. This activity is intrinsic to the objects themselves, meaning they are acting as they should. For instance, an electron is a negatively charged particle that orbits the nucleus. Such a description gives us the nature and activity of the entity in question – even the “negative” charge label is connected to activity. Or, consider even how horses are tetrapods but some are obviously born with more or less legs than they should have. The nature of the horse provides us the norm and allows us to identify deviations and when things are not as they should be.

Two significant consequences follow from these theses. The first is that a comprehensive moral theory known as classical natural law theory follows. Classical natural law theory states that ethics is the science of how to fulfill one’s nature. Just as scientists discover laws of nature through observing the tendencies of objects and what should happen under normal circumstances, the same sort of study is done on human activity in order to unveil the natural law.  

The second consequence is that any properly constructed argument for the existence of God dependent upon any of the theses is given a significant plausibility boost. St. Thomas Aquinas, for example, famously developed six ways to demonstrate the existence of God. The first is known as the argument from motion; the second is the argument from efficient causality; the third is a contingency argument of sorts; the fourth is an argument from the gradation of being; the fifth is a teleological argument; and the sixth is his lesser known De Ente argument.

The PSR makes the first, second, third, and sixth ways eminently plausible. For example, the first way begins with the CP and argues that there must be a purely actual actualizer in order to prevent an infinite causal regress. There must be a causal agent who is the source of all change but is not itself subject to change.

De Ente rightly observes that since beings are composites of essence and existence, meaning a real distinction exists between the two and not merely a logical or conceptual one, there must be an explanation for why they exist despite their essences not securing or entailing their existence. This can be viewed as a more precise contingency argument. St. Thomas located this ultimate explanation in a being whose very essence is existence itself lest there be another endless causal regress. In tandem with TCP, RE, and PPC, we arrive at a being who is essentially perfect and the source of all beings - of their essence and existence included! Since human beings are by nature rational animals, meaning our specific difference from the rest of the animal kingdom is our rationality, our cause must also possess something like an intellect in order for it “contain” and “impart” our intellects to us.

Furthermore, we know that this being has an intellect due to the fifth way, the teleological argument, where St. Thomas noted that even beings without minds are drawn or attracted towards their final ends just like an arrow is directed towards its target by an intellect. The PF and PPC get us a creator who must have something like an intellect or mind in order for its creation to have this feature of intentionality or directedness.

If St. Thomas’ arguments hold, then we arrive at one and in principle only one supreme being who is the essentially omnibenevolent or perfect, omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent reality.

This is my longwinded way of saying that nontheistic moral realisms have an incredible challenge to face, since theistic moral realism has a foundation that yields objective moral truths (since moral truths are fixed truths about being which emanate from God), a comprehensive explanation, and one that is indeed compelling. Robert C. Koons has demonstrated in his work Realism Regained how the AT synthesis can yield not only a moral theory but also an exact theory of causation, mind, and metaphysics. Significant work has been done in Neo-Aristotelian Perspectives on Contemporary Science to demonstrate the plausibility of the AT synthesis and its relevance to quantum mechanics, biology, physics, and psychology. Theists have the theory of everything!

My moral argument attempts to leave no stone unturned and forces everyone to examine the foundations of morality. I conclude that God is the best and most comprehensive explanation, while nontheistic moral realism fails to provide what is required for a complete and compelling account of moral realism. Of course, further research needs to be done in order to secure this conclusion, but I think the argument has plausible foundations and deserves more attention.


  1. Koons, Robert C. Realism Regained an Exact Theory of Causation, Teleology, and the Mind. Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 3.

  2. Ibid.

  3. Ibid.

  4. Ibid.

  5. Ibid.

  6. Pruss, Alexander R. The Principle of Sufficient Reason: a Reassessment. Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 3.

  7. See Pruss’ The Principle of Sufficient Reason and my dialogue with Robert C. Koons here.

  8. Aquinas, Thomas. “Of the Causes of Virtue.” Summa Theologica, translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Coyote Canyon Press, 2018, pg. 391. I-II. Q. 63. Art. 3.

  9. Aquinas, Thomas. “The Perfection of God.” Summa Theologica, translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Coyote Canyon Press, 2018, pg. 34. I. Q. 4. Art. 2.

  10. Feser, Edward. Five Proofs of the Existence of God. Ignatius Press., pg. 170.

  11. See the opening page of Oderberg, S. David Real Essentialism (2007).

  12. Feser, Edward. Scholastic Metaphysics: a Contemporary Introduction. Editiones Scholasticae, 2014, p. 211.

  13. Oderberg, David S. The Metaphysics of Good and Evil. Routledge, 2020, p. 14.

  14. Ibid, p. 28.

  15. Feser, Edward. Scholastic Metaphysics: a Contemporary Introduction. Editiones Scholasticae, 2014, p. 92.

 

 

 

Mailbag: Which Books on the Moral Argument Do You Recommend?

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Hello, 

I am an aspiring philosopher/theologian with a graduate degree in and passion for apologetics, and I was hoping you could help me out. I'm looking for your personal list of books that someone who wants an advanced understanding moral argument needs to read.

For context, I'm looking to develop a list containing between 20 and 30 books dedicated to the moral argument. Ideally I'd have 15-20 books that provide support for and at least 5-10 books that challenge the argument. Ideally these texts would be mostly at the advanced level, or minimally, intermediate. 

The reason I'd like to do this is so that in the future I could dedicate a year to working through the best resources related to the argument. Ultimately, I'm looking to have advanced understanding of the argument.

I appreciate any recommendations you can give. 

Sincerely, 

Lucas

Hi, Lucas! Love that you want to spend time sinking into the moral argument. I think that too often nowadays arguments like this are treated as just a tool in the arsenal, rather than the rich resource they are for reflection, enjoyment, beauty, insight, spiritual formation, etc. The moral argument has it all going on.

There are five major components to the moral argument as I think about it. One is the history of the argument; another is a critique of secular ethics; another is a defense of theistic ethics; another is a defense of the moral realism on which it is all based; and another is an extension of the argument beyond theism to Christianity.

Regarding its history, Jerry Walls and I wrote The Moral Argument: A History, which directs you to folks like Kant, Newman, Taylor, Sorley, Rashdall, and others. Some of that’s really rich reading—especially Newman’s Grammar of Assent and Taylor’s Faith of a Moralist. Classics. Anyway, lots of recommendations in that book.

In terms of a critique of secular ethics, we wrote God and Cosmos, but just a start and promissory note. Linville’s piece on the moral argument, easily accessible online, is well worth reading. The debate between Craig and Wielenberg is coming out this year; that’s quite good. Edited by Adam Johnson. In terms of defending theistic ethics, that was the main goal of our Good God. But there are lots of possibilities here, including Zagzebski’s Divine Motivation Theory, Evans’ God and Moral Obligations, Hare’s Moral Gap, Adams’ Finite and Infinite Goods, Ritchie’s From Morality to Metaphysics. Most of these cover more than just one aspect of the moral argument—both defending theistic ethics and critiquing alternatives, for example. Wielenberg’s Robust Ethics offers criticisms of theistic ethics and an effort at a more secular account of ethics. Wielenberg and I have a written debate on Lewis’s moral argument in a book edited by Greg Bassham.

In terms of defending moral realism, see Cuneo’s The Normative Web, Shafer-Landau’s Moral Realism, and Enoch’s Taking Morality Seriously; all are important. Jerry and I aim to write our fourth book on the moral argument on this topic, finishing our planned tetralogy.

For extending the moral argument to Christianity, that is cutting-edge stuff. We need to see more books on this—especially using, say, Trinitarian resources. Adam Johnson wrote his dissertation on this recently at Southeastern, and Brian Trapp did about a decade ago at Southern. There may be more resources along such lines but I’m not as familiar with this literature. I have some doctoral students working on such topics in their dissertations. My guess is great work is coming here as the community of moral apologists builds and the momentum of the movement grows.

Incidentally, several of the folks mentioned—Hare, Adams, Evans, etc.—have done more than one book that’s important for the moral argument.

Important folks who are more secular to consider can be found when you look at rival ethical accounts. I mentioned Wielenberg, Enoch, and Shafer-Landau (though he aims for more neutrality on the God question than most), but as you get into error theory, expressivism, constructivism, sensibility, theory, and nontheistic moral realism (either natural or non-natural), you run into a host of thinkers: McDowell, Blackburn, Wiggins, Mackie, R. M. Hare (John’s father), Joyce, Korsgaard, Brink, Harman, Boyd, Foot, Parfit, etc.

There’s a four views book on God and morality edited by Loftin, and a nice anthology on God and ethics edited by Garcia and King called Is Goodness without God Good Enough? that’s eminently worth reading.

Of course avail yourself of this website, MoralApologetics.com, for a host of resources related to the moral argument from a wide array of disciplines. (The site will soon come under the auspices of the Center for Moral Apologetics we get to start at Houston Baptist this fall, as we are joining all the exciting things already happening there.) Recently the site’s begun a new series about recent developments in the moral argument—which reminds me, I have hardly mentioned contemporaries working on the moral argument; we’ve seen a real resurgence of work and interest on the topic over the last several decades.

Mark Murphy is an important thinker who has written some serious books on ethics from a theistic perspective although he is more reticent than many to make it into an apologetic matter. Still, though, quite worth reading, rife with trenchant insight and philosophical rigor. Kevin Kinghorn is a friend and good philosopher who studied with Swinburne and has written some important and germane books: A Framework of the Good, & (with Travis) But What About God’s Wrath? Much recommended.

In taking on alternative moral theories, of which there are a plethora, one might also be interested in taking on not just nonreligious alternatives, but non-Christian religious perspectives. Brian Scalise has done nice work using the Trinity to contrast an Islamic conception of love with that of Christianity’s; Ronnie Campbell has contrasted a Christian perspective on the problem of evil with those of several worldviews (pantheism, panentheism, etc.); TJ Gentry is finishing up a dissertation at North-Western using resources from moral apologetics to critique Mormonism; etc.

Paul Copan has penned a widely anthologized piece on the moral argument, and my wife and I have done a more popular level book that incorporated elements of Good God, God and Cosmos, and the history of the moral argument called Morals of the Story.

Sorry I can’t give you a more exhaustive list for now, but this is at least suggestive. You can find more resources in the notes and bibliographies of these books. I encourage you in your study! I am excited you have the interest; please keep in touch and let me know how it goes.

Blessings,

djb

 

Mailbag: How do you define the good?

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Hi. I had a quick morality question for you. I hope that’s okay. I’ve been working with students at the local college campus, discussing morality. I’m wondering how do you define “the Good”? I’ll usually say something like “the Good is that which conforms to the nature and will of God.” What do you think?

Dave

Hi Dave! Thanks for the note. Your question is of course such a great one, and it is one of the hardest ones. Let me say a bit why I find it so devilishly difficult. Of course folks use “good” in nonmoral evaluative ways all the time—like "my computer is good." Thomists though want to put this sort of teleological consideration into the center of their ethical theory. Something is good to the extent it fulfills its function, or something like that, they will say.

Likewise with human beings, though morality enters the picture more explicitly with us, and if we are made by God and for intimacy with Him and others, then loving God and neighbor is what our purpose is. Thus, to the extent we do such things, we are (morally) good.

I don’t think that’s terrible. It probably has a lot going for it. But there has to be more, it seems to me, because of an example I think Wolterstorff comes up with: a serial killer’s “purpose” is to kill lots of people. So he’s a good serial killer if he does. But there is nothing moral about such goodness. So we have to ask not just whether someone or something performs his or her or its function or purpose, but whether the function or purpose is itself good. At that point a purely teleological account of the good seems to require something more deontological.

So regarding moral goodness in particular, what constitutes the standard or ground of moral value? To me the best account we have is the Christian God, owing to his nature. Of course our naturalist friends who are objectivists on such matters usually point to something like human flourishing. And there is some truth in that, it seems to me. This is what makes disambiguating these partially divergent/overlapping views onerous. As a Christian I’m convinced we were meant for flourishing, eudaimonia, shalom, joy, etc. But the question then becomes, what does that look like for us as humans? And the answer to that query invariably rides on what is ultimately real. If we are mere collocations of atoms and nothing else, our highest fulfillments are likely reducible to naturalistic items. But moral langauge and logic and phenomenology, to my thinking, all point beyond categories that naturalism alone can manage.

So I’m inclined to think the joy and telos for which we were designed requires more than that. So even if I were to agree that what's “good” for us is our flourishing (or something in that vicinity), it still points to something likely transcendent—something, I suspect, like the beatific vision. It seems to me the point is this: we cannot simply speak of what’s good for us and think we’re done; that very question drives us to ask what is good in and of itself.

Now, certain of our experiences are good intrinsically—like our friendships. But what is the ground of such intrinsic goods? Again, I don’t see how we avoid metaphysics if we really want to be thoughtful about it, and to me the best explanation seems likely to be classical theism. The nature of such a God seems to be at the front and center of what “the Good” is. This puts me in the theistic Platonist camp, but of course one can be a Christian without buying that. But it’s where I tend to go. Like you, I’m inclined to say that things are good to the extent they partake in or resemble the ultimate good. That is what makes sense of the value of friendship—it resembles God’s loving nature. At least that’s how I see it.

Christian theology makes even more fine-grained the analysis, since we know God’s nature to be Trinitarian—an eternal dance of other-regarding love. So this makes great sense of love being at the center of things, and of loving God and neighbor capturing all the laws and prophets. We are invited to participate in the love that functions at the foundation of reality and always has.

Ultimately I suspect we can effect a sort of rapprochement between Platonic and Thomistic accounts of the good, since we have been made in God’s image. What is best for us (loving relationships with God and others) and most conduces to our joy depends on what is most ultimately real and good in and of itself (God himself, indeed Trinitarian love).

Note, though, that this isn’t so much a “definition” of goodness as something else. I agree with Moore that we can’t define it. I still suspect, and think there’s good reason to believe, God is in some sense constitutive of it. That is more analysis than definition. And since God’s ineffable, this account has the advantage of rendering ultimate goodness, too, beyond our ken in ineliminable respects, necessitating what Adams calls a “critical stance” toward any other (likely deflationary) rival account of the good.

So, yes, hard question!! But in a nutshell that’s what I’m inclined to say. Thanks for the question.

djb

Critiquing Arguments for Moral Nihilism

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From Crash Course Apologetics:

The moral error theorist does not believe in such things as moral values and moral obligations. John Mackie offered two arguments for this view that have come to be held with high regard among moral nihilists. The first is the argument from disagreement. The second is the argument from queerness. In this interview, Eric Sampson critiques both arguments. Eric Sampson is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill.

The two papers linked below are the topic of this interview.

https://philpapers.org/rec/SAMTSA-6

https://philpapers.org/rec/MORPAT-23