Love Is All You Need: How Love Supports Christian Theism Over Naturalism

The Argument from Love

For most people, it is a given that love is not only real, but essential to human experience and existence. While Maslow delineated love as a crucial need in his hierarchy, others would venture to say that love is all you need – as immortalized by the Beatles. Given that love is inescapable and “it seems, we are obsessed with love,”[1] it makes sense to consider what love has to say about the most consequential of questions: Does God exist?

            While there are several love-based theistic arguments, these pages will discuss a variant championed by Paul M. Gould:[2]

1) The existence of love is not surprising, given Christian theism.

2) The existence of love is very surprising, given naturalism[3].

3) Therefore, the existence of love strongly supports Christian theism over naturalism.

Simply put, love makes more sense in a world with the Triune God in the picture than in a world without God in the picture, ultimately pointing to Christianity as the more coherent worldview and thus the more likely correct interpretation of reality. This essay will examine both premises and then, consider alternative naturalistic explanations of altruistic love as possible objections, before evaluating this theistic argument as such and then concluding.

 

Premise 1

            Because Christian teaching strongly supports the claim that love is Christianity’s core and is essential to God’s nature, it can be argued that love’s existence, essence, and centrality is warranted and expected.

No other sacred scripture states as clearly as the Bible that “God is love,” (1 John 4:7). God’s character explains the nature of love at its best: self-giving, self-sacrificial and serving as evidenced by the Incarnation (Philippians 2:6-11) and the Cross (John 3:16 and Rom 5:7-8). Love is not simply a divine attribute; it is essential to God’s nature. As Emil Brunner illustrates, just as radium’s essence cannot be understood without radioactivity, God’s essence cannot be imagined without his outward-radiating love, which is not only God’s nature but his inner being’s outward expression.[4] Thus, unsurprisingly, love also distinctively characterizes how humans relate to the Divine and to others: Christians “see” God and experience his love when they “love one another” (1 John 4:12-16).

Furthermore, the doctrine of the Trinity strengthens the Christian claim to love in relation to both time and quality. According to Richard Swinburne, love must be both mutual and unselfish in order to be considered perfect love and thus necessarily constitutes a union of three.[5] While mutual sharing requires a twosome, such love is inward and thus limited,[6] unless there is mutual cooperation or sharing with a third.[7] Moreover, within the Trinity, love exists eternally, which means it is “prior to nature,”[8] but it is also the reason for our existence. Love, by nature, wants to be shared and to be spread. “Thus,” as Gould puts it, “God creates a universe of persons capable of entering into loving relationships with others. Love is why we exist.”[9]

According to Christian eschatology, love is also eternal in the sense that it never ends. Jerry L. Walls reasons: “For Christian theism, love is stronger than death, so…we are not ‘abandoned’ at the point of death while the objective world rolls heedlessly on. To the contrary, our subjective life will not only continue, but ultimately bring us satisfaction and joy far beyond anything we experienced in this life.”[10] Thus, love not only lasts, but increases in quality beyond the imaginable when Heaven is united with Earth in God’s eternal Kingdom. On the view that objective reality is grounded in the God who is love, our subjective experiences with love are not abruptly terminated by death but rather validated, elevating the value and meaning we perceive in love to otherwise impossible levels.[11]

Moreover, the Christian story in particular uniquely explains love both at its best and worst. Fallenness and sin, as biblical concepts, reveal that while love points to God at its best, at its worst love also reveals the true state the world and our hearts are in. Love is what N.T. Wright calls a “broken signpost”[12] –both a pointer to truth and susceptible to corruption and misunderstanding.

In summary, while philosophers such as Richard Swinburne claim that love’s very essence necessitates the Triune God –at the very least it can be argued that love points to God and makes the most sense within Christianity. Both our highest aspirations and everyday disappointments with love mesh well with the Christian story.

Premise 2

This leads us to the argument’s second premise that love is surprising on naturalism, meaning that love’s existence, essence, and eminence are not what we would generally expect on this worldview and that naturalism struggles to adequately explicate love. While love is essential to the Christian worldview, love is a phenomenon among many on naturalism.

From a naturalistic perspective, love might be explained as reproductive biology, human emotion, chemical reaction, social behavior, or cultural phenomenon. These approaches might or might not be enough to answer the questions as to why love is considered so pre-eminent, but, as Walls observes, eros and altruism, in particular, pose a challenge to naturalistic evolution regarding questions about love’s essence and quality. In other words, naturalism struggles to explain romantic love and unsparing devotion to the well-being of others.

Even Darwin acknowledged that altruism “could potentially wreck his theory,”[13] as Walls comments, and Edward O. Wilson raises the question: “how can altruism, which by definition reduces personal fitness, possibly evolve by natural selection?”[14] Likewise, Richard Dawkins admits that while romantic love may have initially evolutionary advantages, the radically “monogamous devotion to which we are susceptible” is less rational than “polyamory.”[15] Naturalist philosophers as well as evolutionary biologists express surprise at long-term love within the natural world, citing humans (and perhaps birds) as the anomaly.[16] As Gould sums up, on naturalistic evolution “we never crave the beloved for their own sake, love is always, in the end, for the propagation of the species.”[17]

Love, on naturalism, has its uses, but does not endow individual subjective experiences with love with objective meaning and purpose as does the Christian worldview. Without intentionality, naturalistic evolution lacks a teleological dimension, so love cannot be why we exist. Instead, what we experience as love is a byproduct of unguided processes. It is almost impossible to imagine love providing any meaning in a world that has “no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind pitiless indifference,”[18] as Dawkins observes is what we should expect in a godless universe.

Furthermore, whereas love is eternal according to Christianity, naturalism seems to be limited in both love’s quality and temporal scope. As Gould puts it, “on naturalism, the existence of love is late.”[19] As an “emergent property of the universe” it cannot be “fundamental.”[20] Contrariwise, love predates the universe on Christian theism, since it originates in the Creator God. Likewise, naturalistic accounts cannot sustain love’s survival beyond physical death. According to Bertrand Russell, man’s “loves,” which are produced by “accidental collocations of atoms,” are “destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system.”[21] Essentially, death ends all love. First, love dies with the lovers and, second, all memory and consequence of love will be “buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins.”[22] Thus, on naturalism, nature predates love and also terminates it, disallowing transcendence.

Answering Objections: Naturalistic Altruism

Having established these two premises, it is worth considering valid counterarguments prior to moving to the conclusion dictated by logic. While objections[23] to this theistic argument are characteristically raised by skeptics at every possible juncture, naturalists pursue two notable paths to tackle the apologetic challenge posed by altruism in particular.

Some would deny that such a thing as altruism, or perhaps even love in general, exist. Famously, Friedrich Nietzsche distrusted altruistic notions and interpreted them as evidencing decadence.[24] More optimistic solutions suggested by naturalists are theories related to kin selection and reciprocity.

First, the kin selection theory proposes that since “the key to evolutionary success is passing on your genes at a higher rate than other competing organisms,” it is only sensible that we invest maximally into those who “share genetic material with us,” such as relatives, and particularly, our children.[25] Thus, the archetypical example for altruistic love –the mother selflessly sacrificing for her children, expecting nothing in return–can be explained in terms of enhancing “reproductive interests,” given that our children are “better situated than anyone else to pass on our genes.”[26] This naturalistic account, however, struggles to explicate love towards non-relatives, altruism towards complete strangers or even “interspecies altruism,”[27] meaning “prosocial behaviors”[28] towards animals.

Second, while evolutionary scientists still puzzle over how to explain cooperation in humans, reciprocal altruism theories appear to spearhead the response.[29] The key principle of reciprocity is: “You scratch my back now and I’ll scratch yours later…In the case of reciprocal altruism, aid is given to another in the hope that it will be returned.”[30] In other words, this naturalistic approach to altruism allows for mutual advantages to be gained though placing another’s needs (temporarily) over one’s own.

Additionally, as an individual’s generous and compassionate behavior is noted by those around him, this results in a positive reputation, which in turn increases the individual’s chances of being treated kindly when need should arise. From an evolutionary standpoint, such indirect reciprocity in altruistic behavior increases mutual survival and reproduction, which is ultimately selected by nature as advantageous. Thus, Daniel C. Dennett proposes altruism to be based on what he terms a “beneselfish” trait, the idea that by helping others we help ourselves.[31]

However, Nathan Dougherty observes that “these theories all suggest that an ultimate selfish benefit surpasses any altruistic behaviors.”[32] Indeed, it seems hardly appropriate to describe such altruistic behavior as disinterested, other-centered love, when it can be re-explained as delayed cooperation or otherwise result in a net advantage, whether on the individual or group level. Additionally, C.S. Lewis argues that the God-given love he terms Charity “empowers us to love in ways that go far beyond our natural impulses”[33] in that it “enables…to love what is not naturally lovable.”[34] According to Lewis, this “Divine Gift-love,” which is “wholly disinterested” and only “desires what is simply best for the beloved” embraces even “lepers, criminals, enemies, morons, the sulky, the superior, and the sneering.”[35] Neither kin selection nor reciprocity readily explain this sort of love, yet it is “entirely in keeping with what we might expect if it is a reflection of a God who gave up his son to die a humiliating death at the hand of the very people for whom he died in order to save them.”[36]

As Walls observes, though “naturalistic evolutionary theory has worked hard to accommodate altruism” there are examples pertaining to love that are still hard to explain, and as previously noted, some naturalist thinkers reject the notion completely.[37] Whether or not reciprocity appropriately answers the challenge posed by altruism, it is interesting to note that, on Christian theism, reciprocity points to larger realities. All the world’s Mother Teresas as well as love’s unsung heroes ultimately have their loving actions reciprocated by God. This “economy of love” thus mirrors the eternally reciprocal nature of the Trinity.[38] On Christianity, love not only originates in God’s reciprocally loving essence, but it is also our answer to God (1 John 4:19) which is demonstrated by loving one another (John 13:34-35) – reciprocity works on multiple levels to multiply love. When humans reciprocate God’s love, the imago dei doctrine describes this as Creation mirroring the Creator’s character and nature.[39] Perhaps even “reciprocity observed by naturalistic evolution to explain altruism is a reflection of the same truth”[40] that other-centered giving love is the best way to live.

In summary, it might be argued that naturalistic explanations for altruism are not unreservedly convincing and moreover so as the reciprocity principle could be said to support the Christian economy of love. Whereas love is rather surprising on a naturalistic worldview struggles to explain our experiences, love is exactly what we would expect on Christian theism. From these two premises we can conclude that love meshes better with Christianity than with naturalism. By the likelihood principle, “a standard principle of inductive reasoning [which] states that for two competing hypotheses, a set of observations strongly supports one hypothesis over the other”[41] love’s existence, essence, and eminence supports theism over naturalism.

Evaluation and Conclusion: Does Love Really Work as an Apologetic Argument?

 For those unconvinced that the Christian worldview aptly explains love, the argument presented here might work, at the very least, as an argument against naturalism. Assuming naturalism, love must be explained as a chemical process and evolutionary advantageous behavior. If, however, love cannot be reduced to natural processes and natural selection, this provides strong evidence suggesting that naturalism is not true.

Admittedly, the Argument from Love depends on how much weight anyone places on love in the first place:

For those who believe that love is one of those things that is most real, and one of those things that lie at the very heart of the meaning of life, these arguments may carry considerable weight…The argument for God’s love that can be proposed is in terms of a satisfactory explanation of something profoundly important to human life and existence.[42]

 

As N.T. Wright puts it, while the Gospel truly answers our deepest questions (and they are true answers) they might not be the answers people want to hear.[43] For this reason, it is crucial that as the Christian engages the skeptic with theistic arguments based on love, this very love would also be the guiding principle in all interaction. Indeed, love is “the source and the shape of all Christian mission,”[44] Wright proclaims elsewhere. The skeptic who remains unmoved by the Argument from Love, might yet be won over by the demonstration of love witnessed in the exchange with the Christian theist.[45] As Gregory Koukl argues, the apologist requires not only “knowledge” and “tactical skill,” but he must also “embody the virtues of the kingdom he serves” – love being the highest virtue.[46] According to Francis Schaeffer, love is “the final apologetic” which means “true…Christian love” is something that “cannot fail to arrest…attention.”[47] Love, it turns out, might very well be all that is truly needed.

            In conclusion, while love is rather surprising on naturalism, it makes profound sense on Christianity. The Argument from Love lovingly argued and, especially, wholeheartedly lived out, strongly supports God’s existence – the God of love, who for the love of God, beckons the beloved to enter into lasting loving relationship with him.

[1] Paul M. Gould, A Good and True Story: Eleven Clues to Understanding Our Universe and Your Place in It (Ada, MI, Brazos Press, 2022), 150.

[2] Ibid., 159.

[3] Atheism and naturalism are not exactly synonymous. For the purposes of this essay, however, I will use these terms interchangeably, when discussing a worldview without God in the picture, since it can be argued that naturalism as a metaphysical position entails atheism. While there are proclaimed non-atheistic naturalists, such positions are highly contested and largely irrelevant to our topic, and thus negligeable.

[4] Emil Brunner, Die Christliche Lehre von Gott (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 1972), 195.

[5] Richard Swinburne, Was Jesus God? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 28-34.

[6] This is convincingly demonstrated by romantic couples who are so caught up in their passion that they become oblivious to the world around them, at times ignoring everyone and everything else.

[7] Swinburne, 31.

[8] Gould, 160.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Jerry L. Walls, “(T) The Argument from Love and (Y) The Argument from the Meaning of Life,” in Two Dozen (or so) Arguments for God: The Plantinga Project, (eds. Jerry L. Walls and Trent Dougherty; New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 314.

[11] Ibid., 314.

[12] N.T. Wright, Broken Signposts: How Christianity Makes Sense of the World (New York: HarperOne, 2020), 189.

[13] Walls, 310.

[14] Edward O. Wilson, Sociobiology: The New Synthesis (Cambridge, MA.: Belknap Press, 2000), 3.

[15] Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006), 184.

[16] Gould, 160.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Richard Dawkins, River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life (New York: Basic Books, 1995), 133.

[19] Gould, 160.

[20] Ibid.

[21] Bertrand Russell, Why I Am Not a Christian, ed. Paul Edwards (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1957), 107.

[22] Ibid.

[23] Among the objections that atheists typically raise are: Love does not exist; love need not be explained; Christianity cannot explain love since its God is not loving but a moral monster; naturalism’s challenges to explain something do not imply Christian theism is more likely to be right, etc. While answering these objections surpasses the scope of this paper, such engagement would certainly be a worthwhile apologetic endeavor.

[24] Walls, 311.

[25] Walls, 310.

[26] Walls, 310.

[27] Nathan Dougherty, “The Altruistic Self,” Dialogue & Nexus, Fall 2016-Spring 2017, 2.

[28] Ibid.

[29] John Cartwright, Evolution and Human Behavior: Darwinian Perspectives on Human Nature (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000), 205-228.

[30] Ibid., 86.

[31] Daniel C. Dennett, Freedom Evolves (New York: Viking Penguin Press, 2003), 193-194.

[32] Dougherty, 2-3.

[33] Walls, 316.

[34] C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2017), 164.

[35] Ibid.

[36] Walls, 316.

[37] Ibid.

[38] Ibid.

[39] Nico Vorster, Created in the Image of God: Understanding God’s Relationship with Humanity (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2011) 6-8.

[40] Walls, 317.

[41] Gould, 161.

[42] Walls, 317.

[43] Wright, Broken Signposts, 56.

[44] N.T. Wright, The Day the Revolution Began: Reconsidering the Meaning of Jesus’s Crucifixion (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2016), 366.  

[45] I would like to thank my conversation partners in the Atheist Discussion group, who helped me understand this point and gave me a chance to practice loving at a high personal cost and without any reciprocity.

[46] Greg Koukl, Tactics: A Game Plan for Discussing Your Christian Convictions (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009), 24-25.

[47] Francis Schaeffer, The Mark of the Christian (Downers Grove, IL. InterVarsity Press, 1970), 15-16.

 

If God Is the Source of Morality, Would that Mean Morality Is Subjective?



The moral argument for God’s existence is often summarized as follows:

  1. There is objective moral truth.

  2. The best explanation for how and why there is objective moral truth is the existence of God.

  3. Therefore, we have good reason to believe God exists.

Those who use the moral argument argue, as part of their defense of premise two, that God is the source of morality. However, some who push back against this argument (which includes atheists as well as theists who think the moral argument is a poor argument) argue that if God is the source of morality then morality would be subjective, not objective. In other words, they argue that premise two fails to accomplish what it intends to as follows: “Proposing God as the source of morality fails to provide a good explanation for objective morality because that proposal actually makes morality subjective, not objective.” In this article I will argue against this notion that morality would be subjective if God is its source.

Definitions

I need to start with an important caveat—there’s a sense in which arguing over the appropriate usage of words is a waste of time. Say I bought a vehicle with three wheels, tell my friend about it, and refer to it as a motorcycle, and he responds, “Technically, a motorcycle has two wheels; what you bought is a car.” Okay, fine, you win. Shrug. Somewhere someone at sometime decided the term “car” was going to be used to describe a certain category of things and the term “motorcycle” was going to be used to describe a different category of things. But such a decision was arbitrary; that’s just how language works. Language is also fluid over time in that terms can change in meaning or usage as the years go by. For example, in 1961 the famous children’s song told us that “when we’re with the Flintstones, we’ll have a gay old time.” Back then the term ‘gay’ was used to mean something radically different from what it’s used to mean today. Word definitions aren’t set in stone; they’re merely constructs we create to help communicate concepts with each other. While dictionaries try to capture how we’re currently using words, they can’t stop people from using those words in new and different ways. As Johnny Cash sang, “I don’t like it, but I guess things happen that way.” Back to my well-intentioned but annoying friend. If I’m being snarky, I might reply, “I don’t care if you label it a motorcycle or a car. The fact of the matter is that I bought this thing for me to drive and it has three wheels. Call it a giraffe for all I care.” Good thing I’m not snarky. Usually.

Because the concept that someone’s trying to communicate is more important than the word being used to communicate that concept, I’ll now provide a simple conceptual explanation of basic moral theory without getting bogged down in the dispute concerning the correct usage and definitions of category labels. Some people have the conceptual idea that morality is based on what humans think. They maintain that when a group of humans (or just one human) think slavery is morally okay, then that makes slavery morally okay for that group (or that one person). But if another group of humans (or just one human) think slavery is morally bad, then that makes slavery morally bad for that group (or that one person). Sometimes people call this concept ‘relative morality’ because, according to this proposal, morality is relative per group or per person. According to this concept morality is determined by how people (or a person) think. This concept has also been called subjective morality because it’s based on how the subjects (or subject) think. It’s subjective in a similar way that someone’s favorite color is subjective. Your favorite color is subjective because it’s based on how you, the subject, thinks. If you change your mind about your favorite color, then your favorite color changes. This is the case because your favorite color isn’t fixed or somehow set in stone; it changes when your subjective thinking changes.

Other people have said, no, morality doesn’t work like this; moral truth doesn’t change when people change their minds. Instead, morality is more fixed like, for example, mathematical truth. Even if someone changed his mind and started to believe that two plus two equals five, that doesn’t change the truth that two plus two actually equals four. Similarly, even if someone believed it was morally okay to rape someone, that doesn’t mean it actually is morally okay for him to rape someone. No, there’s something ‘fixed’ about the truth that it’s wrong to rape people similarly to how there’s something ‘fixed’ about the truth that two plus two equals four. These truths are not based on how people think but are somehow fixed regardless of what people believe about them. What should we call this concept that there are some moral truths that are fixed and don’t change when our beliefs about them change? You guessed it. Historically, most people have referred to this concept as objective morality.

Much of the confusion over this issue comes from people who aren’t aware of how the terms objective and subjective have been used in this context. This confusion can arise for the same reason communication in any field can be difficult—the same term can be used to mean different things in different contexts. For example, think of all the ways the term bark can be used. There’s not just one absolute usage or fixed definition of that term because it can be used to mean different things in different contexts. The same is true of nearly all words including objective and subjective.

To clarify then, in this context (I’m referring to the context of metaethics which is the field in which this conversation primarily takes place), the term objective is usually used to describe something that is somehow fixed independently of how humans think. For example, those who believe morality is fixed use the term objective to differentiate their position from the opposite position which is that morality is subjective. In this context something is subjective if, instead of being fixed and unchanging, it’s dependent on how people think and thus is relative per person, or per culture, and changes when people’s thinking about it changes.

Here’s a good thought experiment to figure out if something is subjective or objective—imagine a mad scientist gave us all pills so that orange was our favorite color. Would that make orange our favorite color? Yes, because our favorite color is determined only by how we think; it’s subjective. But if a mad scientist gave us pills so we all thought 2+2=5, would that make 2+2=5? No, because that’s objectively fixed independent of what we think. Here’s the key question: Is morality determined subjectively by how we think, like our favorite color, or is it objective like 2+2=4? Those who maintain morality is subjective claim it’s more like our favorite color whereas those who maintain morality is objective claim it’s more like 2+2=4.

Here are examples of philosophers that specialize in this area (some are atheists and some are theists) who use the term objective in the way I’ve described above. Atheist Russ Shafer-Landau explains that the purpose of his book Moral Realism is to defend “the theory that moral judgements enjoy a special sort of objectivity: such judgements, when true, are so independently of what any human being, anywhere, in any circumstance whatever, thinks of them.”1 Additionally, atheist David Enoch describes objective morality as the position that “there are response-independent…, irreducibly normative truths, …objective ones, that when successful in our normative inquiries we discover rather than create or construct.”2 On the theistic side, C. Stephen Evans agrees with Enoch’s description of objective morality and congratulates him for offering the most comprehensive and sophisticated case for objective morality to be found in the literature.3 Further, Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga wrote that “moral truths are objective, in the sense that they are in a certain way independent of human beliefs and desires. It is wrong to torture people for the fun of it, and would remain wrong even if most or all of the world’s population came to believe that this behavior is perfectly acceptable, and indeed came to desire that it be much more widely practiced.”4

Keep in mind I’m not arguing over the appropriate naming of categories because I’m not primarily concerned with how people choose to label their categories. My only purpose in this section was to explain how people have usually used these terms in the past in order to clarify why people like me, who propose God is the source of moral truth, refer to their theories as objective, not subjective.

Those Who Argue That Morality Would Be Subjective if God Were its Source

Lately, it has become more common for people to claim that morality would be subjective if God were its source. For example, this came up in a debate between a Christian, Eric Hernandez, and an atheist, Justin Schieber, which you can watch here: Debate: Does God Exist? Both men in this debate believe there is objective moral truth, but they argued over what the best explanation for this moral truth is. The Christian argued that God is the best explanation whereas the atheist argued his atheistic moral theory is a better explanation. In this debate the atheist said:

Eric’s theistic view is that goodness is rooted in the nature of God. By definition, this is a form of metaethical subjectivism and is therefore not objective. Eric calls the view objective because he defines objective in a relatively non-standard way. Eric defines objective as being independent of human thought. He is allowed to define words however he likes but this species-specific definition appears ad hoc.

Here the atheist was trying to argue that the Christian’s proposed theory of objective morality fails because it would actually result in morality being subjective, not objective.

First, it should be noted that Eric wasn’t using the term objective in a non-standard way; he was using it how philosophers who specialize in this field normally use it, as I showed above. In addition, because I’m so used to reading the metaethical literature which uses the term subjective morality to refer to the idea that morality is determined by how humans think, it does seem quite odd when someone refers to the position that “God is the source of morality” as subjective morality.

Second, would the truths of mathematics, logic, or science be subjective if God was the source of these truths? Many Christians affirm that God is ultimately the source of mathematics, logic, and the universe (scientific truths are merely truths about the universe). If God is the source of the universe, would that mean truth about the universe, i.e. scientific truth, is subjective? No, that doesn’t seem right. So why should we think morality would be subjective if God was its source? 

Third, I’m glad the atheist pointed out that people can use and define terms however they like because, as I noted above, language is flexible and fluid. Since I don’t want to get caught up in arguing over the appropriate definitions of category labels, I’m not going to spend much time arguing over how particular words should be used and defined. Instead, we need to dig deeper and go beyond battles over definitions and semantics to understand and then address the specific objection being raised here against the moral argument.

When theists like Eric and me use the moral argument, we’re using the term objective to mean that morality is independently fixed apart from what humans think; as I showed above, that’s often how the term is used in the metaethical literature. We do this in order to differentiate our position from moral subjectivism. However, in premise two we argue that morality is dependent upon God in the sense that God is the source of morality. The fact that our position proposes morality is dependent on God might be why some, including the atheist above, see this as a form of subjective morality. Of course, they’re free to call our position a version of subjective morality, but doing so doesn’t help them refute the moral argument because we can easily restate it as follows:

  1. There is moral truth that’s fixed in that it’s not dependent on what humans think.

  2. The best explanation for how and why there is such fixed moral truth is the existence of God.

  3. Therefore, we have good reason to believe God exists.

By restating the argument this way, we can avoid having to waste time arguing over the definitions of subjective and objective.

Would the Real Objection Please Stand Up?

It seems to me the deeper objection that’s being made here by those who push back against the moral argument is that if God is the source of morality, then that would make morality as arbitrary and fluid as it would be if morality were dependent on how humans think. In other words, they’re arguing that if God were the source of morality, then moral truth wouldn’t be fixed and unchanging because God could change it to be whatever He wanted it to be or He could’ve chosen for it to have been radically different from what it currently is. If I’m correct about this, then this objection is merely a restating of the famous Euthyphro Dilemma.

The Euthyphro Dilemma is a common rebuttal to the moral argument. In Plato’s Euthyphro, Socrates asked, “Is that which is holy loved by the gods because it is holy, or is it holy because it is loved by the gods?”5 The dilemma is often restated in monotheistic terms as follows: Either (1) morality is based on God’s commands, and thus He could have arbitrarily commanded any heinous act and it would be morally right, or (2) morality is based on necessary truths that even God can’t change, and thus morality is independent of God and out of His control.6

Theists have historically responded to this dilemma by proposing that morality is dependent upon God’s nature in such a way that He couldn’t command something that violates His moral nature.7 How does this help against the Euthyphro Dilemma? Here’s one way to think of it: there’s a sense in which the second horn of the dilemma is correct in that morality is based on necessary truths that even God can’t change, but the implication of the second horn is avoided (the idea that morality is therefore independent of God) because these necessary truths that even God can’t change are truths about God Himself and thus are dependent upon Him, making morality dependent upon Him as well. In other words, there is something that constrains what God can and can’t command, but this thing that constrains what God can and can’t command isn’t independent from God but in a sense is God Himself, i.e., His perfect moral nature. Since God’s commands are based on His moral nature, the ultimate source of morality is His moral nature, not His will or His commands.

If morality is dependent upon God’s nature in this way, then both horns of the Euthyphro Dilemma are avoided. As for the first horn, God’s commands wouldn’t be arbitrary because they would have to be consistent with His moral nature. As for the second horn, morality wouldn’t be independent of God but dependent upon Him, that is, upon His moral nature. However, this proposed solution agrees with the second horn of the Euthyphro Dilemma that morality is based on necessary truths that God cannot change or control, that is, truths concerning His moral nature. Baggett and Walls noted that “a careful distinction between questions of dependence and control allows an answer to the Euthyphro Dilemma that can serve as an important component of any thoroughly theistic metaphysic with a strong commitment to moral realism…. Moral truths can be objective, unalterable, and necessary, and yet still dependent on God.”8 They concluded that “if such dependence or even identity obtains or is even possible, then the Euthyphro Dilemma is effectively defused and the moral argument for God’s existence accordingly gains strength.”9

The First Good Argument

Some claim the reply above doesn’t really defeat the Euthyphro Dilemma but just kicks the Euthyphro can down the road a bit, creating a new dilemma. For example, Jeremy Koons argued that this proposed solution just pushes the dilemma back one level beyond God’s commands to His nature: Is God’s moral nature good because He has it or does He have it because it is good?10 The resulting dilemma is as follows: Either (1) if God’s moral nature is good because He has it, then no matter what type of nature He had, even a heinous one, it would be considered good, or (2) if God’s moral nature is based on necessary truths that even God can’t change (He just has the nature He has), then His moral nature is independent of God and out of His control.

The response I give to this new dilemma is similar to the response theists often give when they’re asked “Who made God?” My response is related to a moral argument for God I developed that I call “the First Good Argument” because it parallels the First Cause Argument. So let me step back for a moment and set up this “First Good Argument” by first summarizing the First Cause Argument. The First Cause Argument begins by noting that when we evaluate an effect, we naturally ask, “What caused this?” Once we figure out what caused it, then we may ask, “Well, then what caused that? And then what caused that?” and so on. To avoid this going on forever, there must be something ultimate that just is, that doesn’t have a cause. Those are the only two options—either there’s an infinite number of causes going backwards forever or there was a first cause. Philosophers have shown the difficulty of proposing there have been an actually infinite number of causes by pointing out that it seems illogical for an actually infinite series to exist. Therefore, it seems highly likely that there must be a first cause, something that wasn’t caused by anything else but just exists on its own. Since there must be a first cause, eventually we reach a point where, when you ask “Well, then what caused that?”, you’d just have to stop because there must be something that doesn’t have a cause. Many scientists used to think the universe itself was the thing that was uncaused, but over the last hundred years many scientific discoveries have indicated that the universe had a beginning and thus had a cause. Theists argue God is the best explanation of this first cause. 

My First Good Argument that parallels the First Cause Argument was inspired by ideas discussed in the writings of G. E. Moore and Thomas Aquinas. Moore’s open question dilemma noted that people commit a naturalistic fallacy when they try to define moral goodness by identifying it with a property such as the avoidance of harm or human flourishing. No matter which property someone claims is identical with moral goodness, it’s an open question whether that property itself is morally good. If someone claims moral goodness is just what causes humans to flourish, Moore’s open question becomes “Well, why is human flourishing morally good?” Moore argued the only way to avoid this open question dilemma is to conclude, as he did, that moral goodness is a separate, non-reductive property. Aquinas argued similarly that “each good thing that is not its goodness is… good by participation. But that which is [good] …by participation has something prior to it from which it receives… goodness. This cannot proceed to infinity…. We must therefore reach some first good, that is not by participation good… but is good through its own essence.”

The conversation would go like this: Why is fighting injustice morally good? Someone might say it’s morally good because it leads to human flourishing. But why is human flourishing morally good? And so on and so forth. To avoid this going on forever, there must be something ultimate that just is The Good itself. Eventually we reach a point where, when you ask “Well, why is that good?”, you’d just have to stop because, to avoid an infinite series, there must be something that just is goodness itself. That’s why every moral theory has to propose some sort of ultimate moral good, as many atheist philosophers have recognized. For example, atheist Wes Morriston, in describing his moral theory, wrote

Why are love and justice and generosity and kindness and faithfulness good? What is there in the depths of reality to make them good? My own preferred answer is: Nothing further. If you like, you may say that they are the ultimate standard of goodness. What makes them the standard? Nothing further. Possessing these characteristics just is good-making. Full stop…. No matter what story you tell about the ontological ground for moral value, you must at some point come to your own full stop.11

Atheist Erik Wielenberg even used what theists say about God being the ultimate being to explain his point that there must be some ultimate good. He wrote that brute ethical facts

are the foundation of (the rest of) objective morality and rest on no foundation themselves. To ask of such facts, ‘where do they come from?’ or ‘on what foundation do they rest?’ is misguided in much the way that, according to many theists, it is misguided to ask of God, ‘where does He come from?’ or ‘on what foundation does He rest?’ The answer is the same in both cases: they come from nowhere, and nothing external to themselves grounds their existence; rather, they are fundamental features of the universe that ground other truths.12

This First Good Argument is strikingly similar to the First Cause Argument in this way: the First Cause Argument points out there’s nothing causally before the First Cause that caused it. Likewise, the First Good Argument points out there’s nothing behind the First Good that makes it good, it just is the good. Every moral theory proposes an ultimate good, but here’s the key question: which proposed ultimate good is the better, more plausible explanation for objective morality? In my work I’ve argued that the trinitarian God of Christianity is the best explanation for this First Good. God is the end (or beginning, depending on how you’re thinking of it) of the explanatory chain of causes and of moral goodness.

Now, let’s focus on how this helps us respond to the revised Euthyphro Dilemma. We can avoid the first horn of the dilemma because God’s moral nature is necessary and thus couldn’t be any other way than it is. And just like with the original Euthyphro Dilemma, we can affirm the first part of the second horn, i.e., God’s moral nature is based on necessary truths that even God can’t change (He necessarily has the moral nature He has). But the implication of the second horn is avoided (the idea that His moral nature is therefore independent of God) because these necessary truths about His nature that even God can’t change are truths about God Himself and thus are dependent upon Him, making morality dependent upon Him as well. In other words, God just is the Good. It’s not a weakness of theism to propose an ultimate good like this because, as I argued above, every metaethical theory must include some ultimate good in order to avoid an infinite regress.

Should Any Theistic Theories of Morality be Considered Subjective?

Theists like myself believe there are some fixed moral truths that aren’t dependent on, or relative to, what any beings think—not human beings, not alien beings, and not even on what the being God thinks. Rather, they are dependent on God’s unchanging moral nature. Those of us who believe morality is fixed by God’s nature wouldn’t describe morality as subjective because it’s not based on how God thinks but on His moral nature. Historically, that’s why such a position has not been labeled as subjective.

But it should be noted that there are some versions of Divine Command Theory (sometimes people call them Divine Voluntarism or extreme Divine Voluntarism) which maintain that God’s will alone determines morality and thus He could choose anything to be good or bad. For example, He could hypothetically even choose to make lying or rape morally good if He wanted to. Some extreme Calvinists affirm this idea because they want to maintain God’s will is sovereign and not restricted by anything.13 Would it be appropriate to label such theories as subjective because they base morality on God’s subjective thinking or will? I wouldn’t call such theories subjective because usually the term ‘subjective moral theory’ refers to theories in which morality is based on what humans think. But I can understand why some people might choose to call such theories subjective moral theories. Regardless, as I’ve stated previously, I don’t want to waste time getting caught up in the semantics of category labels. 

It’s important to recognize, though, that most theistic theories of morality, including nearly all Divine Command Theories and my Divine Love Theory, maintain that the core of morality is based not on God’s will but on His nature. It doesn’t seem to me that the term ‘subjective’ is appropriate to describe this type of moral theory at all. But again, it all depends on how someone chooses to use and define the term subjective. Feel free to call it a giraffe theory if you’d like. I’m much more interested in knowing if my conceptual idea is true or not than in determining how it should be labeled.

How Deep Does This Rabbit Hole Go?

Thus far, I’ve oversimplified the discussion by narrowing the options down to moral objectivism versus moral subjectivism. However, the actual situation is much more complex. There’s a plethora of moral theories that have been proposed and defended. This field exploring the foundations of morality, which is sometimes called metaethics, contains a dizzying array of terms, labels, and classifications. Below is a list of commonly used categories and subcategories followed by brief descriptions from those who specialize in this field.

  1. Cognitive theories

    1. Constructivism

      1. Objectivist constructivism

      2. Subjectivism

      3. Relativism

      4. Kantianism

      5. Contractarianism

      6. Ideal observer theories

      7. Ideal agent theories

    2. Realism

      1. Naturalism

        1. Moral functionalism

        2. Cornell Realism

      2. Nonnaturalism (sometimes called robust realism)

      3. Supernaturalism

    3. Error theories

  2. Noncognitive theories

    1. Prescriptivism

    2. Expressivism

      1. Emotivism

      2. Plan-expressivism

      3. Norm-expressivism

Most begin by making a distinction between cognitive theories and noncognitive theories.14 All cognitive theories maintain that moral judgments are beliefs that can somehow be true or false, but the different cognitivist positions disagree among themselves as to what makes these beliefs true or false.15 Noncognitive theories, on the other hand, argue that our moral judgments do not express true or false propositions because ultimately there’s nothing that makes them true or false; according to these theories, moral judgments are merely ways we communicate our noncognitive commitments such as our emotions.16

As for different cognitive theories, constructivist theories claim that moral truths are created and fixed through some sort of constructive function that usually involves their ratification from within an actual or hypothetical idealized perspective of one person or a group of persons.17 They think moral obligations do have authority and a sense of fixed objectivity but are not constituted by objective facts.18 In opposition to this, realism is a type of cognitive theory that says moral truths are not made true by their ratification from within a perspective but instead the moral standards which fix moral facts are objectively real because they’re true regardless of anyone’s perspective of them.19 Lastly, error theories agree that moral statements do reflect moral beliefs—hence technically they’re a form of cognitivism—but they say that all these moral statements are false because ultimately there is no moral reality.20

As for different forms of constructivism, objectivist constructivism says that moral claims are objective in the sense that they require some degree of idealization beyond particular people for the perspectives that construct and thus fix moral truth.21 Subjectivism holds that morality is constructed out of particular individual perspectives and opinions.22 Relativism maintains that morality is constructed out of particular social conventions or agreements among particular people.23 Kantianism proposes that morality is specifically constructed out of a particular person’s rational will.24 Contractarianism claims morality is constructed out of the edicts of deliberators situated in special circumstances.25 Ideal observer theories propose that morality is constructed by the perspective that a hypothetical ideal observer would have if there were such an ideal observer. Ideal agent theories are similar but instead propose that the hypothetical ideal individual is a participant in moral issues and not merely an observer.

Moral Realism is a term often used to describe the idea that moral truth is somehow fixed objectively apart from anyone’s perspectives, ideas, thoughts, minds, or opinions.26 In many conversations the terms ‘moral realism’ and ‘objective morality’ are used interchangeably, but Moral Realism is a useful clarifying term because it distinguishes itself from some constructivist theories which are somewhat objective as I explained above. While these types of constructivist theories propose that moral obligations do have a sense of authority and objectivity, the key difference that distinguishes them from realists is that constructivists don’t believe moral truths are constituted by objective facts but by some sort of actual or hypothetical perspective.

Moral realists, on the other hand, believe moral facts are constituted by objective facts which are separate from any real or hypothetical perspectives, ideas, thoughts, minds, or opinions. This is why well-known moral realist Russ Shafer-Landau prefers to characterize the realist position “by reference to its endorsement of the stance-independence of moral reality. Realists believe that there are moral truths that obtain independently of any preferred perspective, in the sense that the moral standards that fix the moral facts are not made true by virtue of their ratification from within any given actual or hypothetical perspective. That a person takes a particular attitude toward a putative moral standard is not what makes that standard correct.”27 Something being stance-independent is similar to being mind-independent in that it’s true independent of anyone’s perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences. Shafer-Landau’s definition of moral realism will be important to keep in mind for the next section below.

As for different forms of realism, in this context naturalism refers to the belief that moral properties are some type of natural property such that the strict ontology of naturalism can be maintained.28 In particular, moral functionalism is a form of naturalism that claims moral facts are determined by their function or place in a complex network. Cornell Realism argues that moral properties are their own category of natural properties and thus are not identical to, and cannot be reduced to, other natural properties.29 Nonnaturalism (sometimes called robust realism) rejects the naturalist’s claim that moral properties are nothing over and above natural properties but instead proposes that moral properties are unique nonnatural properties that exist beyond the physical, material, natural universe.30 Lastly, supernaturalism is a form of realism that maintains that God somehow serves as the foundation of morality. The two most common forms of supernatural metaethical theories are Divine Command Theory and Natural Law Theory. (For an explanation of the differences between these two supernaturalist theories, see here: Natural Law Theory vs. Divine Command Theory.)

As for different types of noncognitive theories, prescriptivism claims that moral statements function as imperative sentences such that when someone says “rape is wrong,” he’s actually communicating the prescription “do not rape.” On the other hand, expressivism maintains that moral statements merely express a person’s evaluative attitude. Emotivism, the most common type of expressivism, holds that the evaluative attitude being expressed in moral statements stems from our noncognitive emotions.

Theists Who Reject Moral Realism

Some theists say they reject moral realism because, even though they affirm God is the source of morality and that some moral truth is fixed independently from how humans think, they believe moral truth is made true by virtue of ratification from within God’s perspective. Since that doesn’t satisfy some definitions of moral realism, e.g., the definition put forth by Shafer-Landau, they conclude that they must reject moral realism. As a reminder, Shafer-Landau characterizes the realist position “by reference to its endorsement of the stance-independence of moral reality. Realists believe that there are moral truths that obtain independently of any preferred perspective, in the sense that the moral standards that fix the moral facts are not made true by virtue of their ratification from within any given actual or hypothetical perspective. That a person takes a particular attitude toward a putative moral standard is not what makes that standard correct.”31

But is moral truth made true by virtue of ratification from within God’s perspective? It seems to me this would only be the case if extreme Divine Voluntarism were true. As I explained above, extreme Divine Voluntarism is the idea that God’s will alone decides moral truth such that He could choose anything to be good or bad. According to extreme Divine Voluntarism, God could even choose to make rape morally good if He chose to do so. This position probably shouldn’t be considered moral realism according to Shafer-Landau’s definition because it affirms that moral facts are made true by virtue of their ratification from within a given perspective, that is, God’s perspective.

However, there are very few theists who’ve held to this extreme Divine Voluntarism. The vast majority of theists maintain that God’s perfect moral nature, not His will or His commands, is the ultimate root of morality. If God’s perfect moral nature is the ultimate foundation of morality, would that mean moral truth is true by virtue of ratification from within God’s perspective? If so, then such a position couldn’t be called a form of moral realism, at least not according to Shafer-Landau’s definition. But it doesn’t seem to me that moral truth is true by virtue of ratification from within God’s perspective if God’s perfect moral nature is the ultimate foundation of morality. This position is a form of moral realism, at least according to Shafer-Landau’s definition, because it doesn’t affirm that moral truth is true by virtue of ratification from within God’s perspective; instead, it affirms that moral truth is true because it’s grounded in God’s perfect moral nature. In other words, this position affirms morality is stance-independent (an important aspect of Shafer-Landau’s definition of moral realism) in that it maintains moral truth is independent even of God’s stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences).

Should My Divine Love Theory Be Considered a Theory of Moral Realism?

It should be clear by now that the answer to such a question depends on how the term ‘moral realism’ is being used:

  • If the term ‘moral realism’ is being used to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of human beings, then yes, my Divine Love Theory should be considered a theory of moral realism because my theory affirms moral truth is independent of human beings.

  • If the term ‘moral realism’ is being used to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of any being, including God, then no, my Divine Love Theory should not be considered a theory of moral realism because my theory affirms moral truth is dependent on God.

  • If the term ‘moral realism’ is being used to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of the stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences) of all human beings, real or hypothetical, then yes, my Divine Love Theory should be considered a theory of moral realism because my theory affirms moral truth is independent of the stance of all human beings, real or hypothetical.

  • If the term ‘moral realism’ is being used to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of any being’s stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences), including God’s, then yes, my Divine Love Theory should be considered a theory of moral realism because my theory affirms moral truth is dependent on God’s nature but independent of His stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences).

Some may argue that if moral obligations are generated by God’s commands, which is what Divine Command Theories and my Divine Love Theory affirm, then they are dependent on God’s stance and thus don’t meet this common definition of moral realism. However, it doesn’t seem to me that moral obligations would be dependent on God’s stance (God’s perspectives, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences) if His commands are what generate our moral obligations because His commands are based on His divine nature, not His stance.

Some people may push back here by pointing out that, according to my Divine Love Theory, only some of God’s commands are based directly on His nature while others are based on God’s preferences, not His nature (like commanding the Israelites not to eat pork), though it could be argued even His preferences are based on His nature.32 Hence, our moral obligations from these commands, since they come from God’s preferences and not His nature, shouldn’t be considered a form of moral realism according to this definition. They may even go further and say that God’s commands that are based on His nature are dependent on God’s stance in that His nature influences His stance such that He then issues those commands. In other words, even if His nature causes Him to have the stance that He does, all His commands then come from His stance. This seems like an odd way to think of it, but if that is, in fact, correct, then only the moral value aspect of my Divine Love Theory should be considered a form of moral realism and the moral obligation aspect shouldn’t. Keep in mind that it all goes back to how someone is defining and using their terms. When I use the term ‘moral realism,’ I’m using it to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of the stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences) of all human beings, real or hypothetical. Thus, I’m comfortable describing my theory of moral value and moral obligations as a theories of moral realism.

Let’s say someone is adamant that moral realism should only be used to mean that moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) are independent of any being’s stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences), including God’s. This person believes moral obligations fail to meet this requirement in my Divine Love Theory and therefore my theory of moral obligations shouldn’t be considered a form of moral realism. What has such a person actually accomplished beyond making the point that part of my theory shouldn’t be considered a theory of moral realism according to this particular definition? Have they shown my theory is false? No. Have they shown that the moral argument doesn’t work? No. We can easily restate the moral argument as follows to avoid this controversy about how to precisely define the category label ‘moral realism’:

  1. There are fixed moral truths (moral values and moral obligations) that are independent of the stance (perspective, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or preferences) of all human beings, real or hypothetical.

  2. The best explanation for how and why there are such fixed moral truths is the existence of God.

  3. Therefore, we have good reason to believe God exists.

By restating the argument this way, we can avoid having to waste time arguing over exactly how the term ‘moral realism’ should be defined and used.

To summarize, nearly all theistic moral theories, including most Divine Command Theories and my Divine Love Theory, maintain that the ultimate foundation of morality is not God’s will or His commands but His nature. It seems to me, then, that under Shafer-Landau’s definition, theories which base morality on God’s nature should be considered theories of moral realism because they don’t maintain moral facts are made true by virtue of their ratification from within God’s perspective but are made true by His moral nature. Many theists affirm God’s nature is also the ultimate source of mathematics and logic. Should those who affirm such a position therefore consider themselves non-realists about mathematics and logic? No, that doesn’t seem right. Similarly, those who think God’s perfect moral nature is the source of morality shouldn’t consider themselves moral non-realists, at least according to Shafer-Landau’s definition.

However, let me say one final time that I’m not interested in getting caught up in debates over the definitions of category labels. The bottom line is that I believe God’s trinitarian moral nature is the source and foundation of morality. I’m very interested in debating whether or not my proposed moral theory is true, but I have little interest in arguing over how to best label it. I refer to my idea as a theory of objective morality and a version of moral realism, but if you’d like to label it as a non-realist theory, a subjective theory, or a giraffe theory, you are certainly free to do so.

Footnotes

[1] Russ Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism: A Defence (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 2. Emphasis added.

[2] David Enoch, An Outline of an Argument for Robust Metanormative Realism, ed. Russ Shafer-Landau, vol. 2 of Oxford Studies in Metaethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 21. See also David Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously: A Defense of Robust Realism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

[3] C. Stephen Evans, God and Moral Obligation (Oxford, United Kingdom: Oxford University Press, 2014), 166.

[4] Alvin Plantinga, “Naturalism, Theism, Obligation and Supervenience,” Faith and Philosophy Vol. 27 No. 3 (2010): 249. Emphasis added.

[5] Plato, Euthyphro, 9e.

[6] For a brief summary, see Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 89–91. For a fuller treatment, see John Milliken, “Euthyphro, the Good, and the Right,” Philosophia Christi 11.1 (2009): 145–55.

[7] William Lane Craig, “The Most Gruesome of Guests,” in Is Goodness without God Good Enough?: A Debate on Faith, Secularism, and Ethics (eds. Nathan L. King and Robert K. Garcia; Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2009), 171–73.

[8] David Baggett and Jerry Walls, Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 91.

[9] Baggett and Walls, Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality, 93.

[10] Jeremy Koons, “Can God’s Goodness Save the Divine Command Theory from Euthyphro?,” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 4.1 (2012): 177–95.

[11] Wes Morriston, “God and the Ontological Foundation of Morality,” Religious Studies 48.1 (2012): 29.

[12] Erik J. Wielenberg, Robust Ethics: The Metaphysics and Epistemology of Godless Normative Realism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 38.

[13] It should be noted that, according to nearly all theistic moral theories, including my Divine Love Theory, some of God’s commands are chosen by His will alone and thus aren’t directly determined by His moral nature. For example, consider God’s command to the Israelites in the Old Testament not to eat pork or the hypothetical situation where God commands people in a certain country to drive on the right side of the road but people in another country to drive on the left side. However, such theists maintain that the core of morality is based not on God’s will but on His nature. For a detailed discussion about how God’s various commands, and thus our moral obligations, are related to His moral nature in different ways, see Adam Lloyd Johnson, Divine Love Theory: How the Trinity Is the Source and Foundation of Morality (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Academic, 2023), 148–57.

[14] For a more detailed taxonomy of moral theories, see Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism: A Defence, 13–79. For a book length treatment, see Mark van Roojen, Metaethics, Routledge Contemporary Introductions to Philosophy, ed. Paul K. Moser (New York: Routledge, 2015), especially the helpful flow-chart on page 5.

[15] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[16] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 5, 19.

[17] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17, 45.

[18] Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 8.

[19] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[20] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 19.

[21] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 39.

[22] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[23] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[24] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[25] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 17.

[26] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 15.

[27] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 15.

[28] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 19, 55.

[29] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 63.

[30] Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 4.

[31] Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 15.

[32] For a detailed discussion about how God’s various commands, and thus our moral obligations, are related to His moral nature in different ways, see Adam Lloyd Johnson, Divine Love Theory: How the Trinity Is the Source and Foundation of Morality (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Academic, 2023), 148–57.


*This article is republished with permission from Convincing Proof.

Moral Hide-and-Seek: Addressing Divine Moral Hiddenness Concerns

“3... 2…1… Ready or not, here I come!”

When I was a kid, I loved playing Hide-and-Seek. I especially liked being the seeker. The thought of calling someone out of their clever hiding spot was thrilling. Sometimes it only took me a few seconds to spot a shirt or a shoe tucked behind a bench, but other times I would spend what felt like hours trying to find my friends, positioned behind bushes and up in trees. Sometimes, I never found them. I hated losing. Little did I know then, the childhood game of Hide-and-Seek is one I would continue to play my whole life. But now it takes a different form, and the stakes are much higher.

I play Hide-and-Seek when I try to figure out whether to lie to protect someone’s feelings or tell the truth … when I deliberate over what side of social issues I am supposed to stand on … and when I debate my fellow Christians about whether God said [insert controversial act here] is a sin or not. Where are God’s moral commands for these things, and why are they so hard to find? I dig deep within my heart, and they are not clear. I read through the Scriptures, and I find no solace. Let the game continue.

Evolutionary debunking challenges pose a significant threat to knowledge of mind-independent moral truths. I argue for this elsewhere.[1] In response to such challenges, I often contend that theism provides the best available framework for moral knowledge. To overcome debunking concerns, I propose that God could have shaped our moral psychology to track moral truths either by guiding the evolutionary process to lead us towards aligning moral convictions (divine guidance) or by granting us rational insight through intuitive moral convictions (divine revelation).

 

When I give such an argument for theism, I often get a similar reply: “If God exists, then why isn’t morality clearer?” We might call this the problem of divine moral hiddenness (DMH). This can be formulated as follows:

1.      If God exists and cares that we do the right thing, He will make the right thing to do clear to us.

2.      The right thing to do is not clear to us.

3.      Therefore, God either does not exist or does not care if we do the right thing.

At first blush, this argument appears quite merited. But upon careful examination, there seem to be two underlying false assumptions that dissolve this charge against a theistic explanation of moral knowledge.

Before getting to these assumptions, which are rooted in (1), let’s first look at (2). Is it true that the right thing to do is not clear to us? In many cases, it seems the right thing is, indeed, clear to us. It seems clear, for instance, that we ought not to torture an innocent child or that we should help those in need. It seems clear that values like love, generosity, and equality are good, while vices like hate, envy, and greed are bad. Although the application of many of these principles might be more vague, the general principles themselves remain relatively clear. Atheistic philosopher Michael Ruse agrees, stating, “The man who says it is morally acceptable to rape little children is just as mistaken as the man who says 2+2=5.”[2] Hugh Rice adds, “It is not just that it seems to us that it is awful to torture babies: it seems to us that it could not have been otherwise.”[3] There are many things that seem to be “written on our hearts”[4] and can be counted as genuine moral knowledge. That said, there is also a lot that is unclear, even within the Church. Debates about just war, the death penalty, meat-eating, and more come to mind. As I alluded to earlier, personal issues often fall into this category of moral complexity as well. Instances where one must decide whether to tell or withhold a lie, for example, don’t always seem to have a clear moral resolution. In this way, despite many things that are written on our hearts, there does seems to be a lot that remains unwritten and clouded. As a result, the force of (2) holds, with the caveat that it remains true only for more difficult, complex moral cases.

Let’s return to (1). In this premise, the proponent of the DMH argument gets something right about the nature of God. The communicability of God’s moral commands seems to necessarily align with His omnibenevolent desire to bestow upon humans the ability to know right and wrong (at least to some extent), thus allowing for free moral choices. However, this does not mean (1) holds. As I said earlier, (1) seems to be built on two faulty assumptions:

A)   God could clearly communicate to us the right thing to do.

B)   God would clearly communicate to us the right thing to do, if He could.

To understand assumption (A), it is important to reflect on the nature of evolutionary human psychology. The complexity of the evolutionary process in shaping our moral psychology might make it unfeasible for God to guide us reliably towards complex moral truths (i.e., answers to difficult moral questions). Let’s look at this through both a divine guidance approach and a divine revelation approach to moral knowledge.

On a divine guidance approach, it is possible that the actual world could be the world where we have the clearest moral truth tracking abilities in the set of possible worlds where evolution occurs and human freedom is also granted. Such a combination inevitably gives rise to complex, sociobiologically layered moral scenarios induced by human freedom. To this point, if divine guidance is true, the limited moral knowledge we have (about more obvious or general moral truth propositions) is exactly what we should expect. This places the theistic explanation in no worse of a position than any other theory of moral knowledge regarding complex moral scenarios.

If divine revelation is true, free agents still have the ability (and possibly tendency) to suppress moral truth, even if they do have it instilled within them by way of intuitive moral convictions. In such a case, it seems entirely possible for some people to have more acute moral sensibilities than others. This would make good sense of our moral experience.

So, on both divine guidance and divine revelation, assumption (A) fails.

To address assumption (B), we might draw parallels regarding the relationship between God and humans and the pedagogical relationship between a teacher and a student, whereby the development of moral character is amplified by the process of seeking and discovering moral truths. A good teacher, though they are capable of giving their student all the answers on the homework, does not do so, but instead lets them grapple with the problems and struggle through the process of discovery. The good teacher acts as a guide, not as an answer key. In this way, the character and intellectual development of the student is given priority over their knowledge of the correct answer. This process might parallel our search for complex moral truths. Even if God could reveal all moral truths to us (which I have shown is not necessarily feasible), He might have overriding reasons for not making clear every moral truth proposition, especially in complex cases.

Consider again the game of Hide-and-Seek, which I discussed at the beginning. For the seeker, what is the purpose of the game? One might say the purpose is to find those who are hiding. But maybe there is more to it. When I was a kid, I hated when I finished counting, turned around, and could easily spot my friend. I wanted my friends to be in spots that required me to do some searching, some investigating. Why? Because the purpose of the game is not only to find those who are hiding, but to partake in the process of seeking. The meaningfulness is in playing the game, not solely in the outcome.

So what can be said for the DMH argument? Though it might initially seem merited, reflection on many general moral truths we do know narrows the argument to complex moral cases. Concerning such cases, the failed assumptions that God could clearly communicate to us the right thing to do, and that God would clearly communicate to us the right thing to do, if He could, undercut the DMH argument. This leaves the theistic framework, characterized by divine guidance or divine revelation, as a viable and robust alternative to naturalistic theories in the wake of evolutionary debunking challenges.


[1] Kallay, Hunter.  “Saving Moral Knowledge: A Debunking Argument and Theistic Alternative,” [cited 13 June 2024]. Online: https://www.moralapologetics.com/wordpress/savingmk

[2] Michael Ruse. Darwinism Defended. (London: Addison-Wesley, 1982), 275.

[3] Hugh Rice, God and Goodness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 69.

[4] Romans 2:15; Hebrews 8:10

Hunter Kallay is a Ph.D. student at the University of Tennessee and holds a MA in Apologetics from Houston Christian University. His primary interests include moral epistemology, ethics, and philosophy of religion. In his spare time, he enjoys fitness, sports, and exploring new restaurants.

Constructivism and Moral Arguments for God: Exploring the Foundations of Moral Truth

Dr. Christian Miller, AC Reid Professor of Philosophy at Wake Forest University, delivers an insightful lecture on the intersections of constructivism and moral arguments for the existence of God. Dr. Miller, whose work is extensively supported by Templeton Grant projects, engages deeply with contemporary ethics and the philosophy of religion, examining the nature of moral truths through the lens of constructivism versus moral realism.

In his exploration, Miller presents a sophisticated discussion on whether moral truths are merely human constructs influenced by societal and individual responses, or if they exist independently of our constructions. This critical analysis is framed around a philosophical dilemma akin to the Euthyphro dilemma in religious ethics, challenging the foundational aspects of how moral truths are determined and their implications for philosophical theology.

The lecture is essential viewing for philosophers interested in the latest debates in metaethics and the philosophy of religion. Miller's nuanced approach not only elucidates the complex dynamics between human cognitive processes and moral normativity but also probes the potential impacts of these theories on classical moral arguments for the existence of God. His presentation is a significant contribution to ongoing philosophical discussions and is poised to stimulate further scholarly dialogue and inquiry.

The Persuasive Power of the Moral Argument (Podcast ft. David Baggett)

Frm the SAFT Podcast:

Ever wondered why we can't find any human who has kept the moral code to the letter? Where do we get the sense of guilt and shame from? And why is it that the most rational thing to do is not the most right thing to do? Wondering how these observations add up? Join us as the world's leading expert on the moral argument walks us through on how to use these realisations about morality to point towards God.

The Problem of Evil and the Moral Argument

Houston Christian University hosted a conference on the Moral Argument in March 2023.

This conference is based on a forthcoming Oxford University Press book co-edited by David Bagget and John Hare on the moral argument. It includes 27 chapters covering theistic ethics, secular ethics, moral realism, and alternatives. The book inspired the conference, which was organized by Dave and John at HCU. Around 20 contributors accepted the invitation, resulting in this two-day event.

The conference features three Gifford lecturers, two of whom are present, and three former presidents of the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Speakers have come from various places, including England, New Zealand, California, Florida, Yale, and the United States Naval Academy, representing diverse religious backgrounds.

The central theme of the conference is a discussion about the foundations of ethics, with a focus on the idea that ethical truth is transcendent, authoritative, sacred, and divine. Moral arguments for God's existence are rooted in this concept, emphasizing the objectivity and prescriptivity of morality.

In this lecture, Paul Copan argues that far from undermining the rationality of belief in God the problem of evil, actually reinforces the moral argument for theism by highlighting the inadequacy of atheistic and naturalistic explanations for the moral dimensions of our world. The theistic perspective, with its emphasis on divine justice, redemption, and the ultimate resolution of evil, is presented as offering a more satisfying account of the human condition and our longing for meaning, goodness, and justice in the face of suffering and evil.

Why Donald Trump Should Not Be the Republican Nominee

Why Donald Trump Should Not Be the Republican Nominee

Taken together, all of these reasons, we submit, provide a compelling multi-faceted reason not to vote for Trump in the primaries. The picture of Trump that emerges from the evidence on offer is not the best candidate for the Republican nomination.

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The Colorado Court Decision: A Test Case for Arguing Well

Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

Philosophy emphasizes that an intellectual virtue of great importance is the cultivation of excellence at attending to evidence. Such a venture resides at the heart of the rational enterprise, which has as its goal nothing less than truth itself. Truth-seeking and rationality are vital to our humanness, and to practice thinking well is an eminently valuable habit to develop. As we are headed into what promises to be a contentious election year, it may be useful to bring to bear these philosophical insights on a pressing but vexed social issue and to consider how they can support our mission to be salt and light for a world in desperate need of both.

Acknowledging the Challenge

Suppose now that we take up the recent Colorado Supreme Court decision that Donald Trump is unfit for the presidency as a test case for practicing this virtue. I think this a worthwhile effort. The analysis to follow will strive to avoid deriding ideological opponents as perverse, that is, arguments of derision that go after the holders of opinions rather than opinions themselves. It will also assiduously attempt to steer clear of an assortment of other informal logical fallacies, from false equivalences to ad hominems, question begging to non sequiturs, red herrings to straw men, poisoning the well to confirmation bias.

The effort presupposes that it is still possible to have rich intellectual discourse between people of good will who hold strongly opposed convictions, including political convictions. It may not be easy, but it is at least possible. And since sometimes the people we are disagreeing with are family and friends, it’s worth trying to get better at. I say this as one who’s often hit the wrong note, pushed too hard, been needlessly abrasive, and so forth. I’m likely to fall into a few of these traps in this very essay, so forgive me in advance. That the almost lost art of mutually respectful, robust civil discourse remains feasible is something of a tenet of (hopefully principled) faith animating this analysis. Admittedly this belief resides more comfortably within a modern than a postmodern context. Also, and importantly, the approach does not assume that a stance of complete neutrality is necessary, or even possible, but it at least aims for what objectivity is realistically practicable to achieve. It resists the cynical view that there is nothing but subjectivity.

Part of what makes this recent Court decision challenging to use as a test case is that all around it swirls rhetoric about the distorting influence of the worst sort of partisanship. It also involves moral judgment calls, and for those who uphold strict dichotomies between facts and values, invoking categories of morality can seem to some anything but neutral or objective. As one who thinks there are objective moral facts—torturing kids for fun is objectively wrong, for example—I’m not averse to incorporating axiomatic moral convictions into the discussion, and I don’t think doing so compromises objectivity, but rather presupposes it. Truth telling is (at least generally) good. Lying is (at least usually) bad. Kindness is a virtue. Love beats hate. And so on.

As for partisanship, it seems the best course of action is to assess each accusation of warping partisanship on its merits. Not every partisan is a rabid partisan; not every politician or jurist simply follows the script of their preferred political party. On occasion, at least, politicians rise above partisan rancor and attain the status of diplomats and statesmen. Some put their love of country above their political affiliations. The Founding Fathers could foresee the acidulous effects of rabid partisanship, and warned about it from the inception of the nation. They at least hoped it could be held enough in check that it wouldn’t destroy the country. I harbor the same hope. One of the telltale signs of the worst form of partisanship is the inability to conceive of oneself as ever problematically partisan, and a corresponding inability to see political rivals as anything but problematically partisan. This will not be part of my modus operandi.

Laying out the Case

So with all that said, let’s consider the Colorado decision. By a vote of 4 to 3, the finding of the High Court in Colorado was that Donald Trump, for being guilty of insurrection on and before January 6, 2021, is disqualified for public office. The decision was based on a clause in Section 3 of the 14th Amendment to the Constitution that says that people are ineligible to hold any federal or state office if they took an oath to uphold the Constitution in one of various government roles, including as an “officer of the United States,” and then engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the United States or aided its enemies. The Colorado court recognized the significant import of the decision, and included a “stay” that awaits further review by the Supreme Court of the United States. Several other states are considering similar cases, and with the prospect of different states arriving at different conclusions, a Supreme Court adjudication seems both needed and likely.

To begin with, then, there are two conceptually separable issues: (1) whether or not Trump was guilty of insurrection, and (2) even if so, whether the Supreme Court should interpret the Insurrection Clause as applicable to Trump. The lower court decision in Colorado illustrates the potential disconnect between (1) and (2). In that earlier decision, it was accepted that Trump was guilty of insurrection. Nevertheless, questions arose about the applicability of the Clause to Trump. As a result, the case failed, before it was appealed to the State Supreme Court.

Why did the lower court argue that the Clause did not apply to Trump, despite that they thought he had engaged in insurrection? A reading according to which “officer of the United States” did not include the president. Ruth Marcus at the Washington Post rejects that reading as implausible, and affirms the state Supreme Court for rejecting it. She writes, “It defies logic to believe that the framers of the amendment meant to exclude former Confederate soldiers from all offices but the most important and the Colorado Supreme Court was correct to disagree with this interpretation.” The High Court deemed that interpretation inconsistent with the plain language and history of Section Three.

The majority of the State Supreme Court agreed with both (1) and (2). That is, they agreed that Trump engaged in insurrectionist behavior on and before January 6, and that the Clause properly applies to him. As a result, they arrived at their conclusion. The case had been brought to court by a number of conservatives, but all the judges in the case had been appointed by a Democrat, which inevitably raises issues of the role of partisanship in all of this. But what we see from the start is that the picture is a bit messy, since the case was brought by conservatives. And analysis of the decision is also complicated. Whereas many conservatives are likely to disagree with the decision, just as many liberals are likely to support it; even still, no small number of conservatives support the decision, and some liberals resist it.

To offer but a smattering of examples, conservative legal analyst (and strong Never Trumper) Robert George thinks the Supreme Court decision a bad one, while a plethora of liberal legal analysts have chimed in to support the decision. At the same time, though, conservative analyst and former federal judge J. Michael Luttig has supported the Court’s decision, while liberal analyst Ruth Marcus rejects the decision and thinks the Supreme Court should do so as well, and do so unanimously. Generally, though, at least, those of a more conservative political persuasion resist the decision, while those more on the political left accept it.

By way of disclosure, I tend toward the political right on a great many issues. In fact, I voted for Trump twice. Nevertheless, I have come to agree that he is unfit for the office of the presidency, and—though I admit that I am not a trained lawyer—the case that the Insurrectionist Clause applies to Trump seems a good one to me.

Establishing Ground Rules

But if we are to have a fruitful conversation about this question, we cannot and must not simply ask for a person’s political affiliation and then chalk up their stance to that, either for purposes of agreeing or disagreeing. We—all of us—need to insist on looking carefully at the evidence. A real danger lurks here, and many in our contemporary moment are increasingly falling into a perspectivalist trap, where everything becomes irremediably subjective and attributable to (say) one’s prior political convictions. Such a movement toward a relativistic stance spells doom for rich civil discourse and meaningful engagement. As challenging as it may be, we have to do better, and the only way forward is by encouraging a scrupulously honest appraisal of the evidence that we have at our disposal. We all may retain our blind spots, but all the more reason we must learn to really listen to one another. (All the more so when we consider that the animus among at least some in the populace is likely because they feel ignored, discarded, sidelined, trivialized, and the like.) 

A move that seems out of bounds right out of the gate is to dismiss the Colorado Supreme Court as motivated by nothing but political partisanship. Perhaps they are, though it seems rather unlikely, but perhaps. Perhaps they are not. Conjectures either way are not particularly evidential. What good reason is there to think that they are problematically partisan? Remember that the case was brought by conservatives. Is that not relevant? Cherry picking evidence is not a good intellectual habit. Nor is casting shade on people’s political motivations without considering the evidence. What good reasons are there for thinking the State Supreme Court in Colorado was politically motivated? That their decision is unpopular among many conservatives is not a good reason. What evidence did they adduce in their majority decision? That is where we need to direct our attention first. Simply to dismiss them and cast aspersions on their motivations is presumptuous, uncharitable, and an instance of ad hominem. In our contentious political moment, we have to do better than that.

The Court appeared soberly aware of the import and potential impact of their decision. The majority wrote, “We do not reach these conclusions lightly. We are mindful of the magnitude and weight of the questions now before us. We are likewise mindful of our solemn duty to apply the law, without fear or favor, and without being swayed by public reaction to the decisions that the law mandates we reach.” The charitable move here is to take them at their word, assume their good faith, and examine the case they make and the reasons for their decision. Using their presumed motives to avoid doing so is hardly conducive to civil discourse and borders intellectual dishonesty.

Regarding (2), we already saw that they rejected the lower court judge’s view that the Clause did not apply to Trump. To my thinking, this seems right. I agree with the majority view here and with Ruth Marcus as well. If someone wishes to demur, they should make the case that the presidency is a legitimate exception to the Clause. If the Clause applies to lower offices, it seems logical that it would apply all the more to the highest office of all. Perhaps there is some good reason to reject such a notion, but if so, what is it? And what is the argument for the exception? As for me and my house, I see little reason at this point to be skeptical about applying the Clause to Trump.

Considering the Evidence

Which leads to the bigger question: Was Trump guilty of insurrection? Once more, the way to answer this question is by careful examination of the evidence. I have not, admittedly, read the 800-page report by the January 6 Commission. I did, however, recently read cover to cover Liz Cheney’s 370-page book about January 6 and what happened before and after it, and I found the case for Trump’s insurrection to be strongly compelling.

Once more, by way of anticipation of a knee-jerk response to this disclosure, it is simply out of bounds to dismiss the findings of the Commission by dubbing it as partisan-motivated. Marco Rubio, for example, has repeatedly denounced the insurrection, saying it was “inexcusable,” “disgusting,” “unpatriotic,” and “anti-American anarchy.” However, regarding the Commission, he followed the talking points of several of his conservative colleagues, saying on Face the Nation, “That commission is a scam. I think it's a complete partisan scam. And I think anyone who committed a crime on January 6 should be prosecuted and, if convicted, put in jail.”

Here Rubio’s skepticism about the Commission echoed that of Trump’s and others of his ilk: that the Commission was partisan and cannot be relied on to give an accurate picture of January 6. But of course assertion is not argument. So what is the argument or evidence that the Commission was problematically partisan and thus unreliable? One recurring motif is that, save for Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger, all the other Republicans were summarily dismissed from the Committee. Now, I’m no Washington insider and I wasn’t there to witness what happened. But this is a matter that seems easily answered. Did that happen or not? It’s a quite simple empirical question.

Cheney’s account was that Pelosi had the right of refusal for any Republican nominees to the Commission, and she refused two or three, including, not surprisingly, Trump sycophant Jim Jordan. Other Republicans she accepted. Republicans then had the option to replace those who had been rejected. But instead they withdrew altogether, claiming, falsely, that they had been summarily dismissed. I see no reason not to believe Cheney’s account, and a number of reasons to be skeptical of Trump’s. Besides which, the notion that a group made up predominantly of Democrats cannot be trusted to do their job with integrity seems, once more, to be little more than ad hominem. What good reason is there to think that those who would say such a thing are not the ones who are problematically partisan? What were the Republicans afraid the Commission would find? In light of what the Commission did find, I think we know.

If someone has genuine evidence that the Commission was unreliable, they should be forthright with what that evidence is. Positing possibilities isn’t establishing plausibilities. At least be as forthright as the Commission was in painstakingly chronicling the events of that day and what led up to it. Personally, I do not see how anyone can read Cheney’s book and listen to one heartbreaking story after another and not be deeply grieved over what happened. Nor how they could still say with a straight face that Trump did not foment an insurrection designed to reverse a lawful election.

There is a legitimate way to call into question the results of an election in this country. File lawsuits and take it to the courts. No one denied Trump’s freedom to do so, and he did. And he lost. He lost 60 of 61 cases. He lost impressively, spectacularly, and prodigiously. Then, having lost, he resorted to a panoply of efforts to reverse the election illegitimately. Read Cheney’s book and count the ways. Then he enlisted his zealous supporters, having whipped them into a frenzy, to engage in what was sure to devolve into a violent protest at the Capitol, and for more than three hours did nothing to stop it. This despite numerous desperate pleas for help from those on Capitol Hill trying to run for cover. Arguably, he instead threw gasoline on the fire with his infamous tweet calling Pence a coward while knowing the crowd was on the hunt for his Vice President. That there were not more fatalities that day was a grace, and a testament to the bravery of patriots fending off the misguided crowd who thought they were doing Trump’s bidding.

Interestingly, though Trump was free to pursue legal cases to reverse the election results, some are insisting that the Colorado court decision is the move of a “banana republic.” It’s an effort, we’re told, to disenfranchise half the country. This is hyperbolic and simply false. The tactics that Trump has followed, especially around January 6, resemble the machinations of dictators the world over. The Colorado court decision is measured, principled, and based on the rule of law. America is a constitutional republic, and the case is following its constitutional course. How it is adjudicated in the Supreme Court, if they choose to take the case, remains to be seen and is impossible to predict. But just as Trump had every right to challenge the election in court, so too those who brought this civil case in Colorado had the right to have their day in court. A banana republic hardly features a court, with some fear and trembling, offering their decision and admitting they are moving into uncharted waters and that their decision is subject to review by a higher court. Such dismissive rhetoric is laughably hyperbolic.

Whether the Clause will be applicable to Trump or not remains to be seen, but this is the messy way the judiciary in this country works. Cases are brought before judges. Verdicts are issued. Appellate courts can be appealed to. Some cases make it to state Supreme Courts. And some go all the way to the Highest Court in the land. Unlike Trump, though, the plaintiffs in the Colorado case are perfectly willing to abide by the decisions of the Court—whether they agree with them or not.

Examining Counterarguments

Now, some push this line: in order for the Clause to apply to Trump, he needs to have already been convicted of insurrection. From what I understand, this is not true. Either there is an established answer, or it’s a matter that needs further clarification in the law. But again, I am under the impression that the answer is that prior conviction is not necessary. Legal analyst Norm Eisen writes, “The 14A does NOT require a conviction for Trump to be disqualified—it merely asks courts to determine whether he committed insurrection.” So this argument seems to fail.

Another reason some give to think that Trump did not commit insurrection is that, if he had committed it, he would have already been convicted. But of course this is not necessarily so. Whether such a thing happens depends on a great many contingent political factors. Of course Trump has been brought to court for an incredibly high number of alleged offenses, and certain of his cronies have been brought to court for their assistance of him in various nefarious adventures, and several convicted. That Trump has not yet been convicted of insurrection is not good evidence that he shouldn’t be or that he won’t be. This is an ongoing story, and there is good reason to think that he will in fact, at long last, get his just desserts for the way he subverted the Constitution and illegitimately attempted to reverse a legitimate election. Note, too, that the Clause employs a disjunction: insurrection or rebellion against the Constitution. The January 6 Commission, for its part, made the case he did just that. That the DOJ has been slow to follow through is arguably as attributable to wanting to dot all their I’s and cross all their T’s as it is to not having a case. The case can be found in the Commission’s report, many would argue.

And this is exactly why the Colorado decision, to my thinking, is a good thing. It will force the issue. Based on the evidence, which needs to be studied carefully, was Trump guilty of insurrection and/or rebellion, or not? The case that he was has been made quite forcefully. Ignoring the evidence does not make it go away. Intellectual honesty demands attentiveness to the evidence.

Others wring their hands over the Colorado decision for this reason: It’s a problematic move because it carries the risk of disenfranchising half the nation. I have a hard time taking this one seriously, in all honesty, because it was Trump who strove assiduously via every mechanism, judicial and nonjudicial, he could think of to reverse the results of a legitimate election. Trump is the one who tried to disenfranchise. We learn more details of this scheme every day, with a new recording of him pressuring Michigan officials coming to light just today. The Colorado Supreme Court took on a case brought to them by a number of conservatives, looked at the law, and came up with their determinations, knowing they were subject to further review. That’s how it works in this country. That’s how it should work. And then the court decisions need to be abided by, a lesson Trump does not seem to recognize.

If Trump was guilty of insurrection, then the Clause in question says he should not be on the primary ballot. That is a fact. That the preponderance of prospective Republican voters would vote for Trump does not alter that fact. Neither can they vote for someone under 35 or for others outside the scope dictated by the Constitution. Perhaps some might wish to eliminate such clauses, but if so, their beef is less with the Colorado Supreme Court than with the Constitution.

Some are concerned what the effects of a ban on Trump to run in some or all states would look like. They are concerned about potential violence. And surely this is a concern, especially the more we move away from being a nation of laws. The Colorado judges have already been inundated with a barrage of death threats—pretty obviously an appeal to force, yet another fallacious maneuver, and a scary one. The nation may be approaching a crossroads where they need to decide whether capitulation to the mob trumps the rule of law. The most vitriolic and aggressive of Trumpians (hopefully a small minority) have already shown themselves ready and willing to engage in gross violence to support his narrative, irrespective of the paucity of evidence for its truth. Demonization of enemies and toxic rhetoric has considerably changed the complexion of the political landscape. Trump seems to have a knack for tapping into discontent and channeling it to destructive ends.

What the majority in the Colorado Supreme Court found was this: “President Trump did not merely incite the insurrection. Even when the siege on the Capitol was fully underway, he continued to support it by repeatedly demanding that Vice President Pence refuse to perform his constitutional duty and by calling Senators to persuade them to stop the counting of electoral votes. These actions constituted overt, voluntary, and direct participation in the insurrection.”

Finally, the vote was 4 to 3, which means there were three dissenting opinions. Some think that, if Trump sees victory in the Supreme Court, one or more of these avenues may be his path to the win.

Analyzing Divergent Perspectives

Ruth Marcus considers this one the most interesting: Justice Carlos Samour Jr. said that barring Trump from the ballot without legislation from Congress implementing Section 3 violates Trump’s due process rights, especially because Trump has not been charged with insurrection. “More broadly, I am disturbed about the potential chaos wrought by an imprudent, unconstitutional, and standardless system in which each state gets to adjudicate Section Three disqualification cases on an ad hoc basis,” Samour wrote. “Surely, this enlargement of state power is antithetical to the framers’ intent.”

Marcus thinks this a good reason for the Supreme Court to step in. As do I. Somehow, though, she also takes it to be a reason for the Supreme Court to strike down the decision. I do not. The evidence and the evidence alone should determine whether or not the Clause applies to Trump. The Supreme Court can make a decision that ensures state uniformity, but the content of the uniformity should be a function of the evidence alone.

In this connection, Samour raised the question of whether Section 3 is “self-executing.” Here, the justices have the benefit of a decision by Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase in 1869—the year after the 14th Amendment was ratified—that Section 3 requires enabling legislation.

Marcus is of the view that “there is no world in which the justices are going to empower states to throw Trump off their ballots. Given that, the court should keep in mind: This is a moment it should aspire to be the unanimous court of Brown v. Board of Education, not the splintered, party-line body of Bush v. Gore.

I’m not sure why she’s so convinced that Trump won’t be removed from the ballot. I hope it’s because she thinks the evidence points in that direction, and not capitulation to mob rule. The question seems to be a good one: If Trump is guilty of insurrection, should he be removed from the ballot? Someone might argue the answer is “no,” but I hardly think that’s the obviously right answer. We need arguments to this effect. Either deny for principled reasons that Trump is thus guilty, argue the Constitution should be changed, or admit that, in virtue of his actions, he should be disqualified.

Conservative legal analyst George Conway has a quite different take on this issue of whether Section 3 is self-executing. He admits that this argument comes closest in the dissents to a federal law issue that should give someone pause. Again, it’s the claim that the Clause can’t be enforced unless Congress passes a law detailing how. Conway replies, though, that all one needs to do is what any good originalist or textualist would do and look at the wording of the Clause. Although Section 5 of the Amendment gives Congress the power to enact enforcement legislation, nowhere does the Amendment suggest that such legislation is required. And Conway goes on to give highly counterintuitive implications of insisting on such a requirement.

Conway also debunks Samour’s claim that Trump was deprived of due process by the proceedings in the district court. There was a full-blown, five-day trial with sworn witnesses and lots of documentary exhibits. “And Samour’s suggestion that Trump was denied a fair trial because he didn’t have a jury is almost embarrassing: Any first-year law student who has taken civil procedure could tell you that election cases are not even close to the sort of litigation to which a Seventh Amendment jury-trial right would attach.”

I don’t here presume to be able to adjudicate these finer-grained aspects of jurisprudence. But I do think telling that Conway finds all of the various dissenting arguments weak. Whether the Supreme Court will or not, I have no idea. But why not give them a chance to look at the evidence for themselves and make their determination? I won’t reiterate Conway’s analysis of the other dissenting views, but his conclusion was this: “The dissents were gobsmacking—for their weakness. They did not want for legal craftsmanship, but they did lack any semblance of a convincing argument.” If nothing else, this makes me think that casual dismissals of the Colorado Supreme Court’s decision are hasty.

Finally, what is remarkably illuminating and indicting is that not one of the dissenting opinions challenged the district court’s factual finding that Trump had engaged in an insurrection.

So where does that leave us? I hope the Supreme Court chimes in eventually and makes its decisions. Whatever those decisions are, they should be abided by. Not because they are sure to get it right, but because this is what it means to live in a nation of laws. Of course civil disobedience is an option, but the sanguine rapidity with which some make recourse to violence when they do not get their way is a recipe for anarchy like we saw on January 6. It marks a collapse of civil discourse, and it does not bode well.

Moving Forward

Should Cheney’s views be dismissed by conservatives because, after all, she takes a “progressive” stance on some issues? I know that may sound strange, but I’ve heard such an argument, which seems like a non sequitur, ad hominem, and red herring rolled into one. Unless such a stance somehow relates to her work on the Commission, its relevance is unclear. Should we refrain from holding Trump’s feet to the fire because Biden has been allowed to get away with bad mistakes? That seems nothing but an elaborate false equivalency. I am no fan of Biden, but as far as I know, he has not fomented an insurrection that threatened the institutions of our country as Trump has. Is the Colorado decision the first step toward a banana republic? I hardly think so, as it’s a legitimate case brought before a state Supreme Court and the decision is subject to further judicial review. Such overblown rhetoric does nothing to advance the discussion, and teeters at the brink of an unprincipled slippery slope argument. Does the fact that the judges in the case were appointed by a Democrat undermine their authority? Not at all; that’s just poisoning the well and flagrant ad hominem.

I don't claim to have the definitive answer and plenty of people can disagree with me. But I have tried here to clearly map out what my reasoning is, to highlight the evidence I am relying on, and to make plain my priorities and values that have directed my pursuit of the truth of the matter. In doing so, I hope that I have modeled the intellectual and emotional skills necessary for wrangling a complex and charged issue, providing a framework for further engagement, and setting a tone for productive conversations to follow.

Let’s lower the volume, lessen the bombast, reduce the dogmatism, attenuate the demonization of opposing sides, and together let’s be attentive to the evidence. Let’s criticize viewpoints more than people. Let’s cultivate better listening habits. Let’s not take every criticism of our own viewpoint as a personal attack. None of this can guarantee that we’ll resolve every dispute to everyone’s satisfaction, which would be quite a mean feat. But it’s our best bet to think rationally, argue well, follow the evidence, show due regard for the truth, and value those with whom we disagree.

And let’s try to learn as much as we teach. If no amount of evidence can convince someone, that’s a paradigmatic example of patent irrationality—and there’s too much of that already, on both sides of the aisle. We can and should do better.

Naturalism and Normativity: Cornell Realism - Daniel Bonevac

Houston Christian University hosted a conference on the Moral Argument in March.

This conference is based on a forthcoming Oxford University Press book co-edited by David Bagget and John Hare on the moral argument. It includes 27 chapters covering theistic ethics, secular ethics, moral realism, and alternatives. The book inspired the conference, which was organized by Dave and John at HCU. Around 20 contributors accepted the invitation, resulting in this two-day event.

The conference features three Gifford lecturers, two of whom are present, and three former presidents of the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Speakers have come from various places, including England, New Zealand, California, Florida, Yale, and the United States Naval Academy, representing diverse religious backgrounds.

The central theme of the conference is a discussion about the foundations of ethics, with a focus on the idea that ethical truth is transcendent, authoritative, sacred, and divine. Moral arguments for God's existence are rooted in this concept, emphasizing the objectivity and prescriptivity of morality.

This lecture is from Dr. Daniel Bonevac, professor of philosophy at the University of Texas at Austin. He specializes in metaphysics, philosophy of mathematics, semantics, and philosophical logic. Dr. Bonevac has authored several books, received prestigious awards, and published articles in notable philosophy journals. He will be presenting on "Naturalism and Normativity: Cornell Realism."

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 9)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part IX, Prescriptive Realism

David Baggett

Hare finishes the first chapter of his book by laying out prescriptive realism as it connects with the concessions he’s listed (E1-3 and R1-3). He returns to the example of Peter and Sue. Peter judges that the relationship with Sue is worth saving and that this is what God wants from him. The judgment is not merely a report that he feels pulled towards reconciliation, but it expresses his acceptance of norms that prescribe that kind of response to his situation. He is judging that the situation deserves this kind of response.

There are three elements here: first, the initial construal of his situation as calling for reconciliation; next, the concern that is taken up into the construal; and then the endorsement of the construal in his judgment. He is claiming in this judgment a Kantian kind of objectivity (E1). He is judging that people like him should respond to this kind of situation in this kind of way.

He is also attending to the situation in a way that involves self-discipline, an “unselfing,” since his natural inclinations tend towards giving up (R1).

In making the judgment he is also claiming objectivity in a different sense, claiming that he is responding to a pull by the relationship that is really there outside his present imperfect attempts at evaluation (E2).

But this pull is not independent of him in the sense that it would be there whether he is there or not. This kind of pull is from relationships in which humans are embedded, and would not be there without them (R2). Suppose Sue is not a religious believer. Peter and Sue can still agree that reconciliation would be good, even though Peter will identify God’s call here and Sue will not. Prescriptive realism is not itself committed to theism.  

Finally, when Peter endorses the feeling of pull, he is endorsing not just his feeling on this particular occasion, but the whole set of norms that prescribe the kind of response (E3). In saying that God wants him to be reconciled, he is not merely claiming to report God’s mind, but claiming to be part of a structure that he accepts, a structure in which God calls people to the same kind of faithfulness that God has, and in which living that way is consistent with their happiness.

God’s call comes to Peter, Hare is supposing, through the pull of the relationship with Sue. In the same way magnetic force cn come to an iron ring through other iron rings that are attracted to the original magnet. This is Plato’s image in Ion 536a. So there are three levels of the analysis: first, the cosmic, where we talk about the call; next the level of the human species or the community, of nature or second nature, where we talk about the kind of felt response the norms prescribe; and last the individual, where we talk about the initial response and the endorsement by the agent himself, the endorsement not only of the particular attraction but of the whole structure in which people are attracted in this way.

Hare hopes to have shown that this three-level analysis also gives us promising conceptual space for an account of God’s authority in human morality. Roughly, we can say that God created us with an emotional and affective make-up, such that we feel the pull of God’s call. But value judgment is more than just feeling such a response; it requires us to endorse or to refuse to endorse this response. Unfortunately, we are now in a condition in which the response, both immediate and reflective, is skewed by self-preference. Having identified the source of the pull towards the good, however, as God’s call, we are now in a more promising position to identify when it is in fact operative. To this Hare turns in Chapter 2.

Part 8


Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 8)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part VIII, Norm-Expressivism

David Baggett

Allan Gibbard denies the new-wave realist claim that value properties have causal effects on the world, but he does think that a causal process operates in the world to produce our affective response mechanisms, and that this causal process results in our good. This is what Hare calls the “third expressivist concession.” Gibbard thinks that the moral emotions such as guilt and resentment are themselves the fruit of a beneficent causal process, though the process is not benevolent because it is not personal (it is evolutionary). The emotions are good for us because they enable coordination, broadly conceived.

His view is that evolution selected in favor of affective dispositions in us which promote coordination, and hence the human goods that are available only through coordination. In particular, evolution gave us specifically human kinds of anger such as outrage and resentment, and it gave us the feeling of guilt, which is an adaptive response to anger because it invites reconciliation, and thus promotes cooperation instead of conflict between the parties. In the case of such emotions, Gibbard thinks that it is good for us that we have them. This is the first kind of causal process he discusses, the process by which we have been given through the emotions a route to coordination.

A second kind of causal process connects these emotions to the stimuli to which they are responses. Gibbard wants to find an account of practical rationality in a broad sense, which will give us the kind of objectivity we want. For an agent to judge that her action is morally reprehensible, he says, is for her to express her acceptance of norms that impartially prescribe, for such a situation, guilt on the part of the agent and resentment (or anger) on the part of others.

There is an important truth here that prescriptive realism can incorporate. The truth is that a value judgment endorses not just the particular response but the whole causal network of typical situation and emotional response to the situation invoked by the evaluative term. When judging something to be wrong, she is expressing her acceptance of the whole structure in which she is embedded, in which people respond in this way to this kind of action. What Gibbard has added is the widening of the scope of the evaluation to include this whole structure.

Hare wants to do something different from Gibbard, but faithful to the concession as just formulated. He’s going to give a Kant-style argument for what he will call a “postulate of prudence,” that an agent has to assume that the world is such that her evaluation of something as good to pursue is consistent with her happiness. The connection with Gibbard is that Gibbard uses evolution as a substitute or improvement on the doctrine of providence, but the realist implications are the same in either case.

The argument for the postulate of prudence proceeds by pointing out how many assumptions are required by an evaluation of something as good to pursue. Hare will mention five: (1) I have to assume that the good I pursue can be achieved. My emotions and desires have to be coordinated with the way the world is such that my basic concerns fit at least roughly what the world allows. (2) I have to assume that the good I aim at is possible as a result of my effort. (3) I have to assume that I can will my good not merely at the moment but consistently. (4) The goods I pursue are at least by and large consistent with one another. (5) I have to make assumptions about other people, that what they evaluate as good to pursue is at least roughly consistent with what I evaluate as good to pursue.

When Hare adds these five assumptions together, and supposes the world is such that they are all justified, then he will have postulated, when one evaluates something as good to pursue, this evaluation and pursuit is consistent with one’s happiness. But there are challenges to such a moral postulate. In the face of the ever-present possibility of a pessimistic outlook, we need a kind of realist faith, that the world and we ourselves in it are in fact governed in such a way that these five assumptions are legitimate, and our pursuing some good is consistent with our happiness.

We can then interpret the hints of fit we get as signs of the truth of a larger picture in which the good is, so to speak, more fundamental than the evil. There’s no inconsistency between such a faith, realist though it be, and expressivism as Hare’s defended it. What expressivism adds is that in an evaluative judgment I have to put that faith into practice in my decision about when to endorse and when to withhold endorsement.

Part 7

Part 9

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 7)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part VII, New-Wave Realism

David Baggett

The third realist concession is related to the fact that Moore argued that it was fallacious to identify value properties and non-value properties. The new-wave argument, for example that of David Brink, is that the failure of property identity does not follow from the failure of meaning identity. The “third realist concession” is that a value term and a descriptive term that do not mean the same can point to the same causal property.

Brink denies what he calls the semantic test of properties, which is the claim that synonymy is a test of property identity. His move relies on developments in the theory of meaning and reference. Putnam’s thought experiment about Twin Earth can help explain this. Suppose a world much like Earth except that the oceans and rivers are filled with a liquid that looks and tastes like water but is actually not water, but XYZ. The property being water is identical with the property being composed of H2O molecules, even though the terms “being water” and “being composed of H2O molecules” are not synonymous.

Brink is chiefly interested in defending the identity of goodness with a natural property, roughly human flourishing and what produces this. Hare prefers a supernatural property—recall Mackie’s point that objective prescriptions did make sense when people believed in a divine lawgiver. The question at issue is whether to accept the proposal, following the new-wave realists, that being good is the same property as being commanded by God, even though “good” and “commanded by God” do not mean the same. (Hare admits here that “right” would be the better term to use, but he’s following Moore here.)

Hare thinks a version of Moore’s open question argument still applies even after the changes in the philosophy of meaning and reference that he’s described. In a Moral Twin Earth case, those in Twin Earth might use “good” to commend, but what they commend is something different. Hare thinks that an essential function of the term is retained, even though the criteria of application are different. The controlling function of a term like “water” is to give the natural kind, not the phenomenal meaning. But surely we would say that the inhabitants of Twin Earth are using “good” in the same way as us, namely to commend, but with different beliefs and theories about what is good. An essential function of “good” is to commend. Within a value judgment, the function is to endorse a commendation.

The Moral Twin Earth case shows us that, unlike in Twin Earth, the underlying structure (e.g., being commanded by God) does not in the case of “good” give us a sufficient base for the use of the term, since we also need to know if what is being called good is being commended. When we call something good we are not merely pointing to the causal property but expressing some act or disposition within what Hare calls the orectic family.

The divine command theorist can point to the underlying structure of a thing’s being commanded by God, and can claim that many people use the term “good” without understanding the structure. There is a property that the use of term “good” points to, namely, the experienced causal property that Murdoch calls “magnetic”; but using the term “good” in a judgment is not merely pointing to this property, but endorsing the attraction. When we experience this force as a call and endorse our attraction to it, we are judging that the force is a call that deserves our obedience.

Hare considers a merit of DCT to be that it can account for the ways in which theists and non-theists both do and do not use the term “good” (and other value terms) in the same way. They are both using the term for an essential function, which is to commend. Moreover, they are both using the term in a value judgment to endorse an attraction toward something. But the believer identifies what it is that is attracting or pulling her as God’s call, and the non-believer does not.

Corresponding to the phenomenal definition of water will be the definition of “good” as “the most general term of commendation.” But unlike the case of “water,” this will be an essential function of the term. Our practical lives of drinking, washing, and swimming correspond to our practical lives of advising, approving, and admiring. In both cases there’s an underlying structure, but people can use the terms “water” and “good” without knowing this structure, and many people do. If the believer is right, the non-believer will in fact be picking out this causal property when she correctly calls something good, even though this is not at all her intention.

We are responding to something that is already there, a felt causal force. But to say that the structure would be good whether commended or not is, if we read it one way, a mistake in philosophical grammar. It does not make sense to say that something is good that is not evaluated as good. It’s tempting to say something is good if it’s fit to be commended, but this in itself is a term of evaluation.

 Part 6

Part 8

Mailbag: What about Horrendous Evil?

My question concerns, years ago when Christopher Hitchens told the true story of Elizabeth Fritzl, the woman who was imprisoned for almost 24 years I think it was, and was brutally raped by her own father. Hitchens argues that an all loving, all powerful God does not exist because something atrocious like that happened. He “invites us to imagine how she must have prayed for God to help” and no help came.

I am a follower of Christ but this does pierce my heart. How do you answer that? I know we could say “well we have free will, God allows free will” or “an atheist can’t say it was wrong because they have no standard to appeal to because there is no God.” Those answers seem alright but they still don’t sit well with me. I feel like I need something a little more.

Caleb

 

Hi Caleb. The story of Elizabeth is awful, to start with. No sugarcoating that. It's truly horrible, not the way the world ought to be.

On its face it seems an instance, perhaps an intractable one at that, of the problem of evil.

But let's think for a moment what it means to say it's not the way the world ought to be. That makes sense in a world that's broken, but it doesn't make much if any sense in a world that just is, a world that we shouldn't expect to be any different.

On a secular view of the world in which, ultimately, reality is made of complex collections of atoms operating according to inviolable causal laws, why expect anything to be any different from how it is? I can't think of any good reason. In that scenario, the likelihood is that everything that happens is causally determined to happen just as it does. So to say, "The world ought to be different" doesn't make a lick of sense. This isn't to say that atheists can't see horrible injustices or don't care about them or don't have the intuition that the world ought to be better. Of course they can and do, but the resources at their disposal as atheists are severely limited to make good sense of such things.

The very category of moral evil is hard to accommodate on their worldview. The world is as it is, and there should be no expectation it's anything different. 

On a Christian understanding of things, we know the world is broken. We know it's not yet the way it ought to be. We know real tragedies take place. We also know that God is in the process of putting the world right. 

I don't claim to know all the reasons why God sometimes intervenes but often doesn't to put a stop to evils sooner. There's quite a bit of mystery there. But nowhere in biblical teaching do I find a promise that God will spare us from even quite horrific things in this world. He promises to be with us, that we can trust him, but that doesn't mean we can expect him to answer every prayer as we'd like in the time frame we desire.

The point about Elizabeth is of course generalizable. Ever so many things in this world fall short of how it ought to be. But here's one line of consideration to bear in mind—though I do not even remotely pretend this is all that needs to be said. Suppose that God were to intervene every time something horrific was about to happen. Consider what seems intuitive enough: children shouldn't be mistreated.

Now imagine what the world would be like if God were to intervene every time a child was about to be mistreated. Bad and abusive parents would be stopped every time they were intent on inflicting harm on a child. Parents irresponsible in feeding their kids and meeting their needs would be stopped from doing that somehow. If a child were dropped from the top of tall building—well, either that wouldn't be allowed, or God himself would somehow break the children's falls. Etc.

My point is that the world would be a very different place. Interventions by God would quickly prove to be ubiquitous. And remember we've identified just a few examples of grievous wrongdoings in this world.

As a Christian I take heart that God is good and can be trusted ultimately to defeat the worst of evils that this broken world doles out.

As I say, there's ever so much more ground to cover. The problem of evil is a big discussion, needless to say. If you haven't read Eleonore Stump's and Marilyn Adams' books on the subject, I'd encourage it. Clay Jones has also done good work on all this stuff, as have others, but those are a few tips for further reading anyway.

Best,

Dave

 

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 6)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part VI, Disposition Theory

David Baggett

The second realist concession is that values do not have to be seen as real independently of general human dispositions to respond to them in a certain way in appropriate circumstances. McDowell’s view of color is that an object’s being red should be understood as its having the disposition to look red to us in appropriate circumstances. Here we have a new account of objectivity. We could correctly call color, on this view, subjective and objective.

We can make an analogy with values. We can understand an object’s having value as its having the disposition to produce responses of a certain kind in us in appropriate circumstances. Values can be called subjective and objective with equal correctness, in the same way as colors.

McDowell also wants to deny the strict distinction between cognitive capacities and non-cognitive ones like desire, and hence to deny that “pure facts” and values can always in principle be disentangled. (Altham coins the term “besire.”) The central cases are content-full (“thick”) value terms like “gentleman.” McDowell proposes that we can only know how to apply a value concept through a criterion if we are inside the evaluative framework or the form of life that places value on it. Then our confident use of the value concept is natural to us; it becomes “second nature” by enculteration and habit. McDowell wants to deny that seeing the value in this kind of case has to be distinguished as a desire rather than a belief, something non-cognitive rather than something cognitive, a state of the will rather than of the intellect. He thinks we should see values as being there in the world, making demands on our reason, but not there in the world independently of our dispositions to be moved by them.

But this raises a relativistic challenge. Remember Mackie’s concern about variability in ethical belief, which he attributes to people being involved in different ways of life. McDowell tries to answer this by appeal to Aristotle, but if our second nature is allowed to be culturally variable, then values tied to second nature will be culturally relative and may be corrupt. The problem in Aristotle is systematic. He thinks he has a culturally mediated human universal. But his view of the chief good for human beings includes as components both power over others and prestige, both of them competitive goods. It is this, not just his application of the view to women and slaves, that is objectionable to a supporter of altruism or even impartial justice.

Aristotle isn’t wrong to say we aim at such competitive goods, but he’s wrong to derive from our naturally aiming at them the conclusion that they are good. He doesn’t make Murdoch’s (and Kant’s) concession about the corruption of human nature both at the individual level and at the level of the group. From the perspective of altruism or impartial justice our nature, including our second nature, is radically liable to endorse what is not good. So second nature does not provide the kind of guide to moral truth that McDowell needs.

On Hare’s view an evaluative judgment involves some state like a motivation, or a desire, or a concern, because the function of the judgment is to endorse or withhold endorsement of some such state. The notion of endorsement he presses acknowledges a magnetic center, in Murdoch’s term, and on the agent’s side, a sense that there is an “I” who has developed a consistent position to take in normative discussion.

Part 5

Part 7

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 5)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part V, Error Theory

David Baggett

The second expressivist concession is made by the error theory of J. L. Mackie. Hare says that although the prescriptivist is right to stress the prescriptivity of value language, he is wrong about what ordinary people mean when they use the value terms. Mackie’s view is that ordinary value judgment does not merely claim to be “objective” in a Kantian sense; it also claims to pick out features that are parts of the fabric of the world, and are there independently of us. This is the second concession. But he goes on to argue that nothing can be both prescriptive and objective in this sense at the same time. This is why his theory is an error theory.

The reason why we fall into this error is that we project or objectify. As Hume says, the mind spreads itself on external objects. Mackie says that we have the experience of desiring things, and calling “good” what satisfies the desires. But we reach the notion of something being objectively good, or having intrinsic value, by reversing the direction of dependence here, by making the desire depend on the goodness, instead of the goodness on the desire.

Mackie thinks the idea of objective prescriptivity did make sense when people believed in a divine lawgiver, who both existed independently of us and gave us authoritative commands. But this belief has now faded out, and the idea of objective prescriptivity deserves to fade with it. Whereas Mackie rejects objective prescriptivity, Hare makes it the center of his view.

Mackie gives two main arguments why nothing can be both prescriptive and objective in his sense at the same time. The first is the argument from relativity, that people’s moral beliefs are just too different from each other for us to think they have a single source in some objective good. The second argument is that objective prescriptivity makes values into a very odd kind of entity. Mackie finds such things metaphysically peculiar. Plato’s Form of the Good both tells the person who knows it what to do and makes him do it. What is mysterious is not so much that the good authoritatively tells a person what to do, or that it causally makes a person do something, but it is the conjunction of these two powers in a single item that mystifies him. How can the telling and the making (overriding motive) go together in this way?

Hare proposes that we lose the sense of strangeness Mackie felt if we separate the two features of “objective prescriptivity” he combined together. Hare thinks both features (the telling and the making) operate in a value judgment, but at different moments. And this will enable him to mark out a middle ground between expressivism and realism. On this middle ground we can say, first, that there is a “magnetic” or “repulsive force” attaching to things that is itself part of the fabric of the world (this is Mackie’s making). We are given motivation by certain features of what we experience. By “motivation” Hare means desire and concern and emotional attraction and repulsion in general. The search for a single simple property here to explain all such experience is probably a mistake, and has led to a bogus sense of mystery about what this property could possibly be. There may be many qualitatively different complexes of “magnetic” or “repulsive” properties in the thing and different qualities of response in us.

Value judgment expresses, on Hare’s view, not just an affective response, but separately the element that he calls endorsement (Mackie’s telling). To judge something good is not just to report the magnetic force, but to judge that the thing deserves to have that effect on us. We are deliberately submitting to what we are claiming as authoritative. Endorsement is an autonomous submission.

A good analogy here is Kant’s remark that we should recognize our duties as God’s commands. Submission to God’s commands can be autonomous if God’s authority is seen to make possible a kingdom of ends in which all members are respected as ends in themselves. We can acknowledge autonomously the force of some value recognized as external to us.

Murdoch’s postulation of a magnetic center is germane here. To endorse a response to some felt attraction is to acknowledge a consistency between this magnetic force and the force of the Good as a whole. Endorsement is expressed most clearly in the judgment that the emotion or desire fits the situation that occasioned it (which distinguishes endorsement from the way those in the Milgram experiments were in the grip of a norm without full-fledged endorsement). An agent can endorse or withhold endorsement at different stages of reflective distance form her initial affective response.

Prescriptive realism is like the other forms of expressivism in that it insists on the prescriptive character of moral judgment. Standardly I am, in making such a judgment about an action, telling myself to do something, and expressing my will. But the view is also realist, in that it holds there is a pull from outside me that I acknowledge in such a judgment. Most of the realists Hare refers to in this chapter deny themselves this middle ground, embracing a more rigid dichotomy between cognitivism and noncognitivism. As Hare sees it, such a dichotomy is arbitrary.

 Part 4

Part 6

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 4)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part IV, Humble Platonism

David Baggett

In this section, Hare discusses the first concession on the realist side: that of Iris Murdoch, a Platonist about ethics who moves some distance from Moore. The concession is that human beings are by nature selfish. Hare calls this “the first realist concession.” It’s a concession to subjectivity in that she recognizes that accurate moral perception needs obedience, a selfless attention, a pure heart, but a root inclination of ours is to favor ourselves unjustly. She is a Platonist about value, but with an Augustinian rather than a Platonist view of the heart.

Murdoch refers to the “fat relentless ego,” which corrupts our nature at its root. It means that our access to the good is always precarious and incomplete, and we are always fatally prone to self-deception. It also motivates her central objection to prescriptivism, which is that if the will is corrupt in this way, then it can’t be the creative source of the good.

She reads Kant in a way with which Hare disagrees. But as she sees it, Kant has abolished God and made man God in His stead. Murdoch sets up a contrast between pride and humility. The existentialists and Anglo-Saxon heirs of Kant (such as Sartre and R. M. Hare in England) make the human will the creator of value, which was previously seen as inscribed in the heavens. Murdoch thinks this is merely a surrender to self-importance.

What we need to recover, she says, is the sense of value as a magnetic source outside our wills, to which our wills respond if we are disciplined in virtue and especially in the virtue of humility. There’s a freedom that comes from humility involving selfless respect for reality. An example for Murdoch, as for Moore, is the contemplation of something beautiful, which can have the effect of “unselfing” the contemplator, so that she attends entirely to the object.

The Good, Murdoch says, unifies our fragmentary experiences of value into a whole that transcends us. It is a “magnetic center,” to which we feel the attraction but which we never reach.

An aspect of Murdoch’s view that’s hard to square with her talk of a “magnetic center” is that she holds that human life has no external point or telos. She thinks Christianity panders to us by claiming to give us a guarantee that the good will in the end prevail. But the effect of her denial is to make the Good completely inert, contrary to Plato, for whom the human world is neither aimless nor self-contained. The Forms for him, and especially the Form of the Good, have a causal role as well as an epistemological one.

Aristotle is not wrong to say that we do naturally pursue such things as power and prestige, but he is wrong to argue that because we naturally pursue them they are good. If we try to argue to the character of the good from the character of our emotions and desires, we are likely to fall into this danger that Murdoch identifies as mistaking the fire for the sun, or mistaking self-scrutiny for the discovery of goodness.

Murdoch says that humans are by nature selfish, and she therefore holds that our evaluative knowledge is precarious and incomplete. For Murdoch, the process of apprehension is one of lifelong obedience, mortification, and self-discipline. The reason this is needed is our tendency to self-indulgence, and the attendant corruption of even our reflective processes by self-gratifying fantasies.

But neither Kant nor the prescriptivists are creative anti-realists in the way Muroch proposes, Hare claims. Prescriptivism, he thinks, is more correctly seen as an additional reason for the humility Murdoch extols. Our evaluations involve the experience of the magnetic force Murdoch describes, and then an endorsement of this response. Recall how Moore distinguished between something cognitive, something noncognitive (like an emotion), and separately from both of these, the judging that a thing is good.

Hare thinks this is essentially right, though he supplements it with Robert Roberts’ account of emotion understood as a concern-based construal, a “seeing-as.” To see something as bad requires caring about what’s at stake. So there’s the seeing-as, the caring, plus the judgment that endorses them. Without the endorsement, emotion is not what Hare calls a full-blooded value judgment.

Returning to Murdoch’s humility, separating the construal, the desire, and the endorsement enables us to see how expressivism can give us an additional reason for humility. Because of our selfishness, the construals and desires present in emotion are biased towards the self. But value judgment according to the expressivist also requires endorsement, and our selfishness will also incline us to endorse what is not impartially good. The central expressivist point is that to make a value judgment is not merely to respond to something out there in the world, but to endorse or deliberately to withhold endorsement from such a response. What we are inclined to endorse will depend on our fundamental reflective loyalties.

Worth noting is that in his review of Hare’s book, Thomas Williams thinks that, though moral realism is a position in moral ontology, Hare’s account of moral expressivism is (potentially) a position in moral semantics, psychology, or epistemology, so they’re not really in the same domain of question. Williams thinks the “concessions” Hare discusses involve further confusion between questions of different types. So the whole framework of the discussion, Williams argues, is vitiated from the outset by Hare’s failure to keep distinct kinds of question separate. And, inevitably, the story of the particular “concessions” that each side is said to have made to the other involves further confusion between questions of different types.

One such confusion, Williams thinks, can be seen in Hare’s discussion of this “first realist concession”: Iris Murdoch's concession that human beings are by nature selfish. Contra Hare, Williams asserts that it is no more a concession to subjectivity about morals to say that our moral perception might be obscured by perverse desire than it is a concession to subjectivity about astronomy to say that our perception of the moon might be obscured by clouds. The ontological question is one thing; the epistemological question is quite another.

I suppose I read Hare’s concessive point as an effort to texture the discussion by pointing to elements of both ontology and epistemology, all of which are needed for a more robust analysis. Likewise in Hare’s problematizing of Murdoch’s reading of prescriptivism and Kant.

Part 3

Part 5

Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 3)

John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part III, Prescriptivism

David Baggett

John Hare introduces prescriptivism as the first concession on the expressivist side of things. The representative discussed is John’s father R. M. Hare (RMH), a longtime professor at Oxford. RMH’s prescriptivism preserves the emotivist distinction between moral judgment and statement or assertion, but he insists that this distinction is consistent with the objectivity of moral judgment. It was important for RMH to find a way of talking about morality that allowed both disputes about questions of moral value and then rational agreement about them.

His idea was to hang on to the kind of objectivity that Immanuel Kant described. The idea is that the person making the moral judgment can abstract from any partiality towards herself, by eliminating all references to individuals, including herself, from the judgment. If moral judgments, like scientific laws, are always about a type of situation, then she is not allowed in making such a judgment to make essential reference to herself.

This is what Hare calls “the first expressivist concession,” that morality is objective in this Kantian way. RMH also emphasizes that moral judgment is prescriptive, expressing the will. He observes that not all utterances that have the surface grammar of assertions are in fact to be analyzed as such. He calls “descriptivism” the mistake of being misled by the surface grammar into thinking of evaluative judgment as a species of assertion.

Prescriptivism is helpfully seen as a response to Moore’s claim that goodness is indefinable. He thinks Moore did not see clearly what he needed to see about the word “goodness.” Namely, we use the word “good” to commend. To commend something is always to commend it for having certain characteristics, which give us what RMH calls the “criteria” of the judgment. RMH introduced into 20th century discussion the term “supervenience” to describe the relation between commending something and the facts on which the commending relies.

Value properties supervene on non-value properties and that means that things have their value properties because they have the non-value properties they do. For example, a strawberry is good because it is sweet. But the value property is not the same as the non-value property, and ascribing the second does not entail ascribing the first.

Now, prescriptions can conflict. If two people disagree about the criteria for goodness in strawberries, they can agree that a strawberry is sweet and disagree about whether it is good. Two people can make opposite prescriptions about the same subvening base.

Moreover, prescriptivism allows for the disputes to be rational. The prescriptivist account of moral judgment requires a kind of rational screening of what we are thinking of doing. We can think of this screening as required for endorsement from a particular vantage point, what Hare calls the position of the archangel, who has complete information and complete impartiality. It’s not that we in fact occupy this position, but this is the vantage point we are trying to approximate in making moral judgments. This is how we can be rational in our moral decisions. The archangel is a model of objectivity in the sense that the prescriptivist wants to preserve it.

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Summary of John Hare’s God's Call (Part 2)


John Hare’s God’s Call: Moral Realism, God’s Commands, & Human Autonomy (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001): Part II, 1.1 (Platonism & Emotivism)

David Baggett

The first chapter of John Hare’s God’s Call is entitled “Moral Realism,” and here Hare wishes to present an account of the twentieth-century history of the debate within the Anglo-American philosophy between moral realists and moral expressivists. Moral realists emphasize the reality of value properties such as moral goodness, a reality which is in some sense independent of our attempts at evaluation. (Hare’s focus in the chapter will be on values more broadly and not moral values in particular.) Moral expressivists emphasize the role of moral (or value) judgment in expressing the will or emotion or desire. He will end up with a kind of merger of the two approaches.

Hare construes the debate as a whole in terms of a structure in which both sides have made progressive concessions until there’s a synthesis of sorts. That point of merger is Hare’s own position of “prescriptive realism,” a view that preserves, he claims, the surviving merits on both sides. He argues that we will also have a position that will help us understand God’s role in human morality.

The least concessive realist option is Platonism, so Hare begins with G. E. Moore’s 1903 Principia Ethica. Intrinsic goodness is, Moore thinks, a real property of things, even though it does not exist in time and is not the object of sense perceptions. Moore aligns himself with Plato. Goodness is objective, in the sense that it is there independently of us (though not in space and time).

Moore thinks his predecessors have all committed the “naturalistic fallacy” of trying to define this value property by identifying it with a non-evaluative property. But whatever non-evaluative property we try to say goodness is identical to, we will find that it remains an open question whether that property is in fact good—whether the property in question is natural or supernatural. If the questions are different (one open, one closed), then the two properties can’t be the same. Intrinsic goodness, Moore says, is a simple non-natural property and indefinable. To say that it is non-natural is to distinguish it both from natural properties (like producing pleasure) and supernatural ones (like being commanded by God).

How can humans have access to non-natural properties? Moore thinks we can know what is good by a special form of cognition, which he calls “intuition.” Access is not based on an inference or argument, but it is self-evident (though we can still get it wrong, just as with sense perception). Moore thinks that the way to determine what things have positive value intrinsically is to consider what things are such that, if they existed by themselves, in absolute isolation, we should yet judge their existence to be good. He thought the most valuable things are certain states of consciousness like the pleasures of human intercourse and the enjoyment of beautiful objects.

Moore thinks that usually our wills join together organically the cognition or intuition of goodness and something non-cognitive like a desire. Besides the cognition and emotion, there’s also the judgment of taste—that something deserves to cause the emotion.

The least concessive expressivist position is that of A. J. Ayer’s 1936 Language, Truth, and Logic. Ayer starts from a logical positivist criterion for meaningful statements, which entails that ethical statements are not meaningful, a view Hare obviously rejects. To get at what he thinks we are doing in making ethical judgments, Ayer focuses on the non-cognitive ingredient in evaluation that Moore identified. Ethical judgments merely serve to show that the expression of it is attended by certain feelings in the speaker. The function of the ethical words is merely “emotive,” meaning that they are used to express feeling about certain objects, not to make any assertion about them.

Ayer says this account is a kind of subjectivism. It is not the kind of subjectivist view that sees moral judgments are reports of our feelings, but as expressions of our feelings. Ayer departs from Moore in having to admit that we don’t really disagree about questions of value. On Ayer’s view of moral judgment, “Eating people is bad” and “Eating people is good” do not express propositions at all, and therefore can’t express inconsistent propositions. The most Ayer can say is that when we think we are disputing questions of value, we are actually disputing about the non-evaluative facts of the case that lie behind our attitudes.

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