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.

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 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

Sweeping Contingency Under the Rug (Part 2)

Editor’s note: This article was originally published at Convincing Proof

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Atheists Should Reject the Notion that Cognitive Faculties Instantiate Moral Properties

Wielenberg used this third-factor model to respond to Street’s articulation of the lucky coincidence objection, as well other EDA’s made by Harman, Ruse, Joyce, and Kahane.24 Because he believes that moral properties and facts are causally inert, that they “cannot causally affect our senses or our minds,”25 he proposed that a third factor, our cognitive faculties, are responsible for both moral properties as well as our moral beliefs. If moral properties and moral beliefs come from the same source, then this explains the correspondence between these two seemingly unrelated types of things. Thus his third-factor model has two parts to it: 1. Cognitive faculties make moral properties be instantiated; and 2. Cognitive faculties generate moral beliefs.

The first part of Wielenberg’s third-factor model, his claim that cognitive faculties make moral properties be instantiated, is built on the concept of D-supervenience, a term he coined as a way to refer to Michael DePaul’s version of supervenience.26 Wielenberg argued that moral properties D-supervene on non-normative properties, and particularly on our cognitive faculties. He explained that “[g]iven DePaul’s understanding of dependency, if M depends on some base properties B, then M is not identical with, reducible to, or entirely constituted by B, but the instantiation of B explains the instantiation of M; it is B’s instantiation that makes M be instantiated… This making relation (as I shall henceforth refer to it) is distinct from supervenience.”27

His proposed D-supervenience, or making relationship, is distinct because supervenience, as it is normally understood, is merely a relationship of correlation whereas making is actually explanatory. He construes the making relationship involved in D-supervenience as a sort of robust causation, thus describing making as type of causation.28 In his model he maintains that “the making relation is the cement of the foundation of normative reality.”29 Wielenberg summarized well this making relationship in his model when responding to the following question: What is the source of human moral rights and obligations?

I propose the following answer: any being that can reason, suffer, experience happiness, tell the difference between right and wrong, choose between right and wrong, and set goals for itself has certain rights, including the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and certain obligations, including the duty to refrain from rape (in typical circumstances). Having such cognitive capacities makes one have such rights and duties. Evolutionary processes have produced human beings that can reason, suffer, experience happiness, tell the difference between right and wrong, choose between right and wrong, and set goals for themselves. In this way, evolutionary processes have endowed us with certain unalienable rights and duties. Evolution has given us these moral properties by giving us the non-moral properties that make such moral properties be instantiated. And if, as I believe, there is no God, then it is in some sense an accident that we have the moral properties that we do. But that they are accidental in origin does not make these moral properties unreal or unimportant.30

It should be noted that some have questioned this first part of Wielenberg’s model. For instance, Baggett and Walls, while not opposed to a third-factor approach in principle, argue that the possession of cognitive faculties does not “satisfactorily explain the existence of binding moral obligations and inextirpable human rights.”31 While considering a similar notion, that we should ascribe value to human beings because they have the capacity for rational reflection, C. Stephen Evans makes the point that “many people believe that young infants and people suffering from dementia still have… intrinsic dignity, but in both cases there is no capacity for rational reflection.”32 In other words, Wielenberg’s model seems to imply that if a particular human being does not have sufficient cognitive faculties—if they are unable to “reason, suffer, experience happiness…” etc.—then they do not have moral rights. Surely Wielenberg believes that infants and people suffering from dementia have moral rights, but the fact that his model does not seem to allow for such rights might be an indication that his model is deficient.  

Interestingly, to make his case for D-supervenience, Wielenberg uses as an example a belief that theist’s have, namely, that God has the power to make moral properties be instantiated. He pointed out that DePaul, to explain his notion of supervenience as making, used an example from William Paley where Paley claimed God’s commands make certain activities morally obligatory.33 In fact, Wielenberg often borrowed concepts from theism; for example, he also wrote that “[a] paradigmatic example of the sort of robust causation I have in mind is the causal relation that many theists take to hold between a state of affairs being divinely willed and the obtaining of that state of affairs.”34 In addition, he also made the following suggestion:

[I]t may be helpful to consider the doctrine of divine conservation… On at least some versions of this doctrine, there is a robust causal relation between divine willing and every contingent thing at each moment of its existence. One way of construing my proposal… is as a doctrine of non-moral conservation: whatever moral properties are instantiated are conserved or sustained by various underlying non-moral properties via a robust causal relation that holds between the relevant non-moral and moral properties.35

After using this theistic concept as an example, he even felt it necessary to warns his readers that this “should of course not be understood as ascribing agency to non-moral properties.”36

Wielenberg’s numerous appeals to theistic concepts may be part of his strategy to preempt criticism from theists. In other words, it may be more difficult for theists to criticize these concepts within his model because these concepts are found in their models too. That this is part of his strategy is evidenced by his admission that “I highlighted some important common ground between my version of robust normative realism and traditional theism. I will argue… that the existence of this common ground short-circuits some common theistic objections to my brand of robust normative realism.”37 However, such a strategy further distances his position from ROM atheists. If someone rejects theism, it would seem that, to be consistent, she should also reject Wielenberg’s model because it includes many concepts that are borrowed from theism.  

By using numerous theistic concepts to build his model, Wielenberg actually illustrated that objective morality is more plausible given theism as opposed to atheism. He touched on this point after he explained that his model “has an ontological commitment shared by many theists” in that it includes the existence of metaphysically necessary brute ethical facts.38 In a footnote he responded to theist C. Stephen Evans’ observation that many atheists find such facts odd:

Evans questions the existence of basic ethical facts as characterized here as follows: ‘The fact that so many naturalists, including philosophers such as Mackie and Nietzsche, find the idea of non-natural moral facts odd or queer, shows that they are indeed the kind of thing one would like to have an explanation for.’ In light of the fact that the very same naturalists have similar doubts about the existence of God, it’s hard to see how traditional theists can consistently press this sort of objection against a view like mine.39

By pointing out that many atheists doubt the existence of brute ethical facts, Evans is not condoning the reason (in this particular case, that the item in question seems to have no explanation) atheists give for this doubt per se. If Evans was condoning their reason, then Wielenberg would be correct—theists would be condoning a reason atheists often give for doubting the existence of God as well. Instead, Evans is making the point that doubting the existence of God is similar to, as well as related to, doubting the existence of brute ethical facts. If an atheist doubts God because there is no explanation for His existence then, if consistent, she should also doubt the existence of Wielenberg’s brute ethical facts because he claims they have no explanation. Theists might not be able to press this particular reason against Wielenberg’s view, but ROM atheists can—and that is what Evans is pointing out. In other words, many of Wielenberg’s concepts (the power of robust causal making and brute ethical facts) seem out of place in the belief system of atheism, as many atheists have recognized. Given atheism, robust causal making and brute ethical facts seem quite fantastical, causing many atheists to doubt such things are real.     

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[24] Ibid., 146–65.

[25] Ibid., 86.

[26] Ibid., 10-13. Michael R. DePaul, “Supervenience and Moral Dependence,” Philosophical Studies 51 (1987): 425–39..

[27] Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, 10–11.

[28] Ibid., 18-19.

[29] Ibid., 38.

[30] Ibid., 56.

[31] Baggett and Walls, God and Cosmos, 209.

[32] C. Stephen Evans, “Moral Arguments for the Existence of God,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (ed. Edward N. Zalta, June 12, 2014), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/moral-arguments-god/>.

[33] Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, 11.

[34] Ibid., 18.

[35] Ibid., 20.

[36] Ibid.

[37] Ibid., 36.

[38] Ibid., 38.

[39] Ibid.


Adam Lloyd Johnson serves as a university campus missionary with Ratio Christi. He also teaches classes for Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and spends one month each year living and teaching at Rhineland Theological Seminary in Wölmersen, Germany. Adam received his PhD in Theological Studies with an emphasis in Philosophy of Religion from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in 2020.

Adam grew up in Nebraska and became a Christian as a teenager in 1994. He graduated from the University of Nebraska and then worked in the field of actuarial science for ten years in Lincoln, Nebraska. While in his twenties, he went through a crisis of faith: are there good reasons and evidence to believe God exists and that the Bible is really from Him? His search for answers led him to apologetics and propelled him into ministry with a passion to serve others by equipping Christians and encouraging non-Christians to trust in Christ. Adam served as a Southern Baptist pastor for eight years (2009-2017) but stepped down from the pastorate to serve others full-time in the area of apologetics. He’s been married to his wife Kristin since 1996, and they have four children – Caroline, Will, Xander, and Ray.

Adam has presented his work at the National Apologetics Conference, the Society of Christian Philosophers, the Evangelical Philosophical Society, the International Society of Christian Apologetics, the Canadian Centre for Scholarship and the Christian Faith, the American Academy of Religion, and the Evangelical Theological Society. His work has been published in the Journal of the International Society of Christian ApologeticsPhilosophia Christi, the Westminster Theological Journal, and the Canadian Journal for Scholarship and the Christian Faith. Adam has spoken at numerous churches and conferences in America and around the world – Los Angeles, Chicago, Charlotte, Boston, Orlando, Canada, Germany, the United Kingdom, and Switzerland. He is also the editor and co-author of the book A Debate on God and Morality: What is the Best Account of Objective Moral Values and Duties? published by Routledge and co-authored with William Lane Craig, J. P. Moreland, Erik Wielenberg, and others.


Sweeping Contingency Under the Rug (Part 1)

Editor’s note: This article was originally published at Convincing Proof

Table of Contents

How Erik Wielenberg’s Third Factor Model Fails to Rebut the Lucky Coincidence Objection

Erik Wielenberg describes his view as “godless robust normative realism,” a combination of holding that “robust normative realism is true and there is no God.”1 Enoch describes robust normative realism as the view that “there are response-independent, non-natural, irreducibly normative truths… objective ones, that when successful in our normative inquiries we discover rather than create or construct.”2 Adding ‘godless’ to this, Wielenberg’s position then is that objective moral values and obligations exist, even though God does not.

In his non-theistic model Wielenberg claims that moral facts and properties are objectively real and that we as human beings can have accurate moral knowledge of these facts and properties. These types of models have been critiqued by both theists and atheists alike. One common objection against such models is as follows: If there are such things as objective moral facts and properties, and assuming they are causally inert, it would be quite a lucky coincidence if our moral beliefs happened to correspond to them. Call this the “lucky coincidence” objection. Proponents of Evolutionary Debunking Arguments (EDA’s) point out that this objection is amplified for a person if she believes that our moral beliefs have developed contingently through a haphazard evolutionary process.

The lucky coincidence objection would never have been raised if moral facts and properties somehow caused our moral beliefs. However, most proponents of robust normative realism believe that this is not the case. For instance, Wielenberg explained that “[a]n important feature of my view is that while many of the non-moral properties upon which moral properties D-supervene can produce causal effects, the moral properties themselves are epiphenomenal—they have no causal impact on the rest of reality. That aspect of moral properties makes the question of how we could have knowledge of them particularly press.”3 He summarized the lucky coincidence objection well when he noted that “if moral facts do not explain the moral beliefs of human beings, then those beliefs being correct would involve a lucky coincidence that is incompatible with genuine knowledge.”4

Wielenberg attempted to address the lucky coincidence objection by proposing that a third factor, namely, our cognitive faculties, explains why there is a correspondence between objective moral properties and our moral beliefs. He argued that human cognitive faculties do two things: they make objective moral properties be instantiated and they also generate our moral beliefs. Because moral properties and moral beliefs both stem from the same thing, our cognitive faculties, this secures a correlation between them, while also allowing for the fact that moral properties themselves are causally inert. He explained that cognitive faculties “both entail certain moral facts and causally contribute to the presence of moral beliefs that correspond to those moral facts. On that model, it is not at all unlikely that moral beliefs and moral facts will correspond.”5 He used his third-factor model to deflect criticism from several prominent EDA proponents including Gilbert Harman, Michael Ruse, Sharon Street, and Richard Joyce.6   

In this paper I argue that Wielenberg’s third-factor model fails to rebut the lucky coincidence objection for two reasons. First, those who reject theism, if they are consistent, should also reject Wielenberg’s notion that cognitive faculties make moral properties be instantiated. Second, Wielenberg does not eliminate the lucky coincidence objection with his third-factor model, but only moves it somewhere else as he attempts to sweep contingency under the rug. Even if cognitive faculties do make moral properties be instantiated, the correspondence between moral properties and moral beliefs breaks down because, while his proposed relationship between cognitive faculties and moral properties is necessary, his proposed relationship between cognitive faculties and moral beliefs is contingent. And where there is contingency, there is luck.   

Atheists Like Wielenberg Who Argue for Objective Morality Have to Battle on Two Fronts

Theists often argue that the existence of objective morality is best explained by the existence of God. Robert Adams, one of the most well-known contemporary proponents of this moral argument for God, has made the following argument:

  1. Morality is objective, “certain things are morally right and others are morally wrong.”7

  2. Objective morality is best explained by theism, “the most adequate answer is provided by a theory that entails the existence of God.”8

  3. Therefore, there is good reason to think theism is true, “my metaethical views provide me with a reason of some weight for believing in the existence of God.”9

Similarly, William Lane Craig has been an influential voice in this conversation. He has regularly argued for the following two contentions:10

  1. If theism is true, we have a sound foundation for morality.

  2. If theism is false, we do not have a sound foundation for morality.

Nearly all theists agree that theism provides a more sound foundation for objective morality than atheism, though they may disagree on exactly how God provides such a foundation. Though theists may disagree on the details, an immaterial and personal God, as the ultimate source of all things, provides a much more fitting explanation for objective morality, which itself is both immaterial and personal. For instance, Baggett and Walls argue that “[t]he authority of moral obligations needs an account… Theism—entailing a loving, perfect God who commands, who knows us better than we know ourselves, who knows truly what is in our ultimate best interest, and who desires the best for us—can, we submit, most effectively provide it.”11

Interestingly enough, many atheists agree with Craig’s two contentions. Let us call such individuals ROM atheists, that is, atheists who Reject Objective Morality (ROM). Of Craig’s two contentions, the second one is heard more often from ROM atheists. Bertrand Russell wrote that “Man is the product of causes which had no prevision of the end they were achieving; that his origin, his growth, his hopes and fears, his loves and his beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms…”12 Jacques Monod lamented that ““…[m]an at last knows that he is alone in the unfeeling immensity of the universe, out of which he emerged only by chance. His destiny is nowhere spelled out, nor is his duty.”13 Richard Dawkins wrote that:

In a universe of blind physical forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, and other people are going to get lucky; and you won’t find any rhyme or reason to it, nor any justice. The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is at the bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good; nothing but blind pitiless indifference… DNA neither knows nor cares. DNA just is, and we dance to its music.14

Michael Ruse, explained that “…Darwinian theory shows that in fact morality is a function of (subjective) feelings, but it shows also that we have (and must have) the illusion of objectivity… In a sense, therefore, morality is a collective illusion foisted upon us by our genes.”15

However, some ROM even express agreement with Craig’s first contention, that theism provides a better explanation for objective morality than atheism. J. L. Mackie wrote:

[W]e might well argue… that objective intrinsically prescriptive features, supervening upon natural ones, constitute so odd a cluster of qualities and relations that they are most unlikely to have arisen in the ordinary course of events, without an all-powerful God to create them. If, then, there are such intrinsically prescriptive objective values, they make the existence of a god more probable than it would have been without them.16

More recently, Paul Draper proposed that “…the probability that moral agents exist given naturalism is extremely low, much lower than it is given theism… [there] is the possibility that some ‘historical outcomes’ like the existence of embodied moral agents are much more probable on theism than on naturalism and hence significantly raise the ratio of the probability of theism to the probability of naturalism.”17

Thus, in making his case for godless robust normative realism, Wielenberg finds himself in a difficult minority position, having to argue against critiques from two sides—theists and ROM atheists. He began his book explaining that he is, in large part, responding to atheists such as Gilbert Harman, whom Wielenberg said “suggested that we ought to take seriously the possible truth of nihilism,” and J. L. Mackie, of whom Wielenberg wrote “[i]nterestingly, Mackie himself, although an atheist, suggested that theism might be able to answer his worries about the queerness of the alleged supervenience relation between moral and natural properties.”18 Wielenberg differs from ROM atheists in that he believes in the existence of non-natural moral facts and properties. He believes these properties “are sui generis, a fundamental type of property not reducible to or fully constituted by some other type of property. Contra the Thaleans, all is not water, or physical, or natural.”19 Most likely referring to ROM atheists, he admits that “some have found this sort of view to be deeply puzzling if not wildly implausible.”20   

In particular, Wielenberg admits that “it is not only theistic philosophers who have found robust normative realism to be problematic. A number of contemporary non-theist philosophers charge that robust normative realism runs into trouble when it comes to accounting for human moral knowledge.”21 Sharon Street’s colorful articulation of the lucky coincidence objection below is quite memorable:

[A]llowing our evaluative judgments to be shaped by evolutionary influences is analogous to setting out for Bermuda and letting the course of your boat be determined by the wind and tides: just as the push of wind and tides on your boat has nothing to do with where you want to go, so the historical push of natural selection on the content of our evaluative judgments has nothing to do with evaluative truth… Of course it’s possible that as a matter of sheer chance, some large portion of our evaluative judgments ended up true, due to a happy coincidence between the realist’s independent evaluative truths and the evaluative directions in which natural selection tended to push us, but this would require a fluke of luck that’s not only extremely unlikely, in view of the huge universe of logically possible evaluative judgments and truths, but also astoundingly convenient to the realist.22

Street’s concern is that if there are such things as objective moral facts and properties, then it would be quite the lucky coincidence if our moral beliefs corresponded to them, given that our moral beliefs developed haphazardly through an evolutionary process which selected for survival and reproduction, not an ability to know truth correctly. While discussing the difficulty of explaining why we should think objective moral facts and our moral beliefs correspond, Wielenberg reminded his readers that robust normative realists like himself are “hamstrung in this task by the fact that there is no causal connection between moral facts and moral beliefs.”23 In response to this lucky coincidence objection, he proposed his third-factor model.

Table of Contents


Footnotes

[1] Erik J. Wielenberg, Robust Ethics: The Metaphysics and Epistemology of Godless Normative Realism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 57. Other proponents of robust normative realism include Michael Huemer, Ethical Intuitionism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), Derek Parfit, On What Matters (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), David Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously: A Defense of Robust Realism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), and Russ Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism: A Defence (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003).

[2] David Enoch, “An Outline of an Argument for Robust Metanormative Realism,” in Oxford Studies in Metaethics (ed. Russ Shafer-Landau; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 21.

[3] Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, 13–14.

[4] Ibid., 153.

[5] Ibid., 154.

[6] Ibid., 146–64.

[7] Robert M. Adams, “Moral Arguments for Theistic Belief,” in Rationality and Religious Belief (ed. C. F. Delaney; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979), 116.

[8] Ibid., 117.

[9] Ibid.

[10] William Lane Craig, “Opening Statement by William Lane Craig,” 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), 30.

[11] David Baggett and Jerry L. Walls, God and Cosmos: Moral Truth and Human Meaning (Oxford University Press, 2016), 290.

[12] Bertrand Russell, “The Free Man’s Worship,” The Independent Review 1 (1903): 416.

[13] Jacques Monod, Chance and Necessity: An Essay on the Natural Philosophy of Modern Biology (New York: Knopf, 1971), 180.

[14] Richard Dawkins, River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life, Repr. (New York: Basic Books, 1996), 133.

[15] Michael Ruse, Taking Darwin Seriously: A Naturalistic Approach to Philosophy (New York: Blackwell, 1986), 253.

[16] J. L. Mackie, The Miracle of Theism: Arguments For and Against the Existence of God (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 115–16.

[17] Paul Draper, “Cosmic Fine-Tuning and Terrestrial Suffering: Parallel Problems for Naturalism and Theism,” American Philosophical Quarterly 41.4 (2004): 311.

[18] Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, viii.

[19] Ibid., 14.

[20] Ibid., 16.

[21] Ibid., 85.

[22] Sharon Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” Philosophical Studies 127 (2006): 121–22.

[23] Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, 155.


Adam Lloyd Johnson serves as a university campus missionary with Ratio Christi. He also teaches classes for Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and spends one month each year living and teaching at Rhineland Theological Seminary in Wölmersen, Germany. Adam received his PhD in Theological Studies with an emphasis in Philosophy of Religion from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in 2020.

Adam grew up in Nebraska and became a Christian as a teenager in 1994. He graduated from the University of Nebraska and then worked in the field of actuarial science for ten years in Lincoln, Nebraska. While in his twenties, he went through a crisis of faith: are there good reasons and evidence to believe God exists and that the Bible is really from Him? His search for answers led him to apologetics and propelled him into ministry with a passion to serve others by equipping Christians and encouraging non-Christians to trust in Christ. Adam served as a Southern Baptist pastor for eight years (2009-2017) but stepped down from the pastorate to serve others full-time in the area of apologetics. He’s been married to his wife Kristin since 1996, and they have four children – Caroline, Will, Xander, and Ray.

Adam has presented his work at the National Apologetics Conference, the Society of Christian Philosophers, the Evangelical Philosophical Society, the International Society of Christian Apologetics, the Canadian Centre for Scholarship and the Christian Faith, the American Academy of Religion, and the Evangelical Theological Society. His work has been published in the Journal of the International Society of Christian ApologeticsPhilosophia Christi, the Westminster Theological Journal, and the Canadian Journal for Scholarship and the Christian Faith. Adam has spoken at numerous churches and conferences in America and around the world – Los Angeles, Chicago, Charlotte, Boston, Orlando, Canada, Germany, the United Kingdom, and Switzerland. He is also the editor and co-author of the book A Debate on God and Morality: What is the Best Account of Objective Moral Values and Duties? published by Routledge and co-authored with William Lane Craig, J. P. Moreland, Erik Wielenberg, and others.


Can a Divine command theory account for the objectivity of moral requirements? Brink and Appraiser Independence

Editor’s note: This article was originally posted at MandM. It has been posted here with permission of author.


David Brink has objected to a divine command theory of ethics by contending such theories cannot vindicate the objectivity of ethics. Brink begins by defending a particular conception of the objectivity of ethics and then argues that a divine command theory fails to meet that conception.  Brink writes:

Our commitment to the objectivity of ethics is a deep one. Ethics is objective just in case there are facts or truths about what is good or bad and right or wrong that obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of appraisers. A commitment to objectivity is part of a commitment to the normativity of ethics. Moral judgments express normative claims about what we should do and care about. As such, they presuppose standards of behavior and concern that purport to be correct, that could and should guide conduct and concern, and that we might fail to accept or live up to. Normativity, therefore, presupposes fallibility, and fallibility implies objectivity. Of course, this presupposition could be mistaken. There might be no objective moral standards. Our moral thinking and discourse might be systematically mistaken. But this would be a revisionary conclusion, to be accepted only as the result of extended and compelling argument that the commitments of ethical objectivity are unsustainable. In the meantime, we should treat the objectivity of ethics as a kind of default assumption or working hypothesis [1]

 He continues:

…Ethical subjectivism is one way to deny ethical objectivity. It claims that what is good or bad and right or wrong depends on the moral beliefs or attitudes of appraisers. But voluntarism is just subjectivism at the highest level. If God exists and is both omniscient and perfectly good, then his approval – if only we could ascertain it – would be a perfectly reliable – indeed, infallible – indicator of what was good or right. This is what naturalism claims. But voluntarism implies that God’s attitudes play a metaphysical, not just an epistemic, role in morality; his attitudes make things good or right. This is a form of subjectivism about ethics. But then the supposition that morality requires a religious foundation, as voluntarism insists, threatens, rather than vindicates, the objectivity of morality.[2]

The argument can be summarised as follows:

[1] Our commitment to morality presupposes that moral requirements are objective

[2] Moral requirements are objective just in case there are facts or truths about what is right or wrong that obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of appraisers.

[3] If divine command metaethics is true, facts about right and wrong depend on the attitude of an appraiser.

The conclusion is that a divine command theory fails to vindicate and instead contradicts a presupposition of our commitment to morality. 

This argument is invalid to see why consider the definition of objectivity Brink proposes in [2]; “Ethics is objective just in case there are facts or truths about what is good or bad and right or wrong that obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of appraisers[3]. Central to his definition is the idea that objectivity involves appraiser independence. The truth of a moral judgement does not depend on the attitude of the appraiser.

However, there are two ways one can understand the notion of appraiser independence here, which correspond (loosely) to different accounts of objectivity in meta-ethical literature. One way is that truths about what is right and wrong obtain independently of the beliefs and attitudes of actual human appraisers. i.e. appraisers like you and I who are imperfect reasoners with limited information, subject to biases and make errors and mistakes.  

Chris Meyers expounds an understanding of appraiser independence along these lines. Meyers states that moral truth is objective when it’s “truth is independent of any particular appraisers or appraisals, but not independent of appraising generally”[4]

The truth of a moral judgment is determined not by our actual judgments – which might be arbitrary, biased, or otherwise irrational – but on the judgments we would hypothetically make under ideal circumstances. An act is wrong, for example, if it would be prohibited by principles regulating interpersonal conduct that would be freely agreed to by rational agents in ideal conditions.

This understanding of appraiser independence distinguishes the attitudes and beliefs of actual human appraisers and the attitudes and beliefs that an appraiser would hold in ideal conditions: conditions of full information, flawlessly rationality, impartiality, etc. Moral judgements are subjective when facts about what is right and wrong depend on the attitude of actual human appraisers towards those judgements. 

This understanding of objectivity is associated with constructionist accounts of morality. However, it is also implicit in the writings of moral realists who account for moral facts in terms of the attitudes of ideal observers or facts about what communities or individuals would rationally desire or endorse under conditions of full information. [5]

The second understanding of appraiser independence is that moral judgements are objective just in case truths about right and wrong obtain independently of what any appraiser thinks. This would include actual human appraisers, but also idealized agents, hypothetical ideal observers or even God.

These two different understandings of “appraiser independence” help us see Brink’s argument’s subtle flaw. Suppose we adopt the first understanding of appraiser independence. Brink’s argument becomes: 

[1] Our commitment to morality presupposes that moral requirements are objective 

[2] moral requirements are objective if and only if facts or truths about what is right or wrong obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of any actual human appraisers. 

[3] If divine command metaethics is true, facts about right and wrong, depend on the attitude of an actual human appraiser. 

Taken this way [3] is obviously false. Divine command metaethics does not make facts about right and wrong depend upon an actual human appraiser. It entails that moral facts depend on God’s attitudes. Brink is aware of this fact. He argues that divine command metaethics is “subjectivism at the highest level” because “God’s attitudes play a metaphysical, not just an epistemic, role in morality; his attitudes make things good or right” Moreover, in the very same paragraph, Brink states that: “If God exists and is both omniscient and perfectly good, then his approval – if only we could ascertain it – would be a perfectly reliable – indeed, infallible.” So, God, would be a person who appraises under ideal conditions.  He is not an appraiser like you or I: an imperfect reasoner with limited information, subject to biases, and makes errors and mistakes. 

For this reason, I think it is best to read Brink as adopting the second understanding of appraiser independence in his argument. Hence we should read the argument as:

[1] Our commitment to morality presupposes that moral requirements are objective 

[2] moral requirements are objective if and only if facts or truths about what is right or wrong that obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of any human or ideal appraisers. 

[3]If divine command metaethics is true, facts about right and wrong, depend on the attitude of an ideal appraiser. 

Given Brink’s own meta-ethical views, this seems to be a much more plausible interpretation of his intent. This reading of the argument also makes [3] true. Divine command theories do entail that facts about right and wrong depend on the attitude of an ideal appraiser. In this respect, it is similar to ideal observer theories, constructivist theories and various forms of response-dependent realism. All of which account for moral facts in terms of the responses of appraisers under ideal conditions. 

The problem, however, is that for this argument to be valid, the word “objective must have the same meaning in premises [1] and [2]. Consequently, we must read premise [1] as claiming that our commitment to morality presupposes that moral requirements are appraiser independent in the sense Brink defines in premise [2].

However, there doesn’t appear to be any reason for thinking that our commitment to the objectivity of morality commits us to this stronger conception of appraisal independence. Note again the argument Brink gives for [1]

Ethics is objective just in case there are facts or truths about what is good or bad and right or wrong that obtain independently of the moral beliefs or attitudes of appraisers. A commitment to objectivity is part of a commitment to the normativity of ethics. Moral judgments express normative claims about what we should do and care about. As such, they presuppose standards of behaviour and concern that purport to be correct, that could and should guide conduct and concern, and that we might fail to accept or live up to. Normativity, therefore, presupposes fallibility, and fallibility implies objectivity.[6] 

Note the inference here; Brink concludes that normative judgements assume that moral facts are appraiser independent. Why? Because normative judgements presuppose that “we” can fail to accept and live up to moral judgements. “We” are “fallible” and can make mistaken moral evaluations. Because “we” are fallible in this way that facts about what is right and wrong must be independent of the moral beliefs and attitudes of appraisers. 

This inference is valid if the appraisers in question are actual human appraisers. i.e. appraisers like you and I: imperfect reasoners, who have  limited information, are subject to biases, and make errors and mistakes. If “we” can have mistaken moral attitudes and beliefs, then correct moral judgements are independent of our attitudes and the attitudes of beings like us who share these limitations. But the argument is a non sequitur if Brink the appraisers in question include agents that appraise in ideal conditions. The fact, “we” can have mistaken moral attitudes and beliefs entails that correct moral judgements are independent of our attitudes. It does not entail that correct moral judgment is independent of appraisers’ attitudes who don’t make those mistakes. Ex hypothesis: agents who appraise under Idealised conditions, are not subject to the kind of biases, errors, and mistakes we are. 

I think this problem will afflict any attempt to argue that divine command metaethics does not account for the objective nature of moral judgements. Reasons for thinking morality is objective are typically based fallibility of the appraisers in question. The fact that individuals and societies can make mistaken appraisals. That history demonstrates reformers have pointed out flaws in our moral thinking and correctly advocated change against the tide of social pressure. That we think certain actions are wrong even if everyone approved of them. That societies have made progress in their judgements over time. That moral disagreement involves contradicting judgements other appraisers make and pointing out flaws in their reasoning or facts missed. That we don’t consider the appraisals made by racists and anti-Semites as correct as those made by people who advocate benevolence and charity. These features of moral discourse point to the fact that human appraisers are fallible: fallibility implies that the moral evaluations I make and what is wrong are distinct things and not always co-extensive. However, these features of our discourse do not presuppose that the truth of moral judgements is independent the attitudes of those who appraise under ideal conditions. They do not support the strong appraiser independence needed to justify the claim that God’s commands are not objective facts.


Matthew Flannagan

Dr. Matthew Flannagan is a theologian with proficiency in contemporary analytic philosophy. He holds a PhD in Theology from the University of Otago, a Master's (with First Class Honours), and a Bachelor's in Philosophy from the University of Waikato; he also holds a post-graduate diploma in secondary teaching from Bethlehem Tertiary Institute. He currently works as an independent researcher and as teaching pastor at Takanini Community Church in Auckland, New Zealand.

Mailbag: How to Decide Which Moral Principles to Use in the Moral Argument

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Dear Dr. Baggett,  


What underlying principle determines which moral principles should be accepted by the “gods”? Every religion is different and wouldn’t one have to assume that all religions share a moral common ground? It seems to me that one has to first specify their metaphysics (perhaps even their epistemology) before arguing from morality.  

 

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this email. God bless!  


In Christ,  

Matthew  

 

 

Hi Matthew, 

 

Thanks for the note. 

 

This sounds like a question of first principles. Here I tend think morality has a sort of primacy. A German philosopher named Hermann Lotze affirmed a principle that our metaphysics is rooted in morality. This is rather different from what often gets affirmed today—start with metaphysics and epistemology, and then fit everything else in and around those disciplines. Lotze thought it okay to start with morality, sensing that it is somehow fundamental. I'm inclined to agree.  Following Mark Linville, I call this "Lotze's Dictum." I see something like such a principle at the heart of the moral apologetics enterprise.  

Then, following Robert Adams, I tend to think, based on basic credulity principles and such, that we are entitled to think that our moral convictions of the deepest ingression can be taken as generally reliable. Without some such assumption, there's not much hope of constructing anything like a moral argument. But again, if morality is considered for principled reasons a real indicator of reality, and evidentially significant in enabling us to figure out aspects of the world, these starting points seem eminently reasonable to me. If someone demurs, they're perfectly entitled to, of course, but I don't find there to be compelling reasons for me to overly concerned with their skepticism on the matter. I simply don't think I'm surer of just about anything than I am that, say, torturing kids for fun is wrong. So to me this can function axiomatically. I don't have apodictic certainty, but such an aim is unrealistically high. As I said in class, putting it this way makes it seem like affirming moral objectivism is nothing more than an intuitive matter, but I think there's a lot more to it than that. That's more appearance than reality. But for a starting point, it's not bad. 

Up until now religion and God haven't played any part in the conversation, you will note. We're just talking about a basic axiomatic moral principle or two. Once one becomes convinced of something like moral realism, the question then becomes, what worldview best accounts for the existence of objective moral facts (again, if such there be)? Now, there are two matters here: the modality of these truths, and the content of these truths. Some might simply wish to run a moral argument based on moral realism--the modality of these truths--their necessary truth or existence, for example. Others might wish to delve into the content.  

As for me, I stay away from the content except a few general claims. I like the example of torturing kids for fun. It's not particularly controversial. It's something I suspect most every religion would agree on. And most every atheist. It's a likely contender for a synthetic necessary moral truth if there is one, something we're more sure of than most anything that could challenge it, perhaps even something that's properly basic (though it needn't be for the moral argument to get off the ground). In other words, its epistemic credentials are pretty impeccable, as far as I'm concerned. 

At this point if one insists we must first lay out the metaphysics of such a truth before arguing from morality, I think I'd say I don't think so. The self-evidence of the proposition in question makes it such that it's more likely to be argued from than to. The moral argument is an effort to get at the metaphysics behind such a moral truth. Getting to the metaphysics is what the moral argument tries to do. If something like an Anselmian God provides the best explanation of such a moral truth, then I consider myself altogether justified and warranted to infer, at least tentatively, to God as the likely true explanation, which is to say, the metaphysical foundation, the ontological grounding, of such a truth. 

Part of what's going on here, I think, is this: our epistemic faculties are such that we can hold our belief about child torture for fun with a high degree of assurance. This is good, since it's basically a premise in the moral argument, and the premises of an argument, if the argument is a good one, need to be strong. If you're convinced of the truth of realism, with at least this minimal content held in common across a broad array of worldviews and religious persuasions, the rest of the work the argument needs to do falls on how well theism generally (or perhaps Christianity particularly) provides the most robust explanation on offer.  

When it comes to basic moral principles, I say I lean toward focusing on noncontroversial content (the vexed questions can be taken up later; this is a matter of ethical foundations)—but it's true that I also extend my four-fold approach to include matters of performance, knowledge, and rationality. But I at least start with minimal content and matters of metaphysics and epistemology—but with a high view of what morality has to say to us and a basic confidence in pre-theoretical moral convictions of a certain stripe. It has always seemed to me that we can know with great confidence the nonnegotiable truth of at least certain basic ethical principles, which is why I'm convinced they're as good a place as any to start doing natural theology. I figure if I'm wrong, well, I'm wrong, but it's where I feel good throwing my lot. People should not be sawn in two; dignity should be upheld; etc. (I'm not saying the rest of the moral argument is this obvious, but the starting point, at least, seems to be.) 

This is all too brief, but in a nutshell, it gives you an idea of what I think. I encourage you to keep thinking about this stuff! I appreciate your note very much. 

 

Blessings, 

Dave B. 


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

The Analytic Christian: A Positive Case for Objective Morality (Dr. Eric Sampson)

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From The Analytic Christian:

There are two broad strategies one can use to show the truth of moral realism- defense and offense. When playing defense, one tries to show that criticisms of the view do not succeed, while criticisms of alternative positions do succeed. This could be called, "The Argument from Elimination." When playing offense, one tries to give positive reasons in favor of moral realism. In this interview, Dr. Eric Sampson will play offense by providing four arguments in support of moral realism.

Mailbag: Arguing for the Premises of the Moral Argument

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I had a few questions regarding the following argument:  

1. If there is moral obligation / knowledge / transformation, then God exists. (Theistic Metaethical Theory) 

2. There is moral obligation / knowledge / transformation. (Moral Realism) 

3. Therefore, God exists.  

Is there a way to argue for this in a succinct way or are 1 and 2 separate arguments in and of themselves?   

Evans in "God and Moral Obligation” argues roughly for 1 (he limits it to moral obligation). And arguments in response to people like Joyce are needed to establish 2.  

Is your adductive argument as you lay out for 1 and your forthcoming book is aimed at 2? 

Kevin 

 


 

 

               Hi Kevin, thanks for this. Yes, I think you’re quite right. So yeah, this modus ponens version of the argument is a popular way of putting the argument(s). As you note, I prefer an abductive approach for several reasons, one being that the contrapositive of the first premise above involves what I consider to be a counteressential: a situation in which God doesn’t exist. If God exists necessarily, as I think he does, then we’re literally envisioning an impossible world, indeed a null world. So to ask of such a world what its features are strikes me as problematic. 

               Both deductive and abductive versions, though, begin with moral phenomena realistically construed. So the second premise requires a defense of moral realism. This is the book in the tetralogy that Jerry and I haven’t written yet, yes, but we just got a contract with OUP to write it, which is exciting. We will argue against error theory, expressivism, constructivism, etc., and try to answer debunking objections (this is where Joyce comes in, exactly right, along with folks like Kahane, Ruse, Street, etc.). Of course we’ll also attempt to provide several positive reasons to believe in moral realism. 

               The first premise requires that the theistic explanation be shown explanatorily superior to the secular alternatives. So it involves two tasks: defending theistic ethics against objections (and giving positive reasons for it), and critiquing secular ethics that attempt to make sense of moral realism. Good God was on the first topic, and God and Cosmos was on the second. 

               I think quite separate arguments are needed, then, for the two premises in question. Defending moral realism logically comes first (though we’re getting around to it last), and then the case for the comparative superiority of theistic ethics. 

               Evans makes the case for both premises (delimited, as you say, to moral duties)—why theism makes such good sense of them, why we have reason to believe duties are real in the first place, and the limitations naturalistic accounts encounter making sense of them. 

               Our abductive argument, too, makes the case for both premises (though the second premise would be couched in terms of best explanation). There really are three tasks, again: defending moral realism (current book), defending theistic ethics and arguing in favor of it positively (Good God), and critiquing secular ethics (God and Cosmos). A yet fuller case would expand that last point to include a critique of nonChristian religious ethics, which I haven’t done, but some students are working on (taking on Islam, Mormonism, etc.). It’s something I hope to do more later, especially Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam.  

               Does that help? 

               Merry Christmas, friend! 

Blessings, 

Dave 


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

Moral Apologetics 101: Ethical Theory and Moral Realism

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stealing is always wrong.

The government should pay for healthcare.

Sometimes, it is ok to tell a lie.

People have a right to defend themselves.

It is always wrong to torture children for fun.

The best sort of life requires good friends.

It is your duty to vote.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Critiquing Dr. Eric Wielenberg's Metaethical Model (Interview with Adam Johnson)

Photo by James Sullivan on Unsplash

From Crash Course Apologetics:

Adam Lloyd Johnson is a PhD candidate at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary specializing in metaethics. He teaches philosophy at Theologisches Seminar Rhineland in Wölmerson, Germany. He is also a campus missionary with Ratio Christi.

In 2015 he published a paper in the journal Philosophia Christi titled, “Debunking Nontheistic Moral Realism: A Critique of Eric Wielenberg's Attempt to Deflect the Lucky Coincidence Objection.” The paper is linked below. Adam summarizes the paper in this interview.

https://www.pdcnet.org/pc/content/pc_...

A Case for Objective Moral Facts (Interview with Dr. Terence Cuneo)

From Crash Course Apologetics:

Professor Terence Cuneo is an analytic philosopher at the University of Vermont. He's published two books (The Normative Web, and Speech and Morality) with Oxford University Press arguing for moral realism. In this interview, he summarizes those arguments and offers responses to objections against moral realism.

C. S. Lewis and 8 Reasons for Believing in Objective Morality

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The cornerstone of the moral argument is the existence of an objective moral standard. If there really is a standard of right and wrong that holds true regardless of our opinions and emotions, then the moral argument has the ability to convince. However, apart from the existence of such an objective standard, moral arguments for God’s existence (and Christian theism) quickly lose their persuasive power and morality as a whole falls to the realm of subjective preference. Although I could say a fair amount about what the world would be like if morality really was a matter of preference (consider The Purge), the purpose of this article is to provide reasons for believing in objective morality (or “moral realism,” as philosophers call it).

Because of his continued focus on the objective nature of morality throughout his writings, and due to his unique ability to communicate and defend this concept in a clear and compelling manner, I will rely heavily on the thought of C. S. Lewis below. As I’ve read through a number of Lewis’s books, I’ve identified eight arguments he raises in favor of objective morality. Below is my attempt to list these eight arguments and offer a few thoughts of my own concerning each.

1)    Quarreling between two or more individuals.[1] When quarreling occurs, individuals assume there is an objective standard of right and wrong, of which each person is aware and one has broken. Why quarrel if no objective standard exists?

By definition, quarreling (or arguing) involves trying to show another person that he is in the wrong. And as Lewis indicates, there is no point in trying to do that unless there is some sort of agreement as to what right and wrong actually are, just like there is no sense in saying a football player has committed a foul if there is no agreement about the rules of football.[2]

2)    It’s obvious that an objective moral standard exists.[3] Throughout history, mankind has generally agreed that “the human idea of decent behavior [is] obvious to everyone.”[4] For example, it’s obvious (or self-evident) that torturing a child for fun is morally reprehensible.

As the father of two children, a daughter who is five and a son who is three, I have noticed that even my young children recognize that certain things are obviously right or wrong. For example, while watching a show like PJ Masks, my children can easily point out the good characters as well as the bad ones – even without my help. In short, the overwhelming obviousness that certain acts are clearly right or wrong indicates that an objective moral standard exists.

3)    Mistreatment.[5] One might say he does not believe in objective morality, however, the moment he is mistreated he will react as if such a standard exists. When one denies the existence of an objective standard of behavior, the moment he is mistreated, “he will be complaining ‘It’s not fair!’ before you can say Jack Robinson.”[6]

Sean McDowell relays an example of this when he shares a story involving J. P. Moreland taking the stereo of a University of Vermont student who denied the existence of objective morality in favor of moral relativism. As Moreland was sharing the gospel with the university student, the student responded by saying he (Moreland) couldn’t force his views on others because “everything is relative.” Following this claim, in an effort to reveal what the student really believed about moral issues, Moreland picked up the student’s stereo from his dorm room and began to walk down the hallway, when the student suddenly shouted, “Hey, what are you doing? You can’t do that!”[7]

Again, one might deny the existence of an objective standard of behavior through his words or actions, but he will always reveal what he really believes through his reactions when mistreated. (Note: Here at moralapologetics.com, we do not recommend you go around and mistreat others, as that wouldn’t be a moral way to do apologetics. See what I did there? Rather, we are simply bringing up the mistreatment issue as a way of exposing a deep flaw within moral relativism.)

4)    Measuring value systems.[8] When an individual states that one value system is better than another, or attempts to replace a particular value system with a better one, he assumes there is an objective standard of judgment. This objective standard of judgment, which is different from either value system, helps one conclude that one value system conforms more closely to the moral standard than another. Without some sort of objective measuring stick for value systems, there is no way to conclude that civilized morality, where humans treat one another with dignity and respect, is better than savage morality, where humans brutally murder others, even within their own tribe at times, for various reasons.

 

To illustrate this point, Lewis says, “The reason why your idea of New York can be truer or less true than mine is that New York is a real place, existing quite apart from what either of us thinks. If when each of us said ‘New York’ each means merely ‘The town I am imagining in my own head,’ how could one of us have truer ideas than the other? There would be no question of truth or falsehood at all.”[9] In the same way, if there is no objective moral standard, then there is no sense in saying that any one value system has ever been morally good or morally bad, or morally superior or inferior to other value systems.

5)    Attempting to improve morally.[10] Certainly, countless individuals attempt to improve themselves morally on a daily basis. No sane person wakes up and declares, “My goal is to become more immoral today!”[11] If there is no absolute standard of good which exists, then talk of moral improvement is nonsensical and actual moral progress is impossible. If no ultimate standard of right and wrong exists, then one might change his actions, but he can never improve his morality.

If there is hope of moral improvement, then there must be some sort of absolute standard of good that exists above and outside the process of improvement. In other words, there must be a target for humans to aim their moral efforts at and also a ruler by which to measure moral progress. Without an objective moral standard of behavior, then “[t]here is no sense in talking of ‘becoming better’ if better means simply ‘what we are becoming’ – it is like congratulating yourself on reaching your destination and defining destination as ‘the place you have reached.’”[12] 

6)    Reasoning over moral issues.[13] When men reason over moral issues, it is assumed there is an objective standard of right and wrong. If there is no objective standard, then reasoning over moral issues is on the same level as one arguing with his friends about the best flavor of ice cream at the local parlor (“I prefer this” and “I don’t like that”). In short, a world where morality is a matter of preference makes it impossible to have meaningful conversations over issues like adultery, sexuality, abortion, immigration, drugs, bullying, stealing, and so on.

7)    Feeling a sense of obligation over moral matters.[14] The words “ought” and “ought not” imply the existence of an objective moral law that mankind recognizes and feels obligated to follow. Virtually all humans would agree that one ought to try to save the life of a drowning child and that one ought not kill innocent people for sheer entertainment. It is also perfectly intelligible to believe that humans are morally obligated to possess (or acquire) traits such as compassion, mercifulness, generosity, and courage.[15]

8)    Making excuses for not behaving appropriately.[16] If one does not believe in an objective standard of behavior, then why should he become anxious to make excuses for how he behaved in a given circumstance? Why doesn’t he just go on with his life without defending himself? After all, a man doesn’t have to defend himself if there is no standard for him to fall short of or altogether break. Lewis maintains, “The truth is, we believe in decency so much – we feel the Rule of Law pressing on us so – that we cannot bear to face the fact that we are breaking it, and consequently we try to shift the responsibility.”[17]

Although the eight reasons provided above do not cover all of the reasons for believing in objective morality, it is a starting point nonetheless. If any of the reasons above for believing in objective morality are valid, then the moral argument for God’s existence (and Christian theism) has the ability to get off the ground. In fact, if there are any good reasons (in this article or beyond it) for believing in an objective moral standard, then I think God’s existence becomes the best possible explanation for morality since such a standard at the least requires a transcendent, good, and personal source – which sounds a lot like the God of Christian theism.

 

 

 

 

Stephen S. Jordan currently serves as a high school Bible teacher at Liberty Christian Academy. He is also a Bible teacher, curriculum developer, and curriculum editor at Liberty University Online Academy, as well as a PhD student at Liberty University. He and his wife, along with their two children and German shepherd, reside in Goode, Virginia.


[1] C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 3.

[2] Ibid., 4.

[3] Ibid., 5.

[4] Ibid. In the appendix section of The Abolition of Man, Lewis provides a list that illustrates the points of agreement amongst various civilizations throughout history. See C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 83-101.

[5] Ibid., 6.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Sean McDowell, Ethix: Being Bold in a Whatever World (Nashville, TN: B&H Books, 2006), 45-46.

[8] C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 43, 73. Also see Lewis, Mere Christianity, 13.

[9] Lewis, Mere Christianity, 13-14.

[10] C. S. Lewis, “Evil and God,” in God in the Dock, ed. Walter Hooper (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2014), 3-4.

[11] Even if someone’s goal is to become more immoral, he still needs an objective standard to measure the level of his badness.

[12] Ibid.

[13] C. S. Lewis, Miracles (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 54.

[14] C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 10.

[15] C. Stephen Evans, God and Moral Obligation (New York, NY: Oxford University Press), 2-3.

[16] Lewis, Mere Christianity, 8.

[17] Ibid.

Mailbag: Does the Moral Argument Have a Fatal Flaw?

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In December, we shared a post on Facebook about The Morals of the Story, a book written by two of our editors, David and Marybeth Baggett. Along with the post, we included this snippet from a review of the book:

"If humanity’s deep and unshakable moral intuitions are correct, then The Morals of the Story demonstrates that the rational observer should embrace Christian theism in response."

In response to this idea, Heath writes,

 The point being that "objective morality points to the existence of god.” Which god, might I ask? Well, of course the Christian god. Who else? Why not Allah, or Shiva, or Quetzacoatyl? These are all gods too. And if objective morality points to god, objectively it points to ALL gods equally. Objective morality. Can there even be such a thing? I think all morality is subjective, not objective. It would be nice if moralities were indeed objective, but since we've decided to tie morality to religion we must necessarily reject objectivity. Example: A large group of profoundly fervent jungle tribesmen find it moral to hack the hearts out of living men, women and children to appease their gods. That is moral to them. Another group believes that 2000 years ago a god sacrificed himself to himself so that the believers can be forgiven for all time. That is moral, to them. A different group of people use reason to construct morals. Morals based on enlightened self-interest. Obviously they would reject the morals of both previously mentioned groups. These are atheists, and only without religious bias can morals begin to be objective.

Reply,

Hi Heath,

Thank you for your comment and you raise a couple of important objections to a moral argument for the truth of Christianity. Of course, your post is brief and one would not expect arguments to be fully developed in the context of social media, so I will try to spell out how I think you intend the argument to go. I take it that you have two concerns about the claim that if human moral intuitions are correct, then this suggests that Christian theism is correct.

First, even if humans generally and accurately apprehend moral truths, and even if this is best explained by theism, it is not at all clear how this would be best explained by Christian theism. If morality requires some form of supernaturalism, then many supernatural explanations of morality are available and it is not immediately obvious why the Christian explanation should fare any better than, say, the Hindu explanation. If there are moral truths that need supernatural explanation, then that is evidence that applies equally well to all supernatural accounts.

Second, you suggest that morality is not objective and, therefore, there are no moral truths with which Christians can build their moral case for Christian theism. The hypothetical story about the origin of moral beliefs is meant to motivate this conclusion that moral realism is not correct. Later, in another comment, you add this: “Different cultures have different morals. Hence the subjective nature of it all. I don't get why you presume a standard morality to be everywhere. That is a pipe dream. Not a reality.” In that case, the whole project of The Morals of the Story rests on the mistake of thinking moral realism (the view that there are objective moral realities) obtains. Since the project assumes something true that is false, it must be fatally flawed.

Let me take the second objection first. There are two kinds of reply I want to make here. First, I want to say something about why we should think moral realism is a justified belief. Second, I want to consider whether we have any good reason to think it is not.

Geoff Sayre-McCord, a philosopher teaching at the University of North Carolina, claims that “moral realism can fairly claim to have common sense and initial appearances on its side.”[1] The reason that Sayre-McCord might say that moral realism has this advantage is that we simply find ourselves believing in moral realism and we find ourselves having a high degree of confidence in these beliefs.[2] It seems obvious to most people that there are at least some moral facts.

For example, for most it seems obviously true that the Holocaust was factually, objectively, morally wrong. It seems equally as obvious that torturing children for fun would be wrong in all the same ways. This, of course, is not anything like a decisive argument that moral realism is correct, but it should provide some reason to think we are justified in believing that moral realism is correct.

After all, we take all kinds of seemings as good justification for belief. It seems to me that there are other minds and that I am not a brain in a vat. It seems to me there is a table over there and that I am drinking coffee. These seemings are adequate grounds for having a justified belief that these things are so. If my three-year-old son looks out the window and sees a tree, it seems to him that there is a tree out there, and he forms the belief “There is a tree out there.” Few would say that this belief is not justified until he has more evidence; the seeming itself is sufficient.

 Of course, for all we know, we could be brains in vats or everyone around us could be mindless zombies that act exactly as if they had minds, but epistemologists generally agree that the mere possibility that these states of affairs could be actual should not worry us very much. Justification doesn’t require certainty.

However, justified beliefs can have their justification defeated. One might have good reasons to think that we are brains in vats, for example. Perhaps, like Neo from The Matrix, one could somehow become aware that reality as they experience it is a mere simulation. In that case, the belief that I am not a brain in a vat would no longer be justified.

My suggestion is that our moral intuitions are kinds of seemings analogous to the other kinds I have mentioned and that there are prima facie grounds for counting our moral intuitions as justified beliefs. Just as our experience of empirical realities can justify our belief in the external world or other minds, likewise our moral experience can offer us initial justification for at least certain of our less negotiable moral convictions. If one does not experience these moral intuitions, then, clearly, he could not be justified in believing in moral realism on this basis. Or, if he has sufficiently strong defeaters, he could no longer consider his belief justified, unless he defeats the defeaters. My view is that moral intuitions provide a prima facie reason for thinking that moral realism obtains.

If that is claim, then the next thing we will want to consider is whether there are any defeaters for moral intuitions. You offer one such possible defeater: the reality of moral disagreement. But it is not true that disagreement entails or even implies that a belief is false or that there is no truth to the matter. The history of science provides ample evidence of this. People disagreed with the heliocentric model of the solar system, but this did not imply that the proposition “The earth revolves around the sun” is neither objectively true nor false. Today, the flat earth movement is growing alarmingly and unfortunately fast. As a result, there is disagreement about whether the earth there is a flat disc or a globe. But this does not imply that, therefore, the truth of the proposition “The earth is not a disc” is merely a matter of subjective preference or opinion. If some proposition is objectively true then, by definition, whether people agree that it is true or not is not relevant to its status as a true proposition. So, I do not consider the argument from moral disagreement to be a defeater for the justification of our beliefs about moral realism. And so, if I am correct, then I continue to be justified in thinking that moral intuitions generate true moral beliefs.

If our belief in moral realism is justified, then we still have the remaining question of how the truth of these beliefs is best explained by Christian theism. You argue that the evidence is explained equally well by any religious perspective. But this simply is not the case. Some religions may not make any attempt to explain moral facts; they may say that ethics are ultimately illusory, as is the case in various forms of Buddhism and Hinduism. One central doctrine of some forms of Buddhism is annata or “no self” doctrine. This is the view that the perception of ourselves and others as moral agents is an error. We simply do not exist as persons. Perhaps we could preserve some form of moral realism on this view, but it would not accommodate what most take to be the obvious moral facts, even by most people living in contexts where the no-self doctrine is promoted. There is a reason why the Buddha needed to achieve enlightenment in order to discover the truth; his doctrines are directly at odds with our most basic beliefs about ourselves and the only way to overcome them is through rigorous practice.  Further, at least some religions are intrinsically bad explanations for anything. Scientology seems obviously and inherently less likely to be a good explanation for any phenomena it might be summoned to explain.

The Christian worldview, on the other hand, readily and naturally explains how many of our most deeply held moral beliefs are true. Suppose we think that human beings have dignity and value. The Christian worldview claims that ultimate reality is constituted by a being who is tri-personal. This being is the locus and ground of all value. It is natural to think that when we find the infinite good of the personal God mirrored in finite things, there we would find dignity and value. Many religions simply do not make the same claim about the nature of reality and the good. Polytheistic religions cannot claim the same thing without contradiction. The Christian worldview further confirms the value of human beings by telling us that we were created in the image of God (Gen. 1:26) and, most dramatically, in the incarnation, where the Second Person of the Trinity became a human being himself. God thought it worthwhile to condescend to becoming a human being in order that he might redeem humankind.

So, in Christian theology and revelation, we find our moral intuitions about the value of human beings easily and logically explained. That is just one example, but there are many others.[3] I think this is enough to show that it is just not the case that all religions are equally equipped explain how our moral beliefs can be true. What objective morality can help do is adjudicate between conflicting accounts and help us decide the best explanation. Not every theology is equally well equipped to provide a good explanation of the full range of moral phenomena in need of explanation—from moral duties to moral freedom, from moral values to the dignity of people, from moral knowledge to an account of evil, from moral regret to moral transformation to moral rationality. This is much of what The Morals of the Story tries to explore and explicate, while respecting the mental freedom of those who remain unconvinced by the argument. Of course here in this short post I can’t make the full case; not even a whole book can. Philosophy is difficult, and takes a serious investment of time.

Heath, you have given us some important objections to consider and I hope that I have at least provided you with some idea of how a Christian might answer them, though I am also sure I have not convinced you to change your mind. We don’t even have the tip of the iceberg here! Maybe we have the tip of the tip and that is all. Still, I think you can at least see how one might argue that belief in moral realism is justified and how, at least possibly and perhaps somewhat plausibly, Christian theism may well be the best explanation of the truth of those moral beliefs.

If you are interested in exploring how Christians think about morality and how it might be evidence for the existence of God and the truth of Christian theism, The Morals of the Story is a good place to start. If you are interested in something a bit more rigorous and technical, you might try Good God or God and Cosmos. Baggett and Walls are wrapping up a new book on the history of the moral argument, which you might find of interest as well when it gets published eventually.

Thanks again for your comment,

Jonathan Pruitt

Managing Editor


[1] Geoff Sayre-McCord, “Moral Realism (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy),” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, n.d., accessed December 20, 2018, https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/moral-realism/.

[2] According to a survey of professional philosophers, most believe in moral realism.

[3]For another, fuller perspective, you might see Baggett’s Seven Reasons Moral Apologetics Points to Christianity. If you are interested in how Christianity better explains our moral intuitions about love, you might be interested in this discussion I had with Brian Scalise.

I offer an explanation of how Christianity in particular best explains how we have moral knowledge elsewhere.

Why Bertrand Russell Was Not a Moral Realist, Either

Editor's note: This essay comes from Philosophy and the Christian Worldview: Analysis, Assessment and Development edited by Mark Linville and David Werther. 

So long as he is content to assume the reality and authority of the moral consciousness, the Moral Philosopher can ignore Metaphysic; but if the reality of Morals or the validity of ethical truth be once brought into question, the attack can only be met by a thorough-going enquiry into the nature of Knowledge and of Reality. –Hastings Rashdall, 1907

Bertrand Russell was not a Christian, and he bothered to tell us, in some detail, why he was not. At the time of the writing of “Why I Am Not a Christian,” his moral philosophy was a variety of emotivism. But this was not always so. At fifty, Bertrand Russell reflected upon the early days of his philosophical career and wrote, “When the generation to which I belong were young, Moore persuaded us all that there is an absolute good.” Indeed, for a period of nearly a decade, Russell defended a robust version of moral realism. His 1902 essay, “A Free Man’s Worship” touts a human vision of the Platonic Good as the one saving grace in a world where all human aspiration and accomplishment is “destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system.” Through our knowledge of the Good we may retain our dignity and find meaning despite the “omnipotence of death” and the utter indifference of the cosmos to all that we hold dear.

Just a few years later Russell published his Philosophical Essays (1910), which originally included “A Free Man’s Worship” as well as his essay, “The Elements of Ethics.” The latter offers an account of moral philosophy that is taken, with little alteration, straight from the pages of Moore’s Principia Ethica. Russell maintains that goodness is the fundamental moral concept and resists analysis into other terms, moral or non-moral. And moral properties resist identification with properties of any other order. Further, they are “impersonal” or objective: if a thing is good, then it is such that “on its own account it ought to exist.” Hence, “the object of ethics, by its own account, is to discover true propositions about virtuous and vicious conduct, and … these are just as much a part of truth as true propositions about oxygen or the multiplication table.”

Russell appealed to intuition.

In the case of ethics, we must ask why such and such actions ought to be performed, and continue our backward inquiry for reasons until we reach the kind of propositions of which proof is impossible, because it is so simple or so obvious that nothing more fundamental can be found from which to deduce it.

Thus, this “backward inquiry” arrives at “premises which we know though we cannot prove them,” and these become the starting ground for moral reflection. Moral beliefs ultimately receive their sanction through “immediate,” i.e., non-inferential, judgments. The final court of appeal is to “ethical judgments with which almost everyone would agree.” In short, the younger Russell was a stark raving moral realist.

But in the years between the publications of Philosophical Essays and Mysticism and Logic (1918), Russell’s confidence in the objectivity of morality had begun to erode. The latter collection included “A Free Man’s Worship,” but “The Elements of Ethics” was omitted. In the preface to that collection, and in reference to his views in “A Free Man’s Worship,” he confessed, “I feel less convinced than I did then of the objectivity of good and evil.” By the time of the 1929 edition, his abandonment of moral realism was complete: “I no longer regard good and evil as objective entities wholly independent of human desires….” He added, “It was Santayana who first led me to disbelieve in the objectivity of good and evil by his criticism of my then views in his ‘Winds of Doctrine.’”

George Santayana thus seems to have argued Russell back out of the moral realism of which Moore had earlier persuaded him. To my knowledge, Russell never bothered to elaborate on the specifics of Santayana’s arguments that he found compelling. There is some speculation on this. Harry Ruja, for instance, suggests that Russell’s moral realism was but a short-lived and halfhearted interlude between periods when he embraced varieties of anti-realism. According to Ruja, it took little more than a nudge to dislodge Russell from a view that he never found all that compelling. And the brutalities of war may have played a role. Be all of that as it may, our chief interest here is in Santayana’s arguments themselves and not whatever propensities caused Russell to change his mind. Are any of them any good?

Moral Faith in an Accidental Universe

Santayana’s criticisms of Russell’s “hypostatic ethics” are many. Some are specific counters to particular Russellian arguments. Two of his arguments are much grander in scale. On the one hand, Santayana argues that the requirements of moral realism per se are incoherent. In fact, he offers a number of arguments that seem to foreshadow those that would be marshaled in defense of non-cognitivism in the following decades. Space does not permit discussion of these interesting arguments. And a century of space-time is filled with discussions of similar arguments.

My chief interest is with Santayana’s second argument, which I believe has received but scant attention. According to Santayana, the conjunction of Russell’s moral philosophy with his naturalist metaphysics forms an unstable compound and thus lacks cohesion. In fact, Santayana thinks the combination is reduced to absurdity. Harry Ruja thinks this is Santayana’s “most telling criticism,” and I quite agree.

On the one hand, Russell’s moral philosophy implies, “In the realm of essences, before anything exists, there are certain essences that have this remarkable property, that they ought to exist, or at least, that, if anything exists, it ought to conform to them.” Russell’s language echoes that of Moore, who was concerned to show that some things “are worth having purely for their own sakes.” In Principia Ethica, Moore had argued against Sidgwick that some values—beauty in particular—obtain even if forever unappreciated by any conscious mind. Moore’s thought experiments using his method of “absolute isolation” were designed to discern what sorts of things are of intrinsic value. Generally, things have intrinsic value just in case “if they existed by themselves, in absolute isolation, we should yet judge their existence to be good.”

On the other hand, given Russell’s naturalism, “What exists…is deaf to this moral emphasis in the eternal; nature exists for no reason.” In the very essay in which Russell found solace in the human vision of the Platonic Good, he asserts that “Man is the product of causes that had no prevision of the end they were achieving.” But in such an accidental world it would be marvelous indeed were the very things that ought to exist should have come to be. It would be as though among the verities a special premium had forever been placed upon something—featherless bipeds, say—to the exclusion of all other possible forms (feathered monopods?), and, despite the countless possibilities and, because of sheer dumb luck, the same had been fashioned and formed of Big Bang debris. The cosmic lottery seems not only to have turned up Moore’s beautiful world, but also a Fink-Nottle to gush over it: “People who say it isn’t a beautiful world don’t know what they are talking about”

Moral Scepticism and Animal Faith

Further, if human hopes and fears, loves and beliefs are, as Russell affirmed, “but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms,” it would be especially surprising to learn that, by fortuitous circumstance, and with no direction or influence from any heaven above, the emergent human conscience, to which Russell appeals, is a reliable indicator of eternal moral truth. Indeed, Russell observes a bit later in “A Free Man’s Worship” that it is a “strange mystery” that nature, “omnipotent but blind” should, in her “secular hurrying,” have “brought forth at last a child, subject still to her power, but gifted with sight, with knowledge of good and evil, with the capacity of judging all the works of his unthinking mother.”

At this, G. Dawes Hicks wrote in his 1911 review of Philosophical Essays,

Strange mystery indeed! But why should we be called upon in the name of science  complacently to admit such occult and incredible mysteries? The alleged miracles of former days were at least ascribed to a cause that could conceivably have wrought them.

The trouble with Russell’s overall position is that he has latched upon one set of possible values to the exclusion of the rest, and has done so by appeal to “intuition,” but he lacks any sort of background account, in the form of a supporting metaphysic, that would warrant his taking “felt values” as any indication of moral truth. As Santayana puts the point in Platonism and the Spiritual Life,

The distinction between true goods and false goods can never be established by  ignorant feeling or by conscience not backed by a dogmatic view of the facts: for felt values, taken absolutely and regarded as unconditioned, are all equally genuine in their excellence, and equally momentary in their existence.

If Russell thought that there are immediate judgments, “which we know though we cannot prove them,” Santayana replied, in effect, that their very immediacy is grounds for thinking that they do not constitute knowledge. Russell maintains that moral properties are mind-independent, and endeavors to justify his assertion by appeal to moral consensus, or something near enough. At this, Santayana complains,

Mr. Russell … thinks he triumphs when he feels that the prejudices of his readers will  agree with his own; as if the constitutional unanimity of all human animals, supposing it existed, could tend to show that the good they agreed to recognise was independent of their constitution.

Russell finds sympathy for his intuitions, not because they are self-evident, but because his reader is “the right sort of man.” And even if the sympathy were found to be universal, this would only demonstrate that his readers were members of the right sort of species.

Taking certain considered moral beliefs for granted, Russell proceeds in a forward direction to the construction of a moral philosophy. After all, one cannot reasonably demand that such intuitions themselves be inferred from yet more primitive moral beliefs. But, according to Santayana, Russell’s vision is “monocular” where a “binocular” perspective is required.

The ethical attitude doubtless has no ethical ground, but that fact does not prevent it   from having a natural ground; and the observer of the animate creation need not have much difficulty in seeing what that natural ground is. Mr. Russell, however, refuses to look also in that direction.

Russell spoke of a “backward inquiry” that terminates when and only when one has run out of grounds of a moral nature, but, Santayana thinks, the sequence continues into natural, physical and even animal grounds that reveal the conditioned nature of Russell’s would-be ethical axioms. Though Santayana agrees with Russell that “the good is predicated categorically by conscience,” a “glance back over our shoulder” will reveal that conscience itself is conditioned and has its basis “in the physical order of things.” Hence, “Ethics should be controlled by a physics that perceives the material ground and the relative status of whatever is moral.”

Given the implications of Russell’s “naturalist philosophy,” it is “no marvel that the good should attract the world where the good, by definition, is whatever the world is aiming at.” Nor is it any marvel that the dictates of human conscience should share such a trajectory. “Felt values reconcile the animal and moral side of our nature to their own contingency.” They arise out of “a substantial harmony between our interests and our circumstances.” When that harmony is achieved, there is a propensity to hypostasize the resulting “home values” into “a cosmic system especially planned to guarantee them,” and Russell’s very philosophy is just the outworking of this propensity. Russell’s good is but “natural laws, zoological species, and human ideals that have been projected into the empyrean.” Where Russell envisions the human intellect attracted by, and ascending to, a fixed and eternal Good, Santayana sees the vision of contingent and relative goods emerging in consciousness as the product of actual natures placed in actual circumstances.

Thus “good” and “bad” are understood in reference to “constitutional interests”: “The good is relative to actual natures and simply their latent ideal, actual or realized, is essential to its being truly a good.” Though the life of an oyster may not be the good life for anyone capable of reading philosophy, it suits the oyster. And while the human constitution and human society may set a premium upon the ideal of a “universal sympathy,” “the tigers cannot regard it as such, for it would suppress the tragic good called ferocity, which makes, in their eyes, the chief glory of the universe.” Either way, ethical absolutism is but a “mental grimace of passion” and thus “refutes itself by what it is.” “Human morality … is but the inevitable and hygienic bias of one race of animals.” The outcome of Moore’s thought experiments or Russell’s poll regarding “ethical judgments with which almost every one would agree” are predictable given the fact that they employ “an imagination which is exclusively human.”

Darwin’s Descent of Man cannot have been far from Santayana’s elbow as he wrote. According to Darwin, human morality is ultimately rooted in a set of social instincts that conferred fitness upon our remote ancestors given the circumstances of the evolutionary landscape. Some behaviors (feeding one’s babies, fleeing from large predators) are adaptive, and others (feeding one’s babies to large predators) are not. Any predisposition or prompting that increases the probability of the adaptive behavior will thus also be adaptive. The circumstances of early hominid evolution were such that various forms of altruistic behavior were fitness conferring. For instance, members of a cooperative and cohesive group tended to have greater reproductive success, since the group itself would tend to fare better than competing, discordant groups.

A tribe including many members who, from possessing in a high degree the spirit of  patriotism, fidelity, obedience, courage, and sympathy, were always ready to aid one another, and to sacrifice themselves for the common good, would be victorious over most other tribes; and this would be natural selection.

Assuming that the spirits of patriotism, sympathy and so forth are heritable, the predisposition for such behaviors will be passed from patriotic parent to obedient offspring.

Of course, there is more to the moral sense than the instincts that Darwin had in mind. All social animals are possessed of such instincts, but not all are plausibly thought of as moral agents. According to Darwin, conscience is the result of the social instincts being overlain with a certain degree of rationality.

The following proposition seems to me in a high degree probable—namely, that any   animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social instincts, the parental and filial affections being here included, would inevitably acquire a moral sense or conscience, as soon as its intellectual powers had become as well, or nearly as well developed, as in man.

Santayana may be right in thinking that ferocity is the chief glory of the universe for the tiger, but your average tiger is not given to reflection on the matter. Were he graced with intellect alongside his ferocity, he might be found guilty of hypostasizing ferocity in just the way that Russell has projected his own ideals. Were he to employ Moore’s method of absolute isolation the results would be radically different, dominated, as he is, with an imagination that is exclusively tigrine. He might think Russell eloquent on the topic of oysters, but only because he is the right sort of cat. Tigrine morality is, after all, nothing but the inevitable and hygienic bias of one race of animals.

Russell’s vision is monocular, then, in that he takes the deliverances of conscience as his point of departure but fails to consider the conditioned nature of conscience itself. He assumes that the moral sense is truth-aimed, with objective moral truth as its object, when, in fact, “moral truth” proves simply to be whatever it is that human conscience projects. If there is indeed anything “inevitable” about the “hygienic bias” that is human morality, it is only a hypothetical necessity, conditioned upon a radically contingent set of circumstances. Had the theater in which human evolution has played out been different in any of countless ways, either we might never have been among the cast at all, or we might have played an entirely different role. There may be some “forced moves” through evolutionary design space, as Daniel Dennett has observed. But if there are such inevitable engineering solutions, the set of predispositions out of which human morality has emerged, according to Darwin, seems not to be among them. Consider what I’ll call “Darwinian Counterfactuals.”

If . . . men were reared under precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, there can   hardly be a doubt that our unmarried females would, like the worker-bees, think it a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers would strive to kill their fertile daughters, and no one would think of interfering. Nevertheless the bee, or any other social animal, would in our supposed case gain, as it appears to me, some feeling of right and wrong, or a conscience. . . . In this case an inward monitor would tell the animal that it would have been better to have followed one impulse rather than the other. The one course ought to have been followed: the one would have been right and the other wrong.

This “inward monitor” that is the source of moral belief thus appears to be fitness aimed in that it directs the creature towards whatever behaviors are adaptive given the contingent circumstances in which it has been placed. But—and this is Santayana’s central point—there is no reason to suppose a connection between a conscientious belief’s being adaptive and its corresponding to whatever is eternally inscribed in the moral heavens. To paraphrase Santayana, natural selection is blind to this moral emphasis in the eternal; nature exists for no reason.

Metaphysical Underpinnings

Russell has divorced the realms of nature and morality and, in a way reminiscent of Mark Twain’s quip about naked people, has left morality with little or no influence in the world. He manages, with Moore’s help, to disentangle values from natural facts, but then sends morality to “fly into the abyss at a tangent,” leaving the earth in moral darkness. The result is an “impotent dogmatism on high.” Russell’s trouble, at bottom, is that he is “not a theist after the manner of Socrates; his good is not a power.”

According to Santayana, Russell and Moore erred by isolating one element of Platonic morality—the hypostasis of the Good—to the exclusion of two others that are essential to its overall cohesion: the “political” and the “theological.” By the former, Santayana has in mind a theory of human nature holding that human happiness is to be achieved only in the appropriate relation to the good. He develops this idea more fully in Platonism and the Spiritual Life.

Life … has been kindled and is alone sustained by the influence of pre-existing  celestial models. It is by imitating these models in some measure that we exist at all, and only in imitating, loving, and contemplating them that we can ever be happy. They are our good.

The “theological” element constitutes the metaphysical underpinning for the conviction that something or someone is actively working all things together for the good. On such a scheme, that something just so happens to be the Good itself. Indeed, Santayana thinks that a conception of the good as an influential power is the “sole category” that would justify Russell’s hypostasis of the good.

The whole Platonic and Christian scheme, in making the good independent of private  will and opinion, by no means makes it independent of the direction of nature in general and of human nature in particular. For all things have been created with an innate predisposition towards the creative good and are capable of finding happiness in nothing else. Obligation, in this system, remains internal and vital. Plato attributes a single vital direction and a single narrow source to the cosmos. This is what determines and narrows the source of the true good; for the true good is that relevant to nature. Plato would not have been a dogmatic moralist had he not been a theist.

This Platonic hypostasis without the underlying metaphysic and theory of human nature is merely “half-hearted.” It is a Platonism “stultified and eviscerated.” Russell, like a number of “modern moralists” attempted to retain much of the substance of such an account of morality “without its dogmatic justification.”

Thus, on both classical Platonism and Christian theism, “The Platonic ideas, the Christian God, or the Christ of devout Christians may be conceived to be the causes of their temporal manifestations in matter or in the souls of men.” As Robert Adams has put it in a work that appeals to a theistic and Platonist framework for ethics,

If we suppose that God directly or indirectly causes human beings to regard as  excellent approximately those things that are Godlike in the relevant way, it follows that there is a causal and explanatory connection between facts of excellence and beliefs that we may regard as justified about excellence, and hence it is in general no accident that such beliefs are correct when they are.

However, there is no place for such teleology on Russell’s naturalistic philosophy. Russell’s morality seems to Santayana a “ghost of Calvinism,” except that the deity has “lost his creative and punitive functions.”

Santayana thus seems to have thought that moral realism is tenable only within the scaffolds of a theistic metaphysics. Given what Russell affirms in his “Free Man’s Worship,” one is left with an undercutting naturalistic explanation for the human propensity to form moral beliefs. Even if Russell’s heaven of ideas exists, we cannot know it, for the simple fact that the only apparent evidence for supposing that it does—our considered moral beliefs—is given an explanation on naturalism that in no way requires the truth of such beliefs. The more plausible view,  Santayana thinks, sees morality as relative to the personal or constitutional beliefs of creatures. If Moore thought that “good” was like “yellow” in being indefinable. Santayana adds that both are secondary qualities as well.

Ethical Naturalism Redux

Charles Pidgen notes that even after Russell came to abandon Moore’s moral realism “… he continued to believe that if judgments about good and bad are to be objectively true, non-natural properties of goodness and badness are required to make them true. It is just that he ceased to believe that there are any such properties.” In the century that has followed, Moore’s refutation of ethical naturalism has come to be widely rejected, probably for good reason.

Moore assumed that the identity of any two properties entails the synonymy of the terms by which they are designated. Given this assumption, he could argue that pleasure is not the good on the grounds that “X is N ” (where N is any natural or descriptive property) and “X is good” obviously do not mean the same thing, as is demonstrated by the Open Question Argument.

We have splendid reason for rejecting the claim that identity entails synonymy. Gold just is that element with the atomic number 79. But the meaning of “gold” was fixed long before talk of the atomic structure of this metal. And it is surely an open question for one to ask, “I know thar is an element of the atomic number 79 in them thar hills. But is thar gold?” John’s disciples surely knew that John baptized with water, and could have explained the difference between water baptism and, say, baptism in fish oil. But if any of John’s contemporaries knew that water just is H2O, they seem to have kept it to themselves. The discovery would have to wait another 1700 years. And once the discovery was made, the headline, “Water is H2O!” was informative in a way that “Water is water!” would not have been.

This, along with a number of other considerations, has reopened the possibility that some variety of ethical naturalism may be true after all. The ethical naturalist will maintain either that moral properties are identical to natural properties, or that they are constituted of and thus supervene upon them. If this is so, one may affirm the identity of the moral with the natural without being committed to the claim that there is synonymy of meaning. “Hitler was depraved” might be true in virtue of some set of wholly descriptive properties that he possessed. These might include his low regard for the value of human life, his monomania, his will to power and his anti-Semitism. I suppose that one may sensibly say, “I know the man thinks nothing of killing people, hates people simply because of their ethnicity, and wants to force the entire world to its knees, but is he depraved?” But this no more stands in the way of supposing that some such set of natural properties constitutes depravity than open questions about water suggest the possibility that the lakes are filled with anything other than H2O.

The ethical naturalist does not posit the “abhorred dualism” of the Platonist, and so there seems little risk of the moral flying “off into the abyss” and little need for a demiurge to ensure that it does not. Moral properties are home grown and terrestrial according to this view, being constituted of garden variety facts discoverable through ordinary means. If justice just is equitable treatment under certain circumstances, then coming to believe that a given arrangement is just would seem to be no more problematic or mysterious than coming to believe that it is equitable and that those circumstances obtain. Does ethical naturalism thus survive the arguments of both Moore and Santayana that, in their turns, convinced Russell? I think not. With a bit of fine-tuning, Santayana’s arguments—or at least an insight central to them—are equally effective against ethical naturalism.

Darwinian Counterfactuals

That “look over the shoulder” that Santayana recommends reveals that the direction that the human moral sense has taken is determined by factors apparently oblivious to the notion of moral truth, even if there were such a thing. The mechanisms responsible for the production of human moral beliefs are fitness-aimed, and, unless we’ve some reason to suppose a connection between their being fitness-aimed and their being true, such beliefs would seem to be unwarranted.

Sharon Street has recently advanced an argument that capitalizes upon these features of the Darwinian account. The core of her paper is her “Darwinian Dilemma” that she poses to “value realists.” Our moral beliefs are fitness-aimed. Are they also truth-aimed? Either there is a fitness-truth relation or there is not. If there is not, and if we suppose that evolution has shaped our basic evaluative attitudes, then moral skepticism is in order. If there is a relation, then it is either that moral beliefs have reproductive fitness because they are true (the “tracking” relation), or we have the moral beliefs that we have simply because of the fitness that they conferred (the “adaptive link” account).

But the adaptive link account suggests some variety of non-realism, such as the constructivism that Street endorses. The realist requires the tracking account in order to provide an account of warranted moral belief. Here, fitness follows mind-independent moral truths. But the tracking account is just implausible from a scientific standpoint, which is important given the fact that ethical naturalists are keen on assimilating their theory within an overall scientific approach. While there is a clear and parsimonious adaptive link explanation of why humans have come to care for their offspring—namely, that the resulting behavior tends toward DNA-preservation—the tracking account must add that basic paternal instincts were favored because it is independently true that parents ought to care for their offspring. Why not just say that our ancestors who had a propensity to care for their offspring tended to act on that propensity and thus left more offspring—particularly when we witness such propensities among non-human animals? Do dolphin mothers care for their daughters because they ought to do so?

A consideration of Darwinian Counterfactuals helps to strengthen the point. If, as Darwin supposed, human conscience might have been radically different had the circumstances been different, this strongly suggests that conscience goes whither fitness goest. And it is hard to see just how the ethical naturalist should assess such counterfactuals. Masked boobies, for instance seem wired for siblicide. A female will typically lay two eggs. The first to hatch frequently kills its smaller and weaker sibling, often with an assist from the parent. On the one hand, two eggs are better than one for insurance purposes. But one hatchling is better than two, as the probability that either will survive is decreased if both remain. And so the diminished reproductive value that results from the death of one offspring is outweighed by the advantage that is had in the increased likelihood of the survival of the elder sibling. Siblicidal behavior is thus selected for its reproductive advantage.

So consider “Booby World” —that possible world in which the conditions of reproductive fitness in the evolution of humans (or creatures of similar intelligence) were the same as those of boobies. Here, Cain kills Abel and is met with approval, and his mark is a badge of honor. Here, booby people regard siblicide and infanticide as “sacred duties,” as Darwin puts it. Such moral beliefs are fitness-aimed. Are they also true? Is killing certain of one’s offspring in fact obligatory and even meritorious in Booby World?

It is clear how Santayana would answer. These are moral duties in the only sense in which there are duties in any world. “Obligations … presuppose a physical and social organism with immanent spontaneous interests which may impose those obligations.” But, “As the spirit is no respecter of persons, so it is no respecter of worlds.” His “spirituality” involves the full recognition and embrace of the contingency of existence and of whatever values are discovered in the world in which we happen to find ourselves. He describes “spirit” as a “disenchanting and re-enchanting faculty … of seeing this world in its simple truth.” Disenchantment is a matter of deconstructing absolutist morality and whatever dogmas have been erected for its support. Re-enchantment occurs when one sees things as they are in their contingent and relative nature, but fully values them as one’s own. Thus, he can write, “What folly to suppose that ecstasy could be abolished by recognizing the true sources of ecstacy!” Sugar is no less sweet, nor does salt lose its savor, once we realize that those qualities are not “objective” but depend, in part, upon our own constitution. We do not thereby unweave the rainbow. And so, “spirit has no reason for dwelling on other possible worlds.”

Would any of them be less contingent than this one, or nearer to the heart of Infinite Being? And would not any of them, whatever its character, lead the spirit inexorably there? To master the actual is the best way of transcending it.

His first question is rhetorical. No possible world is closer to the heart of “Infinite Being,” because it “includes all worlds.” And spirit would be led “inexorably” to embrace whatever values it discovered in those counterfactual circumstances. “Good” and “evil” are world-relative. All such values are world-bound. It is thus “provincial” and a kind of “animal arrogance” to exalt the values that obtain in this world to the exclusion of those that might have been. Our cosmos has turned up one set of “ambient values” which we hold dear as our own. But when in Booby World, do as the boobies do.

This is not the sort of answer that we should expect from the ethical naturalist, who wishes to affirm that moral facts or properties are mind-independent. According to the ethical naturalist, moral properties are either identical to or at least supervene upon natural properties. Consider supervenience, the weaker of the two claims. On a standard account, any two things that are indiscernible with respect to their natural properties N are also indiscernible with respect to their moral properties M. And this is usually seen as metaphysically necessary so that if there is any world W in which X has N then, for every world W*, if X has N in W*, then X has M in W*. It follows that if Hitler is depraved in virtue of the set of non-moral properties mentioned above, then there is no possible world in which anyone has precisely that set but is not depraved. And if it was wrong for Cain to kill Abel, then that wrongness is in virtue of certain natural properties of the act.

Suppose that the natural properties and circumstances involved in Booby Abel’s slaying are identical to those that were instanced and obtained when Cain killed Abel, but for the fact that in that world the act enjoys the approbation of both conscience and consensus. If moral properties supervene upon natural properties, then, presumably, we should conclude that Booby Abel’s slaying is murder, despite it’s being hailed as a sacred duty in that world.

But if the human moral sense, with its verdict regarding siblicide, is in place ultimately because it was adaptive given actual but contingent circumstances, why suppose that it has any legitimate authority where those circumstances do not obtain and it is not adaptive? Santayana compares such universal judgments to “…the German lady who said that Englishmen called a certain object bread, and Frenchmen called it pain, but that it really was Brod.” They seem to be instances of what Judith Thomson has called metaphysical imperialism. To illustrate, in seeking the reference of “good” as used in “this is a good hammer,” Thomson suggests that the natural property that best serves here is “being such as to facilitate hammering nails in in manners that conduce to satisfying the wants people typically hammer nails in to satisfy.”

She opts for this property as opposed to the more determinate properties of “being well-balanced, strong, with an easily graspable handle, and so on” Even though we may find that this familiar set of properties coextends with those that “conduce to satisfying the wants that people typically hammer nails in to satisfy,” there are all sorts of “odd possible worlds” in which people typically have quite different wants for which deviant hammers come in handy. There are worlds in which “large slabs of granite” do the best job in this regard. And so we are metaphysical imperialists if we presume to impose our nail-hammering wants upon the counterfactual carpenters of those worlds.

Thomson thus fixes upon a property that is less determinate than those that characterize hammers of earthly goodness: it is good insofar as it answers to wants or is useful. Let’s say, then, that usefulness is the natural property upon which the evaluative property, being good supervenes. And the usefulness of the hammer supervenes, in turn, upon those more determinate features that fit this or that hammer to its purpose. Since the uses vary from world to world, so may the particular features that render hammers useful—and thus good—vary.

Should the ethical naturalist follow her lead in the case of siblicide in that Darwinian world we are imagining? Sure, in both worlds, the victim was a fully sentient person with a desire to live, ends of his own, and no intention of bringing harm to his killer. But perhaps the actual supervenience base for such acts is less determinate than such a set of properties. Might this permit one to say that the acts of both worlds are right?

In fact, as we have set things up, both familial love in the actual world, and siblicide in the counterfactual world, are adaptive from the standpoint of reproductive fitness, just as Estwing hammers and chunks of granite are both useful, despite sharp differences between the features that render them useful. Perhaps, then, the sacredness of infanticide is in virtue of the fact that it is conducive to fitness, so that truth tracks fitness, so to speak. A perhaps seeming advantage of this suggestion is that we have now been afforded a guaranteed link between fitness and truth. What reason have we for thinking that moral beliefs that are adaptive are also true? Why, because being adaptive is the very thing that makes them true! But this seems an overly convenient way of replying to Street’s Darwinian Dilemma; it does so by conflating the “adaptive-link” and “tracking” accounts. And it calls to mind Santayana’s quip about the good being, by definition, “whatever the world is aiming at.” All archers are equally good marksmen when the mark is determined by where the arrow happens to fall. But where this is the case, there can be no such thing as a poor marksman. Nor can any be better or best. And then one is left to wonder whether it is meaningful to call any of them “good.” Santayana’s tongue-in-cheek remark was offered in the service of his view that the good is not objective at all, but, rather projective. But on the suggestion that we are presently considering, this proves to be a distinction without a difference. Edward Wilson and Michael Ruse once suggested that ethics is “an illusion fobbed off on us by our genes.” But now we know that, by definition, genes never fob.

One might suppose that what is needed is an appeal to natures. Thus, actual human nature being what it is, familial affection and reciprocal kindness commend themselves as virtues. But in the sorts of worlds that Darwin imagines, the creaturely natures are different, and so it is no surprise that virtue and duty should assume quite different forms. Since Darwin is imagining beings with natures different from our own, the fact that those counterfactual moralities come out so different has no bearing upon the objectivity of our own.

Now, assuredly, there are possible worlds in which natural differences are sufficient for various sorts of acts to differ with respect to their moral properties from the same acts performed in our neck of the logical woods. Here, it is a fairly serious matter to shoot off a person’s head. But it might amount to little more than an annoying prank in those worlds where heads are quickly regrown. But we are imagining counterfactual heads that do not grow back, and counterfactual owners of heads who wish very much to retain their titles. If the appeal to differences in “natures” amounts merely to the observation that, here, we think it wrong to kill babies, but there, they do not, what is this if not just to rephrase the suggestion above regarding fitness? We should allow that this difference in the moral sense is sufficient by itself for sorting justified from unjustified homicide only if we think that killing in the actual world is permissible so long as the killer can sleep nights and no one else, save the victim, seems to mind.

Perhaps there is some other natural, subvenient property that is common to both earth and all such Darwinian worlds and is that in virtue of which the various acts described have the property of moral rightness. Presumably, this would be some natural property that is common to both equitable and inequitable social arrangements and to both the nurturing and the strangling of babies. There are, of course, such common natural properties. Random acts of kindness and random acts of violence share the property of being an act. But this will hardly serve as a plausible right-making property of acts. (The Decalogue might have been reduced to one precept: Thou shalt do something.) Presumably, we seek something a little more determinate, but not so determinate as to exclude counterfactually evolved moralities. But whatever we settle upon, the natural properties upon which justice and injustice or depravity and saintliness supervene are not equity or inequity, cruelty or kindness, but something that serves as the genus for these seemingly opposed species of moral properties.

One unhappy result here is that those more determinate natural properties that are favored by reflective equilibrium would prove to be merely accidental and coextensive features of morality. If there is some natural property N that is common to both equitable and inequitable bargaining outcomes, and upon which justice supervenes, then N, and not equity, defines the essence of justice. This would appear to be the metaethical equivalent of the suggestion that water is whatever fills a world’s oceans, so that earthly H2O and Twin-Earthly XYZ both qualify as water. But then being H2O is not the essence of the stuff that we call “water.” One might thus offer a functionalist account of moral properties. Perhaps, for instance, “justice” picks out whatever natural properties tend toward societal stability. We happen to live in a world in which equity has this effect. But there are worlds in which inequity does the trick. In addition to signaling a significant departure from the sort of account that ethical naturalists appear typically offer, such a move would seem a precarious footing for any robust account of moral realism. It is, in fact, a recipe for relativism.

It is hard to see how a metaphysical naturalist after the order of Russell can afford to reject a Darwinian reckoning of human morality. Moral behavior is not the sort of thing likely to be overlooked by natural selection because of the important role that it plays in survival and reproductive success. Early ancestors who lacked the impulse to care for their offspring or to cooperate with their fellows would, like the celibate Shakers, have left few to claim them as ancestors.

And it is hard to see how ethical naturalism can be reconciled in any plausible way with the contingency of human morality as implied by a standard Darwinian reckoning of things as understood within the framework of metaphysical naturalism. Whether the claim is that moral properties are identical and reducible to natural properties, or that they are constituted by and supervene upon them, the relation should be fixed across worlds in order to anchor the realist element. In fact, on a standard account, moral terms function in much the same way as natural kind terms in that they rigidly designate natural properties and thus track those identical properties across worlds. But it seems that this will either end up asserting an unwarranted form of metaphysical imperialism, or it will require the identification of some natural property (or set of properties) that is common to and right-making across widely divergent Darwinian worlds. Among other things, one might wonder how such a property could seriously be set forth as one empirically discerned or as playing the sort of explanatory role that is claimed for moral properties on ethical naturalism.

In principle, as a Platonist of sorts, Russell could avoid the charge of metaphysical imperialism. If the Good exists, then there is a fixed, transcendent standard in virtue of which we may evaluate the moral beliefs and practices of our own world as well as those of others. But, as we have seen, neither Russell nor naturalists in general have reason to believe that we have epistemic access to the Good even if it does exist. The ethical naturalist may avoid the charge either by allowing, for instance, that familial love and siblicide are equally right, or by offering some account as to why the human moral sense succeeds in acquiring moral truth where the booby moral sense fails. But in the absence of the sort of teleology that is precluded on naturalism, such an account seems not to be forthcoming. And the suggestion that there is some natural property that is common to all of the possible moralities countenanced on the Darwinian scheme is just implausible. Thus, the trouble that we have been documenting arises not out of neither ethical non-naturalism nor ethical naturalism per se, but from the attempt to combine any variety of moral realism with metaphysical naturalism. Given the metaphysics of at least Russell’s brand of naturalism, one lacks the “dogmatic justification” required in order to suppose that the “felt values” with which moral reflection begins constitute knowledge. The point is similar to one raised by Norman Daniels in his discussion of reflective equilibrium. Before one may proceed with confidence, one requires “ a little story that gets told about why we should pay homage ultimately to those [considered] judgments and indirectly to the principles that systematize them” (Daniels 1979, p. 265). Russell, like any metaphysical naturalist, lacks such a story because he is “not a theist after the manner of Socrates.”

Epilogue: Lotze’s Dictum

I am inclined to think that Santayana’s argument succeeds in showing that Russell’s Moorean moral philosophy is unwarranted given his worldview. As Harry Ruja puts it,

In his eagerness to establish the good's objectivity, Russell has separated values from  man and man's will so emphatically that there is no way to reunite them. He may proclaim "ought to exist" as often as he wishes, but if no one is moved to take on the role of the demiurge, the eternal and potential ideals will remain remote from depraved reality.

But Santayana viewed the positing of some such “demiurge”—or, more generally, a “dogmatic justification” for this moral vision, in the form of the requisite metaphysics—as nothing more than a “gratuitous fiction” that can hardly be taken seriously by any modern critic. The only reasonable position, he thought, was a conjunction of naturalism and some sort of moral skepticism.

In the same year that Santayana published Winds, W.R. Sorley delivered the first of his Gifford Lectures. There, Sorley defended and developed what he termed, “Lotze’s Dictum,” after the 19th century German philosopher Rudolph Hermann Lotze: “The true beginning of metaphysics lies in ethics.” Sorley observed that “the traditional order of procedure”—business as usual in metaphysics—was to construct an interpretation of reality—a worldview—that drew exclusively upon non-moral considerations, such as the deliverances of the sciences. Not until the task of worldview construction was complete did one “go on to draw out the ethical consequences of the view that had been reached.” Sorley thought it likely that such a method would result in an artificially truncated worldview, and that moral ideas would be given short shrift. And the exclusion of our moral experience was simply arbitrary. “If we take experience as a whole, and do not arbitrarily restrict ourselves to that portion of it with which the physical and natural sciences have to do, then our interpretation of it must have ethical data at its basis and ethical laws in its structure.”

I do not know about those “modern critics” who were Santayana’s contemporaries, but now a century later Sorley’s suggestion may enjoy enhanced plausibility. It is widely recognized that we must approach each and every field of knowledge, including the sciences, with some fund of beliefs that we just happen to have. Since all theorizing has these same humble origins, how can one non-arbitrarily single out a particular domain of beliefs for suspicion? To use an example from recent discussions, a scientist’s belief that a proton has just passed through a cloud chamber might be explained (away) merely by appeal to her background beliefs and theoretical commitments. For example, her theory has it that the appearance of a vapor trail is evidence of proton activity, and so, of course, when she sees, or believes that she sees, a vapor trail, she forms the belief in the proton. But here we are required to be realists about protons only if we have assumed that the scientist’s theory is “roughly correct.” But, again, why extend this courtesy in these cases while being decidedly discourteous in the case of morality? Certain of my moral beliefs seem to have a greater degree of epistemic security than any of the various empiricist principles that would cast doubt upon them. Why reject the moral beliefs for the sake of such principles unless there is a splendid reason for doing so?

Given Santayana’s metaphysics, moral properties turn out to be metaphysically queer. But, then, so is the phenomenological property of redness, which some philosophers do not admit, and the rest do admit, but also admit that they cannot explain it. Chesterton said that he took pleasure in the fact that the rhinoceros does exist, though it looks as though it does not. There is redness and there are rhinos, and if my philosophy does not admit them, then perhaps it is time to get a new philosophy. Might the same thing go for rightness?

Photo: "Bertrand Arthur William Russell, 3rd Earl Russell" by Bassano Ltd. CC License. From National Portrait Gallery

Kurt Vonnegut: Unlikely Apologist

Editor's Note: This essay was originally posted at Christ and Pop Culture. 

The late Kurt Vonnegut inspires loyalty among his readers. He’s the kind of author whose fans devour book after book, reading one after another in rapid succession. Or at least I did. Back in 1997 a coworker recommended Vonnegut to me, specifically Slaughterhouse-Five. Unable to get my hands on that novel, I checked out Deadeye Dick. I was hooked. By the end of the year, I’d read at least ten Vonnegut novels, only whetting my appetite for more.

Vonnegut is often thought of as cynical, edgy, and distasteful, not the most inviting qualities. This reputation is based—I believe—on his role as social satirist and his liberal-leaning political stance. The Vonnegut I love, on the other hand, is found in his letter to an English class at Xavier High School, one of the most popular Letters of Note posts from last year. He’s charming and kind, concerned with the students’ flourishing, aware of the indignities of life (his aging and its effects), yet vanquishing them with humor and grace. Reading that letter reaffirms my enthusiasm for Vonnegut’s work.

By Kurt Vonnegut

At one time I felt a little timid about my affinity for Vonnegut. He was often conceived as tasteless, a charge getting its bite from a cursory reading of the author’s irreverent and iconoclastic titles. Satirists tip sacred cows, and Vonnegut’s no exception. His outspoken agnosticism further reinforced my timidity. Having flirted with both theism and atheism, Vonnegut was willing to commit to neither. He even claims that his first wife’s conversion to Christianity was a key factor in their divorce. Even so, Vonnegut retained interest in scripture and Christianity, with a particular fondness for Christ himself. Closing the letter to Xavier HS “God bless you all!” is, ironically enough, vintage Vonnegut. He also once claimed, tongue in cheek perhaps, his epitaph should read, “The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.”

Vonnegut’s words consistently dance with such delight, even when dealing with death and dearth—the firebombing of Dresden (Slaughterhouse-Five), apocalyptic nightmares (Cat’s CradleGalápagos), Nazi war crimes (Mother Night). Yet the most salient response he elicits from readers is laughter. The humor lacing Vonnegut’s letter to the high school class permeates all of his books. However heavy the subject matter, he never loses his light touch; however tragic, he retains the capacity to laugh. Vonnegut’s humor exposes man’s fears and limitations and invites his readers to reject human pretensions.

As he wraps up the opening chapter to Slaughterhouse-Five, for example, he turns the story of Sodom and Gomorrah on its head, using it as a parallel to the destruction of the Nazi-occupied city of Dresden and challenging us to reconsider the source and nature of evil and our obligations to one another:

Those were vile people in both cities, as is well known. The world was better off without them. And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes.

Then, poignantly: “I’ve finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt.” The tension between loss and life, pain and joy, is felt in every line of this and many other of his books. Mingled among these jokes and laments are moving passages honoring human beings. In the aftermath of Dresden’s firebombing, the main character rests in a horse-drawn wagon, appreciating the sun, rest, and full belly he’d been denied while a POW. At this moment, Vonnegut introduces two German obstetricians who care for the horse Billy and his comrades have failed to feed or groom properly. Picturesque scenes like this one recur in Vonnegut’s work, encouraging readers to reject easy cynicism amidst pain and tragedy.

Vonnegut is a paradox like that—a likeable curmudgeon, a pessimistic optimist, an earnest humorist. And it’s his honesty about the paradoxes of life that draws me back to him again and again. It’s an honesty that, despite Vonnegut’s inability to submit personally to the gospel message, brilliantly proclaims its truth. As Christian enthusiasts of popular culture realize, evidence for the truth of the gospel can appear in the unlikeliest of places. In Vonnegut recognition of fundamental gospel truth abounds, reinforcing and renewing for me the wisdom of John 1:1, that in the beginning was the Word, that the logos of Christ underpins reality and speaks to us all. I no longer hide my fondness for Vonnegut and his work; I embrace it. I have come to realize that reading Vonnegut enlivens my understanding and practice of Christianity.

For this reason, I see in Vonnegut a depiction of the world as it is—filled with sorrow, overwhelmed by joy, populated by valuable human beings, capable of being redeemed (if only on a small-scale in his work). I see, too, Vonnegut’s inescapable paradox, a paradox resolved only by Christ: victim-perpetrators seeking salvation and absolution, powerless to save themselves. Such a world resonates with my experience, and Christianity makes best sense of it. The God he denies is the One who enters into the world to save the humans Vonnegut cherishes.


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Marybeth Davis Baggett lives in Lynchburg, Virginia, and teaches English at Liberty University. Having earned her Ph.D. in English from Indiana University of Pennsylvania, Marybeth’s professional interests include literary theory, contemporary American literature, science fiction, and dystopian literature. She also writes and edits for Christ and Pop Culture. Her most recent publication was a chapter called “What Means Utopia to Us? Reconsidering More’s Message,” in Hope and the Longing for Utopia: Futures and Illusions in Theology and the Arts. Marybeth's most recent book is The Morals of the Story: Good News about a Good God, coauthored with her husband, David.