Archive for the ‘Theism’ Category

Draper’s Evidential Argument Against Theism From Pain and Pleasure

January 6, 2017

I came across a link to a recent paper by Jeffery Jay Lowder talking about Draper’s Evidential Argument from Pain and Pleasure, and more specifically William Lane Craig’s attempts to disprove such evidential arguments from evil in general. From the start, the paper turns out to be a really bad one because what Lowder is replying to is a set of general arguments, but Craig does not seem to address Draper’s argument specifically, and none of the objections are aimed specifically at that argument … and yet Lowder sets it all up as if that argument is the only one worth mentioning. While I only skimmed the objections and counters and there might be some cases where Draper’s argument is immune to Craig’s arguments in a way that other aren’t, it’s not particularly good to address a general criticism by appealing to a specific argument. Even if that argument does, in fact, survive the challenges, it doesn’t a) mean that most arguments do, making them still useful to make against other arguments of that type or b) that that specific argument doesn’t have specific flaws that invalidate it anyway, making it irrelevant that it survives the general objections. Lowder’s main idea seems to be that general arguments aren’t likely to work anyway:

For example, he refers to ‘the probabilistic problem of evil’ (italics mine) even though Craig knows that there are many different kinds of probabilistic (or evidential) arguments from evil. Even if he successfully identifies a flaw in one version of the evidential argument from evil, it doesn’t follow that said flaw will apply to all versions of the evidential argument from evil. Consider an analogy. There is no ‘the’ cosmological argument but instead a family of arguments known as “cosmological arguments” consisting of multiple, independent arguments, such as the kalam cosmological argument, the Leibnizian cosmological argument, and the Thomistic cosmological argument. Each of these arguments are logically independent in the sense that each argument succeeds or fails independently of the others, and the different arguments could be combined together to create a cumulative case for theism.

Similarly, there is no ‘the’ evidential argument from evil but instead a family of arguments known as “evidential arguments from evil,” consisting of multiple, independent arguments, such as pain and pleasure, flourishing and languishing,[4] virtue and vice,[5] triumph and tragedy,[6] autonomy and heteronomy,[7] divine silence in the face of tragedies,[8] social evil,[9] and the failure of theodicies.[10] Each of these arguments are logically independent in the sense that each argument succeeds or fails independently of the others, and the different arguments could be combined together to create a cumulative case against theism.

The problem is that anything that could be called a “family’ of arguments is not, in fact, logically independent so that they all succeed or fail independently of the others. All of them start from a common premise or set of premises and shake out their argument in different ways. This means that while there may be cases where an argument against one or a set of them doesn’t apply to the others, it will always be possible to come up with arguments that undercut the majority of them, due to that shared, common base. Moreover, there is no reason to think that the arguments are complementary and together form an argument. They may well just be different variations on the same theme, and so if you can undercut the theme you can undercut all of them. Thus, it is problematic to focus on one specific argument and use it to reply to a general assault, as that one might be “eccentric” wrt that specific objection but that most of the arguments in that family will indeed face significant issues from the criticism. And, of course, if the one argument happens to be the only one to survive the general objections but won’t work for other reasons, that doesn’t in any way save the family of arguments.

And it’s that last part that I want to focus on, rather than on Craig’s objections and Lowder’s objections to the objections. It’s risky to try to address what seem to be obvious objections to Draper’s argument only from a summary given by someone else, but I’m not writing a formal paper and since Lowder seems to think that Draper’s argument is a good one I can be assured that he will present it reasonably fairly and, if he presents it unfairly, will do so in a light that is more favourable to the argument rather than less. I couldn’t do this if Craig was summarizing it and would have to look it up myself, but with Lowder I can assume that if my assessment is wrong it’s either because he left out some specific detail. I don’t have to worry that he presented the argument in a more dubious form than Draper did.

So let’s look at the argument, as summarized by Lowder:

1.1 Observation 1: Moral Agents Experiencing Biologically Useful Pain and Pleasure

Suppose you are a teenager sleeping in a hotel that has caught on fire. The hotel is old and doesn’t have any smoke alarms. The fire gets closer and closer to you until you are actually in pain from the smoke and the intense heat. Your pain wakes you up in time to escape, so you go on to survive and start a family in your twenties. In this case your pain was biologically useful because it contributed to the biological “goal” of survival. The naturalistic explanation for the unfolding of this scenario is obvious. If human beings are the products of evolution by natural selection, we would expect physical pain and pleasure to motivate human behavior in ways that aid survival and reproduction.

1.2 Observation 2: Sentient Beings Experiencing Biologically Useful Pain and Pleasure

Most human beings are what philosophers call moral agents, people who can be held responsible for their actions and the consequences of their actions. But some human beings (such as young children and humans with certain mental disabilities), as well as nonhuman sentient animals (such as primates and dolphins), are moral patients—sentient beings who can be harmed from their own point of view, but are not responsible for their actions.

On naturalism, among biological sentient beings we would expect both moral patients and moral agents to experience biologically useful pain and pleasure. For biological moral patients (such as nonhuman primates and dolphins) are biologically similar to biological moral agents (such as human beings). On theism, however, we would predict that biological moral patients do not suffer the same kind of pain as biological moral agents. Such pain plays no known moral role in the lives of the biological moral patients who experience it. For example, such pain isn’t necessary for free will, doesn’t seem to influence moral patients to freely choose right actions over wrong ones, doesn’t enable moral patients to acquire moral virtue, and doesn’t usually increase their knowledge of God. Indeed, as if to underscore the point, theists typically emphasize that concepts like moral freedom, moral obligation, moral virtue, and salvation do not even apply to nonhuman animals, and thus do not apply to the majority of moral patients.

1.3 Observation 3: Sentient Beings Experiencing Pain and Pleasure Not Known to be Useful

But not all physical pain and pleasure is biologically useful. For example, consider an animal trapped in a forest fire that suffers horrific pain as it slowly burns to death.[11] On the one hand, this kind of pain is biologically appropriate: it is biologically useful in general that animals feel pain when they come in contact with fire. But, on the other hand, this specific instance of pain is not biologically useful because it does not contribute to the biological goals of survival or reproduction.

On naturalism, this is just what we would expect. If naturalism is true, all animals are the byproducts of unguided evolution by natural selection, which is both indifferent to suffering and incapable of fine-tuning animals to prevent such pain. Thus, the kind of pain and pleasure that we actually find is what we would expect if naturalism were true.

But if theism were true, God could “fine tune” animals so that they only experience physical pain and pleasure when it is morally necessary. So theism leads us to expect that pain and pleasure are fundamentally moral phenomena that just happen to be connected to the biological goals of survival and reproduction. That’s a huge coincidence that naturalism doesn’t need.

But there are a number of problems here:

1) Why is it presumed that pain and pleasure are fundamentally moral phenomena? This presumes that the main purpose of pain and pleasure is, in fact, for moral reasons, or for moral guidance. This then seems to presume that what makes something moral or immoral is the amount of pain and pleasure it causes. This works for a vaguely Utilitarian view of morality, but it doesn’t work for one that is: Kantian, Stoic or, most importantly here, a Divine Command Theory. In fact, it is only hedonistic moral philosophies that would consider pain and pleasure to have that special moral status, and the majority of theistic moral theories aren’t hedonistic. Given this, there is no reason for a theistic view to accept that pain and pleasure have a special moral status.

2) This then leads to the counter that pain and pleasure in fact do have a primary purpose, which is that they are biologically useful. They are biologically useful in both moral agents and moral patients, and they should be understood as primarily aimed at providing that. In fact, from the theistic perspective it’s fairly clear that pain and pleasure can often interfere with proper moral reasoning, an idea that is common in non-hedonistic philosophies and, in fact, even in hedonistic ones. The pain and pleasure that someone feels is good to guide them to specific non-moral wants, but that specific person being in — or contemplating — great pain or pleasure can encourage them to act in immoral ways, either by treating others as means and not also as ends (Kant), to prefer vices or indifferents to virtues (Stoics), ignoring God’s commands (DCT) or even to causing more overall pain than other actions would have (Utilitarianism). From this, we ought to conclude that, in general, pain and pleasure have no special status.

3) We might still wish to conclude that there would be special “pains” and “pleasures” that moral agents would experience and moral patients would not. But we have a word for such things: conscience. Particularly, guilt when we do something immoral and the sort of satisfaction we get from helping others and doing what is moral. And moral agents — humans, in particular — seem to at least have a more developed conscience than non-human animals do, even if they can be seen to have these inner feelings at all. Sure, many animals often look “guilty”, but that in and of itself wouldn’t prove that they really were or that they really understand what that means and can tie it to moral reasoning. So it seems that focusing on pain and pleasure ignores the actual morally relevant emotions and feelings that would be relevant to the discussion.

So, after working through all this, we can see what is doing all of the work: the idea of biologically appropriate pain, which is pain that would be biologically useful, except in this particular case there is nothing that can be done about it, so it is not useful. Draper’s argument stands entirely on the idea that God could eliminate that pain, and if He doesn’t, then that’s a reason — or at least makes it less probable — that God exists. In short, under a naturalistic or at least indifferent worldview we would see that creatures would experience pain even when it had no use whatsoever, but in a theistic worldview creatures ought not experience pain unnecessarily, when it serves no purpose.

This, however, also suffers from some issues. First, it again presumes that pain and pleasure have a special moral status. But there are a number of moral theories that deny this. For example, under Stoicism pain and pleasure are themselves indifferents, and the agent ought not consider them necessarily bad or good. Thus, it is not unreasonable that if God needed to, say, cause pain in me in order to promote the development of someone else that wouldn’t be immoral or even wrong. For example, imagine that I am working with someone on a project, and that person needs to improve their self-reliance. As long as I am working with them, they won’t do that, and my own personality is such that if I am able to work on it, I will. So an outside force decides to give me a week long flu that keeps me away from work and forces them to do the job themselves without relying on me, which gives them self-reliance at the cost of my feeling miserable for a week. This is probably acceptable under Stoicism and, if the long-term benefits of that person learning self-reliance outweigh my being miserable for a week, would work even for Utilitarianism. (Kantians would disapprove because I was used as a means and not as an end in myself). So it isn’t clear that we can look at pain that the moral patient can’t avoid and say that therefore that pain had no purpose.

And note that my view is taking the strong position here, and claiming that causing such pain wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. All God would be accused of doing here is allowing that pain in those cases.

From this, we see that we actually have to establish that, in fact, God doesn’t fine tune the pain of moral patients so that when it serves no purpose to anyone the moral patient doesn’t feel it. From this, we have to find a case where we a) know that the moral patient feels pain and b) it has no impact on any other creature that they felt pain. But the only cases where that would hold are cases where no other creature can possibly know that the moral patient felt pain, as in any case where any creature knows that the moral patient felt pain that stimulus can, in fact, impact behaviour, either biologically — an animal knows that that moral patient is in pain and so knows to avoid that area or that thing — or morally. In the last case, it would be the idea that knowing that the creature was in pain there might encourage people to act in certain ways towards that creature, or develop new ideas, or sympathy, or whatever. Again, under non-hedonistic philosophies, this isn’t as important, but it becomes difficult to say that even then it would have no use, and they are not required to show that it has more use than otherwise. And even Utilitarian views would allow it if it had more use. And, strangely enough, even Kantians could accept it because there is no requirement in Kant to treat moral patients as ends in themselves, only moral agents.

So the only case where a moral patient could be feeling pain that had no use is by definition a case where we cannot know whether or not they are feeling pain. At this point, Draper’s Evidential Argument fails because it, well, can’t provide any evidence for itself.

As summarized by Lowder, Draper’s Evidential Argument From Pain and Pleasure fails on two counts. First, the primary difference between the theistic and indifferent worldview — that pain and pleasure should have mostly a biological purpose on the latter but more than that on the former — fails for most moral theories and particularly for theistic theories of the sort Lowder and Draper are attacking. And second the main pillar of the argument — purposeless suffering — also fails for many moral theories and truly purposeless suffering cannot be tested for by definition. Thus, most theisms seem to have little to fear from that specific Argument From Evil.

Review of “Unapologetic”

December 2, 2016

So, I recently received and read John W. Loftus’ “Unapologetic”, which attempts to show that either Philosophy of Religion has to radically change or — and this mostly seems to be his preference — has to fade away completely. Early in the book, Loftus says that he doesn’t think that arguments are going to convince anyone anyway, and it seems that, in this book, he carries that forward by refusing to actually make arguments. The book takes a very aggressive and arrogant tone — like that of Jerry Coyne, P.Z. Myers, and Richard Carrier, all of whom he cites at various times in the work — but the risk with that sort of tone is that you had better be right. He isn’t right enough to get away with summarizing his arguments with a “Period.” or “End of Story.” as if no one could ever question him.

He also seems to fundamentally misunderstand what philosophy actually is. I don’t mean that he conflates philosophy of religion and theology — although he does, especially when he talks about himself as an expert in philosophy of religion because he’s done theology, although the two are not the same thing — but instead that he suggests approaches that are fundamentally non- and even anti-philosophical as if they are what philosophy ought to be doing. I plan on going through the chapters and picking out a few important points later, and so the details of that will come when I do that (stay tuned!).

But let me outline the two main arguments he gives for philosophy of religion being no longer relevant and not something that ought to be taught in any academic setting:

1) Philosophy of Religion focuses too much on Christianity and Western Religions, and not enough on other religions, even dead ones. It also focuses too much on the Western Analytic tradition. In short, it’s too parochial.

2) There is little reason to think that philosophy can advance or should have a discipline that starts from something that doesn’t exist. He uses the comparison of fairies and Superman here, to wonder why we study God and not, say, Superman philosophically.

Well, okay, the main thrust of his argument is that faith is terrible and shouldn’t be allowed in any academic setting which he repeats and assert over and over and over again, as just when he said it, that’s when he’d say it (how’s that again?). But I’ll deal with that one later. Let me, then, just focus on these two.

1) This is, in fact, a common criticism of philosophy in general, that Western philosophy focus too much on the analytic tradition — as opposed to the continental tradition that he references as a reason consider philosophy of religion too parochial — and too much on Western philosophy while ignoring Eastern philosophy. So, he’s criticizing Philosophy of Religion specifically for failings shared by all of philosophy. Unless he’s also anti-philosophical — and he claims not to be — this isn’t an argument against philosophy of religion.

2) I’d like to draw his attention to “Philosophy in Popular Culture”, which is indeed examining concepts like Superman to see what interesting philosophical ideas can be raised from them. I believe that it’s not even just in popular bookstores near you anymore, but that there are specialized courses in universities using it. The main reason philosophy of religion is more prominent is because it’s an issue that more people care about and religion, in all of its forms, raises far more interesting philosophical issues than, say, fairies do. And, yes, this might even apply to “dead” religions, which might at least rise to the level of Superman and, more importantly, Batman in terms of philosophical interest. So we already would do that if they were interesting. If he thinks they are, then he can feel free to argue for their inclusion. And if he thinks that philosophy of religion is not interesting, he can argue for that, too, and we might see some of that in my later assessments (stay tuned!). But just because something doesn’t exist doesn’t mean that it’s not interesting philosophically.

I find myself utterly unconvinced by “Unapologetic”, and Philosophy of Religion is something like seventh on my list of philosophical interests (after luge!). Loftus’ views of what we should do in philosophy classes seems anti-philosophical to me, and he far too often relies on repeating his conclusions — often conclusions from elsewhere — rather than arguing for any conclusion that he wants us to accept. I can’t recommend this as a book for anyone other than people who already agree with Loftus to read, which makes it a bad book in a philosophical context. But hopefully more of that will come through in the more detailed analysis.

Is an Evil God as Plausible as a Good God?

October 19, 2016

Jerry Coyne has made a post linking to a video by Stephen Law that argues that the standard free will defense for God allowing us to act in evil ways would also work to justify an evil God. He posits that there might be an evil God who wants us to suffer and that might be the God who created everything. He then notes that the first counter to that would be that we’d imagine that the world would contain a lot more suffering than it actually does if that way the case, at which point he uses the “free will” defense to say that just as we can posit that a good God allows us to choose evil as an unfortunate but necessary consequence of us having free will, the evil God can allow us to choose good as an unfortunate but necessary consequence of us having free will. Thus, the free will defense allows us to justify both an evil and a good God, and so cannot be used to choose between them.

The first issue here is that it ignores the idea that allowing humans to have free will is, in fact, good in and of itself. If it is better for humans to have free will than it is for us to be nothing more than the willing puppets of God with the illusion of actually making free choices, then we can easily see why a good God would allow us to have free will and even why a good God would accept us acting evil out of that free will, but it’s difficult to see why an evil God would give us that great good in the service of willing evil acts. So, if we stick strictly to good and evil here, a good God would give us free will because giving us free will is in and of itself good, but it seems inconsistent for an evil God to give us such a great good. To oppose this, you either need to show that free will is not a good, or that it facilitates in some way some great evil. Both of those would be daunting tasks, to say the least.

However, as I’ve already discussed, talking about “good” and “evil” is almost always too vague. We need to work out what we mean by “good” and “evil” to really work this out. Even Law assumes that his evil God really wants to increase our suffering. So let’s compare, then, a moral God who wants us to act morally to a sadistic God who wants us to suffer. Since being moral requires us to have free will and the free will to choose to act morally — an argument that Coyne, at least, can’t oppose since he thinks that if we don’t have free will then the concept of morality is meaningless — we have a good reason for a moral God to want to give us free will. This doesn’t seem to work for the sadistic God. After all, if the sadistic God really wanted us to suffer, he could just turn us into self-aware puppets with a strong innate moral fiber, with the ability to understand that what we are doing is wrong, but being unable to stop ourselves from doing it. This world is not like that. Additionally, if we are given the free will to stop hurting each other, then we might, in fact, all just go ahead and do that, leaving a world with a lot less suffering. This doesn’t in any way promote the sadistic God’s plans. One might argue that allowing us to act immorally might mean that all of us might choose to always act immorally and so contradict the moral God’s plans just as much, but it is clear that the moral God needs to risk that in order for us to act morally at all. The sadistic God does not need to give us free will in order to make us suffer.

But wait, I can hear some of you cry! Aren’t you pulling a bait and switch here? Why are you comparing a moral God to a sadistic God? Why aren’t you comparing a moral God to an immoral God, a God who wants us all to act immorally all the time? After all, the immoral God requires us to have free will just as much as the moral God does. So, let’s take a look at that case.

In order to assess this, we first need to decide what it means to act morally. Let’s first consider the case where what it means to act morally is to act according to what God says is moral. In this case, then, moral God wants us to act according to the moral rules that he has defined, while immoral God wants us to violate those rules, well, pretty much all of the time. At this point, immoral God seems to be drifting towards “insane God”, setting up rules that he deliberately doesn’t want us to follow. The best we could say about this is that it might be a God that is encouraging us to think for ourselves … but since that might mean that we act according to the rules or not according to the rules as we see fit we no longer have an “immoral” God, but instead a God that allows us to make our own choices, and thus a “free will” God. But a free will God has little reason to make moral rules in the first place. Thus, an immoral God under this model seems rather implausible, as either it has to be advocating against follow its own rules, or ends up as a God that doesn’t really want us to act immorally at all.

Next, let’s look at moral relativism. Here, the moral God would want us to act according to and consistently with our own ideas of morality, while the immoral God would want us to, in fact, act against those assessments. But giving us the ability to assess the situation morally flies in the face of that. Why care about morality at all if we aren’t supposed to follow it? It’s difficult to imagine a reason why an immoral God would, again, want us to have any moral capabilities at all in that case. So we’d have to retreat to God wants us to suffer or God wants us to make choices. Either way, the immoral God seems out of the picture.

Finally, let’s look at there being an objective morality that is independent of what God thinks is moral (ie it’s not just defined by what God says is moral). A moral God would want us to follow it, while an immoral God would want us to violate it. But we have to ask why, in fact, each of them would want us to do that. A moral God can appeal to either the idea that as moral agents — created as such by God — it is our natural duty to try to act morally, or the idea that it is better for us to act morally. The immoral God can’t appeal to the idea that it is our duty to act immorally if we are created as moral agents, and if we are not created as moral agents we are amoral, not immoral. Again, in that case it would be better if they hadn’t created us as moral agents at all, and if immoral God doesn’t create us as moral agents, then it doesn’t need to care about morality — or free will — at all. However, immoral God can appeal to the idea that it is better for us to reject that objective morality and so that’s why we should act immorally, as well as why we should have an idea of what is moral, so that we know what to avoid. But then we can sub back into the original question and note that that’s not an evil God anymore. On that argument, both moral and immoral God are advocating that we do what it is in our own best interest, which is, therefore, a good God. Their disagreement would be over whether being moral is good or whether being moral is bad for us. And most of us, by default, are going to side with being moral being good.

Thus, Law’s argument doesn’t work. Evil or immoral Gods tend to either not care about being moral or end up being good Gods of some sort anyway, and always end up being less plausible than good Gods. This does not mean that we have good Gods and don’t have evil Gods, it just means that this little quirk on the Problem of Evil doesn’t work to establish the point Law is trying to make here.

Philipse on Personal Identity

September 2, 2016

Yes, it’s been over a year since I last talked about “God in the Age of Science”, but I haven’t forgotten about it. So here I’ll talk about the last section in Chapter 7, which is the one on personal identity. It’s also the one where Philipse’s two main arguments really made me wonder if he was, in fact, even a philosopher.

Philipse is trying to address an argument by Swinburne here — again, although it won’t be all that problematic until the next chapter — that argues against the empirical/naturalistic idea of determining personal identity, presumably because after all of Philipse’s previous arguments about bodies it would seem to leave God out, or at least mean that we could only talk about the personal identity of God by analogy, which Swinburne is loathe to do. So Swinburne, according to Philipse, tries to dodge that problem by arguing for Cartesian Dualism, and at least against the empirical idea. Swinburne’s argument is essentially this:

1) If the empirical account — which Philipse favours — is true, then there are going to be cases where there is no right answer to the question of whether a person P1 is is the same person as another person P2.

2) But there is always a right answer to these questions even if we might not always be able to actual know or determine what that right answer is.

Therefore, the empirical account is wrong.

Philipse accepts 1), and so will try to challenge 2), and in fact — continuing his habit of making arrogantly grandiose claims — will insist that it is false. This means that he will have to deal with the thought experiments about brain transplants that Swinburne uses to try to demonstrate the issues. Unfortunately, here is where he introduces a pair of not only really bad arguments, but ones that are arguably anti-philosophical as well:

An account of a concept should give us an illuminating overview of the various uses of the relevant term in the language. However, our language is not made for a fanciful science fiction world, but for the real world in which we are living.

… it is a methodological mistake to test an analysis of an ordinary concept such as the concept of a person or the concept of knowledge by attempting to apply it to science fiction examples. … One cannot elucidate the normal concept of a word, and analyse the concept it expresses, by wondering how it we should apply it to imagined situations that never or very rarely occur, and in which the concept loses its grip.

This is, lamentably, a very common argument that many people use against the philosophical use of thought experiments: it’s not covering real situations, so any problems that it raises aren’t actually problems. However, it is odd to see a philosopher advocating that thought experiments aren’t of any use in analysing a concept. It is even odder to see a philosopher essentially arguing that the point of conceptual analysis is merely to give an overview of how people use the term. Thus, if most people think that gut feelings or faith entail knowledge, it would seem that the job of the philosopher to find out a view of the concept of knowledge where that can be true, instead of pointing out that the actual concept of knowledge, independent of the common usage, seems to leave those things out as true knowledge. So it really looks like Philipse is limiting conceptual analysis to something that we’d normally think some branch of linguistics might do, which is simply list out the common usages of a word. Surely philosophical conceptual analysis is to do more than that, and thus separating it from common usages is key to ensuring that we are not misled by errors in the common usages.

And the big effect here of those arguments is to give the impression that the main reason Philipse is trying to discredit the use of thought experiments is because the thought experiments really are a problem for his view, which is also how those arguments are commonly used in the other areas. Thus, it seems like the thought experiments raise something that even Philipse thinks is a problem for his view, and he has to retreat to “Well, these are too artificial of cases” to try to avoid those nasty consequences. But Philipse’s main view is that 2) above is false, as he strongly asserts later. Thus, if Swinburne’s thought experiments really came up with examples where the empirical approach couldn’t give an answer to the question of whether a person P1 was another person P2 or not, then there ought to be no problem for Philipse, as he is in no way committed to saying that there really must always be an answer to that question. So, if it is such a problem that he must go to great lengths to invalidate the thought experiments by, essentially, invalidating all of them, then either he is indeed committed to the claim that there must always be a right answer to such questions or, else, these specific thought experiments are cases where even the empirical approach ought to have an answer, and it doesn’t. Either way, his dodge fails, and he’ll actually have to answer the issues raised by the thought experiments.

And he uses this analysis as the entire basis for his conclusion that 2) is false, when obviously it shows no such thing. He retreats to a claim that, in fact, as merely a description of normal usage it’s fine for it to have gaps, but that doesn’t mean that, again, there are cases where even by that usage there is no right answer to the question.

The rest of the chapter are simply attempts to show that Swinburne’s Cartesian Dualism might fare no better, a step that ought to be unnecessary if he actually had proved 2) false. Even then, a dualistic approach always has an answer: P1 is P2 iff the mind in P1 ends up in P2. We might not be able to prove where the mind actually went, but that wasn’t Swinburne’s contention. Arguably, Philipse has the same options open to him for the empirical approach, but for some reason he doesn’t take them.

In Chapter 8, we’ll look at necessity again, and note that Swinburne’s problems about necessity don’t seem to be ones that would bother other theists, like the Scholastics.

Shake up at Freethought blogs

March 15, 2016

So yesterday there was a big shake up at Freethought Blogs. A number of their long-standing bloggers have moved to a new blog network called “The Orbit”, a network that describes itself thusly:

The Orbit is a diverse collective of atheist and nonreligious bloggers committed to social justice, within and outside the secular community. We provide a platform for writing, discussion, activism, collaboration, and community.

At the same time, Freethought Blogs has recruited a number of new bloggers. In his recruitment drive, Myers said that what he was looking for was this:

Our requirements are simple: we want godless Social Justice Warriors.

Now, Myers himself has been promoting the new network, and all of those who left FtB said nice and kind farewells, and many have reacted to suggestions that this split means something — such as the Friendly Atheist — with scorn and mockery. The problem is that if you look at the descriptions of their overall purpose and goals … well, they seen to be pretty much identical. The bulk of the bloggers on “The Orbit” are former FtB, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason why they couldn’t do what they want to do on “The Orbit” on FtB, even by their own words. So there must be some reason they left FtB to form this new one. Did they find that the reputation of FtB hurt them in dealing with some people or organizations, as Ed Brayton suggested when he left? Do they think they can make more money with this new network than they could on FtB, which is the other reason Brayton left? Were they unhappy with how things went when people like Ophelia Benson left? Or what is the driving force behind this?

We know that there has to be one, because they are moving from one blog network to another with very similar if not identical goals. If one blog network wanted to focus more on atheistic discussions and less on social justice, the move would make sense. Or if one wanted to include religious blogs that work for social justice and remove the atheistic/godless criteria, that would also make sense. Or if one wanted to be more open and include a wider variety of topics, or even a narrower one — including more direct science or philosophy, for example — that would make sense, too. None of that happened. So assuming that these people are all rational — which, of course, they all would want us to think they are — then there must be a reason.

I’ve read in the comments that some people are using the happy-happy-joy-joy posts to show that no such reasons exist, but it’s clear that given the criticisms of FtB from multiple corners that was the last thing they’d do. After all, at least for now they’re all on the same side of the “Deep Rifts”, and they wouldn’t give their enemies the satisfaction of seeing them split. Yet, there is at least a split here, and it seems likely that the reason for this is either something about FtB, or something about the people on FtB. But there’s no way they’ll ever tell us which.

Why Do Atheists Denigrate Philosophy?

March 11, 2016

So, in response to the latest case of a scientist talking smack about philosophy — in this case, Bill Nye — P.Z. Myers and others are trying to defend why these people are willing to spout off like that wrt philosophy. Myers focuses on atheists:

It’s because so many smart people are idiots about psychology. I deal with a lot of atheists, and one of the many flaws in that group that have been coming to the fore lately is the obliviousness they have to their own motivations.

So, despite the fact that Myers is a biologist and not a psychologist, he’s going to feel free to opine about what their motivations really are. How do you get that much irony into a short paragraph?

Anyway, he opines this:

Atheists are all about the scienceyness. Good people are rational, objective, and unemotional, which whether they are aware of it or not, is a value judgment built on emotion. There is a lot of self-esteem-building going on, centered around who is smarter than who, who can build the most logical argument, and who is best at being aloofly superior. It’s all very annoying.

But, unfortunately for the atheists, philosophers tend to be better at the logical argument dealio than most of them are.

Um, except that the main objection of scientists and scientific atheists to philosophy has always been that their arguments don’t work, and don’t apply to the real world. Thus, the main counter is that philosophers only do logical argument, not empirical investigation. That might be a reaction to being outargued, but that’s hardly likely.

The other psychological gambit I’ve been seeing a great deal of is the herd mentality. Big name nerd disses philosophy; then swarms of followers agree, “Philosophy is a joke!”, and they all laugh and slap each others’ backs and cheer on more jeering at the stupid discipline.

This assumes that there wasn’t already an attitude that philosophy is a joke rampant in scientific and atheistic communities, which is, in fact, absolutely false. It isn’t a big name expressing their opinion and everyone following along, but the big name expressing an opinion that is common and getting the chorus back for doing it.

It’s especially irritating when groups of atheists fall into this trap, because their usual mantra is “show me the evidence,” and most of the ones playing this game have never studied philosophy at all.

So, if you read Myers’ article … where is the evidence, there, for his conclusions about their motivations?

Anyway, I’m going to tell you why atheists in general and even why scientists disparage philosophy. For atheists, it all starts from theology.

What we’ve seen in the atheistic movement is a general disparagement of theology, and that disparagement has taken on a particular form: theology is derided, mostly, for ignoring science and reality and empirical data in making its conclusions. These are the main objections to arguments like the Ontological Argument and the Cosmological Argument, and any number of theological claims. The problem is that these are, in fact, philosophical arguments, and the dismissal of those arguments has been that they simply can’t work to prove the existence of God, and just aren’t the right sort of arguments to generate any kind of truth. In order to find out truths, you have to use empirical methods, and the king of empirical methods is, in fact, science.

Myers’ “Courtier’s Reply” itself only adds to this problem, as when people are told that they need to read the relevant philosophy and theology to understand what the argument really is, they can invoke the “Courtier’s Reply” to, essentially, insist that they don’t need to read that sort of arguing to know what the obvious answers are. But for the Ontological Argument, a philosopher as august — and empirical — as Bertrand Russell said that it clearly isn’t obvious what’s wrong with the argument (even as he was convinced there was). So atheists were taught and taught methods to simply ignore philosophical arguments like the Ontological Argument, and to dismiss them without consideration. But since philosophy will, of course, not support that move, it would get involved and show that there’s more to the argument that a shallow examination will reveal. And so atheists will start to regard philosophy with suspicion, as an enabler of theology.

This only, then, gets worse when scientists and atheistic scientists start wading into areas that were traditionally philosophical. As they focus on empirical and scientific answers to these questions, they get philosophers pointing out that those answers don’t work, and are often far too shallow. And then, like Krauss, they get upset at philosophy, and insist that their empirical and scientific examinations are right. This leads them to insist that empirical methods are the only ones that can lead to truth, and that the problem with philosophy is that they don’t use empirical methods. They also see what they see as quibbling over definitions, and thus say that philosophers are only good at arguing because they play word and semantic games, not because they find truth. They also find the fact that good philosophers are well aware of the weaknesses of most philosophical positions and are comfortable with the fact that we, at least currently, don’t have proven answers for most of the important questions disturbing, because their justification for the effectiveness of science is that it has come up with great and testable answers. Philosophy hasn’t. How can it be a great system for generating truths if it hasn’t come up with some answers?

Thus, they suggest that philosophy needs to be more empirical. That philosophy constantly resists this for some of its biggest questions is taken as a sign that it is anti-empirical and anti-science. The problem is that philosophy doesn’t reject empirical and scientific answers a priori. Most atheistic critics of philosophy ignore the long standing naturalistic movement in philosophy, of which Dan Dennett is a member (and is one of the few philosophers they tend to like). The problem with these answers is not that they aren’t properly “philosophical”, but instead that they don’t work. And the reasons that they don’t work have been documented in philosophy for a long, long time now.

Ultimately, at the end of the day, scientists and particularly atheistic scientists fall into scientism because science answers the questions that they really want answered and gives shallow answers to the important philosophical questions that they want answered. Given that, they don’t understand and don’t see the need for a particularly philosophical approach, and feel that the philosophical approach provides cover for bad arguments and bad ideas, and at best only introduces doubt into the picture for a lot of other questions. Science’s approach works, and they can’t see how philosophy’s works, so what good is philosophy? No good, they conclude.

It comes down to them not understanding the field and the scope of the questions that philosophy is chasing, mixed in with being stuck in a mindset where the philosophical approach is foreign to them. Add in that philosophy often tells them that they ought not be so fast in rejecting conclusions that they think obvious and that it casts doubt on their most successful epistemic approaches, and they end up simply dismissing it as being out of touch. And thus, end up dismissing it entirely.

Review of “Sense & Goodness Without God”

January 29, 2016

So, I finished reading “Sense & Goodness Without God” by Richard Carrier, and it’s the worst atheist/New Atheist book I’ve ever read … and I’ve read “The Atheist’s Guide to Reality”. Carrier manages to be even more arrogant than Rosenburg, but doesn’t make up for it by having better arguments. In fact, often he doesn’t really have arguments at all, but instead has small sections where he arrogantly tells us just how right he is, while leaving a long, italicized section at the end to tell us all of the things we ought to read to know how right he is, which is often longer than what he actually says in the section. This doesn’t work for either a popular work or for a detailed philosophical work. For the former, as most people won’t, in fact, read those works either he must be appealing to authority — look at all the people who agree with me, I must be right! — or ask them to take it on faith that the arguments are really there and are really devastating if we read them ourselves. For the latter, philosophers might well be willing to or have already read the works, but then what you’re supposed to do is summarize the important points and show how they directly reinforce your point, and then simply cite the works later. Carrier doesn’t do that, and so his actual words aren’t convincing and few will be willing to dive into the massive additional reading that he recommends. It very much seems like Carrier wants us to do his work for him.

If we could consider Carrier a fair commentator on the work of others, this wouldn’t matter quite so much, but Carrier spends a lot of time refuting points that he never really summarizes, and barely quotes. Despite Carrier often railing against quote-mining, all of his attempts to address others are nothing more than his pulling in short quotes out of context and then trying to refute that as if that was entirely the point. If that was entirely the point, then Carrier’s counter-arguments might work, but we ought to be suspicious that that really is the entire point … and, again, Carrier really gives up no reason to do the extra work to think that he’s right. In general, we’d be far better served by reading someone else than by doing the massive amount of work required to get Carrier’s points.

Many of Carrier’s points proving naturalism/materialism seem to boil down to wordy claims of “If I can find a way that it could be natural, then we ought to consider it such”, which has been said better elsewhere and with more credible natural solutions. Some of his arguments are interesting, but not enough to convince me that his view is worth considering to the level that his arrogant prose suggests we should. Also, the book needs updating, because he is very much convinced of things then that he seems to be not convinced of now, such as how he relies on his love for his now ex-wife to say that he knows what love is and entails, which doesn’t seem to be how he sees it now. Sure, the personal life of the author isn’t relevant to an argument unless he uses his personal beliefs as proof of how he just knows something was true that he doesn’t think is true now. Which carries over into his view of science, as he seems to try to claim that we know that science is reliable because it gets things wrong but corrects for it, which might establish that science overall is reliable, but not in the way he wants so that we should prefer any scientific answer because, it seems, science will eventually get it right, and this might just be the right answer. Yeah, if I find a scientific answer sufficiently counter-intuitive and science cannot answer for why my intuitions are wrong, saying “Well, it might be wrong, but it’ll get it right eventually!” is not going to help.

This is book crying out for fisking, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get around to it. Suffice it to say that there are better books out there to try to argue for materialism, and that even the prose of this book is annoying and hard to get through. It’s a slog to read and you probably aren’t going to learn anything that you couldn’t find out from far more entertaining works. I cannot recommend this work to anyone, even the people it is aimed at.

Philosophy of the Trinity …

November 18, 2015

So, Jerry Coyne is mocking a philosophy conference on the Trinity. He says this:

Given that philosophers are about as atheistic as academics get, it’s even more bizarre that they’re discussing the philosophical implications of a fatuous, made-up theological construct, and that someone is paying for it.

Now, Coyne is not a philosopher. In fact, his knowledge of philosophy is amateur at best. So, you’d think that he’d let philosophers decide what is and isn’t useful philosophy, or makes for a useful philosophical conference. Or, at least, that instead of himself mocking it and saying that it’s useless, he’d at least ask philosophers why they think it’s a useful exercise, and what they think they can get out of it. Surely if, say, a philosopher asked why scientists were studying fruit flies, he’d roll his eyes and expect them to ask scientists why it’s meaningful, and be annoyed if they simply declared that it was pointless based on their own expert knowledge.

That being said, the last time Coyne talked about this he dismissed the comments of two trained philosophers to insist that they were simply trying to protect their turf. So it seems that there is no field that Coyne cannot be a master of with only brief exposure, so much so that he is immune to the comments from people better trained than him on that. This is consistent with how he approaches theology, free will, philosophy of religion, morality and a host of other subjects.

I don’t know what precisely the organizers and participants expect to get out of this examination, but I know enough about philosophy to know that they expect something. And given what Coyne said above, it’s not likely to be a proof of the existence of God. But I guess Coyne’s armchair ruminations trump my over a decade of philosophical study.

Atheism: The Great Nothing

October 7, 2015

For a long time now, P.Z. Myers has been railing against “Dictionary Atheism”, the idea that atheism, in and of itself, means nothing more than a lack of belief in gods and so in and of itself entails no particular philosophical or moral viewpoint. Many of those Myers (and others as well) have complained about are people who say that if they want to promote a specific moral or philosophical view, why don’t they (say) call themselves humanists instead? If they want to promote feminism in atheism, why not do that as feminists instead of trying to argue that those ideas follow from atheism when they really don’t?

Myers has never accepted that, and in light of the shootings in Oregon he’s talking about it again. The argument he’s trying to make in light of comments that you can’t say that the shooter in Oregon was caused to do that by his atheism because atheism itself posits nothing more than that gods don’t exist is this:

Humanity is suffering under a collection of half-assed ethical and moral principles, assembled with no rational foundation but superstition, and with awful, damaging, exploitive rules mixed in with a few good ones. Religion is primitive and lacking in any tools to address deep injustices and correct errors in its formulation. I am all in favor of tearing it down and replacing it with…what? According to Harris, nothing. Atheism has nothing constructive or productive to replace the bad system most people are limping along under — rip it all out and apparently, brute reason can then be trusted to evolve something better.

We need purpose and value and meaning as well, and if a prominent Leader of atheism is saying that atheism doesn’t do that, that’s a declaration that atheism is bankrupt, and has failed totally. It has become a Great Nothing.

Well, atheism always was in that sense, a “Great Nothing”. From the start, one of the stock and standard ways atheists avoided having the burden of proof in discussions with theists was to say that atheism doesn’t have a burden of proof because it was, in fact, simply a lack of belief in the existence of gods, nothing more. The comment that babies, for example, were born atheists and educated into becoming theists relied on atheism being nothing more than a lack of belief in gods. The widely disseminated claim that religious people were just one more god away from being atheists relied on that assumption as well. Atheists, then, for the longest time based a ton of their rhetoric on atheism being, essentially, nothing more than a lack of belief in gods, implying nothing else in and of itself. Nothing morally, so you couldn’t say that atheists were simply immoral. Nothing socially, so you couldn’t lump them in with political groups. Heck, here Myers is insisting that atheists need meaning and value and purpose which has been one of the major criticisms theists raised against atheism: you can’t get to those things from atheism in and of itself. The counter to that is that atheists can get those things from other secular sources, not to insist that atheism, in and of itself, provides all of those things.

So, in a real sense, atheists have been advocating what Myers calls “the Great Nothing” for ages now, and relied on that to make their arguments. Myers himself seems to have adopted some of those arguments in the past, as have many of those who rail against “Dictionary Atheism”. So what, then, has changed? Why has atheism moved from being a perfectly acceptable and reasonable nothing, based on nothing more than a reasonable skepticism that says that you ought not believe something until you have sufficient evidence, to a “Great Nothing” if it doesn’t provide your life with meaning and purpose just from atheism?

In my opinion, it’s all about identity. They’ve formed an Atheist Community, and discovered that, horror of horrors, just having the rejection of the existence of all gods in common doesn’t mean that they agree on everything … or even, sometimes, most things. And a lot of those things are things that are really important to them. But instead of understanding that just because you agree on one thing that you think really important with someone it doesn’t mean that you agree — or need to agree — with them on everything, their response was to insist that those others were just wrong and really, really have to agree with them on that. I agree with Myers that it started from an insistence that atheists were just more rational than theists, and moved on from there … but people like Myers are just as guilty of that presumption as those who insist on the general use of reason are. To pretty much everyone, atheism followed from basic rationality, and those other positions — on all sides of all of the divides — followed from basic rationality as well, and so anyone who didn’t agree with their position was therefore not applying simply rationality.

The problem, then, was not really with atheism itself, but with the idea that skepticism and atheism were identical. They applied what they considered skepticism to various claims, came up with answers — often answers that aligned with their overall worldview, in a similar way to what they accused theists of doing — and then were convinced that those answers were just plain right. And since atheism and skepticism were aligned — which they aren’t — then atheists themselves had to come to the same rationally skeptical conclusions. And when people like Myers were met with push back from people who argued that they were applying pure reason and skepticism to the answer that Myers et al were very attached to … well, you get this:

Reason is not enough. Reason can show you the best way to achieve a goal, but if your goal is mass murder, or denigration of women, or the perpetuation of an oppressive hierarchy, it’ll help you do that, too.

The denigration of reason in favour of emotional or “empathetic” approaches. Except that while reason will help you achieve your goals no matter how horrible they are, to say this implies that you can get goals — and by extension, values and purpose and meaning — without using reason, or aiming for rational goals first. So, then, how do you determine those things? Just by how it feels to you? That’s what gives people the goal of serving God … or mass murder, or denigration of women, or the perpetuation of an oppressive hierarchy. Myers would be forced to claim that those things are not or cannot be rationally proven wrong, that it’s only something else other than reason that can push us into, well, not having those as goals anymore, but that’s, well, rather ridiculous.

From other posts of his, Myers has said something right: for most atheists in this world, becoming an atheist means that you have to find new goals, values, meanings, and purposes, because for most people those were formed intertwined with religion and with God and when you reject that, you have to find something to replace it. But where he is wrong is in insisting that atheism, in and of itself, has a preference for what those things are. Atheism equally supports many worldviews, only excluding — maybe — ones based on religion. Atheism is nothing more than a belief about the state of the world, and so Myers’ comments here are like someone insisting that evolution is a “Great Nothing” if it can’t be used to form some kind of Social Darwinism. If we can’t use evolution to create our values and goals and purposes and meaning in life, what good is it? Well, it’s a true fact about the universe; how we react to that is up to us.

The same thing applies to atheism. Assuming they are right, then they have a belief — or lack of one — about how the world is. That, in and of itself, is not nothing. How we respond to that fact does not follow from it, but is instead something that we have to work out philosophically. This doesn’t mean that there aren’t better or worse answers, but those answers do not follow from atheism itself; just like evolution, atheism itself can’t tell us how to live. It can constrain certain choices if we value the truth and living in accordance with it, but in and of itself it isn’t a worldview and doesn’t create one. There are myriad worldviews compatible with atheism, so maybe Myers needs to find one and take that one on, instead of insisting that there should be One True Atheistic Worldview and trying to force others to conform to it.

The Argument from Theology … again.

September 16, 2015

So, Jerry Coyne posted a post from Dilbert on free will, and again retreated to the argument that those who accept free will in any sense — be they compatibilist or libertarian — are acting like theologians, presumably in that they don’t simply accept his arguments and evidence as being compelling (which, of course, isn’t under their control if Coyne is right) and thus don’t just accept his position.

Leaving out the comic, here’s pretty much all of Coyne’s post:

Dilbert tells Dogbert that doesn’t think we have any—at least of the contracausal, “libertarian” sort.

I like the last panel, which goes along with brain-scanning experiments that give the surprising result that you can predict (with 60-70% accuracy) the results of a binary decision up to ten seconds before the person who “makes” that decision is conscious of having made it. Of course, compatibilists and libertarian free-will advocates have found reasons to dismiss these experiments as evidence for free will. This is one of many ways that such people resemble theologians (another is that they think that belief in free will—even of the compatibilist sort—is, like belief in God, essential to keep society moral and harmonious.)

So, the first point thus says that Dilbert is either a hard determinist or a compatibilist, since compatibilists reject libertarian free will. Thus, what he says in theory can apply to them as well. Of course, he then goes on to strongly imply if not outright state that compatibilists and libertarians reject the Libet experiments simply because they want to dismiss them and don’t like the results, not because there are serious problems with them. He then goes on to add in the other argument about how some might argue that people believing that we don’t have free will might have a negative outcome, in line with his other arguments about how they only reject the positions because of those consequences … the “We all know that this is true, but let’s not let the rubes know because they’ll act badly” argument. All of which many people — including his commenters — have disabused him of repeatedly.

But if we want to go down that route, Coyne’s own behaviour doesn’t flatter him. First, he talks repeatedly about the importance of accepting hard determinism because of the impact he thinks that thinking that we are morally responsible for our actions has on society, especially with regards to punishment of offenders, including but not limited to reasons for the death penalty. While others have pointed out that you don’t need to be a hard determinist to come to the same conclusions about punishment and the death penalty, the big issue here is that if Coyne doesn’t think that his strong stance on those social consequences means that we ought to say that he is only accepting it for the consequences — rather than him, you know, really thinking it true and wanting people to accept that truth because knowing that truth will happen to lead to better results — then there’s no real reason for him to claim that about compatibilists either. If we ought not examine his psychology in order to determine if free will exists or not, there is no reason for him to examine the psychology of compatibilists or libertarians either.

But, even worse for Coyne, it would be quite easy to claim that Coyne’s behaviour is like that of a lot of creationists: come up with something that they think is evidence for their case, and then when people point out that the evidence doesn’t support their position the way they think it does retreat to claiming that they are dismissing that legitimate evidence. Add in a claim that the only reason they disregard the evidence is because it actually proves their view false and they don’t want it to be false, and we can see that this is exactly what Coyne does to compatibilists.

Now, I don’t claim that Coyne really is acting like a creationist. But I do claim that these sorts of arguments are counter-productive and useless. Either the evidence supports the conclusion or it doesn’t. Coyne is either right or he isn’t. Coyne reacts rather badly to people trying to dismiss his arguments on the basis of psychology, but insists on doing it to others, and then — intentionally or no — tries to win through an argument ad hominem by saying “You’re just like those really bad people that you don’t want to be like! Stop being like that! Accept my view!”. Coyne has not established his position strongly enough to insist that everyone must accept it or they just don’t want it to be true, and so are rejecting it irrationally. Some probably are, but Coyne dismisses all who reject his idea. He doesn’t have the evidence to support that strong a claim … which is a bad thing for someone so insistent that we should follow the evidence and come to our beliefs rationally.