Moral Realism and the Existence of God: Improving Parfit's Metaethics (Studies in Philosophical Theology) 9789042942141, 9789042942158, 9042942142

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STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHICAL THEOLOGY

MORAL REALISM AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD IMPROVING PARFIT’S METAETHICS

BY

MARTIN JAKOBSEN

PEETERS

MORAL REALISM AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD

STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHICAL THEOLOGY 67

SERIES EDITORS Willem B. Drees (Tilburg), Stephan van Erp (Leuven), Douglas Hedley (Cambridge)

ADVISORY BOARD L. Boeve (Leuven), V. Brümmer (Utrecht), I.U. Dalferth (Zürich & Claremont, CA), J. Greisch (Paris), M.T. Mjaaland (Oslo), C. Richter (Bonn), C. Schwöbel (Tübingen), S. Sorrentino (Salerno), J. Soskice (Cambridge), M. Stenmark (Uppsala), C. Taliaferro (Northfield, MN).

EDITORIAL PROFILE Philosophical theology is the study of philosophical problems which arise in reflection upon religion, religious beliefs and theological doctrines.

MORAL REALISM AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD IMPROVING PARFIT’S METAETHICS

by

MARTIN JAKOBSEN

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT 2020

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

© 2020 – Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, 3000 Leuven, Belgium. ISBN 978-90-429-4214-1 eISBN 978-90-429-4215-8 D/2020/0602/50 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

CONTENTS PROLEGOMENA 1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 The Moral Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 The Moral Argument . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 Explaining Morality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 4 9 15

2 Parfit’s Project: Does Anything Matter? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Cognitivism and Non-Cognitivism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Subjectivism and Objectivism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1 Procedural Rationality and Substantive Rationality . 2.3 Naturalism and Non-Naturalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 The Threat of Disagreement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 A Theistic Way of Climbing the Mountain? . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5.1 Does Ethics Need God? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5.2 Parfit on Theism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19 20 23 26 28 30 32 33 34

PART ONE: METAPHYSICS 3 Sidgwick’s Profoundest Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 Parfit on Prudence and Morality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.1 The Dualism of Practical Reason . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.2 The Overridingness of Morality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.3 Parfit’s Profoundest Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 God and the Importance of Morality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.1 A Kantian Solution: Getting the Happiness You Deserve . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2 A Relational Solution: Friendship with God . . . . . . .

41 44 48 50 54 60

4 Parfit’s Non-Metaphysical Metaphysics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 Metaphysical Non-Naturalism – No Clear Question?. . . . . 4.2 Why Quietists Need to Speak Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.1 Earning the Right to Talk of Moral Truth . . . . . . . . . 4.3 An Alternative to Quietism: Talking Loudly about God . . 4.3.1 Queerness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2 Explaining Queer Normativity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3 Queerness and the Existence of God . . . . . . . . . . . . .

79 86 93 99 106 107 110 117

60 68

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MORE REALISM AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD

PART TWO: EPISTEMOLOGY 5 The Epistemological Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1 The Causal Objection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2 Explaining Correlation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 The Darwinian Answer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4 The Darwinian Dilemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5 Parfit’s Dilemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.1 Escaping the Dilemma: Distinguishing Beliefs and Ability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6 A Theistic Solution to the Darwinian Dilemma . . . . . . . . . 5.6.1 Justified Moral Beliefs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6.2 Explaining Correlation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6.3 Creation, Sin, Redemption . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

123 124 127 129 134 140 142 149 150 155 158

PART THREE: GOD AND THE GOOD 6 The Euthyphro Dilemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1 First Alternative: Good Because God Wills It . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.1 The Problem of Contingency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.2 The Problem of God’s Goodness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2 Second Alternative: God Wills It Because It Is Good . . . .

167 168 169 173 175

7 Answering Euthyphro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1 Adams’s Answer: None of the Above. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.1 Avoiding the Problem of Contingency . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.2 Avoiding the Problem of God’s Goodness . . . . . . . . 7.2 Improving the Answer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.1 Goodness as Resemblance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.2 The Meaning of “God Is Good” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3 Moral Wrongness and Divine Commands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1 Why Does God Issue Commands? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.2 Two Arguments against the Necessity of Divine Commands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.3 An Alternative View on Obligations . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 From Obeying Commands to Imitating the Divine . . . . . . . 7.4.1 A History of Imitation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.2 Commands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4.3 A Christian Theory of Morality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

177 178 179 182 184 185 189 194 196 199 205 211 213 215 216

8 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 9 Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 10 Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

PREFACE

Some philosophers argue that there is no need to ground morality in God. A recent example is Derek Parfit, who argues that our best metaethical theory is one where God does not play any role. I think it would be a real setback for theological ethics if the best conception of metaethics is one in which the notion of God is simply superfluous. That is why this book aims to show the relevance of theology in the contemporary metaethical discourse. More specifically, this book shows how theological resources can be useful for solving philosophical problems in Parfit’s metaethics, thereby improving this theory. I hope that this theological approach to a metaethical discussion will be of interest to both philosophers and theologians – as well as others concerned with ethics and religion. This book starts out with some PROLEGOMENA, some things that should be said before the discussion starts. Chapter 1 introduces the topic. I argue that the rise of non-naturalism in moral philosophy, exemplified by Derek Parfit, warrants a new treatment of whether morality needs a theistic grounding. In chapter 2, I present Parfit’s metaethical project. I argue that his main project is not to establish a particular theory of ethics, but to establish that there are moral truths, that there are things that matter. PART ONE of the book concerns metaphysics. In chapter 3, I argue that Parfit’s theory faces the profoundest problem, a problem concerning how to uphold the importance of morality without undermining the importance of happiness. I show how the problem can be solved either by invoking a general theological notion of God as judge, found for instance in Kant, or by invoking the notion of friendship with God, a notion found in the Christian tradition. I take friendship with God to be the best solution; it can carry with it the best parts from Kant and it fits better both with Parfit’s theory and with Christian theology. In chapter 4, I present Parfit’s account of the ontological status of moral facts. Parfit is a quietist, a fairly new and still controversial position in metaethics. I argue that even if we grant the quietist position, quietism does not have the resources to explain the special normative weight of morality, what normative claims are about, and what it would be for normative claims to be true. Christian theism, on the other hand, does have the resources needed.

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PART TWO concerns epistemology. In chapter 5, I show how the epistemological problem can be formulated in terms of explaining the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts, and I show how Parfit explains this correlation by appealing to our evolutionary history. Furthermore, I argue that Parfit’s explanation faces the Darwinian dilemma; the evolutionary influence on our moral beliefs have either been related to moral truths, or it has not been related to moral truths. The first alternative is implausible on scientific grounds, and the second makes the correlation an unexplainable lucky coincidence, thereby undermining Parfit’s explanation of moral epistemology. Finally, I argue that the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts is better explained in a theistic framework. PART THREE concerns God and the good. My aim here is to show that theism does not bring problems into the discussion of moral realism, which would challenge my thesis that Parfit’s moral theory works better with theism than non-theism. In chapter 6, I show how the Euthyphro dilemma presents certain problems for theistic ethics and how these problems are solved in the work of Robert Adams. In chapter 7, I suggest how Adams’s theory can be improved philosophically, partly by appeal to Parfit’s work, and theologically, by appeal to the Christian notion of revelation. In doing so, I put forward a specific Christian view on God’s relation to value and moral obligations, and I put forward a conception of Christian ethics In conclusion, I argue that my theological contribution to Parfit’s metaethics shows the relevance of theology in the metaethical debate, shows how Parfit’s theory may be improved, and how moral realism may provide a reason in favour of theism. What sort of contribution am I making in this book? First of all, this work is a contribution to theological ethics. In Parfit’s theory, there lies a significant challenge to a theistic view of ethics. Parfit presents a moral theory that he thinks everyone ought to accept, a moral theory that does not invoke the notion of God. If Parfit has succeeded in showing that the best conception of moral realism is one in which God does not play a role, then he has also shown that God is not needed in a theory of morality. Some theologians might perhaps think that it is not worrying that God does not play a role in the formal aspect of a moral theory as long as God plays a role in the material aspect, that is, as long as theology has something to say about first-order questions of applied ethics. However, most metaethical theories – and this is certainly true for Parfit’s theory – will have implications on first-order questions of how we should act and what

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IX

we should value. If God is irrelevant to metaethics, God is presumably also irrelevant to considerations of how we ought to live our lives. Now, by arguing – contra Parfit – that metaethical non-naturalism does not work just as well with non-theism as it does with theism, I am showing how the notion of God provides a better conception of morality, thereby justifying the claim that God is needed in a theory of morality. So, my contribution to theological ethics is to show that God is not made redundant but still has a role to play. Second, this is a contribution philosophical ethics, specifically to the ongoing discussion on Parfit’s work. On What Matters has made a significant impact on the field of moral philosophy. Philosophers such as Peter Singer and Mark Schroeder praises it as “the most significant work in ethics since Sidgwick’s masterpiece was published in 1873”1 and as the work of “one of the greatest moral thinkers of our time.”2 They have also engaged in a critical discussion of Parfit’s work, together with plenty of other philosophers.3 However, so far few philosophers have focused on Parfit’s own theory. Parfit’s critics have mainly been interested in Parfit’s objections to their own views. But Parfit’s own proposal deserves some critical attention. So, my contribution to the ongoing discussion is to offer a critical engagement with Parfit’s metaethical proposal. Moreover, Parfit’s work has generated a lively philosophical debate with voices from all sorts of metaethical positions. On What Matters has attracted contributions from naturalists and non-naturalists, from emotivists and rationalists, from consequentialists and constructivists and deontologists, from moral realists and non-realists and quasi-realists. However, it has not attracted any contributions, at least as far as I can see, from anyone advocating a theistic conception of ethics. My contribution to the ongoing discussion is to further offer a theological engagement with Parfit’s metaethical proposal. As I engage in the discussion on Parfit’s work as a theologian, my aim is also to demonstrate the relevance of theology to the contemporary metaethical debate. In the same way as a psychologist may argue that perspectives from moral psychology are relevant to the metaethical discussion, or the way an anthropologist may argue that perspectives from human anthropology are relevant to the metaethical discussion, I argue

1

Singer, “One Mountain.” Schroeder, “On What Matters, Volumes 1 and 2.” 3 See for instance collections such as Kirchin, Reading Parfit; Singer, Does Anything Really Matter?; Suikkanen, Essays on Derek Parfit’s On What Matters. 2

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that theology is relevant to the discussion. By showing that theology can contribute to the discussion, I hope to show that theology deserves a seat at the metaethical table. Now, the theological tradition that I am the most familiar with is the Christian one. My conception of God is a Christian conception, and the theological resources I put forth are found in the Christian tradition. Still, a great deal of my reasoning will be recognisable to theists from other religious traditions, not the least because when I show how theology can solve certain metaethical problems, I will sometimes do so in two stages. First, I will show how mere theism, a theism that is philosophical rather than confessional, can solve certain problems and thereby improve Parfit’s theory. Second, I will show how Christian theism, resources that are explicitly Christian, can provide a solution that is even better. So, my contribution to the philosophical discourse is to show that theology – that is, theology in general and Christian theology in particular – is an interesting and useful conversation partner. Finally, this book is a contribution to natural theology, the branch of theology concerned with whether we can learn something about God (such as whether God exists) from God’s creation. The claim that God has a role to play in Parfit’s metaethical theory is a claim that has some apologetic potential. In this book, I integrate Parfit’s metaethical theory into a theistic framework – which is interesting on its own – and show that theism provides a better explanation of morality. Now, it is a common scientific principle to select the theory that best explains the phenomenon in question; that is, to make an inference to the best explanation. If moral realism is better explained when integrated into a non-theistic framework, then the truth of moral realism counts in favour of atheism. But if moral realism is better explained when integrated into a theistic framework, it counts in favour of the truth of theism. So, my contribution to natural theology is to show that Parfit’s metaethical theory supports theism over atheism. It is said that no man is an island. At times, I have certainly felt as one, but I realise that there are many people I am greatly indebted to. If it had not been for them, there would be no book! There are many people who deserve great thanks. One of them is my wife, Målfrid, who through conversations have helped me clear up my thoughts and my writing, and who is an overall joy to be around. I am greatly indebted to Jan-Olav Henriksen, Einar Duenger Bohn, and Atle Ottesen Søvik, who has provided me with a ton of helpful comments. Many thanks to colleagues at the University of Agder and at Ansgar University College; thanks to Ralph Henrik Vaags, Paul Leer-Salvesen, Helje Kringlebotn Sødal, Ronald Mayora Synnes,

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Eirik Sundvall, Ragnhild Sørbotten Moen, Magnus Rønning, Sivert Urstad, Soern Menning, Håvard Løkke, Ivar Vegge, and Odin Lysaker for helpful comments on my drafts. Many thanks also to the participants at the ethics research group at UiA. I am also very grateful for being allowed to spend the fall of 2017 at the University of Oxford. The teachers, the students, and the library has made a huge impact on me and on this project. I owe great thanks to Nigel Biggar, Andrew Moore, Keith Ward, James Orr, and Dafydd Daniel for helpful discussions and comments. Finally, thanks to Asle Eikrem, Morten Magelssen, Henrik Syse, Jaana Hallamaa, Daniel von Wachter, Stefan Fisher-Høyrem, Chris De Raglaudre, Emil Børty Nielsen, John Daniel Andersen, Hans Van Eyghen, Peter Collins, Kaare Michael Christoffersen, Morten Marius Larsen, and Leif Egil Reve who gave me helpful comments and good ideas at different stages of the process.

Prolegomena

1. INTRODUCTION

Morality matters to us. This is not a bold statement. Early and easily, we come to think in moral terms. We see things as good or bad, right or wrong, fair or unfair. Our moral beliefs have a solid impact on our actions and on the way we choose to live our lives. Moreover, our moral views have a solid impact on our response to what others do. We may praise William Wilberforce for his stance against slavery, and we may blame a president for his acts against women, acts which might not be illegal but certainly immoral. Morality matters. This statement is a bit bolder. I will not make an effort to defend this claim, only say what I mean by it. What I mean is that morality is not important because we care about it. It is the other way around; because morality is important, we ought to care about it. And to be important, morality must have certain features. First of all, morality must aim for truth. In our moral deliberation, we try to get things right. We may ask ourselves whether it is true that killing is always wrong and whether it is correct that all humans – even terrorists – have rights and dignity. Moreover, when we evaluate the moral beliefs of others, we are concerned with whether they got things right. We claim that colonial slaveholders were, as a matter of fact, mistaken in their moral beliefs, and the SS soldiers were wrong to think that the deportation of Jews was merited. If no moral belief were true, there would be no correct answers to any moral question or claim, and morality would not be much to care about. Second, morality must in some sense be independent of us. That is, morality is not made true by us. Morality is not a product of our desires, of our likes or dislikes. And while our moral sensitivity is tied to our emotions, morality is not a product of our emotions. For instance, when I say that slavery is wrong, I am not merely saying that I dislike slavery. I am saying that slavery is, as a matter of fact, wrong. Thus, when we make moral statements, we are not merely reporting our emotions. Moreover, moral beliefs are not made to be true because we believe them to be so, or because we would prefer them to be so. While we construct various normative standards – standards such as etiquette, the rule of law, and some code of honour – morality belongs to a different category. Moral truth is not constructed; it is discovered. Whereas we construct

4

INTRODUCTION

moral concepts and systems, their truth value is not constructed by us, not determined by our beliefs or decisions or opinions. Take for instance the belief that slavery is wrong. The truth of this belief is not something we have constructed, and thereby something we may take back, but rather a fact that we have discovered. Accordingly, the task of a moral philosopher is to construct a moral system that reveals these truths. So, if morality is to have any genuine importance, if it is something that really matters, moral truth needs this sense of independence. If not, morality is of no more importance than cultural taste or etiquette.

1.1 The Moral Reality The view of morality briefly sketched above is often referred to as “moral realism,” and that is the view of morality that I will be discussing in this book. I will not try to establish or defend this view – although in chapter 2 I will show how someone has made it his life’s work to do so – but simply take it for granted. There are of course other conceptions of morality, conceptions that do not take our moral discourse to be a fact discourse, or that take morality to be entirely dependent on our rational deliberation or emotional responses. Some such views will be discussed in chapter 2. While it might seem a bit too bold to simply presuppose moral realism, to simply presuppose a view of morality that takes moral judgments to be truth-apt and not made true by us, it is not that bold to do so. Ordinary moral discourse appears to presuppose such a view of morality.1 When engaging in ordinary moral discussions, we intend to state moral beliefs, beliefs that we hold to be true. And the beliefs we express are not about our desires or our emotional state; they are about how the world is and how it should be. In other words, we seem to engage with a moral reality, a reality we can make true statements about, a reality we discover rather than invent. Moreover, holding up moral realism is not all that controversial as it is a view that is currently gaining in support in the philosophical community. A major shift among philosophers seems to have taken place.2 Less than thirty years ago, when leading philosophers surveyed the metaethical field, moral realism was 1 Terence Cuneo, “Saying What We Mean,” 1; Sayre-McCord, “Moral Realism,” 39–40. 2 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 6; Fisher, Metaethics, 88; Stratton-Lake, Ethical Intuitionism, 2; Cottingham, “Philosophers Are Finding Fresh Meanings in Truth, Goodness and Beauty.”

INTRODUCTION

5

just briefly mentioned as a view that had lost its followers.3 Less than twenty years ago, moral realists described their own view as a minority position.4 But now, they claim to be the majority.5 And they might even be correct in doing so. Several prominent moral philosophers endorse the view,6 and a recent survey suggests that just over half of the community of professional philosophers support moral realism.7 As this book is a discussion of moral realism, I will now make some elaborations on what these philosophers commit themselves to when they endorse this view. When a philosopher speaks of realism of some subject matter, she is generally making two claims, namely a claim of existence and a claim of independence.8 To be a realist about x is to say that (1) x exists, and (2) it does so independent of anyone’s beliefs, linguistic practices or conceptual schemes. In the same manner, to be a realist about morality consists of a claim of existence and a claim of independence. In the following I will add some detail to these two claims and also add a third one. The most typical way of formulating the claim of existence is to say that there are moral facts, and to say that it is in light of these facts our moral judgments are true or false.9 This claim shows that moral realism is a form of cognitivism, the view that moral statements expresses beliefs that can be true or false. The realist is not committed to a specific view on what kind of facts these moral facts are. Some realists hold that moral facts are just a kind of natural fact (discoverable by empirical inquiry), while others hold they are non-natural or even supernatural.10 So, moral realism is a position that is open to both naturalists and non-naturalists. Moreover, the moral realist is not committed to a specific view on what

3 Darwall, Gibbard and Railton, “Toward Fin de Siècle Ethics,” 141, 187. They do, however, give some brief attention to reductionist versions of moral realism. 4 See for instance the introduction in Enoch, “An Argument for Robust Metanormative Realism.” 5 Finlay, “Normativity, Necessity and Tense,” 57. Specifically, Finlay is talking about non-naturalistic moral realism. 6 For a list, see Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 6–7. 7 Bourget and Chalmers, “What Do Philosophers Believe?” 476. When asked about their views on metaethics, 56.4 per cent answered moral realism, 27.7 per cent answered moral anti-realism, 15.9 per cent answered other. The survey is from November 2009. 8 Miller, “Realism.” Let me say something about pronouns. When I write about “a philosopher” I use the feminine pronoun, as sophia (Greek: σοφία) is feminine. When I write about “a theologian” I use the masculine pronoun, as theos (Greek: θεός) is masculine. 9 See Sayre-McCord, “Moral Realism,” 40. 10 Sayre-McCord, 41.

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INTRODUCTION

facts are or what it is for something to exist.11 The definition of moral realism is intended to remain neutral on such general metaphysical issues as “what is a fact” or “what is existence,” which means that the moral realist is not committed to a specific ontology. At the end of the day, there might be interesting connections between a metaethical view and a view on the metaphysics of facts or properties, but such connections should not be built into the very definition of moral realism. As long as there are moral realists with different metaphysical views, it is helpful for the metaethical discourse to have a definition of moral realism that does not take a side in these issues. When it comes to the claim of independence, some moral realists describe moral facts as mind-independent.12 I take this description to be too restrictive. Moral facts may be mind-independent in one sense and mind-dependent in another. On the one hand, a definition of moral realism should allow for some sense of dependence so as not to exclude certain moral theories. One should allow for moral facts to be minddependent in the sense that the moral status of an action may depend on the agent’s intention, motivation, or whether people affected by the action are in the mental state of pleasure or pain.13 On the other hand, some sense of independence must be asserted. Moral judgments are mindindependent in the sense that a person or a community thinking an action is wrong does not make the action wrong. Judging something to be morally good does not make it morally good. So, in order to more accurately capture the sense of independence that the moral realist is after, while leaving room for moral theories that see such mental states as intentions or emotions as morally relevant, I suggest that the claim of independence should be understood the following way: moral facts are constitutively independent of us.14 That is, moral facts are not established by us. This view gives a more precise understanding of independence, qualifying in what sense moral facts are independent of us. Note that this understanding 11 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 5. If you for some reason find talk about facts objectionable, feel free to paraphrase fact-talk with truth-talk or property-talk or entitytalk. For a discussion on the definition of realism and different understandings of truth, see Hare, “Ontology in Ethics.” 12 Blackburn, “Antirealist Expressivism and Quasi-Realism,” 153; Kirchin, “Ethical Phenomenology and Metaethics,” 246; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:823. 13 Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 15; Hewitt, “Normative Qualia and a Robust Moral Realism,” 16. 14 The only moral realist I know of who characterised moral facts as constitutively independent is FitzPatrick, “Robust Ethical Realism, Non-Naturalism, and Normativity,” 166.

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of the independence-claim is also broader, stating that morality is independent of us and not merely of our mind. It is not our beliefs that constitute moral facts, but not our desires, aims, emotions, or judgments either. This way of understanding the claim of independence avoids the problems accompanied with the notion of mind-independence, while still enabling the moral realist to maintain that moral statements are true or false independently of what a person or a community may think or feel or prefer, and that a moral standard might be correct even if no actual person believes it to be so.15 Let me include a third claim into the definition of moral realism, a claim of epistemic access: the moral reality is such that we are able to interact with it, and this interaction influences our moral beliefs.16 This element of access is what makes realism, of a subject matter, appear as common sense. Our apparent access to an external world makes realism about the external world initially plausible,17 and in the same way, our apparent access to moral values makes realism about morality initially plausible.18 Note that the claim of access does not say anything about by what means we have epistemic access to moral facts. Some moral realists may point to our emotions; others may suggest reason or intuition. Now, while hardly any moral realists deny that we are able to gain knowledge of moral facts, some argue that this element should not be part of the definition of moral realism. Geoff Sayre-McCord states that one might be a moral realist and at the same time hold that the vast majority of mankind is wrong in its moral beliefs.19 David Enoch even argues that one could be a moral realist and at the same time be a radical sceptic about moral knowledge, a sceptic claiming that no moral beliefs are justified.20 Contrary to these two philosophers, I suggest that the definition of moral realism should include the claim of access. To see why, consider a radical sceptic of moral knowledge, a person who believes it to be 15 Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 15; Hewitt, “Normative Qualia and a Robust Moral Realism,” 16. Shafer-Landau takes moral facts to be independent of any perspective, which is a statement that is open for interpretation, but the discussion that follows this statement indicates that what he has in mind is belief-independence. Hewitt uses the term “judgment-independent.” Both of these suggestions are acceptable, but they are a bit specific, not obviously excluding the view that morality is constituted by our desires. 16 Boyd, “How To Be a Moral Realist,” 105; Railton, “Moral Realism,” 142. This third claim is common in other fields of realism, for example, scientific realism. See Chakravartty, “Scientific Realism.” 17 Moore, “A Defence of Common Sense.” 18 Sayre-McCord, “Moral Realism,” 39. 19 Sayre-McCord, 40. 20 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 4–5.

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impossible for us to get our moral beliefs right. For such a person, moral deliberation would no longer aim to express moral facts. To have such an aim would be unreasonable, because if we have no access to the moral reality, all attempts to express moral facts would be in vain. But to hold that moral deliberation does not aim to express moral facts would undermine the whole project of moral realism. Therefore, I take the position of radical scepticism of moral knowledge to be incompatible with moral realism, which means that moral realism should contain the claim that we can have access to moral facts.21 How should this claim of access be formulated? Some might be optimistic on behalf of our moral knowledge, thinking that our moral beliefs are mostly correct. Others might be more pessimistic. I agree with Sayre-McCord in that a definition of moral realism should allow for a range of possible attitudes towards our capacity for discovering moral facts. This has not always been the case. For instance, when Richard Boyd expresses the claim of access by stating that ordinary moral reasoning constitutes a reliable method for obtaining moral knowledge,22 he formulates the claim of access too strictly, excluding any moral realist who believes that our ordinary way of moral reasoning is flawed, untrustworthy, and in need of revision.23 So, as moral realists have different views on how reliable our moral reasoning is, the claim of access should not state to what extent one has access, or how reliable the belief-forming mechanisms are, only that we have access. Stating that we have access to moral facts allows for a range of possible attitudes towards our capacity for discovering moral facts, and at the same time, this statement invokes a limit to the range of attitudes, excluding the view of the radical sceptic. These three claims give the following definition of moral realism: (1) there are moral facts, (2) these facts are constitutively independent of us, and (3) humans are able to gain knowledge of these moral facts. This is the way I understand moral realism throughout the book.

21 In a similar way, Godfrey-Smith argues that “there is a limit to the [epistemic] pessimism that is compatible with scientific realism.” Godfrey-Smith, Theory and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Science, 177. 22 Boyd, “How To Be a Moral Realist,” 308. To be fair, Boyd does qualify this statement, saying that it holds under many circumstances.” 23 This is a clear parallel to the discussion on scientific realism, where one should be careful to express the scientific realist position in a way that depends on the accuracy of current scientific theories. See Godfrey-Smith, Theory and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Science, 175.

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1.2 The Moral Argument Moral realism has some implications for our view of the world. Moral realism states that moral properties are real features of the world, features that exist objectively in the sense that they are independent of us. Not only does the world contain entities such as protons or plants or planets, it also contains moral entities, moral values and moral duties. Moreover, these moral entities carry with them a normative force: they tell us, as it were, what to do and demand a certain behaviour of us. The question, then, is this: can we incorporate such entities into our view of the world? The Australian philosopher John Leslie Mackie argues that we cannot. In his Ethics from 1977, he argues that moral realism faces two major problems, two problems that make this view literally unbelievable.24 First, there is an ontological problem. Moral entities, says Mackie, are queer. That is, they are entities of “a very strange sort, utterly different from anything else in our universe.”25 A moral entity is “intrinsically prescriptive,” with “to-be-pursuedness” or “not-to-be-doneness somehow built into it.”26 These features make moral entities stand out as something other than natural entities.27 To account for the existence of these non-natural entities, we would have to introduce a new realm of entities into our ontology, a realm of entities much like Plato’s Forms. But the metaphysical cost of introducing Platonic entities into our ontology is too high, says Mackie. Second, there is an epistemological problem. Mackie asks how we can account for our knowledge of this mysterious realm of entities. Properties such as “being morally good” or “being intrinsically prescriptive” do not seem to be causally effective and are not discoverable through empirical means. So, how are we to gain knowledge of them? We would have to posit a “special faculty of moral perception or intuition,” operating in a way “utterly different from our ordinary ways of knowing everything else.”28 But even if we posit such a faculty, exactly how we are affected by this moral realm will remain mysterious. Mackie argues that these two problems forces us to abandon moral realism and rather accept the view that there are no 24

Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 38–49. Mackie, 38. Mackie rejects aesthetic values as well. Mackie, 15. 26 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 40. 27 While it is not entirely clear what Mackie means by the natural, he seems to take natural facts to be those facts that are discoverable by empirical investigation. Ibid., 20, 39; Irwin, The Development of Ethics, vol. 3, para. 1376. See note 46. 28 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 38. Mackie has Moore’s intuitionism in mind. 25

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objective values.29 This being said, he notes that the philosopher could hold on to the reality of moral values if she includes into her metaphysics the notion of God as a creator of moral values.30 But apart from belief in God, Mackie holds that moral values are too queer to be part of our ontology, naming his argument the argument from queerness. A number of theologians and philosophers present a line of reasoning that is surprisingly similar to that of Mackie. As Mackie does, they think it is correct that moral facts are “too queer” to “be part of the fabric of the world.”31 However, they do not argue that this observation should make us give up the belief that moral facts exist. Rather, we should endorse the belief that God exists! How do they reach this conclusion? They argue that it is very difficult, perhaps impossible, to account for the existence of moral facts. That is, unless one believes in God. If God exists, there are many ways to account for moral facts, leading to the conclusion that moral facts imply the existence of God. Or, in the words of philosopher C. Stephen Evans: “if there are objectively binding moral obligations, then God exists.”32 We can call this line of reasoning a moral argument for the existence of God.33 There are various moral arguments for the existence of God.34 Some scholars point to what Mackie identified as an ontological problem, arguing that one cannot account for the existence of moral values without invoking the notion of God.35 Others point to what Mackie identified as an epistemological problem, arguing that one cannot explain our ability

29

Mackie, 48. Mackie, 48. See also Mackie, The Miracle of Theism, 115. 31 Mackie, The Miracle of Theism, 24. 32 Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 109. 33 I will use “the existence of God” as shorthand for “the theory that God exists.” I hold that what we say about God should be understood as theories about God, theories that are more or less likely to be true (Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, 1:58–59). When writing about God I am always considering human theories about God, but for stylish reasons, I will substitute the longer “X’s understanding of God” with the shorter “God.” 34 For history and examples, see Evans, “Moral Arguments for the Existence of God.” The formulation of a moral argument for the existence of God is anticipated by Mackie in Mackie, The Miracle of Theism, 114. 35 See Copan, “Ethics Needs God,” chap. 15; Lewis, Mere Christianity; Craig, Reasonable Faith, 172–83; Rea, “Naturalism and Moral Realism.” While these scholars argue that God is needed to explain the existence of moral values, others argue that God is needed to explain certain features of morality: Adams, “Moral Arguments for Theistic Belief”; Evans, God and Moral Obligation; Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance; Layman, “God and the Moral Order.” See also Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy.” 30

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to gain knowledge of moral values without appealing to God.36 It also varies how strong the arguments are formulated. Some put forth a very strong claim, namely that God is necessary for morality, arguing that “if God did not exist, objective moral values and duties would not exist.”37 The more popularised versions of the moral argument are often formulated in this way, seeing the moral argument as a deductive proof in which the conclusion that God exists “follows inevitably.”38 Others formulate a less strong argument, not claiming that God is the only explanation of morality but rather the best explanation.39 Such formulations of the moral argument, which are abductive40 rather than deductive, conclude that moral facts imply rather than entail the existence of God, so that the theory that God exists is supported and not proven. Now, let me point out a difficulty with Mackie’s argument. Mackie is aiming for a conclusion that is categorical rather than contextual. That is, he concludes that any conception of moral realism should be abandoned, not just one specific conception. To support this conclusion, he argues that objective moral facts cannot be part of the fabric of the world. It is very difficult to support such a wide-ranging conclusion. As there are many conceptions of what objective moral facts are, and many conceptions of what “the fabric of the world” consists of, Mackie would have to show that no conception of morality is consistent with any conception of reality. That would be a tremendous task, and Mackie is not up for it. What Mackie seems to be showing is that a certain conception of morality is not consistent with a certain conception of reality. While it is a bit unclear how he conceives of moral entities, he seems to assume that they are non-natural entities. And while it is a bit unclear how he conceives of “the fabric of the world,” he seems to assume a naturalistic view of reality. However, both of these assumptions are controversial. There are other views on the nature of morality, plenty of views holding that moral 36 Linville, “The Moral Argument”; Ritchie, From Morality to Metaphysics; Swinburne, The Existence of God, chap. 9. 37 Craig, Reasonable Faith, 172. See also Layman, “God and the Moral Order,” 309; Linville, “The Moral Argument,” 392; Rea, “Naturalism and Moral Realism,” 237. 38 Craig, Reasonable Faith, 52, 195.Craig has popularised the argument through debates and other kinds of outreach. A complete list is found here: https://www.reasonablefaith.org/videos/debates (accessed January 10, 2018). Craig’s argument is also discussed in the philosophical literature. See for instance Morriston, “God and the Ontological Foundation of Morality”; Wielenberg, Robust Ethics, chap. 2. 39 Baggett and Walls, God and Cosmos, chap. 2. 40 In the modern literature, abduction usually refers to the process of justifying hypothesis by appeal to explanatory considerations (Douven, “Abduction”). This is the way I use the term.

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facts are a kind of natural fact.41 And there are other views on the nature of reality, plenty of views claiming that there is more to reality than natural facts.42 As long as Mackie does not address all of these views, his categorical conclusion is unwarranted. Not surprisingly, there is a similar difficulty in the literature on moral arguments for the existence of God. Both deductive moral arguments and abductive moral arguments tend to be just as categorical as Mackie’s argument from queerness. That is, they make claims about moral realism as such, not about a certain conception of moral realism. One may formulate a deductive argument claiming that God is the only explanation of morality, or an abductive argument claiming that God is the best explanation, but such claims are hard to defend as they stand completely unqualified. It is practically impossible to demonstrate that a theistic view of morality is better than all other views on morality. So, instead of evaluating every single conception of morality, there is a tendency in the literature on moral arguments to consider whether moral realism is consistent with reductive naturalism, the view that all facts can be reduced to facts discovered by the natural sciences.43 The literature generally argues that this naturalistic conception of morality falls short of a theistic one.44 However, as this line of argument does not exhaust the list of non-theistic conceptions of morality, it does not warrant the categorical conclusion that God is the only explanation of morality. Not only are there other naturalistic positions,45 there are also 41 Brink, “Aristotelian Naturalism and the History of Ethics”; Railton, “Two Sides of the Metaethical Mountain?” 42 Ellis, God, Value, and Nature; Nagel, The View From Nowhere, 1986, chap. 8; Wielenberg, Robust Ethics. 43 Moser and Yandell, “Farewell to Philosophical Naturalism,” 4. This understanding of the term is not uncontroversial. While is it common to understand naturalism and “natural facts” as facts studied by the (hypothetical completed) empirical sciences, others take the term to mean simply “not supernatural” (Papineau, “Naturalism”; Clark, “Naturalism and Its Discontents,” 3). For an overview of the many meanings of naturalism, see Flanagan, “Varieties of Naturalism.” 44 See for instance Copan, “Ethics Needs God”; Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, chap. 5; Layman, “God and the Moral Order”; Moreland and Craig, Philosophical Foundations for a Christian Worldview, chap. 8; Rea, “Naturalism and Moral Realism”; Ritchie, From Morality to Metaphysics. See also “Moral Arguments for the Existence of God” by Evans, who writes: “one of the questions raised by such [moral] arguments is the adequacy of a naturalistic worldview in explaining morality.” 45 See for instance McDowell, who favours a “relaxed naturalism” in which “the natural” is not exhausted by what the sciences are capable of revealing. McDowell, “Two Sorts of Naturalism.” In the context of formulating a moral argument, McDowell’s position is treated in Ritchie, From Morality to Metaphysics, chap. 6. For a theological engagement with McDowell’s naturalism, see Ellis, God, Value, and Nature.

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various non-naturalistic positions. Non-naturalism, the view that not all entities can be reduced to natural entities, is an increasingly popular view in metaethics.46 It is striking that non-naturalistic theories are more or less neglected by the proponents of the moral argument. Whereas there are many detailed discussions of naturalism, discussions of non-naturalism are typically rather brief.47 Take for instance Evans’s treatment of the moral argument. In his encyclopaedia article on the moral argument, he writes that perhaps “the strongest non-theistic alternative would be some form of ethical non-naturalism.”48 However, in his two books on the subject, he dedicates fewer than seven pages to a discussion on ethical non-naturalism.49 There is an obvious reason why non-naturalistic positions have not been given very much attention, namely that the metaethical field is in constant development. Non-naturalism is increasing in popularity, meaning that it has not always been that popular. In one sense, we can say that previous discussions on God’s relevance for morality are excused by the development. Little did they know about the future metaethical landscape. In another sense, we can say that previous discussions on God’s relevance for morality are outdated by the development. Given the metaethical development, new treatments are needed. This book is offering a new treatment of God’s relevance for morality. Now, let me just quickly clarify what this book is not offering. It is not offering a proof of God’s existence. Nor is it offering any categorical claim about how morality entails the existence of God. If you are looking for a general treatment of how all other moral theories fall short of a theistic theory, I recommend that you look elsewhere.50 So, instead of arguing that theism provides the only explanation of morality, I am 46 Fisher, Metaethics, 88. Finlay even describes moral non-naturalism as the majority view (Finlay, “Normativity, Necessity and Tense,” 57), but that seems to be an overstatement. The survey by Bourget and Chalmers suggests there are a few more naturalists than non-naturalists among moral realists (Bourget and Chalmers, “What Do Philosophers Believe?” 18). Non-naturalism is also a popular view in other fields of philosophy, such as the philosophy of mind. Jaegwon Kim even describes it as the dominant view (Kim, Philosophy of Mind, 275). 47 See Baggett and Walls, God and Cosmos, 174–78, 205–9; Ward, Morality, Autonomy, and God, 86–96. They present a comprehensive case to show that theism best explains morality, and in doing so they give a detailed discussion of naturalism and a brief discussion of non-naturalism. 48 Evans, “Moral Arguments for the Existence of God,” pt. 5. 49 Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 151–54; Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 113–16. 50 See for instance Hare, God and Morality; Ritchie, From Morality to Metaphysics.

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arguing that Christian theism provides a better explanation.51 Moreover, instead of advocating the unqualified claim that God provides a better explanation of morality altogether, I am advocating the more qualified claim that God provides a better explanation of one particular conception of morality.52 The specific metaethical theory I will be discussing is Derek Parfit’s non-naturalism. In 2011, the British philosopher Derek Parfit released his long awaited On What Matters, a three-volume work on moral philosophy counting over 1,800 pages. Parfit argues that there are moral facts existing constitutively independent of us. In doing so, he defends a non-theistic nonnaturalistic conception of morality, claiming to have solved all of Mackie’s problems without invoking the notion of God.53 Concerning ontology, he disagrees with Mackie’s naturalistic conception of reality, arguing that not all facts are reducible to natural facts, and he disagrees with Mackie’s conception of moral facts, arguing that one can uphold the existence of moral facts without introducing queer entities into our ontology. Concerning epistemology, he argues that we can explain our knowledge of moral facts without introducing any new faculty of moral perception. Parfit conceives of moral facts as moral reasons, and argues that reasons are accessible to all rational creatures. I argue that while Parfit presents a rich and exciting contribution to a non-naturalistic understanding of moral realism, his metaethical theory has some problems that need to be addressed, and Christian theism has resources available to solve these problems. The thesis that I set out to defend is as follows: Parfit’s metaethical theory is improved by being integrated into a theistic framework. How will I do this? I will structure the argument around three metaethical questions, namely the normative weight of morality, the metaphysical status of morality, and moral knowledge. For each of these questions, I will first present Parfit’s own account. Then I will point out a problem 51 For others who take this approach, see Baggett and Walls, God and Cosmos; Evans, “Moral Arguments for the Existence of God.” 52 For others who take this approach, see Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods; Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance; Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004. Adams shows what theism has to offer to a specific conception of moral duties; Hare shows what theism has to offer to a Kantian conception of ethics and moral demands; and Zagzebski shows what theism has to offer to a specific conception of virtue ethics. 53 Parfit uses the term “atheist” to describe a person who believes there is no God, and “non-theistic” to describe a theory that does not include God. I use these two terms in the same way.

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in Parfit’s account. Finally, I will show how theological resources can offer an explanation of the matter at hand. By following this procedure, I demonstrate how Parfit’s theory in a non-theistic framework faces a certain problem, and that a theistic framework solves the problem, thereby supporting my thesis that Parfit’s theory is improved by being integrated into a theistic framework. When comparing the two frameworks, my main point will be that theism can explain features of morality that non-theism cannot, or that theism can provide a better explanation.

1.3 Explaining Morality One should note that there is a distinction between having an explanation of something and having knowledge of something. One can have one without the other. For instance, we all know that the ocean is blue, but not all of us have an explanation of why this is the case. This distinction between explaining and knowing tells two things. First, it tells something about what an explanation must involve, namely that explaining why must require something more than knowing that. An explanation of why the ocean is blue must involve more than an argument showing that the ocean is blue, and an explanation of why we have true moral beliefs must involve more than an argument showing that we have true moral beliefs. Second, the distinction tells something about what is at stake when an explanation is refuted. You may think that if someone refutes your explanation of X, they have also refuted your belief in X. That is not the case. You may still be justified in holding that X is the case, even though you no longer have a good explanation of X. If someone refutes your explanation of why the ocean is blue, you may still be justified in believing that the ocean is blue, and if someone refutes your explanation of why we have true moral beliefs, you do not have to give up your conviction that we have true moral beliefs. What does an explanation involve? I follow Peter Lipton on what it is to explain something. When Lipton looks for the best explanation, he looks for the explanation that provides the most understanding.54 An explanation of why the ocean is blue should make us understand why the ocean is blue, and an explanation of the normative weight of morality should make us understand why morality have such normative weight. 54 Lipton, “Is Explanation a Guide to Inference?” 105; Lipton, Inference to the Best Explanation, 59.

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What I argue that moral realism is better explained in a theistic framework – better explained by being related to God – than in a non-theistic framework, I presume that morality is something that needs an explanation. There might sometimes be disagreement on whether a certain phenomenon needs an explanation. Take for instance the BBC radio debate on the existence of God with Frederick Copleston and Bertrand Russell. Copleston asks why there is anything at all, and holds that the fact that there is something – that there is a universe – requires an explanation. Russell, to the contrary, holds that the universe does not need an explanation, stating that “the universe is just there, and that’s all.”55 The same kind of disagreement could take place regarding morality. One person could hold that morality needs and explanation, while another could say that “morality is just there, and that’s all.” In later chapters, I will claim that certain moral phenomena need an explanation, such as our ability to acquire moral knowledge. I support the claim that an explanation is needed simply by providing a possible explanation, simply by showing that there is a possible explanation that increases our understanding of the phenomenon in question. As having a theory that increases our understanding is preferable to not having such a theory, it is theoretically unsatisfying to say that an explanation is not needed.56 A couple of worries concerning this approach need to be addressed. Someone might worry that introducing the notion of God will make an explanation of moral realism more complicated than it needs to be, arguing that an explanation of morality without God is preferable as it is more ontologically simple or more parsimonious. I will address this issue in PART THREE, but let me just say something short here. While parsimony is a virtue, it only holds under the condition that an equally good explanation can be provided without making a certain ontological commitment. And as my overall argument will show, the existence of God does provide us with a better explanation of moral realism. Additionally, someone might worry that when God is introduced in a metaethical discussion, inconsistencies follow in his footsteps. When one is introducing new elements into a theory, there is always the danger of ending up with elements that cohere poorly or elements that are inconsistent. Might not the notion of God cohere rather poorly with moral realism? I will address this issue in chapters 6 and 7. By addressing the classical Euthyphro dilemma, I will show that moral realism is not inconsistent with the 55 56

Copleston and Russell, “Debate on the Existence of God.” For more on this, see Jakobsen, “Determining the Need for Explanation.”

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notion of God, and by presenting a theistic theory of value, I will show that God and moral realism cohere well. As I argue that some moral phenomena are better explained by reference to God than without reference to God, some might object that I have only pushed the explanatory burden one step down the ladder. That is, if I explain something by appealing to God, but cannot explain God, then I have not really explained anything. I will call this the regress objection. As most parents discover, the answer to a why-question can almost always be met with another why-question. Moreover, this new why-question is almost always a sensible question. Thus, there is a potential regress of explanations. The regress objection states that it is a problem if the explanatory regress stops at something that you cannot explain. One way to answer this objection is to follow philosopher Thomas Nagel in saying that all explanations come to an end somewhere.57 Philosophers, theologians and physicists try to formulate what this final explanation is, this final end that is to explain all other things, whether it be a singularity or a natural law or God. Additionally, God seems to be a fitting stopping point in an explanatory regress. God is not some contingent being who just happens to exist. God is unconditioned, meaning there are no conditions that have to be in place for God to be. As unconditioned, God cannot have a cause, and his existence cannot be dependent on anything else. So, if the person who asks “how do you explain God?” wants to know what it is that makes God exist rather than not exist, then he is asking a question that does not make sense. Parfit actually makes this mistake when he considers whether God could explain why the universe exists, and rejects God as an explanation, because “if God made the rest of reality be as it is, what could have made God exist?”58 As God is unconditioned, nothing makes God exist. If there is a God, his existence is not due to something else. Alternatively, if the person who asks “how do you explain God?” wants to come to a greater understanding of God, then the theologian might have something to offer. Another way to answer the regress objection is to point out that this objection presupposes that explanations are transitive. Transitivity describes a way by which things can be related. For an example of a transitive relation, consider “is taller than.” Let’s say that Amber is taller than Blue, and Blue is taller than Claret. Because “is taller than” is transitive, we can infer that Amber is also taller than Claret. Other relations 57 58

Nagel, Secular Philosophy and the Religious Temperament, 23. Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 646.

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INTRODUCTION

are not transitive. Consider motherhood: if Amber is the mother of Blue, and Blue is the mother of Claret, Amber will not be the mother of Claret. The regress objection seems to presuppose that explanations are transitive. Consider a person who asks “why X?” She might get the answer “Y explains X.” But when the further question “why Y?” is answered with “I have no idea what explains Y,” she is not satisfied. If “explains” is a transitive relation, and you have no idea how to explain Y, then it follows that you have no idea how to explain X either. It is as if she got to know that X is as valuable as Y, but the value of Y is unknown, which would mean that the value of X is unknown as well. When this regress objection is applied to God as an explanation of morality, one might say that if morality is explained by God, but you do not know how to explain God, then it seems like you really do not know how to explain morality. However, explanations are not transitive, at least not in the sense that an explanation is only as good as its own explanation. X can be a good explanation of Y, and it can provide a lot of understanding, even if we are not able to explain X. To see how this is the case, consider the following two examples: Imagine that you ask a scientist why the expansion of the universe is accelerating. You find it a bit surprising that the expansion is accelerating as one might think that gravity would slow down the expansion. The scientist says that the explanation for the accelerating expansion is dark matter, but when you ask the scientist to explain dark matter, he says he is not able to. As a second example, imagine that you ask someone to explain why the same side of the moon always faces the earth. The person answers this is because the period of the moon’s orbit around the earth is the same as the period of the moon’s spin around its axis. When you ask him to explain why these periods should be the same, he is not able to do so. What these examples show is that an explanation can provide understanding even if we have no answer to why-questions further down the ladder. In other words, the examples show that an explanation provides understanding of the explanandum, even if the explanans is not itself explained. Phenomena are explained one at a time, and a phenomenon being unexplained (such as dark matter) does not prevent it from providing understanding of other phenomena. This is also the case if God plays a part in an explanation. As this book will show, an explanation of morality by reference to God will not require an explanation of God to provide understanding of morality. Nevertheless, I will have something to say regarding God in this book.

2. PARFIT’S PROJECT: DOES ANYTHING MATTER?

As the title On What Matters clearly states, Parfit believes that something matters; he believes that there are normative truths concerning how we should live our lives, truths which give us reason to care about the things we care about. Parfit admits that the title is a bit misleading as he does not write a lot about what it is that matters. He even says he regrets not doing this and that he planned to say more about what matters in Volume Four,1 but he passed away before he got the chance to do so. While he has spent a few pages addressing some specific issues – such as our responsibilities to the poor and to future generations, and endorsing effective altruism2 – his main mission in the three volumes is “to defend the belief that some things really do matter.”3 It is of great importance to Parfit whether anything really matters. One of his reasons for pursuing philosophy, Parfit writes, is that he was wondering how to spend his life and found it hard to decide what really matters. Further on, he was disappointed to find “that most of the philosophers who taught me, or whom I was told to read, believed that the question ‘What matters?’ couldn’t have a true answer or didn’t even make sense”4 Parfit is quite frustrated that so many people are still “falsely taught, even at the best universities, that nothing matters in this sense.”5 As such, he thinks that it is worthwhile to defend the view that “What matters?” is a question that makes sense, and a question that has an answer. Parfit writes that we should be glad if there is, in fact, something that matters.6 Why? Just think about what it would entail if nothing matters. To say that nothing matters is to say there are no normative truths, which means that “we would have no reasons to try to decide how to live.”7 1

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:188, 436. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:449. At the Uehiro Lectures at Oxford University, 10 November 2017, Julian Savulescu, director of the Oxford Uehiro Centre for Practical Ethics, who chaired the event, stated that the effective altruism movement in Oxford could be traced back to Parfit. 3 Parfit, 3:436. 4 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:xl. 5 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:188. 6 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:367. 7 Parfit, 2:619. Parfit is here using the term “reason” in a specific sense. More on this below. 2

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There would be no better or worse ways to live, no reason to care for some things and not others. Parfit characterises such a view of reality as a “bleak view” as it “replaces goodness and badness with nothing.”8 Parfit might have seen an example of a person holding such a bleak view in his father. In an interview with The New Yorker, Parfit talks about how both of his parents, while being missionaries in China, lost their Christian faith. For Parfit’s father, Norman, this loss of faith was a catastrophe. Without God, his life had no meaning, and he sank into a chronic depression that lasted until his death.9 So, what Parfit puts forward in On What Matters is a non-theistic defence of the view that there are some things that matter, that there are normative truths concerning how we should live our lives. Parfit has a clear conception of what metaethical position is required to say that something matters. He draws up three metaethical distinctions – cognitivism and non-cognitivism, subjectivism and objectivism, and naturalism and non-naturalism – and argues that non-cognitivism, subjectivism and naturalism are not only false but also imply that nothing matters.

2.1 Cognitivism and Non-Cognitivism The distinction between cognitivism and non-cognitivism concerns the function of moral language. Parfit is a cognitivist; he holds that normative claims are intended to state beliefs. A statement such as “cruelty is wrong” is intended to state a fact about the normative status of cruelty, and stating “you have reasons to give to the poor” is intended to state a fact about how you have reasons to act. Not everybody takes this position. Allan Gibbard, R. M. Hare, and Simon Blackburn, whose views Parfit discusses at length,10 take the position that normative claims do not express beliefs; they express attitudes. On this non-cognitivist view, when we claim that cruelty is wrong, “we express an attitude of being against such acts.”11 Moreover, when we make claims about reasons and about what we ought to do, we are actually making “psychological claims about how we might be motivated to act.”12 Parfit is strongly 8

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:107; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:190. MacFarquhar, “How to Be Good.” 10 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:378–463; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:164–250. Here, in Volume Three, Parfit is having a very constructive dialogue with Gibbard. 11 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:176. 12 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:452. 9

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opposed to non-cognitivism. He thinks it is a “bleak view [that] is close to Nihilism,” a view entailing that nothing matters.13 Second, he finds it utterly implausible. In a dry tone, Parfit notes that while different versions of cognitivism have been held for more than two thousand years, “Non-Cognitivist views have been widely held only since the 1930s. That is not surprising, since such views are implausible.”14 To the first point, why does Parfit find non-cognitivism implausible? First and foremost because “there is no intelligible sense in which, on non-cognitivist theories, moral judgments might be true or false, correct or mistaken.”15 When a non-cognitivist says that cruelty is wrong, she says that she has a dismissive attitude towards cruelty. On this view, a moral judgment does not say anything about cruelty as such, only something about my attitudes. So, a non-cognitivist moral judgment would have the form “I have a dismissive attitude towards cruelty,” while a cognitivist moral judgment would have the form “cruelty has the property of being wrong.” Only the latter can be true or false in any important sense.16 Secondly, Parfit finds non-cognitivism implausible because it cannot account for real moral disagreement. For two people to disagree, they must have conflicting beliefs. People with conflicting attitudes “may oppose each other, and they may even fight. But fights may not involve any disagreement.”17 If one non-cognitivist says “Stealing is wrong,” and another says “No, it’s not,” these statements would not conflict. There might seem to be disagreement between these two people, but in reality, there is not. Both statements would be true descriptions of some state of affair “since we might each be correctly describing our own attitude to stealing.”18 To illustrate this, Parfit quotes the non-cognitivist Gibbard, saying that one cannot disagree with an attitude any more than one can disagree with a headache.19 But when it comes to beliefs, there is such a thing as agreeing or disagreeing. Now, it seems implausible to suggest that there is no real moral disagreement between people. A moral theory should therefore be able to account for moral disagreement. Accordingly, we have to accept cognitivism, namely the view that moral judgments express beliefs about what is the case. 13

Parfit, 2:410. Parfit, 2:380. 15 Parfit, 2:397. 16 For Parfit’s treatment of quasi-realism, see Parfit, 2:384–400; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:165–81. 17 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:385. 18 Parfit, 2:379. 19 Gibbard, Thinking How to Live, 65; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:392. 14

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To the second point, why does Parfit say that non-cognitivism entails that nothing matters? Parfit turns to the non-cognitivist R. M. Hare, who says that just as moral statements express our attitudes, what we do when we say something matters “is to express our concern about that something.”20 In the article “Nothing Matters,” Hare sets out to comfort a young man who after reading Camus became convinced that nothing matters. Hare’s solution to the young man’s existential crises is, in the spirit of good analytic philosophy, to engage him in conceptual analysis: What does it mean to say that something matters? Hare writes that the young man “had not understood that the function of the word ‘matters’ is to express concern.”21 And as we all care about things, some things matter. In response to this, Parfit writes, “The word ‘matters’ has a meaning, I believe, which Hare did not understand.”22 Things may matter subjectively, in the sense that we care about them, but the important question which Hare neglects is whether something matters objectively. To say that something matters – matters in an objective sense, which is the sense Parfit consistently makes use of – is to state that there are normative truths about what we have reason to care about. If there are no such truths, normative truths about what we should care about, then we could never be wrong about what matters, and “we could not make better or worse decisions.”23 Such a view, says Parfit, is close to nihilism. Parfit notes that when he and non-cognitivists talk about morality, they talk about very different things. Parfit makes normative claims about what one has objective reason to care about. Non-cognitivists make psychological claims about how we might be motivated to act.24 These are such different conceptions of morality, says Parfit, that “When I talk to these people we can’t even disagree.”25 Other places, he says that “No disagreement could be deeper” than that between these two camps.26 This impression seems to be mutual. The non-cognitivist Simon Blackburn, in his response to Parfit, writes that he was “quite baffled” when he first read On What Matters,27 and describes Parfit’s distinction between subjectivism and objectivism (more on this below) as a “bizarre, bipolar, 20

Hare, “Nothing Matters,” pt. I; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:410. Hare, “Nothing Matters,” pt. III. 22 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:411. 23 Parfit, 2:419. Decisions may be better or worse relative to my desires or aims, but not objectively better or worse. 24 Parfit, 2:452. 25 Parfit, 2:452. 26 Parfit, 2:419. 27 Blackburn, “All Souls’ Night,” 93. 21

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division.”28 Parfit writes that he found Blackburn’s remarks “as baffling as Blackburn found my book.”29 The disagreement between subjectivists and objectivists, and between naturalists and non-naturalists, is not as deep, but Parfit is still delivering a fierce critique of both subjectivism and naturalism.

2.2 Subjectivism and Objectivism When Parfit writes about what a person ought to do, he uses the term reason. We can have reasons to believe certain things; reasons to act in a certain way; reasons to have certain aims; or reasons to have emotions such as fear, regret, or hope. Reasons, writes Parfit, “counts in favour of” having some attitude or acting in some way. However, not all reasons are normative reasons, argues Parfit, and makes a distinction between objectivism and subjectivism. The distinction between subjectivism and objectivism concerns what kind of facts provides normative reasons for action. Reasons are given by facts. The fact that a car is coming towards you gives you a reason to step out of the way, and facts about your health can give you a reason to work out. Parfit distinguishes between two different theories about what kind of facts provide reasons. Some, call them subjectivists, hold that reasons are subject-given, so that “reasons for acting are all provided by, or depend upon, certain facts about what would fulfil or achieve our present desires or aims.”30 Subject-given reasons are provided by the subject’s desires or aims, where “desire” refers to “any state of being motivated, or of wanting something to happen.”31 On some theories, it is the desires one actually has that provides reasons. On others, it is the desires one would have after carefully considering all the relevant facts that provide reasons. 32 The strength of subjectgiven reasons depends on the strength of the subject’s desire. For instance, if your desire to donate to one charity is stronger than your desire to donate to another, you have a stronger (subject-given) reason to donate to this first charity.

28 29 30 31 32

Blackburn, 88. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:243. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:45. Parfit, 1:43. See Parfit’s discussion in Parfit, vol. 1, chap. 3.

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Other, call them objectivists, hold that reasons are object-given, so that “reasons are given by facts about the objects of these desires or aims.”33 While subjectivists would say that you have a reason to work out because you want to stay healthy, objectivists say that you have a reason to work out not because of your desire to stay healthy but because staying healthy is something objectively worth pursuing. On objectivist theories, the strength of a reason depends on how good, or how worth achieving, an activity or a fulfilment of a desire would be.34 Again, imagine two charities. Both charities have the same goal, namely reducing suffering, but one charity is more effective in achieving this goal. If one charity is more effective than the other, Parfit claims that this fact gives you a decisive (object-given) reason to donate to this charity instead of the less effective one, granted all other things being equal.35 In some cases, there might not be any conflict between subject-given reasons and object-given reasons, as what one desires is that which is most worth achieving.36 In other cases, there could be conflict. Sometimes, we can have strong desires for something that is less worth achieving, or strong desires to do something we have an object-given reason not to do. You might, for instance, prefer to postpone some tedious chore, even though you know that this postponement will only make the chore more tedious.37 The desire to postpone gives a strong subject-given reason to postpone, and the fact that postponing will only make things more 33

Parfit, 1:45. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:45–46. 35 See Parfit, “Address to the Oxford Union.” Although Parfit has an “all things being equal”-clause, I agree with those who warn against “the lure of effectiveness.” Stanley Hauerwas, for instance, argues that one should care for the poor and needy not for reasons of effectiveness, but for the reason of exemplifying God’s love and a different way of living, and mentions Mother Theresa as an example of this (Hauerwas, Christian Existence Today, 105). See also Black, Christian Moral Realism, 138; O’Donovan, Resurrection and Moral Order, 20. 36 The objectivist might acknowledge that it is the desire that motivates you to donate to the charity, so that the motivational reason might be given by your desire. But the normative force, the reason why you ought to donate to the specific charity, comes from facts that give you reason to donate to this charity, namely its effectiveness. See Parfit’s distinction of normative and motivational reasons in Parfit, On What Matters, 1:37; Parfit and Broome, “Reasons and Motivation.” 37 Parfit discusses different attitudes to time in Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, chap. 8. Some scholars, such as Jeremy Bentham, have held that the value of pleasure and pain depends on how soon we are going to experience it, so that one should prefer nearer pleasures just because they are nearer (Bentham, Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap. 4). Parfit argues that one does not have reasons to care more for the near future than the distant future, as we should have equal concern for all parts of our life (Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 174–77). 34

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tedious gives an object-given reason not to postpone. So, what ought one to do? Parfit holds that you ought not to postpone because only objectgiven reasons have normative force. Subject-given reasons, argues Parfit, has no normative force. Parfit endorses objectivism, which is his preferred term for what is normally called moral realism, namely the view that there are normative facts not constituted by us.38 Parfit writes that if objectivism is true, “goodness would give us reasons in the way the sun gives light, ‘because it’s out there, shining down’.”39 According to this view, morality is not something we invent or construct; it is something we respond to. However, if subjectivism is true, “we must make our choices in the dark.”40 What he means by this statement is that if our reasons for acting “are all provided by, or depend upon, certain facts about what would fulfil or achieve our present desires or aims,”41 then reasons would say nothing about what aims we should try to fulfil. So, if reasons are only concerned with achieving aims, reasons would say nothing about what we should aim at. When choosing our aims, we would be “in the dark,” we would have no reason to choose one aim and not another.42 So, if subjectivism is true, nothing matters.43 For how could something come to matter simply in virtue of fulfilling a desire we have no reason to have? Parfit’s way of refuting subjectivism is mainly to show that many of our commonly held normative beliefs are not constituted by our desires. He constructs ten different cases intending to show that we have reasons for action that are not given by our interests, desires, or beliefs.44 For 38 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:823. Parfit refrains from using the term “moral realism” because the term is often assumed to entail specific ontological commitments (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:823), but he associates himself with realism (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:418) and is seen as a realist by those who write on the subject (Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 7; Sayre-McCord, “Moral Realism”; Street, “Nothing ‘Really’ Matters, but That’s Not What Matters.,” n. 1). In Volume Three, Parfit changes the title of his view from “non-metaphysical non-naturalism” to “Non-Realist Cognitivism.” Most people use the term non-realist to indicate a rejection of moral realism (See Joyce, “Moral AntiRealism.”), but Parfit still upholds moral realism, the view that there are moral facts and that these facts are constituted independently of our beliefs and desires. The new term is used to signal that moral facts do not carry certain ontological implications. For more on this, see the discussion in chapter 4. 39 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:46. Parfit is quoting Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends, 278. 40 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:46. 41 Parfit, 1:45. 42 Parfit, 1:91. 43 Parfit, 1:5. 44 Parfit, 1:58–82. See also Parfit, On What Matters, 3:251–63.

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instance, suppose that you have disturbed and angered a poisonous snake. You have a strong desire to run away. However, the snake will only attack moving targets, which means that you have a reason to stand still, a reason that is not constituted by your present desire.45 One might try to revise subjectivism by qualifying which desires constitute normative reasons, so that it is not just any present desire but our present desires after a “fully informed and [procedural] rational deliberation” that constitute reasons,46 but even this condition will not save subjectivism. Parfit imagines a person who has no desire to avoid some future agony.47 This fully informed and rational person could be a smoker,48 a person who is indifferent to any pain happening on any future Tuesday,49 or a person who just desires pain.50 Subjectivist theories implies here, says Parfit, “that I have a decisive reason to fulfil my desire and act on my decision, by causing myself to be in agony.” But to say that we can have reason to cause ourselves to be in agony, not merely as a means but also as an end, goes against commonly held normative beliefs. 2.2.1 Procedural Rationality and Substantive Rationality Related to the distinction between subject-given reasons and object-given reasons is a distinction between two levels of rationality. First, there is procedural rationality. Procedural rationality concerns how we proceed to achieve our aims. When considering how to achieve our aims, we may try to avoid inconsistencies, avoid wishful thinking, consider the effects of different possible acts, assess probability correctly, and so on.51 If we deliberate in these ways, we are procedurally rational. Parfit notes that procedural rationality is really just instrumental. Procedural rationality concerns how we reason and how we should make choices, not what we should choose or what we should want. Parfit cites Rawls, who writes that “knowing that people are rational, we do not know the ends they will pursue, only that they will pursue them intelligently.”52 Rawls has an example of a person counting blades of grass. This person believes he

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:34. Parfit, 1:62. Parfit, 1:74. Parfit, 1:64. Parfit, 1:56, 79. Parfit, 1:83. Parfit, 1:36, 62. Rawls, Political Liberalism, 49, in Parfit, On What Matters, 2:78.

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has reason to do so, and he pursues his aim intelligently.53 But does this person really have any reason to be a grass-counter? One might ask, is being a grass-counter a rational aim? Such a question is not a question of procedural rationality but a question of substantive rationality, as it is “not about how we make our choices but about what we choose.”54 So, substantive rationality concerns which desires and aims we ought to have. When we set rational aims, aims which we have reason to set for ourselves, we are substantive rational. Parfit holds that procedural rationality is not sufficient for morality. He points out that procedurally rational deliberation over our subjectgiven reasons might make us prudent, but not moral. He writes that normativity “takes two main forms: the categorical imperatives of morality, and the hypothetical imperatives of instrumental, desire-based or aimbased rationality.”55 For Parfit as for Kant, the hypothetical imperatives of instrumental rationality do not qualify as morality. Morality is only to be found in object-given reasons. What a person decides to do after procedurally rational deliberation may coincide with what he ought morally to do, but it does not have to. A person can be procedurally rational no matter what he cares about or wants to achieve, and even be procedurally rational while at the same time being badly mistaken in his moral beliefs. Parfit imagines a person with future Tuesday indifference, a person who cares about his own future pleasures or pains, except when they come on any future Tuesday. This person is consistent in his thinking and pursues his aim intelligently. Similarly, moral philosopher Allan Gibbard imagines a morally consistent Caligula, a Roman emperor that seeks to maximise the suffering of others.56 Caligula’s moral beliefs are perfectly consistent. He is careful in his reasoning, making sure that he makes no logical mistakes and that he is aware of all relevant non-normative facts. Both of these imagined persons are completely procedurally rational, but they are not substantively rational as they fail to have reasonable aims; they fail to respond to moral reasons.57 The distinction between subject-given reasons and object-given reasons relates to the distinction between procedural and substantive rationality 53

Rawls, A Theory of Justice, Revised Edition, 379. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:62. 55 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:600. 56 Gibbard, “Morality as Consistency in Living,” 145. See also Street, “Objectivity and Truth: You’d Better Rethink It,” pt. 2. 57 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:56–57; Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 124. 54

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in the following manner: substantive rationality is only possible with an appeal to object-given reason. That is, only objectivists can operate with the notion of substantive rationality. Subjectivists – Parfit mentions philosopher Christine Korsgaard as an example – hold that reasons are constituted by our aims, and such reasons cannot guide our aims. As subjectivists cannot say that there are reasons for having some aims and not others, they exclude the notion of substantive rationality.58 Excluding the notion of substantive rationality has its problems, says Parfit. Without this notion, one cannot say that certain aims are rational to have, cannot say that there are certain aims one has object-given reasons to have. Moreover, without the notion of substantive rationality, one cannot say that certain aims are irrational to have. Intuitively, there is something irrational about the person having future Tuesday indifference, as well as with the grass-counter. The irrationality is not in how they pursue their aims, but in what aims they have set for themselves. So, in order to say that future Tuesday indifference is irrational, or that the Caligula is irrational, one has to appeal to substantive rationality.59

2.3 Naturalism and Non-Naturalism The distinction between naturalism and non-naturalism concerns the metaphysical status of moral facts. Parfit endorses non-naturalism, and says that the truth of naturalism would “eliminate morality … or make morality an illusion.”60 To see how naturalism differs from non-naturalism, consider the ethical theory of utilitarianism, the view that some act is right when the act maximises happiness.61 According to non-naturalists, the normative property of being right has a different meaning, and states a different fact, than the natural property of maximising happiness.62 Naturalists deny this. They claim that “all properties and facts are natural.”63 In other words, normative facts are not of a different kind than natural facts, and the normative claim that this act is right states the same fact as this act maximises happiness.64 This means that the normative 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Parfit, 1:78–79, 103; Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends, 261. Parfit, 1:78–80. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:304. Parfit’s definition of utilitarianism. Parfit, 2:267. Parfit, 2:267. Parfit, 2:267. Parfit, 2:307.

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statement is right “could be restated by making some non-normative and naturalistic claim” such as maximises happiness.65 Parfit dedicates over two hundred pages to show that it is not possible to reduce normative facts to natural facts, and that normative naturalism is therefore false.66 Some of these pages elaborate David Hume’s point that one cannot derive a normative ought from a non-normative is,67 but most pages are a further development of a related point made by G. E. Moore, namely that a moral ought cannot be defined in terms of, or reduced to, a natural is.68 Moore’s point is often referred to as the naturalistic fallacy. Parfit approaches this naturalistic fallacy from many angles, for instance from the angle of moral discourse:69 if normative language and naturalistic language express the same fact, there would be no need for normative language. With the exception of some practical and communicative considerations, our normative language could be thrown away without loss. However, a moral discourse needs normative language. And we need normative language precisely because there are some important irreducibly normative facts, which we cannot state except by making such normative claims.70 Parfit holds that “normativity is either an illusion, or involves irreducibly normative truths.”71 However, it surprises him that many naturalists seem to be baffled by this claim, not understanding why the claim “rightness is identical to maximizing happiness” renders normativity illusionary. To this, Parfit offers what he calls “a crude and only partial analogy”: Suppose that I believe in God, and I have spent many years trying to decide which religious texts and theologians give the truest accounts of God’s nature and acts. You tell me that you also believe in God. Love exists, you say, in the sense that some people love others. God exists, because God is love. I could reply that, if your view were true, I would have wasted much of my life.72 65

Parfit, 2:305. Parfit, vol. 2, chaps. 24–27; Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 3, chaps. 37–44. 67 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:310–24. 68 Moore, Principia Ethica, sec. 10. Parfit makes a distinction between analytic naturalism and non-analytical naturalism. According to non-analytic naturalism, a normative claim (is right) and a natural claim (maximises happiness) state the same fact, but the claims have different meanings. According to analytic naturalism, the claims have both the same meaning and state the same fact. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:266, 295. 69 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:364–68. 70 Parfit, 2:365. 71 Parfit, 2:263. 72 Parfit, 2:304. 66

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One cannot reduce the existence of God to the existence of love without any loss, and a person who believes that love exists could still ask the further question of whether God exists.73 In the same manner, a person who believes that an act has the natural property of maximising happiness “can ask the further question, which is whether such acts also have the very different, irreducibly normative property of being right.”74 If there are no such irreducible normative properties, Parfit says, then “Sidgwick, Ross, I, and others would have wasted much of our lives” because they have spent so much time using normative language, asking “what matters, which acts are right or wrong, and what we have reasons to want, and to do.”75 The only consolation would be only that “it wouldn’t matter that we had wasted much of our lives” 76 as “nothing matters.”77

2.4 The Threat of Disagreement Parfit believes that if there are moral truths, we should be able to come to agreement on what those truths are. He holds that if we were under ideal conditions, that is, if “everyone knew all of the relevant non-normative facts, used the same normative concepts, understood and carefully reflected on the relevant arguments, and was not affected by any distorting influence,” then there would be no deep moral disagreement.78 We would nearly all have similar normative beliefs. However, there is moral disagreement. How do we come to terms with that? Most cases of disagreement are due to lack of ideal conditions, says Parfit.79 People have different empirical or religious beliefs, have conflicting interests, and so on. Moreover, many cases of disagreement are only about borderline cases. However, some cases of disagreement are not about borderline cases but concern the nature of morality and moral reasoning. What Parfit has in mind is the deep disagreements between deontologists, contractualists and consequentialists. This kind of disagreement troubles Parfit.

73 As Parfit says, this analogy is only partial. It is not at all clear that love is a natural entity. 74 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:303. Parfit imagines how Sidgwick, whom he agrees with, would respond to a naturalist. 75 Parfit, 2:367. 76 Parfit, 2:367. 77 Parfit, 2:367. 78 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:309. See also Parfit, On What Matters, 426–430, 552–53. 79 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:418.

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He takes it to be one of the strongest “reasons for doubting that there are moral truths.”80 Parfit’s way of addressing this disagreement is to try to resolve it. In Reasons and Persons, he stated that he did not know how “Non-Religious Ethics” would develop, but he had “high hopes” that “we would all reach agreement.”81 In On What Matters, Parfit sets forth to demonstrate how the agreement can be reached. While in Volume Two he presents a fierce critique of both subjectivism, naturalism and noncognitivism,82 his approach to deontology, contractualism and consequentialism consists of finding points of agreement. He argues that these three theories are converging, that they are “climbing the same mountain on different sides.”83 Parfit does so in a two-step process. First, he works out an improved version of Kantian deontology, of Sidgwick’s consequentialism and of Scanlon’s contractarianism (Parfit uses the preface of his book to express how influenced and grateful he is to the work of Kant and Sidgwick). Next, he argues that these three improved theories can be combined into a triple theory formulation: “An act is wrong just when such acts are disallowed by some principle that is optimific,84 uniquely universally willable, and not reasonably rejectable.”85 Parfit’s combination of these three ethical theories into one single formulation has received much attention,86 and it is often characterised as the core of his book.87 Such a characterisation is a bit misleading. Parfit’s aim is not “to find a supreme principle” of morality.88 What Parfit wants to demonstrate is that we can resolve some deep disagreements, because “if we cannot resolve our disagreements, that would give us reasons to doubt that there are any true principles.”89 For Parfit, it is not a tragedy if his moral theory is not correct. “But it would be a tragedy if there was 80

Parfit, 1:418. Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 454. 82 In Volume Three, however, the tone has changed. There he is more eager to enter into dialogue and find common ground so that we can “resolve the deepest meta-ethical disagreements between Naturalism, non-naturalism, and Quasi-Realist Expressivism.” Parfit, On What Matters, 3:435. 83 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:419. 84 Some principle is optimific if, when everyone tries to follow it, things would go best. Parfit, 1:251. 85 Parfit, 1:413. 86 See, for instance, five of the eight essays in Suikkanen, Essays on Derek Parfit’s On What Matters, and two of the four responses (Wolf and Scanlon) in Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 2. 87 Schroeder, “On What Matters, Volumes 1 and 2.” 88 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:155. 89 Parfit, 2:155. See also Parfit, On What Matters, 3:309. 81

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no single true morality.”90 So, while the triple theory is interesting in itself, and in itself a philosophical achievement, it does not play the leading role in On What Matters; it is rather a support for the claim that something matters.

2.5 A Theistic Way of Climbing the Mountain? Parfit acknowledges that differences in religious beliefs are one of the things that prevents moral agreement, such that a theistic and a nontheistic theory of morality “completely disagree” with each other.91 While this might be an overstatement, it is noteworthy that Parfit does not attempt to resolve this disagreement. He does not address how people with different religious beliefs can reach agreement in ethical matters, and he does not address how theistic and non-theistic ethics can reach an agreement. God is missing in On What Matters. Theists are not seen climbing the mountain. Why is that? One possibility is that Parfit sees his theory as incompatible with theism. In that case, Parfit’s theory would resist the kind of theological engagement that I am offering in this book. Another possibility is that Parfit finds theism so implausible that it is not a position worth considering for solving various philosophical problems. In that case, Parfit’s theory may be compatible with theism, but Parfit himself would presumably resist a theological engagement. In what follows, I will show that a theological engagement with Parfit’s theory is not alien to Parfit’s philosophical project, but rather a natural continuation of it. One reason why God is missing in On What Matters is that Parfit’s mission is to present a non-theistic ethical system. At the end of Reasons and Persons, Parfit notes that there have been few systematic studies of “Non-Religious Ethics,” and that “compared with the other sciences, Non-Religious Ethics is the youngest and the least advanced.”92 This means that there can be greater progress in non-religious ethics than “in all of the Arts and Sciences.”93 Parfit wants to contribute to this progress, and he wants to do so by showing how there can be moral truths even if there is no God.

90 91 92 93

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

On What Matters, 2:155. Italics in the original. On What Matters, 1:170. Reasons and Persons, 1984, 453. 454.

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2.5.1 Does Ethics Need God? Parfit thinks that if there is a God, morality follows easily. If God exists, “wrong” can be identified with “forbidden by God.”94 But what if there is no God who can forbid anything? Would it then be the case that nothing is wrong? Parfit quotes Dostoyevsky’s famous line: “if God does not exist, everything is permitted.”95 Parfit goes on writing on how Schopenhauer presumed that this line of reasoning was correct. Schopenhauer thought that “every ought derives all sense and meaning simply and solely in reference to threatened punishment or promised reward.”96 As there is no God who makes commands backed up with threats and promises, there is nothing that we ought morally to do. Nietzsche agreed with Schopenhauer on this, says Parfit, as only God would be a high enough authority to make commands.97 Other authorities than God, such as society or ancestors or tradition, would not have the sufficient authority to give us reason to obey the commands. So, the loss of belief in a divine commander made these two thinkers “‘tip over into nihilism’, believing that nothing matters.”98 Parfit thinks that both Nietzsche and Schopenhauer are seriously mistaken. He argues that loss of belief in God does not entail that nothing matters. Parfit observes how the German word sollen is ambiguous. It can be used in two different senses: to express a command (thou shalt not kill) or to express a normative claim (you ought not to kill).99 Parfit argues that these two senses have been conflated, which has led some Germans to assume that moral claims are commands; and the view that moral claims are commands “encourages the view that morality essentially depends on God.”100 This religiously inherited view,101 namely that moral claims are commands, should be rejected, and this rejection opens up a space for a moral theory that does not depend on a commander. After realising that the two senses of sollen need not be conflated, one realises that normative truths do not have to – at least not per definition – be grounded in claims about God. However, Parfit’s argument goes further. He claims that 94

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:165–66. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:587. Parfit is a bit loose in his quotation here. The phrase “everything is permitted” is repeated in Dostoevsky’s book, but the actual quote is “how will man be after that? Without God and the future life? It means that everything is permitted now, one can do anything?” (Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, 584). 96 Schopenhauer, On the Basis of Morality, 55, in Parfit, On What Matters, 2:586. 97 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:587. Parfit refers to Nietzsche, The Will to Power, 275. 98 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:596. 99 Parfit, 2:584–85. 100 Parfit, 2:585. 101 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:231–32. 95

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normative facts cannot “be grounded in claims about … God.”102 Why is that? Parfit briefly says that this is simply because some normative truths are necessary truths, which means that “not even God could make these claims false.”103 In this way, Parfit undermines the claim that it is God who makes certain normative claims true or false. I will address Parfit’s conception of theistic ethics in later chapters. In chapter 7, I will discuss whether theistic ethics is best conceived of as a divine command theory, namely a theory in which “wrong” is identified with “forbidden by God.” Whenever Parfit addresses a theistic view of morality, which he seldom does, he presupposes a divine command theory.104 Parfit even implies that this is the only way to ground morality in God.105 I will argue that while morality should be grounded in God, a divine command theory of morality should be dismissed on philosophical grounds as well as on theological grounds. Furthermore, Parfit argues that as some normative truths are necessary truths, God could not make these claims false, which means that claims about morality cannot be grounded in God. It is worth noting that this argument seems to presuppose a divine command theory of how normative truths are grounded in God. I will address this issue of necessary moral truths in chapter 7, asking the question of whether theistic ethics implies that all moral truths are contingent. Lastly, Parfit seems to presuppose that what gives the normative force, the ought-ness in a theistic ethics, comes either from the sheer authority of God or from the fact that God will punish and reward.106 In chapter 4, I will address the question of normativity, arguing that a theistic theory, as opposed to Parfit’s theory, provides a possible explanation of the normative force of morality, an explanation based on the creator–creature relation, divine attractiveness, and gratefulness to God’s creating and redeeming acts. 2.5.2 Parfit on Theism What is Parfit’s stance towards theism? As stated above, Parfit does not believe that there is a God. He says that he lost his faith in God when he was eight: he realised that a good God would not send people to Hell, so if his teachers were wrong about God’s goodness, they must also be 102 103 104 105 106

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:444. Parfit, 2:479. Parfit seems to presuppose that their necessity is not grounded in God. See for instance Parfit, On What Matters, 1:170; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:322, 585. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:444. Parfit, 2:587.

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wrong about God’s existence.107 Parfit realises that this argument is flawed, but the tension between God’s goodness and God’s punishment is a topic that has stayed with him. In Volume One of On What Matters, Parfit argues that “no one could ever deserve to suffer.”108 As no one can deserve to suffer, a theist must either believe that God does not make anyone suffer in Hell or believe that God’s justice is unintelligible. Parfit takes the former option to be the most plausible. So, the older Parfit manages to see what the eight-year-old Parfit did not, namely that a denial of Hell does not imply a denial of God. However, while there might not be a Hell containing suffering, it seems evident that there is a world containing suffering. Some of this suffering is clearly pointless and undeserved, says Parfit, and he gives the example of a fawn trapped in a burning forest.109 How could a good God allow such pointless and undeserved suffering? This is the well-known problem of evil, a problem which Parfit takes to demonstrate that “there cannot be a God who is omnipotent, omniscient, and wholly good.”110 At times, Parfit does not only deny theism but is quite critical of it (although not as critical as he is of non-cognitivism, subjectivism, naturalism, and nihilism). At the end of Reasons and Persons, he writes that “belief in God, or in many gods, prevented the free development of moral reasoning.”111 When Parfit writes “moral reasoning” here, he does not mean metaethical inquiries, but an inquiry into “which outcomes would be good or bad, or which acts would be right or wrong.”112 Unfortunately, Parfit does not reveal how belief in God has prevented the free development of moral reasoning. So, Parfit does not think that theism is true. One could therefore wonder what Parfit would make of a theological engagement with his ethical project. Now, while Parfit is not a theist, he does seem to think that theism is a position worth considering. There are at least some traces of this in On What Matters. In Volume Two, Parfit grants that it is difficult to explain our ability to form true beliefs about entities that we cannot be causally affected by, such as mathematical entities and moral entities 107

MacFarquhar, “How to Be Good.” Parfit, On What Matters, 1:272; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:569. 109 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:566–67. The example is from Rowe, “The Problem of Evil and Some Varieties of Atheism.” 110 Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 629; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:567. To get out of this problem, says Parfit, one must either deny that God is omnipotent or omniscient or wholly good, or one must deny the badness of undeserved suffering. 111 Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 454. 112 Parfit, 453. 108

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(more on this in PART TWO), and he acknowledges that the existence of God might actually explain this ability.113 So, he seems to treat theism as a viable option for solving an epistemological problem. Moreover, in his article “Why Anything, Why This?” it is even clearer that he takes theism to be a position worth considering. In this article, he asks the question of why the universe exists. There are two questions here, says Parfit. First, why is there a universe at all? Second, why does this universe exist? Parfit considers a variety of different explanations – explanations such as an eternal universe, some quantum law, chance, a multiverse – and says that the existence of God would be a better explanation than any of these.114 While he also says that the problem of evil makes it “hard to understand” why God would create this world,115 he still takes theism to be a position worth considering, repeatedly returning to God as a possible explanation. In the end, he rejects God as an explanation. Let me say something on why he rejects God as an explanation, and why I find the rejection unconvincing. When asking whether God could explain why the universe exists, Parfit argues that the God hypothesis falls short of the axiarchic hypothesis, namely the hypothesis that the universe exists because its existence is Good. This axiarchic hypothesis appeals to an explanatory law which “would not itself be part of the Universe,”116 and it is preferable to the God hypothesis because “an appeal to God cannot explain why the Universe exists, since God would himself be part of the Universe.”117 Parfit’s line of argument reveal a conception of God, or at least a conception of God’s relation to the universe, that is simply not tenable. Parfit seems to treat God as a supplementary item in the inventory of the universe, like the Olympian gods and goddesses. I would strongly reject such a view of the divine. God, if he118 is to be God, must be conceived of as the independent reality upon which everything else depends; the ultimate ground of the universe and not one of its components. The point that God is not an object among other objects or a being among 113

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:493, 498. Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 623–29. 115 Parfit, 629. 116 Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 634. 117 Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 634. 118 While I sometimes use this male personal pronoun for God, this does not mean that I see God as gendered. I take the belief that God has a gender to go against the Christian doctrine of imago Dei and also against perfect being theology (Rea, “Gender as a Divine Attribute.”). I use a personal pronoun to indicate that I think of God as personal, and I use a male pronoun because that is the common choice in the Christian tradition. 114

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other beings, is well articulated by the German-American theologian Paul Tillich. He writes of God as “unconditioned,” a word that expresses two things.119 “Unconditioned” expresses that God is not dependent on anything. Whereas many conditions have to be in place for a person to exist, there are no conditions that have to be in place for God to be. Rather than being dependent, God is the ground of being upon which every conditioned thing is dependent. Additionally, the German word for “unconditioned” (German: unbedingt), consists of the German word for “thing” (German: ding), which is to say that God is “un-thingly,” that he is not a thing among things.120 Therefore, when talking about God, and whether God could explain certain features of the universe or the universe itself, one must remember that God cannot be placed on the same metaphysical level as all other beings.121 The point I want to make here is twofold. First, Parfit does not need to reject theism as easily as he does – a more thought out conception of God is not that easily dismissed. Second, even though Parfit rejects theism, he takes theism to be a position worth considering for solving various philosophical problems. Hence, there does not seem to be any discrepancy between my overall project – which is precisely to show that theism manages to solve some philosophical problems – and Parfit’s way of doing philosophy. In fact, the structure of my project is quite similar to Parfit’s as we both try to improve certain theories in order to solve some problems. Parfit sets out to improve Kantian deontology, rule consequentialism and Scanlonian contractualism in order to solve the problem of disagreement, and he solves this problem with the help of his triple theory. I set out to improve Parfit’s metaethics in order to solve both ontological and epistemological problems, and I do so with the help of Christian theology. So, Parfit’s philosophical project does not shut the door for a theological engagement.

119 Tillich is not the first to write of God as unconditioned. The term is often used by philosophers in the tradition of German idealism, such as Schelling, who Tillich was greatly influenced by. Dorrien, Kantian Reason and Hegelian Spirit, 561. 120 Tillich, Systematic Theology, 1:173. 121 Tillich, 1:235.

Part One: Metaphysics This part of the book consists of two chapters. In chapter 3, I argue that Parfit’s theory faces a profound problem, a problem concerning how to uphold the importance of morality without undermining the importance of happiness. As long as morality and prudence conflict rather than coincide, the moral agent faces a dilemma of either sacrificing his happiness to virtue, or virtue to happiness. After analysing the problem, I present Kant’s theistic solution. According to Kant, God is the judge who punishes vice and rewards virtue, ensuring that happiness will coincide with virtue in the heavenly afterlife. Then I suggest a solution that builds upon Kant’s solution but differs from it on central points as it is not determined by a notion of God as the judge but by a notion of fellowship with God as the highest good. In chapter 4, I present Parfit’s account of the ontological status of moral facts, which is that moral facts have no ontological status. I argue that this view of the nature of morality does not give Parfit any resources to explain things such as the special normative weight of morality, what normative claims are about, and what it would be for normative claims to be true. I then go on to argue that Christian theism can provide resources that explain these things. I suggest that morality is grounded in the creator–creature relation, and that various aspects of this relation can explain various features of morality.

3. SIDGWICK’S PROFOUNDEST PROBLEM

How is it rational to live one’s life? Henry Sidgwick, a British utilitarianist writing in the nineteenth century, says there are two rational aims that one can have when deciding how to live one’s life.1 First, I can have the aim of pursuing my own good. This is the view of egoism, namely that each ought to seek his own happiness. Second, I can have the aim of pursuing what is good for everyone. This is the view of universalism, namely that each ought to seek out the happiness of all.2 Sidgwick thinks that both of these aims, or “methods of ethics,” are supported by common sense morality and are self-evident principles. Both of them are (substantively) rational aims. Concerning universalism, he writes that it must be reasonable to treat any one man in the same way as any other, referring to “the self-evident principle that the good of any one individual is of no more importance than the good of any other.”3 This principle is found both in Bentham’s formulation that “everybody count for one, and nobody for more than one”4 and in Kant’s universal law formulation of the categorical imperative.5 Concerning egoism, Sidgwick writes that it is reasonable for a man to act in the manner most useful to his own happiness.6 He sees it as a “frank naturalness” to seek one’s own happiness,7 and is prepared to grant that “our ideas of happiness and misery are of all our ideas the nearest and most important to us.”8 In fact, seeking one’s

1 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 6–8, 411. By “rational,” Sidgwick means what Parfit would call substantive rational. See Sidgwick, 23–28. 2 Happiness is here understood as “the greatest attainable surplus of pleasure over pain” (Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 120, 413). 3 Sidgwick, 382. 4 Sidgwick, 417. Bentham’s own words are as follows: “every individual in the country tells for one; no individual for more than one” (Bentham and Bowring, Rationale of Judicial Evidence, VII:334). 5 “Act only in accordance with that maxim through which you can at the same time will that it become a universal law” (Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals 4:421). Shelly Kegan comments that “Kant is telling us that immorality is a matter of cheating – making an exception of oneself (cf. G 4:424)” (Kagan, “Kantianism for Consequentialists,” 126). See also Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends, 77. 6 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 119. 7 Sidgwick, xvii. 8 Sidgwick, 119.

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own happiness is not only reasonable and natural; “one’s own happiness, is a manifest obligation.”9 Sidgwick writes that “both [methods] attracted me, and I did not at first perceive their incoherence.”10 Later, he came to see them as incoherent. Egoism and universalism have different aims, and an act that contributes to one aim may stand in the way of the other. Sidgwick imagines a person who must put his life at great risk, or maybe even sacrifice it, to secure the general good.11 Should this person “sacrifice his own happiness to the greater happiness of others”? 12 Sidgwick writes that “from the point of view of the universe,” it is reasonable to aim at the greatest general happiness, thereby sacrificing one’s life.13 But from the point of view of the individual, it is also reasonable to aim at one’s own happiness, thereby not sacrificing one’s life. After all, given the fundamental distinction between individuals, it is hard to see how my loss of happiness can be compensated by gains to the happiness of others.14 So, the two self-evident principles are not in harmony; at times they are even contradictory. If morality is to be made “completely rational”15 – rational in the sense of not involving contradictions – we must show how the two principles can be harmonised. But that is not an easy task. In fact, it is “the profoundest problem of Ethics.”16 While a moral philosopher often experiences conflict in her practical deliberation – such as whether it is best to relieve some suffering among many people or relieve a lot of suffering among some people – these conflicts are not that profound when they are conflicts of how to best accomplish one and the same aim, for instance, the aim of universal happiness. What makes the profoundest problem so profound is that it reveals a conflict between two fundamental methods of ethics, two fundamental principles of what aims ought to guide our actions. This profound problem has two implications. First, reason becomes a less helpful guide as to what we ought to do. Sidgwick wrote The Methods of Ethics to find a 9 Sidgwick, xx. Sidgwick is quoting Joseph Butler, a moral philosopher and Anglican theologian known for his criticisms of hedonic and egoistic theories. Sidgwick writes that he was very influenced by this aspect of Butler’s work. Sidgwick, xxi. 10 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, xvii. 11 Sidgwick, 502. 12 Sidgwick, 404. 13 Sidgwick, xx. 14 Sidgwick, 498. Rawls uses this point as an argument against utilitarianism. Rawls, A Theory of Justice, Revised Edition, 24. 15 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 498. 16 Sidgwick, 386 n. 4.

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unifying principle for action that can help us find out how it is reasonable to act. But when the two methods of ethics point in different directions, reason makes contradictory demands upon us, so that reason is unable to determine how it is reasonable to act: in cases in which morality and prudence conflict, reasons cannot tell us what we ought to do. A second implication of the profoundest problem is that the discrepancy between the two methods of ethics diminishes the importance of universalism. While it is rational to seek the happiness of all, it is also rational to seek one’s own happiness. So, universalism will have no priority over egoism. When there is conflict between universalism and egoism, it will be rational to act in either way. The obvious way to solve the profoundest problem is to show that the aims of the two methods, one’s own happiness and universal happiness, somehow coincide. One could try to argue, says Sidgwick, that aiming for one’s own happiness will promote everyone’s happiness. But that is hardly plausible. The life of an egoist will “not really coincide with moral duty.”17 Alternatively, one could argue that aiming for everyone’s happiness will secure one’s own happiness. That would be a more plausible suggestion as our sympathy for others, or conscience, makes us feel good when promoting others’ happiness. However, even “the utmost development of sympathy” would not cause a perfect correspondence between utilitarian duty and self-interest.18 Sidgwick writes that “observation would lead me to suppose” that most people feel far more keenly pleasures and pains arising from other sources than conscience, 19 and that there are simply “no adequate empirical grounds” for claiming that promoting universal happiness by doing one’s moral duty is “a universal or infallible means to the attainment” of one’s own happiness.20 Sidgwick concludes that he is not able to harmonise egoism and universalism. Not being able to do so is theoretically unsatisfying. Earlier in the book, he has stated that it is a “fundamental postulate of Ethics, that so far as two methods conflict, one or other of them must be modified or rejected,”21 and that “two conflicting rules of action cannot both be reasonable.”22 But in the end, he has to admit a “fundamental contradiction” between two principles in his moral theory, resulting in a moral 17 18 19 20 21 22

Sidgwick, Sidgwick, Sidgwick, Sidgwick, Sidgwick, Sidgwick,

167. 502. See also Sidgwick, 162–75. The Methods of Ethics, 175. 176. 6. 12.

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theory that is not coherent.23 Moreover, not being able to solve the profoundest problem means that he must accept the two implications of the problem. In a case of conflict, where the two methods of ethics pull us in different directions, universalism has no special importance over egoism. It is just as reasonable for an individual to take his own happiness as the ultimate end as it is to take the universal happiness as the ultimate end. Additionally, reason cannot help us sort out how we should live and what we ought to do: “practical reason, being divided against itself, would cease to be a motive on either side.”24 There is a duality to reason, says Sidgwick; he calls this position the dualism of practical reason.

3.1 Parfit on Prudence and Morality When Parfit distinguishes between different kinds of reasons, he points out that not all reasons – not subject-given reasons – are normative reasons. Furthermore, not all normative reasons are moral reasons. There is no sharp division between moral and non-moral normative reasons, but examples can be provided that are on one side or the other.25 For instance, you may have a moral reason to give to charity, and you may have a non-moral reason to run so that you catch the train. While he does not present any criteria that distinguish moral from non-moral reasons, Parfit draws attention to two features that are usually shared by moral reasons, namely what the reason is based on and whom the reason concerns. Moral reasons are “goodness-related, or value-based.”26 A reason is value-based when it is based on facts about what makes something good or valuable. So, whatever properties it is that makes something good, these properties provide us with a value-based object-given reason.27 For instance, the facts that make a charity good, such as saving lives or relieving suffering, gives us reason to support it. Something can be good 23 Sidgwick, 508. He concludes the first edition of this book with an even stronger statement: “the whole system of our beliefs as to the intrinsic reasonableness of conduct must fall… the Cosmos of Duty is thus really reduced to a Chaos: and the prolonged effort of the human intellect to frame a perfect ideal of rational conduct is seen to have been foredoomed to inevitable failure” (Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 1st ed., 473; and in Parfit, On What Matters, 3:337). 24 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 508. 25 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:167. 26 Parfit, 1:51. 27 Parfit, 1:39; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:293. This is a slightly revised version of Scanlon’s “buck-passing” account of value. Scanlon, What We Owe to Each Other, 96.

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as a means or as an end. If something is good as a means – in the way that money is a means for acquiring other things – we have an instrumental reason to want this thing or this event, as this event would have effects that we have some reason to want.28 This implies that every instrumental reason gets its normative force from some other reason. At the beginning of any such chain of reasons, “there must be some fact that gives us a reason to want some possible event as an end, or for its own sake.”29 What is it, then, that we have reason to want as an end? That which is good in itself!30 Parfit’s example of an end that is good in itself is our well-being. Accordingly, we have reason to want something as an end “if it is one of the features of our lives in which our well-being consists.”31 Parfit does not settle which features our well-being consists in, but he mentions candidates such as loving and being loved, and the search for truth and friendship.32 So, we can say that we have telic reasons to want some good end and instrumental reasons to want something as a means to some good end. When discussing different ethical dilemmas, Parfit sorts different kinds of reasons into different categories concerning whose well-being we have reason to care about. One category concerns self-interested reasons, namely the reasons we have to care about our own well-being. Many of our reasons for action are of this kind, provided by what would be “good for us, in the sense of being in our interest, benefiting us, or contributing to our well-being.”33 But reasons to care for ourselves, and to promote our own well-being, are often non-moral. Another category concerns the reasons we have to care about the well-being of people who are close to us, such as family or loved ones. These reasons are person-relative, or partial, in the sense that they depend on our relation to people. Such reasons are often moral. We do, for instance, have a reason to care for 28 Scrooge McDuck would think otherwise, as he loves money not merely as a means but as an end in itself. 29 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:91. 30 Parfit defends the notion of intrinsic goodness against critique from Bernard Williams in Parfit, On What Matters, 2:430–33. It is unclear whether Parfit conflates the conceptual pairs intrinsic/extrinsic and end/means. Parfit, 2, 39, 236, suggest that he does; Parfit, 52, suggests that he does not. As Korsgaard argues, these distinctions should not be conflated (Korsgaard, “Two Distinctions in Goodness”). The first pair concerns the source of value, the other why we value it. 31 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:39. 32 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:39, 44, 389. See also Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, Appendix I. For an attempt to make an exhaustive list of the basic goods that constitute well-being, see Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights, 85–92. 33 Parfit, 1:39.

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our own children.34 Lastly, impartial reasons are reasons to care about anyone’s well-being, no matter whether the person has a relation to us or not, and no matter whether the relation is loving or hostile.35 These latter reasons, impartial reasons, are the ones that are most clearly moral. So, when Parfit is establishing his triple theory, he is mainly discussing impartial reasons for action. Reasons are often in conflict with each other. Different reasons may point us in different directions. Applying at a university, I might have reasons for studying law and reasons for studying medicine. Eating at a restaurant, I might have reasons for choosing the fish and reasons for choosing the lamb. In these cases, we have “sufficient reason, or enough reason, to act in any of two or more ways.”36 But in other cases, one reason might outweigh other reasons. For instance, the fact that I enjoy walnuts gives me a reason to order and eat the walnut cake. But the fact that I am so allergic to walnuts that eating them could kill me gives me “a stronger or weightier” reason not to eat the cake.37 If our reasons to act in some way are stronger than our reasons to do something else, these reasons are decisive, and acting in this way is what we have most reason to do. Moreover, when some reasons are much stronger than any set of conflicting reasons, as they seem to be in the walnut case, Parfit calls them strongly decisive. How it is rational to act, or what it is rational to want, depends on what we believe we have reasons to want and do. Our action can be irrational, less than fully rational, or rational. Some course of action is rational if we have sufficient reason to act in this way. At the restaurant, it would be rational either to choose the fish or the lamb. A course of action is less than fully rational if we have decisive reasons not to act in this way. Choosing the walnut cake would be irrational. Parallel to this, a course of action is what we ought rationally to do if we have decisive reasons to act in this way, for instance, refraining from eating the cake. Lastly, an action is irrational if we have strongly decisive reasons not to act in this way. Eating the walnut cake, which you know might kill you, would be irrational.38 34

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:321, Parfit, On What Matters, 1:39–42. 36 Parfit, 1:32–33. 37 Parfit, 1:32. 38 Parfit distinguishes between the rationality of actions and the rationality of beliefs. Some possible act would be rational if we have beliefs whose truth would give us sufficient reasons to act in this way. For instance, if I believe that I have no reason to care for my future, I might spend my whole pay check as soon as I get it. Given my belief, this 35

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Note that there is no clear-cut line between what acts are rational, less than fully rational, and irrational. Parfit says, “There is no sharp borderline here, since irrationality is a matter of degree.”39 Figuring out whether some action is rational or not is a matter of rational deliberation, of identifying and weighing reasons against each other. These categories – the rational, the less than fully rational, and the irrational – mirror moral categories of the morally right, the morally wrong, and the permissible. Parfit writes that when we claim that some act is wrong, what that means is simply that we have morally decisive reasons not to act in this way.40 In chapter 7, I return to this point by showing how moral obligations can be analysed in terms of reasons, in terms of what we have strong decisive reasons not to do. Here, my point is only to show that Parfit distinguishes between normative reasons that are moral and normative reasons that are non-moral, and to show that he weighs reasons against each other in cases of conflict. Parfit is deeply influenced by Sidgwick’s works. In the preface to On What Matters, he states that he has two masters, Sidgwick and Kant, but that he thinks that “Sidgwick’s book contains the largest number of true and important claims.”41 Though there are important differences between Sidgwick and Parfit – for instance, while Sidgwick wholeheartedly embraces act-utilitarianism, Parfit is only 30 per cent rule-utilitarian42 – they are forced to address some of the same topics. One of them is the profoundest problem of ethics. As Sidgwick does, Parfit thinks that it is rational to care for oneself: we have self-interested reasons to care about our own well-being and our own happiness. Occasionally, he calls these reasons prudential reasons, and these prudential reasons are treated as non-moral reasons.43 Still, prudential reasons do carry some weight. course of action is rational. However, the belief is not rational as I am failing to respond to a normative reason, namely that one should care about one’s future. So, the rationality of acts depends on beliefs, and the rationality of beliefs depends on (among other things) normative reasons. See Parfit, 34–35, 120–24, and also § 21 on “Acting in Ignorance or with False Beliefs.” 39 Parfit, 1:56. 40 Parfit, 1:167; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:166–67. 41 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:xxxiii. Moreover, “Sidgwick writes clearly, is on the whole consistent, and makes few mistakes. These things cannot be claimed of Kant” (Parfit, 1:xli). Parfit notes that he has also learned a great deal from Thomas Nagel and Tim Scanlon, before spending three full pages listing names he is also indebted to. 42 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 407; Parfit, On What Matters, 1:416–18. Labelling Sidgwick as an act-utilitarian seems to be the scholarly consensus. See Schultz, “Henry Sidgwick.” Parfit is 30 per cent rule-utilitarian in the sense that his triple theory is a third utilitarian. 43 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:48.

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For instance, he criticises Kant for downplaying the importance of “nonmoral reasons to want to be happy.”44 And as Sidgwick does, Parfit thinks it is rational to care for other people: we have impartial reasons to care about anyone’s well-being and happiness. Caring for the wellbeing and happiness of others is a moral concern.45 So, in the case of a conflict between morality and prudence, how should we act? 3.1.1 The Dualism of Practical Reason One way to solve the conflict between self-interest and duty is to say that there is no conflict between these two concerns because only one of them is of any importance. For instance, one could argue that self-interested concerns carry no weight, so that only moral concerns have reason-giving force.46 Parfit rejects this approach, as he wants to uphold both the importance of morality and the importance of prudence. He holds that the universalist – or to use Parfit’s term, the impartialist – is incorrect in holding that we always have most reason to do whatever would be impartially best. He also holds that the egoist is incorrect in holding that we always have most reason to do whatever would be best for ourselves. Instead, he favours a variation of Sidgwick’s dualism of practical reason, which he calls wide value-based objective views: When one of our two possible acts would make things go in some way that would be impartially better, but the other act would make things go better either for ourselves or for those to whom we have close ties, we often have sufficient reasons to act in either of these ways.47

Parfit thinks, as Sidgwick does, that we usually have most reason to do what is impartially best, but that this may change when impartial and self-interested reasons conflict. But there are two noteworthy differences between Parfit’s and Sidgwick’s dualism of practical reason. One difference is that Parfit includes person-relative reasons to his view – that is, reasons concerning those to whom we have close ties – stating that both self-interested reasons and person-relative reasons may outweigh 44 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:243; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:600, 676. See also Wood, “Humanity as End in Itself,” 63. Sidgwick, however, would hold that if prudence is rational, then prudence is ethical (Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 1). 45 But it is not entirely clear, says Parfit, whether our reasons to promote the well-being of others should all be called moral reasons (Parfit, On What Matters, 1:167). 46 See for instance Lazari-Radek and Singer, The Point of View of the Universe, chap. 7; Singer, “Famine, Affluence, and Morality.” 47 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:137.

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impartial reasons. More importantly, Parfit holds that in cases of conflict, we often have sufficient reasons to act in either way. This is a qualification of Sidgwick’s more categorical statement, namely that as long as there is a conflict, we will have sufficient reason to act either way. Parfit thinks this categorical statement is implausible. Why? Because we do not have sufficient reason to act in either way if very weak self-interested reasons and very strong impartial reasons conflict. For instance, “would we have sufficient reasons to save ourselves from mild discomfort, rather than saving a million people from death or agony?”48 Clearly not. So, the word “often” allows for various cases in which we have sufficient reason to act either way. As seen in Parfit’s discussion on conflicting reasons, we have sufficient reason to act either way when the reasons to do one thing “are not weaker than, or outweighed by,” the reasons to do the other.49 So, what does it take to tip the scales? What does it take for a moral reason to be strong enough to outweigh a prudential reason so that it is no longer rational to act either way? It is not clear exactly how much stronger the one kind of reason has to be. Parfit offers no criteria for comparing different kinds of reasons. He points out that comparison between self-interested reasons and person-relative reasons is very imprecise, as these kinds of reasons are provided by different kinds of facts. Self-interested reasons, as opposed to impartial reasons, are provided by facts about me, and my relation to myself and my own wellbeing are very different from my relation to a stranger’s well-being.50 What Parfit does offer are some examples of cases in which we have sufficient reason to act either way, and a few cases in which we do not. If I could save my own life or the life of a stranger, I would have sufficient reason to act either way. The same is true, says Parfit, when the number of strangers is five. If the number of strangers is five hundred, the impartial reason would be a hundred times as strong as the impartial reason to save five, but still, “neither of these impartial reasons would be either weaker or stronger than my personal reason to save my own life.”51 What if the number is two thousand strangers?52 The answer is still the same. However, if we find ourselves in a situation where we can save a stranger’s life or save ourselves from some minor harm, such as a few days of pain, then the self-interested reasons are not strong 48 49 50 51 52

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

1:365. 1:33. 1:138–39. On What Matters, 3:320. On What Matters, 1:138.

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enough.53 In such a case, we do not have sufficient reason to act either way but rather a decisive reason to save the stranger. What exactly Parfit takes to be the threshold of “mild pain” is not clear, but if the choice is between losing one finger and saving a stranger’s life, Parfit holds that one “might perhaps have” sufficient reason to act either way.54 So, in line with Sidgwick, Parfit thinks that we have impartial reasons to care for anyone’s well-being, and that we have self-interested reasons to be especially concerned about our own well-being. Contrary to Sidgwick, Parfit thinks that these conflicting reasons can be weighed up against each other so that the self-interested reasons can be outweighed, but still, these prudential reasons are not outweighed easily.55 3.1.2 The Overridingness of Morality Parfit thinks that many different things provide us with reason for action. There is a certain normative force in reasons provided by etiquette, law, prudence, and there may even be aesthetic reasons for action.56 Of all these different kinds of reasons for action, Parfit wants to give some sort of priority to moral reasons. Most of us believe, he writes, that moral requirements are more important than other requirements, that they are overriding. Saying that morality is overriding is to say that in cases in which different kinds of reasons conflict, we have, all in all, more reason to act according to what morality dictates than to act according to what etiquette or what the law dictates. For instance, you may have prudential reasons to rob a store, but the moral requirement not to steal is overriding, meaning that you have most reason not to rob the store. Bear in mind that Parfit never says that “moral reasons” override other reasons. As his wide value-based objective view implies, Parfit holds that weak moral reasons might be outweighed by strong self-interested 53

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:320. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:138, 140. If it was not a finger but a leg, one would have sufficient reason to act either way. Parfit, 1:186. 55 This discussion has relevance for some first-order moral questions, questions such as how much of our wealth we rich people ought to give to poor people. Parfit writes that “these poorest people have much stronger moral claims to some of this wealth [than we have]” (Parfit, On What Matters, 3:436.). He suggests that we ought to transfer at least 10 per cent of what we inherit or earn. This is not as radical as Peter Singer, who holds that moral concerns always outweigh prudential concerns, so that one ought to give “at least up to the point at which by giving more one would begin to cause serious suffering for oneself,” perhaps even to the point where one’s suffering equals the suffering of the poorest (Singer, “Famine, Affluence, and Morality,” 234). I return to this question below. 56 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:132, 144. 54

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reasons.57 What he says is that “moral requirements,” “moral duties,” and something being “morally wrong” override other requirements.58 Parfit writes about the overridingness of morality when considering conflicting requirements, not when considering conflicting reasons, which implies that moral reasons need a certain strength in order to override other considerations. For instance, consider your moral reason to donate to a specific charity and your moral reason not to steal. While you might have a moral reason to donate to the Salvation Army, the reason is not strong enough for this act to be required of you, and not donating to this specific charity is not morally wrong. Your reason not to steal is stronger, strong enough for it to be morally wrong to steal and rationally required of you not to steal. Of these two moral reasons, the latter would classify as overriding. From this clarification, namely that only moral requirements are overriding, two things are worth noting. First, it makes room for supererogatory acts, acts that are good but not obligatory. The fact that it is good to donate to the Salvation Army does not mean it is rationally required of you.59 Second, as that which is morally required is also rationally required, moral requirement overrides other requirements. Parfit uses the example of law: you might be legally required to act in a certain way, but morally required not to act in this way. When these requirements conflict, what do you have most reason to do? As moral requirements are overriding, you would have decisive reason to break the law and act morally.60 When discussing the overridingness of morality, Parfit mentions two different positions:61 Moral rationalism: We always have most reason to do our duty. It could not be rational to act in any way that we believe to be wrong. Weak moral rationalism: We always have sufficient reasons to do our duty, and to avoid acting wrongly.

Moral rationalism states that you always ought to follow the demands of morality. It is always rational to do what morality requires, and it is never rational to act contrary to morality. Acting contrary to morality is to act contrary to what you have most reason to do, which is irrational. 57

Parfit, 1:132. Parfit, 1:146, 148, 147. 59 More on supererogatory acts in chapter 7. 60 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:146. 61 Parfit, 1:141, 144, appears to have this distinction from Nagel, The View From Nowhere, 1986, 200. 58

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According to the weak formulation, it is always rational to do what morality requires, but it could also be rational to act contrary to morality. This position states that we always have sufficient reason to do our duty, not that we always have decisive reason to do so, meaning that we can also have sufficient reason to act immorally. Parfit writes that “we always have sufficient reasons, I believe, not to make choices that would be morally wrong.”62 This statement shows that he thinks weak moral rationalism holds. However, he does not explicitly state whether he only defends the weak formulation or if he also defends the stronger formulation. The two utilitarianists Katarzyna de LazariRadek and Peter Singer suggest that Parfit only defends the weaker formulation.63 To support this suggestion, they point to 1:148 of On What Matters, where Parfit first seems to restate moral rationalism but qualifying it with the word “might”: “Morality might have supreme importance in the reason-implying sense, since we might always have decisive reasons to do our duty, and to avoid acting wrongly.” Then, Parfit seems to embrace the weaker formulation, stating that “we can plausibly assume that we do have strong reasons to care about morality, and to avoid acting wrongly.” Lazari-Radek and Singer suggest that Parfit draws attention to the distinction between having a decisive reason to act morally and having a strong reason to act morally, and that Parfit’s own view is that we have only a strong reason to act morally, thereby embracing weak moral rationalism. I do not think this interpretation of Parfit is entirely correct. Other statements made by Parfit seem to favour a slightly different interpretation, namely that he draws attention to the distinction between always having a decisive reason to act morally and often having a decisive reason to act morally. This slightly different interpretation would suggest that Parfit, in the first quote above, uses “might” to go with “always” – not that he uses “might” to go with “decisive,” as Lazari-Radek and Singer suggest.64 Accordingly, my interpretation suggests that Parfit thinks we generally have most reason to do our duty – that is, moral rationalism generally holds – but that we might not always have most reason to do our duty. In other words, there might be some exceptions to this general rule. 62 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:202–3. Parfit also frequently refers to what one has sufficient reason to do when developing the triple theory in Part Three of On What Matters, especially when he is treating contractualism. 63 Lazari-Radek and Singer, The Point of View of the Universe, 163. 64 Lazari-Radek and Singer, 163.

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I think that my interpretation of Parfit fits better with other statements in On What Matters. For instance, Parfit writes in Volume One that “it would be bad if, in such cases [where duty and self-interest conflict], we and others would have sufficient reasons to act wrongly,”65 and in Volume Three that it “would gravely undermine morality … [if] we would have sufficient reason to act wrongly.”66 These statements fit poorly with Lazari-Radek and Singer’s interpretation of Parfit. They take Parfit to hold that “we have sufficient reason to act morally and sufficient reason to act immorally,”67 but this interpretation is not consistent with what Parfit expresses in these other statements. Weak moral rationalism seems too weak to represent Parfit’s own view. Parfit’s own view is somewhere between weak moral rationalism and moral rationalism. At the end of Volume One, in the concluding chapter, he writes that we have reasons never to do that which is morally wrong, and that “these reasons are always sufficient, and often decisive.”68 This distinction between “always” and “often” reappears in Volume Three. For instance, he writes, “When it is against our interests to do our duty, we often have decisive reasons to do our duty, but that is not always true.”69 While this distinction between “always” and “often” makes room for some exceptions to moral rationalism, Parfit does not allow for a lot of exceptions. Later in Volume Three, he considers an argument stating that we often have reasons to do what is morally wrong, which would be consistent with weak moral rationalism. If it were the case that we often have reasons to do what is morally wrong, Parfit thinks that morality would be undermined.70 So, how does he address the arguments? He addresses them by trying to show that we do not often have reason to do what is morally wrong, but that there are only few such cases.71 If there are only few cases in which we have reason to do what is morally wrong, morality would not be undermined; there would simply be some anomalies. So, Parfit seems to hold that we generally have decisive reason to uphold our moral duties, thereby endorsing moral rationalism, while allowing a few deviations from this principle.

65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:143. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:337. Lazari-Radek and Singer, The Point of View of the Universe, 163. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:414. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:342. Parfit, 3:352, 366. Parfit, 3:358, 366.

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3.1.3 Parfit’s Profoundest Problem Sidgwick’s dualism of practical reason ran into the profoundest problem, namely an incoherence between two fundamental principles in his moral theory. Parfit argues that the profoundest problem is problematic because of its two implications: first, the dualism between two principles undermines the importance of morality, and second, the dualism entails that reason gives us no guidance on whether we should do our moral duty or not. I will argue that Parfit’s dualism between prudence and morality – between self-interested reasons and impartial reasons – faces the same problems as Parfit sees in Sidgwick. Parfit’s dualism cannot escape what the eighteenth-century philosopher Thomas Reid called the miserable dilemma: “He must either sacrifice his happiness to virtue, or virtue to happiness; and is reduced to this miserable dilemma, whether it be best to be a fool or a knave.”72 Let’s begin by considering the undermining of morality. Undermining morality is not something Parfit aims to do. Throughout On What Matters, he argues that morality matters. For something to matter, we must have reasons to care about it. So, for morality to matter, “we must have reasons to care about morality, and to avoid acting wrongly.”73 To elaborate this point, Parfit sets up two different questions:74 Q1: What do I have most reason to do? Q2: What ought I morally to do?

Let’s imagine that these two questions have diverging answers. In that case, what we have most reason to do would not be what we ought morally to do; we would have most reason to act contrary to what morality dictates. As seen above, Parfit thinks that it would undermine morality if we often have most reason to act wrongly.75 Saying that morality would be undermined if we often have most reason to act wrongly might be to set the bar a bit too high for what it would take to undermine morality. But Parfit himself lowers the bar when writing about conflicts between doing what morality demands and doing what self-interest demands. In Volume One, Parfit writes that it would be “bad” if, in cases in which duty and self-interest conflict, we would have sufficient reason to act wrongly.76 In Volume Three, he writes that it “would gravely undermine 72 73 74 75 76

Reid, The Works of Thomas Reid, 598. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:147. Parfit, 1:147. Parfit, 1:147. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:343. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:143. See also Parfit, On What Matters, 3:348.

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morality” if, whenever it was against our interest to do our duty, we would have sufficient reason to act wrongly. 77 So, Parfit puts the importance of morality to the test, saying that morality would be undermined if we had decisive or sufficient reason to act wrongly. However, Parfit’s own theory seems to fail this test. In On What Matters, there are plenty of cases in which one has sufficient reason, or even decisive reason, to act wrongly. When discussing contractualism and consequentialism, Parfit explores different imagined cases – cases typically involving a runaway trolley – in which one is forced to choose between saving one life or five lives. Some of these cases involve a lifeboat. For instance, consider first lifeboat: after some shipwreck, should you use your lifeboat to save one stranger over here or five strangers over there? Arguably, you have most reason to save the five, so that it would be wrong to save only the one.78 Now, consider a case involving a second lifeboat, in which you could use your lifeboat to save either five strangers or to save yourself. Your moral reason to save the five is just as strong as before, but now you have a very strong reason to act contrary to this moral reason. And as seen above, Parfit thinks that your self-interested reason to save yourself is strong enough to break ties with the impartial reason to save five – or even five hundred – meaning that you have sufficient reason to save yourself and act contrary to what morality demands. The same goes in the case of third lifeboat: a stranger must choose to save either you or five strangers. In this case, Parfit thinks that you have sufficient moral reason to want the stranger to save the five. You also have a very strong prudential reason to want the stranger to save you. Accordingly, you have a very strong reason to want the person to act wrongly. In this third lifeboat case, it’s not you who has reason to act wrongly, but you have reason to want and to hope that someone else acts wrongly, and Parfit thinks that having reason to want someone to act wrongly is a “disturbing conclusion.”79 If we could often want people to act wrongly, he thinks that morality would be “partly undermined.”80 In a fourth lifeboat, Parfit imagines that he steals a lifeboat from a stranger so that he could save one of his own children. However, this would prevent the stranger from saving two of his children. Parfit thinks that

77 78 79 80

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

On What Matters, 3:337. On What Matters, 1:186–88. On What Matters, 3:368. 3:366.

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stealing the lifeboat would be morally wrong, but still, it would be rational to do so.81 I take these test cases to demonstrate that Parfit’s dualism between impartial reasons and self-interested reasons – his view that if some act is impartially better while some act “would make things go better either for ourselves or for those to whom we have close ties, we often have sufficient reasons to act in either of these ways”82 – has as its result that we often have sufficient reason to act in a way that is morally wrong. As long as things go better for ourselves, it is rational to act immorally. But then, the overridingness of morality seems to be lost. Parfit wanted to avoid a pattern of prudential reasons breaking ties with moral reasons, a situation which “would gravely undermine morality,”83 but that is precisely the situation Parfit finds himself in. If it is just as reasonable to be a fool as it is to be a knave, morality surely loses importance. Parfit might defend his position by saying that “even if, in the world as it is, there are some counterexamples to this thesis,”84 these counterexamples are too few for us to draw the “disturbing conclusion”85 that “morality would be undermined.”86 As seen when discussing the overridingness of morality, Parfit is careful to distinguish between something being often the case and something being the case just a few times. He might argue that morality is only undermined if it is often the case that we have sufficient reason to act morally and sufficient reason to act immorally.87 Under the heading “Moral and Self-interested Reasons,” Parfit writes that if some wrong act would be much better for us than any other act – which was the case in the lifeboat examples – we would sometimes have sufficient reason to act wrongly.88 As crises involving lifeboats do not appear often, Parfit might argue that it is not a major problem that in these limited cases – which are rather extreme cases concerning life and death – we have sufficient reasons to act immorally. A couple of things should be said to a defence along these lines. First of all, when Parfit comments on Sidgwick’s profoundest problem, he says that even if duty and prudence does not conflict in many cases, it 81 This example is from Parfit’s communication with Lazari-Radek and Singer. LazariRadek and Singer, The Point of View of the Universe, 163. 82 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:137, 382. 83 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:337. 84 Parfit, 3:334. 85 Parfit, 3:366. 86 Parfit, 3:366. 87 This point is implicitly suggested in Parfit, 3:358. 88 Parfit, 3:340.

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would still be “bad” and “disappointing” if there are some such cases.89 If Parfit is saying that it is disappointing that Sidgwick’s dualism sometimes leads to the conclusion that we have sufficient reason to act wrongly, but it is not problematic that his own theory does the same, then he is holding others to a higher standard than himself. Second, even if Parfit’s imagined cases are unlikely to occur, there are, as Parfit says, many actual cases that are relevantly similar.90 Parfit discusses war policies,91 taxation,92 and donations to famine relief.93 Concerning war and taxations, we might have moral reasons to want our governments to act in a certain way and prudential reasons to want them to act in another way. Such cases seem likely to occur often, and cases in which we could reasonably want and hope that governments act immorally seems, as Parfit himself says, quite disturbing.94 Concerning donating to famine relief, Parfit thinks that we are very often in a situation where we spend money on ourselves that we instead ought to donate to famine relief. Parfit holds that we have strong moral reasons to give, but at the same time he acknowledges that we have strong prudential reasons to spend money on ourselves.95 So, again, we have a typical situation where we have a strong prudential reason not to do our moral duty. And this is a situation we will often find ourselves in. Just consider how there is a constant tension between our own consumption and such things as environmental needs and famine relief. Third, Parfit’s own conception of moral wrongness makes room for numerous cases in which one has sufficient reason to do what is morally wrong. What I want to draw attention to here is the contractual element in his triple theory, namely that an act is wrong if it is disallowed by some principle that everyone could rationally will.96 When establishing this contractualism part of the triple theory, Parfit discusses several test cases. For instance, in first lifeboat, Parfit argues that everyone, both the one and the five, could rationally will that you save the five, but everyone 89

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:143. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:361. 91 Parfit, 3:362–68. 92 Parfit, 3:319. 93 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:210; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:436. 94 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:363. A person thinking about how he wants his country to respond to a refugee crises, such as the European refuge crises of 2015, seems to be a case of this type, a case in which one could have moral reasons to want our government to act in a certain way and prudential reasons to want them to act in another way. 95 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:210; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:436. See note 237. 96 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:412–13. 90

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could not rationally will that you save the one.97 As such, you ought morally to save the five and it would be morally wrong to save the one. While everyone has sufficient reason to endorse this line of action, the one person not getting saved has sufficient reason for wanting you to act otherwise. He has sufficient reason for wanting you to do what is morally wrong. Now, there seem to be numerous cases in which everyone has sufficient reason to endorse some principle, meaning that an action should be considered morally wrong, but in which people at the same time have sufficient prudential reason to act contrary to the principle. For instance, everyone seems to have sufficient reason to endorse the principle “you shall not lie,” but one might also have sufficient prudential reason to lie. Everyone seems to have sufficient reason to endorse the principle “you shall not steal,” but one might, perhaps if one is poor, have a major prudential reason to steal. Everyone seems to have sufficient reason to endorse the principle “you shall not be unfaithful,” but still, many people act against this principle, presumably because they have strong self-interested reasons to do so. Everyone seems to have sufficient reason to endorse the principle “you shall not abuse power,” but some people might have strong prudential reason to abuse one’s power. The list could go on, which shows that in Parfit’s theory, one often has sufficient reason to act wrongly, meaning that morality loses its importance.98 A theory that identifies an act as morally wrong, but still leaves it as an open question whether we should refrain from doing this act or not, is surely undermining the importance of morality. Let’s turn to Parfit’s second issue with the profoundest problem. When discussing Sidgwick dualism, Parfit writes that Sidgwick’s dualism faces what he calls the rationalist problem, namely that reason gives us no guidance on whether we should do our moral duty or not.99 Sidgwick’s dualism states that whenever our own happiness conflicts with universal happiness, we would have sufficient reason to act in either way, which means that we do not have most reason to do one or the other. When that is the case, reason gives us no guidance on how we should act, which Parfit thinks would be “disappointing.”100 It is no surprise that Parfit 97

Parfit, 1:187. Parfit notes that how often it is the case that one has sufficient reason, or even decisive reason, to act wrongly depends on how demanding moral requirements are. If moral requirements are very demanding, so that they often demand a great deal of selfsacrifice, then it would be more plausible that we have “sufficient or even decisive reasons to act wrongly” (Parfit, 1:148). 99 Parfit, 1:133–34. 100 Parfit, 1:143. 98

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thinks this would be disappointing if reason could give us no guidance. As Parfit conceives of normativity in terms of reasons for action, it would be quite unfortunate if reason could not guide our actions. However, Parfit’s dualism faces the exact same rationalist problem as Sidgwick’s dualism, although to a slightly lesser extent. According to Parfit’s dualism between impartial reasons and self-interested reasons, we “often have sufficient reasons to act in either way” when the two conflict.101 As seen above, this holds even when prudence conflicts with impartial reasons that are strong enough to acquire the label of moral wrongness: in cases in which “some wrong act would be much better for us than any of our other possible acts” we can have enough reason to act either way.102 That being so, we do not have more reason to act one way or the other. As a result, Parfit’s dualism has the disappointing consequence that reason, in these cases in which moral concerns conflict with some strong prudential concern, cannot give us guidance on how we should act. The rationalist problem seems to be more extensive in Sidgwick’s theory than in Parfit’s. According to Sidgwick’s dualism, reason cannot give us any guidance whenever our own happiness conflicts with universal happiness. According to Parfit’s dualism, there will be fewer cases in which reason is incapable of guiding us. When Parfit writes about self-interested reasons conflicting with impartial reasons, he writes that we often have sufficient reason to act either way.103 When self-interested reasons conflict with moral wrongness, this is sometimes the case.104 So, Parfit’s theory faces this problem to a lesser extent than Sidgwick’s, not whenever there is a conflict but only sometimes. However, as seen above, Parfit’s dualism does not only allow for a few limited cases in which one has sufficient reason to act contrary to what morality dictates. There seem to be quite a lot of cases in which one has just as much reason to act on prudential concerns, namely to do what would be much better for oneself, as to avoid acting wrongly. As such, there are quite a lot of cases in which reason is unable to guide our actions, unable to help us decide whether we should do what is morally right or what is best for ourselves, which must be unsatisfactory for a moral rationalist.

101 102 103 104

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

1:137, 382. On What Matters, 3:340. On What Matters, 1:137, 382. My italics. On What Matters, 3:340.

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3.2 God and the Importance of Morality So far, I have shown that Parfit wants to affirm that we not only have moral reasons but that we also have self-interested reasons to care about our own well-being and our own happiness. I have argued that this dualism of reason falls for the same problems that Parfit saw in Sidgwick; it undermines morality and it generates situations where reason gives us no guidance as to how we should act. Now I will argue that these problems can be solved by appealing to God and his relation to us. According to some views on morality, doing one’s duty might have limited importance. The Christian position does not share this view. According to the Christian tradition, God has called all humans to be holy as God is holy, to be perfect, and to strive for love and justice with all their might. So, there seems to be a moral seriousness to Christian theism.105 Moreover, the Christian tradition has resources to explain why it is so important that we live moral lives. Whenever Parfit considers God’s potential role in a moral theory, it is in the role of a divine commander and a divine judge. In what follows, I will first suggest a solution to the profoundest problem that goes along the lines anticipated by Parfit, a solution that is found in the work of Parfit’s own master, Immanuel Kant. Kant’s notion of an afterlife in which God ensures the highest good – the Kingdom of God where happiness and virtue coincide – gives us the needed resources to uphold the importance of morality, without neglecting the importance of happiness, and to ensure that reason may guide our actions. While I think Kant gives a satisfactory solution to the profoundest problem, his answer might not be theologically satisfactory. Therefore, I will build upon Kant’s answer, arguing slightly differently about what the highest good is and how God grants it, thereby suggesting an improved way of solving the profoundest problem. 3.2.1 A Kantian Solution: Getting the Happiness You Deserve Sidgwick saw a possible solution to the profoundest problem. The dualism between egoism and universalism can be resolved by postulating a God and a judgment. We may connect virtue and happiness by conceiving a God that will “reward their observance and punish their violence.”106 105 See for instance Leviticus 11:45, Matthew 5:48, Hosea 12:6. See also Ward, The Divine Image, chap. 2. 106 Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 206.

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In this way, we may connect virtue and happiness in such a way that it is “always everyone’s interest to promote universal happiness to the best of his knowledge.”107 Even the egoist will be convinced that the best way of achieving his own happiness is by promoting universal happiness. Sidgwick points out that this solution to the profoundest problem is compatible with various conceptions of the divine. We may believe that virtue and happiness converge in God’s judgment on the basis of some divine revelation, where God has promised happiness as a reward for moral obedience, or on grounds of Natural Religion, because a God who is just and benevolent must have ordered the world so that happiness will be distributed in proportion to virtue.108 So, does Sidgwick himself go for this solution? Quite early in The Methods of Ethics, he suggests the following line of thought: as we can hardly believe that virtue and happiness converge in our present earthly life, rewards and punishments in a future state are a necessity in order to bring about a moral government of the world.109 Then he argues that divine judgment might not be a necessity as there might be other ways of making morality and happiness converge. But when he reaches the concluding chapter of his book, all other solutions are found insufficient, and he is left with one solution: divine judgment. Still, he does not opt for it. Because it is not “clear and certain” that there is a divine judgment, he does not want to “borrow a fundamental and indispensable premise from Theology.”110 So, let me turn to a thinker who did opt for a theological solution, namely Immanuel Kant. Kant and Sidgwick set up the profoundest problem, as well as a solution to the problem, in very similar ways. That might be a bit surprising, as Kant and Sidgwick are two very different thinkers. Sidgwick is an act utilitarian, while Kant provides a prominent example of deontological ethics. As such, they have different conceptions of what a virtuous life looks like. Moreover, they have different assessments of whether happiness is a proper aim. While Sidgwick saw the pursuit of personal happiness as a legitimate moral goal, Kant strongly rejects that the pursuit of personal happiness is a moral objective: “The direct opposite of the principle of morality is the principle of one’s own happiness.”111 Still, regardless of Kant’s insistence that desire for happiness destroys true moral 107

Sidgwick, 506. Sidgwick, 121. This last alternative is a reference to Kant’s view. 109 Sidgwick, 162. 110 Sidgwick, 507. 111 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:35. See also Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 4:442. 108

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motivation, Kant recognises that the desire for happiness is an inseparable part of the human condition: “To be happy is necessarily the demand of every rational but finite being and therefore an unavoidable determining ground of its faculty of desire.”112 So, even though Kant is a very different thinker than Sidgwick, Kant presents a Sidgwick-like dualism, a dualism between virtue and happiness: motivated by duty, we should determine our lives on the principles of morality, but the desire to be happy necessarily determines our desire. How does Kant resolve this dualism? He does so by saying that they coincide in “the highest good.” Virtue, which Kant says is the disposition to fulfil our moral duty, is “the supreme good.”113 But virtue is not the whole and the complete good. He thinks that it would be wrong to say – as the stoics did – that virtue is the whole highest good, and he thinks it would be equally wrong to say – as the epicureans did – that happiness is the whole highest good. They are both needed, says Kant. A world in which everyone was happy but not virtuous would lack something. And a world of virtuous but unhappy agents would also lack something.114 So, both virtue and happiness are identified as constituents of the highest good. Now, when Sidgwick and Parfit underlines the importance of one’s own happiness, holding that happiness is a legitimate aim, they both end up undermining the importance of morality. Kant is careful not to undermine morality. He holds that while both virtue and happiness are good, virtue is an unconditioned good while happiness is a conditioned good. As an unconditioned good, virtue is always something we ought to seek. Accordingly, Kant holds that when the moral law prescribes some act, this prescription is without condition, so that we always ought to act according to the moral law.115 The overridingness of morality is thus secured. As a conditioned good, happiness is not something that we always ought to seek. Although happiness is always pleasant, it is not always good. If happiness comes from some behaviour that is not consistent with morality, it is not good. What, then, is it that makes happiness good? The goodness of happiness is conditioned upon virtue, which is to say that happiness is good only when it follows virtue.116 Accordingly, Kant holds that virtue makes a person worthy of happiness, and that the happiness of a virtuous person 112

Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:25. Kant, 5:110. Italics in the original. 114 Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 113; Kant, Lectures on Ethics, 27:247–248. 115 Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, 5:449. 116 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:111. 113

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is something good.117 What constitutes the highest good of a possible world, then, is “happiness distributed in exact proportion to morality.”118 In such a world, universal virtue entails universal happiness.119 Kant resolves the dualism between morality and happiness in the highest good, namely a world where everyone has all of the happiness that his or her virtue makes them deserve. In such a world, virtue and happiness are connected as cause and effect, so that we, through our virtuous conduct, are the authors of our own happiness. There is no rationalist problem here. Reason does give us guidance on whether we should do our moral duty or not, as every rational agent ought to aim for the highest good. As Kant argues that every rational agent ought to aim for the highest good, he must ask himself whether the highest good is possible to attain. He holds that ought implies can. If you ought to do something, it must be possible to do it.120 For instance, if you ought to seek to achieve the highest good, which is happiness in accordance with virtue, it must be possible to achieve it. When Sidgwick looks upon the world, he rejects that virtue always leads to happiness. Kant actually agrees, writing that there is “no necessary connection of happiness with virtue” in this world, not even for the most meticulous observer of the moral law.121 While nature may grant the virtuous man some happiness – Sidgwick mentions the role of conscience – Kant notes that even the most virtuous man will be surrounded by deceit, violence, and envy, and that virtue will not save him from poverty, illness or death.122 In this world, virtue does not secure happiness. In fact, being virtuous is just as likely to increase the pain of this life, because the virtuous person knows that he does not deserve his misery.123 So, if it is impossible to attain the highest good, Kant’s way of connecting morality and happiness fails.124 But Kant does not think that it is impossible to attain the highest good, only that it is impossible to attain it in this world. By postulating the existence of God and an 117 “Morals is not properly the doctrine of how we are to make ourselves happy but of how we are to become worthy of happiness” Kant, 5:130. 118 Kant, 5:110. 119 Engstrom, “Introduction,” xlix–liii. Parfit discusses Kant’s view on these matters in Parfit, On What Matters, 1:244–57. 120 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:112, 125. 121 Kant, 5:113–115. 122 Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, 5:452. 123 Kant, Lectures on Ethics, 27:302; Hare, God and Morality, 159. 124 And more importantly for Kant, his whole moral theory would fail. If it is impossible to attain the highest good, the moral law would be “directed to empty imaginary ends and must therefore in itself be false.” Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:114.

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afterlife, the highest good becomes possible to attain and the dualism between morality and happiness is resolved. Kant postulates the immortality of the soul, an everlasting afterlife, so that the full attainment of virtue is possible. A will that is in complete conformity to the moral law, a perfection of the will, which Kant calls holiness, cannot be attained in a finite period of time.125 It can only be attained in the endless progress towards that complete conformity. Given an endless afterlife, endless moral progress becomes possible, and perfect virtue is thereby attainable. So, while we cannot hope to acquire perfect virtue – or, as Kant says, to be fully adequate to God’s will – in any foreseeable future moment of our existence, we can hope to attain it in an endless afterlife.126 An everlasting afterlife is not sufficient to guarantee that virtue and happiness converge. A prolonged existence may enable us to attain perfect virtue, but prolonged existence does not do anything to secure that happiness follows from virtue. This is where the existence of God comes in. Kant holds that only God can ensure that my happiness is in accordance with my virtue, which entails that the existence of God belongs “necessarily to the possibility of the highest good.”127 The highest good, then, is seen as “God’s final end in creating the world.”128 This is a teleological conception of the highest good, seeing it as God’s final end of creation. The doctrine of Christianity gives a concept of the final end of creation, says Kant, namely the concept of the Kingdom of God.129 This final end is a world of virtue, a world of perfection of the will, Kant’s holiness. That is, the Kingdom of God is a world in which rational beings devote themselves to the holiness that the Christian law demands. Seeing the highest good as the Kingdom of God makes us recognise our moral duties as divine commands. Now, while the moral law itself does not guarantee happiness, God does. In the Kingdom of God, well-being – which Kant at this point calls beatitude – is distributed in proportion to virtue, so that holiness and beatitude coincide.130 Kant holds that the divine commands are constituted by the holy and beneficent will of God, and only through harmony with this will can we hope to attain the highest good.131 As Kant’s 125 126 127 128 129 130 131

Kant, 5:122. Kant, 5:122-124. Kant’s argument also presupposes personal identity over time. Kant, 5:124. Kant, 5:130. Kant, 5:127. Kant, 5:128–129. Kant, 5:129.

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postulation of the immortality of the soul implies, the Kingdom of God is not yet completely manifested. We might see partial glimpses of the Kingdom of God in this world, glimpses of virtue and happiness aligned, but complete holiness and beatitude will not be fully realised on earth.132 Still, we ought to devote ourselves to the moral law in this worldly life, even if the fully corresponding beatitude is attainable only in the eternal afterlife. Now, while God makes sure that holiness has beatitude as its consequence, Kant insists that it is not beatitude that should motivate morality – which would actually be a radical moral evil.133 If we obey the moral demand out of a desire for Heaven (or, for that matter, out of fear of Hell), we have left morality behind in favour of self-interest, and we are no longer being virtuous.134 Let’s see how Kant’s two postulates solve the profoundest problem. One thing that makes the profoundest problem so problematic, as Parfit points out, is that reason gives us no guidance on whether we should do our moral duty or not in cases in which virtue and happiness collide.135 In Kant’s solution, there is no miserable dilemma of whether it is best to be a fool or a knave. Instead, there is something that is always rational to seek, namely the highest good. This highest good, or the Kingdom of God, is acquired through virtue. Accordingly, reason always gives us guidance on how we should act when morality and duty collide; you should do your duty. In other words; it is foolish to be a knave and best to be virtuous. God is the one who guarantees that virtue leads to happiness. God is given the role as the “wise and all-powerful distributor”136 who ensures that the virtuous ultimately get the happiness they deserve. The divine distributor makes sure that there is a moral order – so that it makes a difference whether you live a virtuous life or not – and not, in the words of Kant, a “purposeless chaos” in which “one wide grave engulfs them all together (whether honest or dishonest, it makes no

132 For discussions on how to read Kant at this point, see Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, 73–74; Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 110–12. 133 Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 28. This is very similar to the Augustinian notion of sin as love turned away from God and towards the self. 134 Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, 5:452; Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:128. 135 Sidgwick was also worried that if rationality falls short, “Cosmos of Duty is thus really reduced to a Chaos.” Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 1st ed., 473, In Parfit, On What Matters, 3:337. 136 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:128.

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difference here).”137 So, as the road to beatitude goes through holiness, even Sidgwick’s egoist has decisive reason to be virtuous, meaning that reason gives us guidance on how we should live our lives. The second thing that makes the profoundest problem so problematic, according to Parfit, is that it undermines the importance of morality. In Kant’s theory, morality is not undermined. Kant, as opposed to Parfit, consistently affirms the overridingness of morality. He does so by insisting that happiness is conditioned on virtue, which means that we should only do that which makes us happy if it is consistent with our moral duties. In cases in which moral demands and prudential concerns collide, morality is overriding. Parfit, on the contrary, seems actually to have turned Kant’s position on its head, claiming that it is not happiness that is conditioned on morality, rather morality is conditioned on happiness. As such, a person has most reason to do his moral duty, but only under the condition that this act does not go against a prudential concern, meaning that morality is not overriding. Moreover, Kant upholds the importance of morality without undermining the importance of happiness. As seen above, Parfit thinks that if we always have decisive reasons to do our duty, our reasons to pursue our own happiness would be undermined. According to Kant, it is not a duty to promote one’s own happiness, but happiness is still of vital importance as it is a constitutive part of the highest good. If duty does not lead to happiness, so that the highest good that the moral law aims for is only an imaginary end, we would be forced to conclude that the moral law “must therefore in itself be false.”138 The moral law would have no worth or validity. So, Kant seems to take happiness very seriously, so seriously that it cannot be expected by anybody to choose duty over happiness if virtue, in the end, leads to unhappiness rather than happiness.139 An unresolved conflict between virtue and happiness undermines morality, so in order to uphold both morality and happiness, Kant points out the need for a wise and all-powerful distributor. This theistic part of Kant’s theory of ethics is often overlooked.140 But Kant insists that if we are to think consistently about morality, we must 137

Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, 5:452. Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:114. 139 Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 121; Green, Kierkegaard and Kant, 52–53. 140 Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, 2, 36. One reason for this might be that Kant’s successors, such as Fichte, Hegel Schleiermacher and Shelling, did not accept his account of the highest good or his postulation of the existence of God. For references, see Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 96, 262. 138

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include the assumption that there is a God and that there is an afterlife. Kant argues that these assumptions are necessary in order to think consistently about morality. Accordingly, in the Critique of the Power of Judgment, he labels this line of reasoning “the moral proof of the existence of God.”141 Philosophers and theologians have followed in Kant’s steps by constructing moral arguments around the notion of God fulfilling the greatest good in the afterlife. Some scholars have mainly restated Kant’s own argument.142 Some emphasise the notion of reward, following Kant’s point that it would undermine the moral order if one wide grave engulfs both the honest and dishonest, and concluding that a coherent moral theory “requires ultimate sanctions” where the performance of duty will be “adequately rewarded.”143 Others emphasise the notion of compensation, following Kant’s point that the virtuous deserve happiness, and concluding there must be compensation for morally praiseworthy self-sacrificial acts, a compensation God secures in the heavenly afterlife.144 The idea underlying all these arguments is that the beatific heavenly life is overwhelming compared to the suffering in this earthly life, so that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us” in the heavenly life.145 While these arguments are formulated in relation to Kantian approaches to ethics, the problem of how to resolve morality and happiness is not exclusive to the Kantian tradition. The problem is present among utilitarians, such as Sidgwick, and all other moral theories in which a conflict of morality and prudence is possible. This being said, it is telling how both Sidgwick and Parfit struggle with this problem. Both of them see Kant as a master to whom they are indebted, both of them inherit his problem of how to reconcile prudence and morality, but neither has the theological resources that Kant had available. Without these theological resources, or some non-theistic substitute that could do the same work, they face a profound problem. Abandoning Kant’s theistic roots gets Parfit into some trouble, which I take to suggest that Parfit’s theory is more at home in a theistic framework than a non-theistic one.

141

Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, para. 87. See for instance Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 107–8; Hare, God and Morality, 287–89; Ward, Morality, Autonomy, and God, 126–28. 143 Baggett and Walls, God and Cosmos, 268. 144 Layman, “God and the Moral Order,” 307–8; Craig, “The Most Gruesome of Guests,” 175. 145 Romans 8:18. 142

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3.2.2 A Relational Solution: Friendship with God The underlying idea in Kant’s “moral proof for the existence of God,” namely that worldly suffering must be seen against the backdrop of heavenly beatitude, is found elsewhere in the theological discourse. It is a line of thought used by numerous theologians when answering the problem of evil – the problem of how to reconcile that there is a good God with the evil in this world – by arguing that suffering will be compensated or outweighed in the afterlife.146 Heavenly afterlife is a theological resource that is worth making use of, but Kant’s way of utilising it might lead to some tensions with Christian theology. For instance, Kant’s conception of the highest good seems to leave little room for grace. His heavenly vision of “happiness distributed in exact proportion to morality”147 is a world where karma reigns – a world where you get what you deserve – and not a world where grace reigns. This heavenly vision also leaves little room for God’s redemptive act. Kant is aware of how theological concepts of atonement, justification and salvation play a role in a traditional Christian account of how human beings can become fit for the heavenly afterlife. While he sometimes refers to the need for some “heavenly influence,” he refuses to make use of such ideas and excludes any extra-human assistance.148 While matters of grace and redemption are important, I am most of all concerned with how Kant’s notion of the highest good is tied to his conceptions of God and of morality. Kant’s conception of the highest good seems to determine his conception of God. The reason for postulating God’s existence, the reason why God is relevant to morality, is that there is a need for a judge who rewards virtue.149 Kant sees God as “the holy lawgiver (and creator), the beneficent governor (and preserver), and the 146 Atle Ottesen Søvik points out that eschatological compensation is a key component in the theodicy of both Wolfhart Pannenberg, Keith Ward, Richard Swinburne, David Griffin, and Johan Hygen (Søvik, The Problem of Evil and the Power of God, 135.). Marilyn McCord Adams talks about the balance of good over evil, so that “the ‘sufferings of this present life’ are concretely balanced off.” Søvik himself uses terms as compensation or outweigh, arguing that “suffering will be outweighed in the afterlife” (Søvik, “Actualizing Unique Type and Token Values as a Solution to the Problem of Evil,” pt. 3; Søvik, “The Problem of Evil: A New Solution,” 24). However, he does not presuppose that all will have a heavenly afterlife, only that all is offered one, so that all have a real opportunity to have their suffering outweighed (Søvik, The Problem of Evil and the Power of God, 194). 147 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:110. 148 Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, 60–68. See for instance Kant, Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, 6:51–52, 88. 149 Fremstedal, Kierkegaard and Kant on Radical Evil and the Highest Good, 89.

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just judge – three properties that contain within themselves everything by which God becomes the object of religion.”150 While it is in line with the Christian tradition to see God as a judge, as well as a lawgiver and a governor, these notions might not “contain within themselves everything” there is to say about God’s relevance to morality. Moreover, the conception of God as lawgiver and judge naturally leads to a divine command conception of morality, to a “recognition of all duties as divine commands.”151 In chapter 7, I will argue that a divine command conception of morality is not the best way to formulate a Christian theory of morality. In what follows, I will argue that the conception of a heavenly afterlife is a helpful resource for solving the profoundest problem, but I will do so in a slightly different manner than the way Kant did. I will use a slightly different conception of the highest good, speaking of the highest good in terms of a relation, namely as the human creature being united with God. Emphasising relation makes for a solution to the profoundest problem that fits better with Parfit’s theory, in which relations are reason-giving, and it makes room for a theistic approach to ethics in which God is given other roles than that of a judge or a commander. In Parfit’s moral theory, relations matter. His distinction between selfinterested, person-relative and impersonal reasons seems to rest on the idea that relationships generate normative reasons. For instance, Parfit writes that impersonal reasons and self-interested reasons are different types of reasons, and therefore hard to compare, because “my relation to myself … is very different from my relation to that stranger.”152 Additionally, he writes that we have reason to be “specially concerned” about the well-being of people who stand close to us, which is a person-relative reason, precisely because of these people’s relation to us.153 So, relations generate moral reasons. Parfit also writes about other kinds of normative reasons, such as legal reasons and reasons of etiquette.154 These kinds of reasons are also, plausibly, dependent on relations. Legal reasons are given by my relation to a certain country, reasons of etiquette are given by my relation to a certain culture, marrying someone brings about certain obligations, and so on.155 150

Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:131. Italics in the original. Kant, 5: 129. 152 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:139. Italics in the original. 153 Parfit, 1:138. 154 Parfit, 1:145. 155 For a social theory of moral obligations, see Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, chap. 10. 151

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In a theological context, we can say that our relation to God generates moral reasons. Paraphrasing Kant, this may lead to a recognition of all duties as generated by our relation to God. Such a view of morality – in which morality is essentially connected to our relation to God – might help explain some characteristic features of morality that distinguish moral concerns from other normative concerns. For instance, it might help us understand why morality is a type of normativity that holds for everyone, a type of normativity that no one can opt out of. If moral reasons arise from our relation to God, they arise from a relation that all humans participate in by virtue of being God’s creatures; a creator–creature relation.156 One can escape one’s country, thereby escaping the legal obligations that this relation entailed, but the creator–creature relation is inescapable.157 As such, we can see why no human can withdraw from the requirements of morality.158 More important for the topic of this chapter is that there is a possible solution to the profoundest problem in seeing morality as arising from our relation to God, as this relation grounds the convergence of morality and happiness. Kant thought that it was God’s punishment and reward that constituted this highest good. I suggest that the highest good consists in fellowship with God. This is to say that our relation to God does not have to remain a static creator–creature relation; it can be something more intimate. Kant argued that the highest good does not seem to be fully achievable in this life, only partially so. In the same manner, I hold that the highest good – conceived of as a relation to God – is not fully achievable in this life, 156 If moral reasons are generated by the creator–creature relation, one might wonder whether plants and rocks and animals are bound by the same moral requirements as humans. One can plausibly say that plant and humans are not bound by the same moral requirements, because humans have a special relation to God: humans are capable of receiving vocation from God. It is common among old testament scholars to hold that “the image of God” does not signify likeness to God but a vocation given to humanity (Middleton, The Liberating Image, chaps. 1–2.). In chapter 7, I write about this vocation in general terms as imitating God as much as humanly possible. 157 See for instance Psalm 139. 158 As the creator–creature relation encompasses all humans, some moral duties will plausibly be universally shared, but not necessarily all. Firstly, our other relations differ, and secondly, our relation to God may differ as we receive different vocations. One example of a scholar who makes this point is Karl Barth. He stands in a divine command tradition but does not see the divine commands to be universal laws: the spirit commands ad hominem and ad hoc – to a specific person and to a specific situation. See Biggar, The Hastening That Waits, chap. 2, and for instance how Barth treats the question of euthanasia in Church Dogmatics, III.4:425. A similar non-theistic example would be Korsgaard. She stands in the Kantian tradition but nevertheless holds that the particular maxims you ought to follow depends partly on the identity of the individual, and may therefore vary from person to person: what you ought to do depends on who you are (Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends, 117).

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only partially so. Now, to talk about the highest good as a relation to God is not unheard of in the Christian tradition. Take for instance church fathers such as Augustine and Irenaeus. Augustine’s Confessions opens with the famous statement that “you [God] have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”159 For Augustine, our final goal and highest good is union with God. Irenaeus is famous for his claim that Jesus Christ became what we are in order to make us what he is.160 Irenaeus, as well as other early theologians, used the notion of theosis – rendered deification in Latin and normally deification in English – to describe the goal of the human life.161 Deification should not be understood to involve an ontological transformation; Christ did not become what we are so that we can receive a divine nature. Rather, the term says something about our relation to the divine; Christ became what we are so that we may have communion with God.162 The goal of the human life, then, is to partake in the Son’s relationship to the Father. In other words; the highest good is fellowship with God. If we take the highest good to be fellowship with God, there is a clear connection between the highest good and the moral life. As morality arises from our relation to God, part of the function of moral duties is to facilitate this relation. Different metaphors can be used to describe our relation to God. The church fathers often used the imagery of filiation, being included into the family of God by adoption.163 Another metaphor is that of friendship, as in becoming friends of God.164 It is this latter metaphor I want to make use of. When Aristotle writes about friendship, he points out that good friends must share basic values.165 If this is correct, we cannot enjoy friendship with God, who is supremely good and loving, if we do not resemble God by loving the good. The moral life, then, is partly about enabling us to be the kind of person who can enjoy friendship with God, or at least move us in that direction.166 Some might object that it is not obvious exactly how to facilitate fellowship with God. Perhaps all God wants for the friendship is that we 159

Augustine, Confessions, bk. 1. Irenaeus, “Against Heresies,” bk. 5, preface. 161 For an overview of theosis in the Patristic Period, as well as in Lutheran, Reformed, and Orthodox theology, see Macaskill, Union with Christ in the New Testament, chaps. 2–3. 162 Macaskill, 48–50, 58–59. 163 Macaskill, 73–74. See for instance Psalm 82, John 1:12, 1 John 3:1. 164 See for instance Luke 12:4, John 15:15, James 2:23. John Finnis uses the notion of friendship with God in his moral theory. Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights, 410. 165 Aristotle, Nic. Eth., 1156b. 166 Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 84, 177. 160

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should spend all our time worshipping him, and God does not care about morality or prudence. Perhaps God wants us to think primarily about ourselves and not about others, promoting egoism rather than universalism, so prudence is the road to the highest good. Or perhaps God enjoys non-moral acts? What this objection rightly points out is that one needs to presuppose some substantive beliefs about what God is like and what friendship with God looks like. Later, in chapter 7, I will expand on what the Christian tradition has to say about these things. For now, I will only say that I presuppose a conception of God where God is good and loving, and that I take the life of Jesus Christ as the model for a life that facilitates friendship with God – a model for the moral life. While the moral life facilitates friendship with God, the immoral life puts up a barrier. Suppose I am in a relationship, and I disregard my obligations in this relationship. This kind of behaviour will have a negative impact on the relation itself. For instance, if I ignore my wife or treat her unfairly or let her do all the chores, this will have a negative impact on the relation itself by creating distance between me and my wife. If moral duties arise from my relation to God, acting contrary to these duties will have a negative impact on my relation to God. This is not to say that morality only concerns my relation to God. Moral duties will often be related to society, friends, and family – and maybe also nature itself – and as such impact these relations as well. However, the moral life will always also concern one’s relation to God, so that acting immorally will stain one’s relation to God, creating a distance between God and oneself.167 Both Sidgwick and Kant wanted to solve the profoundest problem by finding a place where happiness and virtue converge, which would enable us to uphold the importance of morality without undermining the importance of happiness. I suggest that this convergence takes place in a heavenly relation with God. Beatitude is found in a proper relationship with God, and morality is a pathway to this relation, enabling us to become friends of God. My solution is in many ways similar to Kant’s. As in Kant, the convergence takes place in the heavenly afterlife, with partial glimpses of convergence in this world, so that a perfect friendship with God is not attainable in this worldly life.168 And as in Kant, there is also an element 167

See Aquinas, “Summa Theologica,” I-II, Q72, A4. Aristotle, again, points out that in a perfect friendship, the two parties ought to be equally virtuous. This seems only to be possible in a heavenly afterlife. See Kraut, “Aristotle’s Ethics.” Moreover, Aristotle points out that in a perfect friendship, both parties gain pleasure from the friendship. See Aristotle, Nic. Eth., bk. 8, especially 1157a. On some conceptions of God, such as perfect being theology, this might be seen as problematic, 168

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of eschatological compensation: to act morally, even when it is not in one’s worldly prudential interest, will actually be in one’s long-term prudential interest. Accordingly, it will be rational even for the egoist to act morally, a point that was important to Sidgwick.169 Instead of just condemning the egoist on moral grounds, which might be an unhelpful and unfruitful response to the egoist, one can argue that what the egoist aims at – namely happiness – is best attained through virtue.170 It will always be in our best interest to seek friendship with God and never in our best interest to alienate ourselves from God, and consequentially, it will be rational for the egoist to facilitate this relation by choosing the moral life. In other ways, the solution differs from Kant. It is not reward and punishment that connects virtue and happiness.171 Rather, it is the facilitation of a friendship. This gives a different view of how God is relevant to morality. God’s relevance for morality is not primarily as a judge, but as the final goal and highest good of human existence.172 To put it in Kantian terms: in Kant’s theory, God is treated merely as a means. God is merely a condition for the highest good, the means that makes the highest good possible. In my view, God is an end in himself: God is not a means to our final end, he is our final end, and the final goal of human life is to be united with him. Second, my view also says something different about our relation to God. Our relation to God is not first and foremost a relation between a prosecutor and a prosecuted; rather it is imagined as intimate friendship. And, as Aristotle points out, a genuine friendship is not a relation in which the other person is a means for my own happiness, but a relation in which the other person is an end in itself. In Kant’s theory, our relation to God is not a genuine friendship, simply because our relation to God is determined by the advantages it brings us, because talk of God gaining something from his creation can be taken to imply that God lacks something and that God therefore is not perfect. On a Christian conception of God, this should not be a problem, as God is seen as enjoying and taking pleasure in his relation to us. See for instance 1 Chronicles 29:17, Zephaniah 3, 17, Luke 15, and the wedding metaphors found in, for instance, Matthew 22. 169 See for instance Sidgwick, The Methods of Ethics, 119–22, 497. 170 In the same way, Kierkegaard argues that what the aesthete seeks can only be achieved if he chooses the ethical life. Fremstedal, “Why Be Moral? A Kierkegaardian Approach,” 177; Evans, Kierkegaard, chap. 5. 171 There might be different views on what reward and punishment look like. Some may imagine a life on streets of gold or a life in Dante’s inferno; others may think that it is the approval or disapproval of God that is at stake. 172 A Christian notion of incarnation may also grant God the role of a model for the ethical life, in the sense that we can see how Christ facilitated his relation to God and learn from his exemplar. More on this in chapter 7. And as said below, God may also be seen as the one who ultimately makes this relation possible.

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namely the happiness that the judge can grant us. Accordingly, as Aristotle points out, one is not a friend to the other person but only to the profit that comes one’s way; one is not a friend of God but a friend of happiness.173 Third, my solution to the profoundest problem also differs from Kant’s as it is based on a different view of morality, a view in which moral wrongness is not understood in legal terms – as the breaking of a law or a divine command – but in relational terms. Accordingly, it will also grant a different theological conception of sin, where sin is not primarily understood in terms of actions but in terms of relation.174 Sin is not an act that disobeys a law; sin is rather that which separates us from God – not living our life as determined by our relation to God. My solution also differs from Kant’s in that my explanatory ambitions are a bit more modest. Kant claims that God is the only explanation, that God’s judgment is necessary for the convergence of morality and happiness. My claim is not as strong; I merely claim to have a better explanation, admitting that there might be other explanations out there and that there could be a non-theistic substitute for God’s role in a moral theory. But as long as Parfit does not have a substitute, theism would improve his theory. Exactly how would theism improve his theory? First of all, when seeing moral duties as arising from our relation to God, the overridingness of morality can be upheld without undermining happiness, as the heavenly relation is a relation of beatitude. Thus, the profoundest problem is solved, and reason is able to guide our actions. Second, seeing moral duties as arising from our relation to God might help us understand why these kinds of duties have special normative weight. That is, a theistic view will not only uphold the importance of morality, it can also explain why it is the case that moral obligations are overriding. I will lay out a theistic explanation of the overridingness in the next chapter, so allow me to just give a taste of what is to come, namely a theistic explanation along the following lines: as the creator– creature relation is of overriding importance, duties arising from this relation will also have overriding importance. Parfit does not offer an explanation at all. If anything, he appeals to an intuition, or a common belief, that morality is overriding. But an appeal to intuition is at best a 173 Kraut, “Aristotle’s Ethics,” sec. 9. See Aristotle, Nic. Eth., bks. VIII, IX, especially 1156–1157. 174 See for instance Tillich, Systematic Theology, 2:44–59. Accordingly, God’s redemptive act is not primarily seen as “the willingness of a divine king and father to forgive over and again the foolishness and weakness of his subjects and children,” but as reconciliation (Tillich, “You Are Accepted,” 196).

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justification for the belief, not an explanation that makes us understand why moral duties are overriding. There might be some objections to my solution to the profoundest problem, in which morality and beatitude are connected by seeing the moral life as facilitating friendship with God. One objection might be that it is not very consoling for the virtuous person who is suffering to hear that all shall be well, only to be told that all shall be well in the afterlife but not necessarily in any foreseeable future. After all, the suffering person is concerned about what’s happening in the present. To set up an answer to this objection, let us see how Parfit treats the question of suffering. Parfit writes that the badness of suffering casts doubts on the goodness of the world. A lot of suffering will diminish my well-being and might lead me to the conclusion that my life has not been worth living.175 However, Parfit notes that when we ask the question of whether my life is worth living, we ought to ask whether “my life as a whole [is] worth living.”176 In Reasons and Persons, Parfit argues that we should have equal concern for all parts of our life.177 So even if the past has been bad, or if there is suffering in the present, “the future may be in itself good, and this goodness might outweigh the badness of the past.”178 If Parfit is correct in that we should have equal concern for all parts of our lives, then future goodness might outweigh past badness – heavenly goodness included. Now, Parfit’s non-theistic ontology does not include a God or an afterlife, so it is difficult for him to say whether the future will be good and whether life as a whole is very good, worth it, or not worth it.179 But given a richer ontology, one that includes God and an afterlife, we have such resources. So, in the midst of suffering, the promise of a heavenly future enables the sufferer to be what Parfit calls “optimistic,” holding that our life is, “on the whole, very good.”180 When life 175 See Parfit, On What Matters, 2:607. While Parfit thinks that more factors than suffering and happiness need to be taken into account (Parfit, 2:463, 612), suffering might make one’s life so bad that it is “worse than nothing” (Parfit, 2:609). One might also argue, pace Parfit, that in the eyes of God there is no life that is not worth living since life itself is valued by God (Bonhoeffer, Ethics, 162). 176 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:614. 177 Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 174–77. 178 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:614. 179 Parfit, 2:610. In Volume Three, Parfit writes that he is “at most a cautious Optimist.” Parfit, On What Matters, 3:190. 180 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:615. Yujin Nagasawa uses this point to argue that an optimist who recognises the systematic evil in this world has a reason to give up atheism and adopt theism if he is to keep his optimism intact (Nagasawa, “The Problem of Evil for Atheists”).

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is seen as a whole, heavenly intimacy with God – an infinite good – can be said to engulf worldly suffering.181 Another objection might be that the hope that all shall be well in the afterlife warrants social and political passivity such that ending worldly suffering is neglected.182 However, the view of an afterlife as friendship with God does not warrant passivity. If friendship with God involves sharing some basic values or attitudes, then this friendship arguably implies acting on the needs of the poor and oppressed (Luke 4).183 One might also be worried that hoping all shall be well in the afterlife makes happiness – a prudential reason – the motivating reason for being virtuous, which would give a morality based on self-interest. But this need not be a worry. The theist can maintain, as Kant did, that we ought to be virtuous for its own sake – not motivated by prudence so that morality becomes a means to happiness – and simultaneously maintain the belief that virtue leads to happiness. In other words; happiness can be an anticipated consequence without being the motivating reason for action.184 A third objection might be that stressing how morality concerns our relation to God, stressing how the moral life facilitates friendship with God, one runs the risk of making morality an instrument in the Godhuman relation and setting the real subject matter of morality – the human-human and human-creation relations – aside. This is a legitimate worry. Metaethical theories where morality is somehow grounded in God, for instance in God’s commands or in the creator–creature relation, may paint a picture of the moral life as merely a means to an eschatological end. But it need not do so. A theistic metaethics could state, as I have done above, that the moral life consists partly – not solely – in facilitates friendship with God. Moreover, if friendship with God involves sharing some basic values or attitudes, like God’s care for all of his creation, the moral life cannot be a life that neglect human-human and human-creation relations. Doing so would be to separate the act of loving God from the act of loving you neighbour. 181 Marilyn McCord Adams responds to the problem of evil in this way. See Adams and Sutherland, “Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God,” 306–7. This answer presupposes that there is a God and an afterlife. Some might object that we cannot be sure that is the case. Such an objection can be met in two ways, either by arguing that there are good reasons to believe there is a God so that we can be sure enough, or by an appeal to Pascal’s wager. 182 In the words of Julian of Norwich: “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, chap. 27. 183 More on this in chapter 7.4, where I argue that union with Christ involves imitating Christ. 184 Ward, Morality, Autonomy, and God, 119–26.

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A fourth objection could be that it is not in line with Christian theology to hold that virtue enables us to become friends with God. While the Christian tradition affirms that the human must be transformed in order to become united with God, this change is rooted in the transformative work of God, and not in our strivings to become good enough for God. While it is tempting to provide the means for our salvation, it is a futile attempt. This objection can be met in several ways. One way is simply to rephrase the entire argument, by not claiming that virtue leads us closer to God but only that vice leads us away. Another way, which I think is more fruitful, is to emphasise that while one function of morality is to facilitate friendship with God, another function is to make us aware of our moral shortcomings, and thus make us see that we need help transforming ourselves. So, the demands of morality make us realise that we will not manage to acquire the moral status of a saint, thereby making us see that we are in need of God’s grace, forgiveness, and transformative power.185 Now, Kant did not allow for any transformative “heavenly influence,” which in some ways makes Kant’s theory less attractive.186 A theory of the highest good determined by notions of judgment, reward, and punishment – notions that have negative connotations – is not a very attractive picture when we realise that we all fall short of the moral law. Well aware of our moral shortcomings, the prospects of heavenly beatitude fades. We may therefore ask whether the highest good is possible without a transformative heavenly influence. But it is also a less attractive picture in that it involves less attraction. In Kant’s moral theory, God is only relevant as lawgiver and judge. In a theory in which the highest good is friendship with God, God can also be given the role of a facilitator in that friendship, which enables us to see God as attracting us (in Trinitarian terms, through the Holy Spirit) towards fellowship with him.

185 See Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 177; Wannenwetsch, “The Whole Christ and the Whole Human Being,” 79, 87–89. I will briefly return to this point in chapter 5.6. 186 Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, 60–68. See for instance Kant, Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, 6:51–52, 88.

4. PARFIT’S NON-METAPHYSICAL METAPHYSICS

Parfit is a cognitivist. He holds that normative claims intend to state facts. He also endorses objectivism, holding that there are moral facts and that these facts are not constituted by us, that is, they are truly independent of our beliefs, desires, and aims. This chapter concerns the ontological status of these facts. It concerns the question of what sort of ontological commitments come with the claim that there are moral facts, as well as the question of what it is that makes a moral claim true. Parfit writes that a lot of the statements we make are true when they correctly describe a part of reality.1 The statement “there is a book over there” is true if there is, in fact, a book over there. Truth and reality, then, is somehow connected. When we say something about what is true, we say something about what there is, something about what reality consists of. Accordingly, truth-claims seem to come with an ontological commitment. For instance, if we claim that “it is true that there are books,” we say that books exist, which is to say that we commit ourselves to an ontology containing books. Now, when one is discussing the relation between what is true and what there is, one could both examine various theories of what it is for something to be true and various theories of what it is for something to exist. As we shall see, Parfit mainly examines what it is for something to exist. Questions concerning theories of truth are mainly left aside, only presupposing that if we “have true positive beliefs about certain things, there must be such things.”2 I will grant Parfit this presupposition, leaving questions of truth aside, and mainly discuss questions of existence.3

1

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:58; Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 746. Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 735. Italics in the original. Parfit seems to follow Quine, holding that there is no distinction between “is” and “exist.” See Quine, “On What There Is,” 23. Also, Parfit does not distinguish between the existence of normative reasons and the existence of moral facts, conflating “there are normative reasons” and “there are moral facts.” 3 Note that different theories of truth lead to different accounts of ontological commitment. See for instance Bricker, “Ontological Commitment,” pt. 3. For a discussion on what theory of truth Parfit can accept – or rather, an argument that no theory of truth seems to fit with Parfit’s theory – see Mintz-Woo, “On Parfit’s Ontology,” pt. 6; Suikkanen, “Non-Realist Cognitivism, Truth and Objectivity.” 2

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While Parfit does not say much about different theories of truth, he does say something, as shown in chapter 2, about different views on what it is that makes a moral claim true. Some are non-cognitivists, who believe that normative claims are not intended to state facts but that they express our desires or attitudes. Parfit rejects this position. Some hold that we might intend to state facts with our moral claims, but also hold that there are no normative truths, such that all our normative statements are false.4 Parfit also rejects this position. As a cognitivist, he holds that normative claims are intended to state facts. As such, he must account for the existence of these facts. Moreover, as he holds that some of our moral claims are true, he must say something about what it is that makes them true. Of those who believe that there are normative truths, some are naturalists. A naturalist holds that moral facts can be reduced to natural facts, and that normative claims are made true by correctly describing some natural fact. Take for instance the normative claim “torturing someone is wrong.” A naturalist might say that in this claim, the property of being wrong can be reduced to the natural property of producing more suffering than happiness. In this way, naturalism accounts for the existence of moral facts: these facts exist in the same way as any other natural fact, and they are even empirically discoverable. What makes the moral claim “torturing someone is wrong” a true claim is the natural property in question. The claim “torturing someone is wrong” is true because it correctly describes how some things are in some part of reality; it describes the natural fact that torture produces more suffering than happiness. However, as shown earlier, Parfit rejects naturalism. He holds that normative truths are irreducibly normative, meaning that they cannot be reduced to natural truths such as a causal, psychological or empirical discoverable fact.5 Parfit holds that a true moral claim describes how things are, but it does not describe a natural fact and it is not made true by one. That is, a true moral claim does not describe how things are in the natural, spatio-temporal world. Those who say that there are moral properties, and that these are not natural properties, are called moral non-naturalists. A typical non-naturalist will say that there are such things as moral reasons, but these reasons do not exist as part of the spatio-temporal world. Rather, they exist in some other, non-spatio-temporal part of reality. Some refer to such a 4 5

Parfit typically talks about nihilists and error theorists. See chapter 2, Parfit, On What Matters, 3:55–58.

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part of reality as the Platonic realm.6 The term Platonism is widely used in the metaphysical discourse to describe this view, but I will mainly stick to the term non-naturalism. I do so both because Parfit mainly uses the label non-naturalist (and later, metaphysical non-naturalist) and only occasionally the label Platonist, and not to exclude positions holding that moral reasons do not reside in a Platonic realm but rather exist as constituted by a non-physical part of reality, such as human consciousness or a human telos.7 According to the non-naturalist, moral claims are true when they correctly describe how things are in some non-natural part of reality.8 Now, Parfit also rejects this view. That is, he does not want to commit himself to the existence of non-spatial, non-temporal things. He quotes philosophers such as Christine Korsgaard, who describes such entities as “curious metaphysical objects,” and John Leslie Mackie, who says that the nonnaturalist view implies “entities or qualities or relations of a very strange sort, utterly different from anything else in our universe.”9 To account for their existence, says Mackie, we would have to introduce a new realm of entities into our ontology, a realm of entities much like Plato’s Forms. But such a realm of entities is “too queer” to “be part of the fabric of the world.”10 Parfit seems to agree with Mackie’s point, as he says that to posit the existence of non-spatio-temporal entities is “metaphysically too queer to be compatible with a scientific world view.”11 Now, to reject the existence of non-natural entities because they are not “compatible with a scientific world view” sounds a bit strange as Parfit himself rejects metaphysical naturalism, namely “the view that all properties and facts are natural.”12 Parfit might be rejecting the existence of non-natural entities in this way because he thinks that these entities raise some “difficult

6 In the literature, platonism and non-naturalism typically describes the same view, namely the view that “there exist abstract (that is, non-spatial, non-temporal) objects” (Balaguer, “Platonism in Metaphysics”). 7 Also, the term platonism seems to be a bit pejorative. See for instance how the nonnaturalist David Enoch feels a need to clarify how he “will not be offended if you call me a Platonist.” Enoch names his theory “Robust Metaethical Realism,” where the term robust is used to tell him apart from quietists. Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 8. 8 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:59. 9 Korsgaard, The Sources of Normativity, 40; Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 38; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:465, 486. Mackie rejects both moral values and aesthetical values. Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 15. 10 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 23. 11 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:486. 12 Parfit, 2:267.

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metaphysical questions,”13 or he might do so because he wants his metaethical theory to be acceptable also to naturalists.14 Either way, Parfit does not find room in his ontology for these non-natural properties. Parfit holds that normative reasons exist, but they do not exist as some natural part of reality, nor do they exist as some non-natural part of reality. How can he say that normative reasons exist without making any room for their existence? Parfit solves this puzzle by turning to the following question: what is it for something to exist? There are a variety of things in this world. There are books and trees, there are actual acts and possible acts, there are moral obligations and legal obligations, there are philosophical theories, and there is even an equator. Now, what do we mean when we say that “there are” such things or that these things “exist”? Some, says Parfit, hold that we always use these words in the same sense. Parfit calls this the single sense view, the view that we mean the same thing when we say “books exist” as when we say “the equator exists” or “philosophical theories exist.” Accordingly, all these entities exist in the same sense. Others hold that the words “there are” or the word “exists” can be used in different senses. Parfit calls this view the plural sense view, which he defines as follows: The plural sense view: There is one wide, general sense in which we can claim that there are certain things, or that these things exist. We can also use the words in other, narrower senses.15

According to this latter view, we can say that books and philosophical theories exist in the same “wide, general sense” – that is, there are books and there are philosophical theories – while at the same time saying that these things exist in different narrow senses. Books exist in a narrow actualist sense, namely as “actually existing concrete parts of the spatiotemporal world.”16 The narrow actualist sense of existence is not, contrary to what some naturalists may hold, the only way in which things can exist.17 Parfit argues that there are possible acts, and it is possible these acts cannot exist in an actualist sense.18 Moreover, unlike things 13

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:62. In Volume Two, Parfit thinks that accepting his metaethical view entails a rejection of metaphysical naturalism. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:461. In Volume Three, Parfit finds a lot of common ground with the naturalist Peter Railton, showing how his metaphysical theory is compatible with a naturalistic view of reality. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:91–127. See also Railton, “Two Sides of the Metaethical Mountain?” 15 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:469. 16 Parfit, 2:480. 17 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61–62. 18 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 732; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:487. 14

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that are merely possible, some things can be said to be actual – things like philosophical theories – and these things do not exist as concrete parts of the spatio-temporal world.19 Abstract entities, entities such as philosophical theories, exist in the same wide sense as concrete entities, but not in the same narrow sense. Parfit points out that if we hold a single sense view, then all claims of existence come with the same ontological implications. He illustrates this by showing how W. V. Quine holds that the statements “books exist” and “numbers exist” use the same sense of existence. If we take these statements to be true, then we are ontologically committed to the existence of these entities. If we hold that “there is a book over there,” we commit ourselves to an ontology containing books. If we hold that “there are prime numbers between 1000 and 1010,” Quine makes it clear that we “commit ourselves outright to an ontology containing numbers.”20 And, as Mackie points out, the same goes for moral truths. If we hold a single sense view, and hold that there are moral truths, then we commit ourselves to an ontology containing moral entities, entities that both Mackie and Parfit take to be metaphysically queer. Parfit argues in favour of a plural sense view.21 Moreover, he argues that this view enables us to uphold that there are moral truths without being ontologically committed to there being queer non-natural moral entities. According to Quine, the task of metaphysics is to say what exists.22 Parfit holds that moral truths exist, but he is not satisfied with Quine’s approach to metaphysics. He rather turns to an old Greek approach: “As Aristotle said, ‘the question is not whether such things exist, but how they do.’”23 So, how do normative reasons exist? First, 19 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:474. While the philosophical theory is formulated in time and space, and presented at different locations, the theory itself is not located anywhere. Other things that exist in an abstract sense are jokes, the Eroica Symphony, the meaning of words, and possible outcomes. Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 748. 20 W. V. Quine, The Web of Belief, pt. IV; Quine, “On What There Is,” 36. Quine argues that mathematical discourse is “up to its neck in commitments to an ontology of abstract entities.” Quine, 32. 21 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011. In this article, he argues against philosophers such as Quine, Plantinga, and van Inwagen who all holds a single sense view. See for instance chapter 1 in Inwagen, Ontology, Identity, and Modality. 22 Quine, “On What There Is,” 21. 23 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:474. Italics in the original. While Parfit gives the impression of quoting Aristotle, he is actually quoting Corkum, “Aristotle on Ontological Dependence,” 76. Aristotle writes as follows: “Thus the point which we shall have to discuss is concerned not with their existence, but with the mode of their existence.” Aristotle, Meta., 1076a. For more on the distinction between Quine’s and Aristotle’s approaches to metaphysics, see Schaffer, “On What Grounds What.”

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there is the wide sense of existence. The wide sense of existence holds for anything we can have true positive beliefs about, no matter if it is actual things or possible things, concrete things or abstract things.24 In this wide sense, we can say that moral reasons exist. Second, there are narrow senses of existence. One narrow sense of existence is the actualist sense. Things that exist in this narrow sense, as concrete parts of the spatio-temporal world, have ontological implications. To say that there are concrete objects, such as books, is to commit oneself to an ontology containing books.25 As Parfit is not a naturalist, he holds that moral reasons do not exist in the narrow actualist sense. Moral reasons are not concrete objects; they are abstract objects. The question is then, what ontological implications do abstract objects have? Parfit’s answer is that they might not have ontological implications at all. Many abstract entities, says Parfit, can plausibly be claimed to exist in a narrow non-ontological sense.26 While both concrete objects and abstract objects exist in the wide sense, they exist in different narrow senses, and that makes them “ontologically very different.”27 Abstract objects “don’t have to exist in any part of reality,” and they “do not have to be made true by there being some part of reality to which they correspond.”28 Just consider the following difference between concrete objects and abstract objects. When evaluating claims about concrete objects, we have to answer the question of whether these objects exist in some ontological sense. However, when evaluating claims about some abstract objects, we do not have to answer the question of whether numbers exist in some ontological sense. For instance, when deciding which mathematical claims are true, “we don’t need to answer the question whether numbers really exist in an ontological sense,” Parfit says.29 He calls this view of mathematics non-metaphysical non-naturalism: mathematical facts are not natural, and they are not metaphysical as they are

24 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 735. That is, we can have true negative beliefs about things without there being such things, but we cannot have true positive beliefs unless there are, in the general sense, such things. See also Quine, “On What There Is,” 28. 25 Things that do not exist in the spatio-temporal world but in “some non-spatiotemporal part of reality, like the Platonic realm” would also have ontological implications. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484. 26 Parfit, 2:480. 27 In Volume Three, Parfit describes abstract objects as ontologically less weighty. Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 728; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61. 28 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 749. 29 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:479–80. He holds that truths about abstract entities would be true even with an empty ontology, even if “nothing ever existed.” Parfit, 2:482–83.

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not facts that describe or imply some metaphysical entities.30 So, Parfit’s distinction between senses of existence makes room for true claims that do not have any ontological implications. In the same way as there can be truths about numbers without ontological implications, there can be truths about morality without ontological implications. 31 It is not always clear whether Parfit wants to convince the reader that moral truths (and mathematical truths) do exist in this narrow non-ontological sense, or if he just wants to convince the reader that it is possible that they exist in this sense. Some paragraphs suggest the latter. For instance, he writes that abstract entities do not have to imply any metaphysical entities,32 and that some abstract entities can plausibly be claimed to exist in a non-ontological sense.33 Other paragraphs suggest the former, as he sometimes leaves the qualifying remarks aside and simply says that non-natural normative truths “have no ontological status.”34 In my opinion, the best reading of Parfit is that he tries to convince the reader that moral truths do exist in the narrow non-ontological sense. This opinion is based on the structure of his chapters on metaphysics. It is worth noting that Parfit presents no positive argument for the view of moral non-metaphysical non-naturalism, not in chapter 31 of Volume Two nor in chapter 38 of Volume Three.35 However, by structuring these chapters the way he does, he ends up with a negative line of 30 In Volume Three, Parfit changes the term to Non-Realist Cognitivism. I deliberately avoid Parfit’s new term as it is prone to misunderstandings. Most people use the term non-realist to indicate a rejection of moral realism (See Joyce, “Moral Anti-Realism.”). But Parfit still upholds moral realism, the view that there are moral facts and that these facts are constituted independently of our beliefs and desires. The new term is still intended to describe the view that moral facts do not have any ontological implications (see Parfit, On What Matters, 3:56, 59, 439), and I find his original term, non-metaphysical nonnaturalism, to be a more apt description of this view. 31 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:467–73; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61–62; Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011. G. E. Moore is onto this distinction between senses of existence, writing that “Two is somehow, although it does not exist” (Moore, Principia Ethica, 111). 32 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 749. 33 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:480. 34 Parfit, 2:487. Italics in the original. 35 Parfit presents one argument intended to show that some things, namely truths, exist in a non-ontological sense. Parfit holds that it is possible that nothing ever existed. If nothing ever existed, then it would be true that nothing ever existed. But as it would be contradictory to hold that “it could have been true that nothing ever existed, but in that case, there would have been the truth that nothing existed” unless truths are non-ontological, then truths must be non-ontological (Parfit, 482–83). Parfit seems to take this argument to have the strength of a proof (Parfit, 485), but I am not convinced, as one could simply respond by saying that the alleged possibility is contradictory, and therefore not metaphysically possible that nothing ever existed. See also Mintz-Woo, “On Parfit’s Ontology,” pt. 5; Olson, “The Metaphysics of Reasons,” pt. 3.1.

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argumentation in support of this view, or rather, he ends up with an argument from exclusion. First, Parfit rejects non-cognitivism, the view that normative claims are not intended to state truths. Second, Parfit rejects nihilism, the view that there are no normative truths. Third, Parfit rejects naturalism, the view that moral facts describe some natural part of reality. Fourth, Parfit rejects what he calls metaphysical non-naturalism, the view that moral facts describe some non-natural part of reality, which implies the existence of non-natural metaphysical entities. And finally, Parfit argues that it is possible for things to exist in a narrow non-ontological sense. So, as moral truths exist in some sense (given the first two rejections), and as any narrow ontological sense is excluded (given the last two rejections, which, Parfit thinks, exhaust all available options of an ontological existence), moral truths must exist in the only available sense left, namely in the narrow non-ontological sense.36 Moral truths, then, are non-natural, but since they have no metaphysical implications, they cannot be open to the metaphysical objections of, for instance, Mackie.37

4.1 Metaphysical Non-Naturalism – No Clear Question? In what follows, I will consider how Parfit establishes the narrow nonontological sense of existence. Parfit appeals to mathematics, using mathematics as a case in point for a non-ontological sense of existence. This appeal should be contested. Parfit writes that when we investigate firstorder mathematical questions – questions such as “there are prime numbers greater than 100” – we do not need to settle second-order ontological questions about whether numbers really exist in some ontological sense.38 From this, Parfit concludes that first-order mathematical claims have no ontological implications. Likewise, because we can answer firstorder normative questions without settling second-order ontological questions, normative claims also have no ontological implications. Now, Parfit’s premise is a methodological point about normative reasoning, 36 In chapter 31 of On What Matters, Parfit mostly discusses in which sense moral truths exists. That is, he discusses the metaphysical status of moral truths rather than discussing the metaphysical status of normative reasons, discusses the status of truths about abstracta instead of discussing the status of abstracta. As truths about abstracta are themselves abstracta, I take Parfit to simply conflate the two. It is perfectly fine to conflate the two, but it can make the argument a bit confusing. 37 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 747. 38 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:479–80. See also Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, chap. 1.

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about how we discover normative truths. But from this premise, it does not follow that normative claims have no ontological implications. The only thing that follows is that first-order normative reasoning does not say anything explicit, neither positively or negatively, about the nature of normative truth or what these truths might entail ontologically. But even if the methods of normative reasoning do not involve explicit ontological theorising, it might be the case that normative reasoning involves grasping some ontologically real normative properties and facts, thereby carrying ontological implications. Take for instance the field of physics. A physicist may do her calculations without engaging in ontological theorising, but still, it might be the case that she is grasping some ontologically real properties and facts. Instead of saying that her calculations concerning quantum physics have no ontological implications, one should instead say that her calculations have no explicit ontological implications, but that there might be implications and that it is an open question exactly what those implications are. So, although we may state claims about the dignity of persons without undertaking an ontological inquiry, these claims may still carry ontological implications.39 Moreover, Parfit appeals to an analogy to mathematics, and writes that because mathematical entities exist in a non-ontological sense, moral entities presumably also exist in this sense. However, just as philosophers of ethics discuss how we should understand the metaphysics of morality, philosophers of mathematics discuss how we should understand the metaphysics of such things as numbers. As philosopher David Copp points out, for almost every metaethical position concerning the status of moral facts, there is a similar position in the philosophy of mathematics.40 So, it is not obvious that mathematical truth is a case in point for a nonontological sense of existence. In some views, mathematical truths do have ontological implications, and in some views, they do not. Parfit acknowledges that there are different opinions on the status of moral facts. He writes that the non-naturalist philosopher can ask herself the following question: “Do numbers really exist in a fundamental,

39 FitzPatrick, “Ontology for an Uncompromising Ethical Realism,” 4. FitzPatrick illustrates this point not by turning to physics but semantics: “Suppose we make the judgment that ‘Gödel’ would still refer to the person it refers to even if he were to turn out not really to have been the one who proved the incompleteness theorem. We can arrive at this judgment without settling abstract questions about what reference consists in, but our judgment may nonetheless have implications about this.” 40 Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 577. See for instance Colyvan, The Indispensability of Mathematics.

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ontological sense, though they do not exist in space or time?”41 Those who answer no to this question are typically called nominalists, and those who answer yes are typically called platonists. There is also a third way of answering the question, which is the answer that Parfit suggests, namely that the question is “too unclear to have an answer.” Parfit calls this the no clear question view. What is unclear is how something can exist in the sense that it is “part of reality” – existing in an “ontological weighty” sense – without existing in space and time.42 Parfit writes that this sense of existence is “hard to understand,” that it is not clear what it means for something to exist in this sense, and that such claims of existence are not even useful.43 So, the question of whether numbers – or morality – exist in an ontological non-natural sense, is too unclear to have an answer. In Volume Three, Parfit goes a bit further, saying that the question is not even “clear enough to be worth discussing.”44 Parfit’s no clear question view has made some philosophers call him a quietist, one who thinks we should remain quiet about the ontological status of moral facts.45 Now, some quietists are more quiet than others. Parfit’s metaethics has much in common with that of Scanlon and Nagel. Nagel is a quietist in the sense that he proposes, to use a book title by Hilary Putnam, ethics without ontology.46 Scanlon is a quietist in the sense that he thinks there are no interesting questions about the ontology of morality, so it is better to avoid such questions altogether.47 In one sense, Parfit is not as quiet as Nagel and Scanlon, as he puts forth lengthy discussions on ontology. In another sense, he is a more radical quietist, as he holds that the question of whether morality can exist in an ontological non-natural sense is not even worth discussing. 41 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:476. Parfit himself is not entirely consistent in his answer. He writes that if we doubt there is such a sense of existence, we should not answer the question by saying no, but by saying this is not a clear question. (Parfit, 2:477.) But later he seems to answer both no and no clear question. Parfit, 2:482. 42 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:60. 43 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484, 477; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61. 44 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61. 45 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 122; McPherson, “Against Quietist Normative Realism,” 224; Wedgwood, The Nature of Normativity, 7. This is a different sense of quietism than the therapeutic Wittgensteinian sense. See McDowell, “Wittgensteinian ‘Quietism.’” Note that I do not use the term quietist as a pejorative. Some scholars, such as Nagel, have been unhappy with the term quietist and have playfully threatened to label the opposition “loudists” or “shoutists.” See Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 121; Kremm and Schafer, “Metaethical Quietism,” 643. 46 Nagel, The Last Word, 101; Nagel, The View From Nowhere, 1986, 139,144. See Putnam, Ethics without Ontology, 2. 47 Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, 24; Scanlon, What We Owe to Each Other, 2.

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What I want to argue now is that this question is clear enough to be worth discussing. Parfit holds that an ontological non-natural sense of existence is too unclear to discuss. That is, when he considers mathematics and morality, this sense of existence is too unclear. When he discusses the existence of God, however, this sense of existence is clear enough to be worth discussing.48 Parfit writes that when we approach the question of the existence of God, we do not consider whether God exists in some nonontological sense.49 That is, we are not considering whether we should be non-metaphysical non-naturalists about God, but whether we should be metaphysical non-naturalists: if God exists, he exists in a sense that has metaphysical implications, although not as a spatio-temporal being. The important point here is that Parfit holds that the question of God’s existence – a question concerning an ontological non-natural sense of existence – is clear enough to have an answer. It might be true that God exists in some ontological sense, and it might be false. It is even a question that is clear enough to be worth discussing, as Parfit does in Why Anything? Why This? As the ontological non-natural sense of existence is clear enough to discuss when it comes to some non-spatio-temporal things, it is hard to see why it is not clear enough when it comes to other non-spatio-temporal things, such as numbers or morality. Parfit also holds that the ontological non-natural sense of existence is hard to understand. It is a sense of existence that is hard to conceive of and describe. Parfit considers how philosophers such as Cian Dorr and Kit Fine describe, or reject, an ontological non-natural sense of existence. Dorr writes that “numbers and properties are not part of the ultimate furniture of reality … there are, in the final analysis, no such things.”50 Fine writes that when some people deny that numbers really exist, what they mean is that “there is no realm of objects ‘out there’ to which our talk corresponds.”51 Parfit finds these descriptions hard to understand. When Dorr uses the phrase “the ultimate furniture of reality,” Parfit takes him to refer to “the ultimate constituents of what exists in the 48

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484. If the existence of God is understood in a non-ontological sense, Feuerbach’s statement that “Man … creates God in his own image,” would actually affirm God’s existence (Feuerbach, The Essense of Christianity, 118). Also, it would be impossible to be an atheist. Samuel Shaffer points out that the “atheistic view is that God is a fictional character.” But this view means that the question of the non-ontological existence of God must be answered with “a trivial yes”! See Schaffer, “On What Grounds What,” 359. 50 Dorr, “There Are No Abstract Objects,” 61. 51 Fine, “The Question of Ontology,” 161. 49

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spatiotemporal Universe.”52 But in that case, Dorr would not be rejecting platonism, says Parfit, as platonists do not say that numbers are spatiotemporal. Furthermore, Parfit struggles with what Fine means by “out there,” as platonists do not believe that numbers exist in space. Now, Parfit’s reading of Dorr and Fine is somewhat puzzling. He takes Dorr to argue that numbers are not spatio-temporal, but that is not what Dorr argues. Already on the first page of his article, Dorr states that numbers are “obviously not material objects.” To say that “there are numbers” is, according to Dorr, to make a metaphysical claim about the existence of some non-material object. As Dorr holds that “the world of material objects is the whole of reality,” he holds that there are no numbers.53 Dorr describes platonism, then, as the view that there are non-spatiotemporal parts of reality. When it comes to Parfit’s reading of Fine, Parfit seems to miss the metaphorical sense in which Fine uses the phrase “out there.” While metaphors are often ambiguous, it is clear enough that Fine does not want to imply that numbers are located in space.54 The view he wants to describe is the view that numbers do not exist in any ontological sense, natural or non-natural. To ask someone to describe a non-natural part of reality is to pose a difficult question. In that, Parfit is correct. However, it being a difficult question is not the same as it being a “no clear question.” It might be that Parfit finds the ontological non-natural sense of existence hard to understand because when he tries to conceive of it, he conceives of something quite similar to an ontological natural sense (that is, the actualist sense) of existence. That might be the reason why he does not pick up Fine’s metaphorical use of “out there.” However, just as Parfit says that “being actual is ontologically very different from being merely possible,”55 a non-spatio-temporal part of reality would be ontologically very different from a spatio-temporal part of reality. As such, Fine’s use of metaphorical language might be fitting, just as Plato writes metaphorically about the sun when describing the world of ideas, and the biblical writers use metaphors such as streets of gold and wedding feasts when describing heaven.56 52

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:478. Dorr, “There Are No Abstract Objects,” 58. Italics in the original. 54 For instance, Fine makes a distinction between material objects and mathematical objects (“The Question of Ontology,” 157). Note that Fine is writing about how the antirealist might insist that numbers do not really exist. Fine holds that they do exist but not in exactly the same sense as Parfit. See Fine, 172. 55 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 728. 56 The point of Plato’s metaphorical language is made in Mintz-Woo, “On Parfit’s Ontology,” pt. 3. My point is not to exclude that an experience of the heavenly life is 53

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A non-natural part of reality is, by definition, not something we can see or touch or smell or investigate by empirical means. This kind of reality can only be described by spatio-temporal terms if these terms are used metaphorically. So, while describing a non-spatio-temporal part of reality is difficult, it being a difficult question is not the same as it being a “no clear Question.” Up to this point, I have argued that the question of whether certain things exist in an ontological non-natural sense, as non-spatio-temporal parts of reality, is a clear enough question to be worth discussing. Now, let me point out that Parfit’s own conception of how moral facts exist is not that clear. First of all, Parfit characterises his view by using negations. A non-ontological sense of existence is a negation of an ontological sense of existence. Things that exist in a non-ontological sense, as opposed to things that exist in an ontological sense, have no “weighty ontological implications.”57 Parfit acknowledges that the idea of ontological weightiness is unclear and that he has not explained what he means by the term. However, he states that it is not up to him, a nonmetaphysical non-naturalist, to explain what ontological weightiness means. It is rather up to those who disagree with him, the metaphysical non-naturalist, to explain the term.58 But this shift of explanatory responsibility seems to be a mistake. As Parfit sets up his position by denying ontological weightiness, while at the same time refusing to make clear how we should understand this term, it is both unclear what he is denying and what position he is advocating.59 Second, it is not obvious how Parfit’s non-ontological view avoids Mackie’s queerness argument. Those who find non-natural entities metaphysically queer will probably not find them less queer when they are told that these objects exist with a “lesser ontological status”60 or that they have no “weighty ontological implications.”61 It is for this reason that Scanlon remains quiet about how moral facts exist: if we respond to this [Mackie’s] first worry by denying that numbers, say, are part of the natural world, while still insisting that they are part of “the world” we invite questions about what this shadowy “world” is to which

spatial or temporal, only that descriptions of heaven are descriptions of a reality we do not have empirical access to. 57 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:60. 58 Parfit, 3:60–61. 59 Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 576. 60 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:481. 61 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:99.

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numbers and perhaps other non-spatial entities all belong. It is better to avoid such questions altogether.62

Scanlon does not think it is a good solution to Mackie’s worry about queerness to introduce a shadowy world of non-ontological entities, a sense of existence that seems itself to be queer. And if this “shadowy world” of non-ontological entities is not queer, queer in the sense that it introduces ontological entities, it is at least queer in the sense that it is unclear. It is telling how several moral philosophers, when commenting on Parfit’s work, says that they “don’t know what to make of Parfit (2011b)’s claim that irreducible reasons exist ‘in a non-ontological sense’.”63 Allan Gibbard even suggests that Parfit himself does not know what to make of the claim!64 These reactions are striking. Parfit rejects metaphysical non-naturalism, and endorses non-metaphysical non-naturalism, because he wants to avoid queer entities and because he seeks a sense of existence that is clear enough to be worth discussing.65 But in doing so, he has ended up with a sense of existence that seems to be both queer and unclear. Interestingly enough, while Parfit distances himself from Mackie,66 it is not obvious how Parfit’s metaphysics of morality differs from Mackie’s. In Parfit’s view of reality, there are moral facts. On Mackie’s nihilistic view on reality, there are no moral facts. In this respect, Parfit’s view on reality is richer, or more expansive. But Parfit will not call this an ontological difference. These moral truths, he says, have no ontological implications. Accordingly, there is no ontological difference between Parfit’s and Mackie’s view, but still, Parfit has a richer view of reality than Mackie. But that surely sounds strange. Normally, one would say that the richer view of reality amounts to a richer ontology. But as Parfit wants to establish a category of existence outside of the ontological discourse, that is not an option. So, Parfit’s non-ontological sense of 62 Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, 24. See Olson, “Reasons and the New Non‐Naturalism,” for a discussion on how quiet non-naturalism is different from the nonquiet. 63 Wodak, “Why Realists Must Reject Normative Quietism,” 2795. See also Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 571; FitzPatrick, “Ontology for an Uncompromising Ethical Realism,” 5; Olson, “The Metaphysics of Reasons,” 262; Ingram, “I Can’t Relax! You’re Driving Me Quasi!” 499. 64 “I don’t myself know what non-natural, non-ontological properties are or what a non-causal ‘response’ is, though Parfit says some things on this and perhaps intelligible explanations can be given. As I read Parfit, he doesn’t claim to know either.” Gibbard, “Parfit on Normative Concepts and Disagreement,” 61. 65 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:61. 66 See for instance Parfit, On What Matters, 2:459–63.

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existence makes it unclear how his metaphysics of morality differs from Mackie’s.67 To sum up the last few pages, I hold that the question of whether moral facts exist in an ontological non-natural sense is clear enough to have an answer. Moral facts might exist in this sense, or they might not. The ontological non-natural sense of existence is at least as clear as Parfit’s non-ontological sense of existence. As long as the ontological sense of existence is coherent – which it seems to be, as it is metaphysically possible that the spatio-temporal parts of reality do not exhaust reality – it is worth discussing whether moral facts fall into this category.68 As said above, Parfit states, when writing about metaphysical non-naturalism, that to make ontological claims about the existence of moral facts is not even useful. My main point in what follows is that such ontological claims are useful and that they might thus be rightfully made.

4.2 Why Quietists Need to Speak Up There are some general problems with a quietist approach to ontological questions, such as Parfit’s endorsement of a non-ontological sense of existence. One worry, for instance, is that the non-ontological sense of existence is too permissive. Normally, a philosopher – let’s call her Violet – is modest when making claims of existence. As adding entities into one’s ontology is usually taken to come with a metaphysical cost, she follows Ockham in not postulating the existence of entities beyond what is necessary. But what if Parfit is right in claiming that entities existing in a non-ontological sense have no metaphysical cost? Then Violet need not be modest anymore. If things that exist in a non-ontological sense have no metaphysical implications, they are not open to metaphysical objections.69 Violet may posit a host of additional mathematical, logical or normative entities, such as what the philosophers McPherson and Enoch call counter-reasons or schmeasons, which exists in the same sense as reasons but count for different acts than reasons do.70 However, 67 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:99. See Olson, “The Metaphysics of Reasons,” 261–65, for some suggestions on how to distinguish Parfit from Mackie. In conclusion, Olson thinks that “postulating a category of the neither real nor unreal is highly uneconomical.” 68 See for instance Ingram, “I Can’t Relax! You’re Driving Me Quasi!” 69 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 747. 70 For discussion on Schmeasons, see McPherson, “Against Quietist Normative Realism”; Enoch and McPherson, “What Do You Mean ‘This Isn’t the Question’?”; Enoch, “Agency, Shmagency.”

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Violet may go further than expanding the normative domain of existence. The spiritual domain seems to get a free ontological pass. She may posit the existence of non-causally efficient souls, spirits, ghosts, ghouls, and ancestral spirits. There might even be leprechauns; only they do not grant luck (unless luck is a non-ontological entity). The theological domain may also get a free pass. Violet may hold that there are angels and demons dancing on the head of a non-ontological pin, and that the Norse gods exist with the only condition that it is not Thor who controls the weather. If these examples seem a bit silly, their silliness should only be taken to suggest that a non-ontological sense of existence is too permissive. But existence may also come cheaply when considering non-silly entities that are seriously discussed in the philosophical literature; while it is not clear that one can be a theist in a non-ontological sense, one might at least be a deist.71 So, as long as Violet’s claims of existence avoid empirical implications, and as long as they are internally coherent, she may posit the existence of virtually anything. A worry for the quietist, then, is that existence comes too cheaply.72 Now, I will not go into a detailed discussion on whether metaphysical quietism is, in general, a tenable position. For the sake of argument, I will grant Parfit his plural sense view of existence as well as the possibility of things existing in a non-ontological sense. What I will argue, then, is that even if we grant that moral facts may exist in a non-ontological sense, this sense of existence does not enable Parfit to get what he wants. 71 See Moore, “Reflections on the New Atheism,” a lecture held at Blackfriars Hall, Oxford, 23 November 2017. 72 See FitzPatrick, “Ontology for an Uncompromising Ethical Realism,” 5–8; Wodak, “Why Realists Must Reject Normative Quietism,” 2799–2802; Enoch and McPherson, “What Do You Mean ‘This Isn’t the Question’?” 824–27, for a similar point in relation to Scanlon’s quietism, which is a somewhat different quietism than Parfit’s. See Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, 19–26. For some other general arguments against quietism, see Zangwill, “Quietism”; Cassam, “Necessity and Externality.” Zangwill argues that quietism in one area requiring global quietism, which again is untenable. Cassam argues that quietism is self-defeating, in that quietist cannot formulate their theory quietly. In philosophy of mathematics, the debate over mathematical platonism has focused on indispensability arguments, which are arguments intended to show that the existence of mathematical facts is indispensable for mathematical deliberation. In a similar manner, Enoch argues that moral facts are indispensable for moral deliberation. See Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 50–84; Enoch, “Indispensability Arguments in Metaethics: Even Better than in Mathematics?” However, I do not think these arguments favour Enoch’s ontologically committed realism over Parfit’s non-metaphysicalism. See for instance Craig’s discussion on indispensability arguments and Parfit-like views on existence in Craig, God Over All, chaps. 6–7. So, while indispensability arguments are thoroughly discussed when discussing the ontology of mathematics, I will leave them out of this discussion on the ontology of ethics.

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That is, Parfit’s plural sense view fails to perform the philosophical work it is intended to do.73 My argument here can be summarised either by a positive statement or a negative statement. Positively, my argument is that ontologically committed non-naturalism has the resources to make sense of some important features of morality. Negatively, my argument is that non-naturalism that is not ontologically committed does not make sense of these features. If I am correct in this, ontological claims are useful and may thus be rightfully made. Let me present what I perceive to be a tension in Parfit’s metaphysics of morality. As mentioned above, Parfit briefly discusses in what sense God is said to exist, stating that theism has metaphysical implications, so that God’s existence is not conceived of in a non-ontological sense. It is not clear exactly why Parfit holds that theism cannot be a nonmetaphysical position. What I suspect lies behind his claim that theism must be understood as a metaphysical thesis is the assumption that the notion of God is set out to do a whole lot of philosophical work.74 According to Parfit, the notion of God is said to explain why the universe has a beginning, why there is anything rather than nothing, why there are moral facts, and to give content to morality.75 The intuition, then, seems to be that the notion of God does so much philosophical work, and is so metaphysically heavy, that it must exist in an “ontological weighty” sense.76 In any case, there are some who argue in favour of non-metaphysical theism. Philosopher Adrian Moore favours theism without any metaphysical commitments, which in Parfit’s terms would be called nonmetaphysical theist.77 As this sort of theism is free from metaphysical implications, Moore openly holds that it does not do much – if any –

73 That is, it does not fail to perform all the philosophical work it is intended to do. It still makes Parfit’s theory more acceptable to naturalists such as Peter Railton. 74 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484. Parfit only says that part of the reason why we cannot be non-metaphysical in our beliefs about God is that God is not a purely abstract entity. But Parfit does not say explicitly what the whole reason is, as the non-ontological sense of existence does not seem to be limited to abstract entities. Usually, Parfit states that non-empirically discoverable truths exist in a non-ontological sense, and surely, God is not empirically discoverable. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:99. 75 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484; Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?”; Parfit, On What Matters, 1:166; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:258. 76 Parfit uses the “ontological weighty” sense but without explaining it, in Parfit, On What Matters, 3:60. See for instance Craig, God and Abstract Objects, 159, for someone who describes entities that do quite a lot of metaphysical work as “ontologically heavy,” which involves “serious ontological commitment.” 77 Moore, “Reflections on the New Atheism.” Moore’s treatment of claims to existence seems to be very similar to Scanlon’s quietism.

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philosophical work.78 So, there seems to be a trade-off between metaphysical commitment and philosophical utility. Parfit seems to acknowledge this trade-off, holding that if some object or entity is supposed to do a lot of philosophical work, then it cannot exist in a non-ontological sense. Commenting on Scanlon’s quietism, Parfit even claims that the metaphysics of non-ontological properties “does no explanatory work.”79 I think this trade-off between metaphysical commitment and philosophical utility shows a tension in Parfit’s theory. On the one hand, Parfit wants to avoid metaphysical commitments. On the other, he wants his theory to do quite a lot of philosophical work. This is a tension that is hard to resolve, and I do not think Parfit’s metaphysics of morality can do all the philosophical work Parfit aspires to do without any ontological commitment. There are some features of morality that Parfit seems to take for granted that his non-metaphysical conception of morality explains. However, there is a lot more to be said. One thing that needs an explanation is why that which matters happens to matter to us. Korsgaard, for instance, challenges the rationalist to “explain how these [moral] reasons get a grip on the agent.”80 That is, she challenges the rationalist to give an account of the connection between the objective moral facts and the agent’s motivational state. Those who hold a desire-based theory of reasons, such as Korsgaard, have already explained this connection by holding that desires constitute normative reasons.81 Those who hold an objectivist theory of reasons, such as Parfit, need to explain the relation between moral facts and motivation. Early in Volume One, Parfit makes clear that he will not say much about motivation, but he does say that motivation and moral reasons are “closely related” as the facts that give us reasons for action also warrant motivation.82 When he comments on Korsgaard’s challenge, he seems to be mostly concerned about justification, arguing that we are justified in doing and being motivated to do what we have reason to do, but he is not concerned about providing an 78 The theological discourse is, according to Moore, detached from discourses about the empirical world as well as from metaphysical discourses concerning what exists. Moore’s distinction between different discourses seems to be quite similar to Scanlon’s distinction between “domains” and “domains of discourse.” See Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, 24. 79 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:219. 80 Korsgaard, “The Normativity of Instrumental Reason,” 53. 81 Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends, 278. See chapter 2. 82 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:37, 45; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:268; Parfit and Broome, “Reasons and Motivation,” 130.

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explanation.83 But an explanation seems to be appropriate, especially when we take into consideration that morality is only one among many normative concerns. Parfit mentions normative concerns such as the rule of law, etiquette, linguistics, aesthetics, mathematics, and so on.84 But when he writes a book on what matters, he writes about morality. Morality matters to us, motivates us. Morality “gets a grip on the agent” in a way that other normative considerations do not. For instance, although Parfit frequently compares morality to mathematics and logic, we seem to care more deeply about moral concerns; morality has something of an existential importance that mathematics does not have. Presumably, the nature of morality should explain why this type of normativity matters so deeply to us. Another thing that needs an explanation is why one type of normativity, namely morality, has a greater normative weight than other normative concerns. The overridingness of morality is discussed in the previous chapter, and Parfit holds that moral concerns do have a special normative weight. However, he says little on why this is so. His discussion on overridingness is mainly concerned with justification. Parfit argues it is reasonable to believe that moral concerns generally override prudential concerns, but he does not explain why this is so. He does comment on the difference between moral concerns and other normative concerns, distinguishing between two kinds of normative truths.85 Some truths are normative in the rule-implying sense. These are norms or rules constituted by some institution or community, such as etiquette, linguistic rules, professional codes, codes of honour and the requirements of law.86 Other truths are normative in the reason-implying sense. These truths are not dependent on a community or a particular practice. Moral truths are of this type. So, morality stands out from other normative considerations in that morality is not mind-dependent and not created by us. However, 83 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:413–25. See also Dreier, “Can Reasons Fundamentalism Answer the Normative Question?” 84 For instance, Parfit, On What Matters, 1:144–45; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:57. 85 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:267–68, 308–9; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:57. 86 See Southwood, “The Moral/Conventional Distinction,” 762–63, for an argument that this kind of normativity does involve normative reasons, and not merely rules concerning correct and incorrect behaviour. I think Southwood is correct, but unlike for instance Wodak, “Why Realists Must Reject Normative Quietism,” 2802, I cannot see how this would undermine Parfit’s attempt to distinguish etiquette from morality. The point of Parfit’s distinction is not that the one kind of normativity involves rules while the other does not, but that the one kind is constituted by a community while the other type is not dependent on any community or practice (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:309, 457). See also Enoch, “In Defense of ‘Taking Morality Seriously,’” 859.

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while mind-independence distinguishes morality from etiquette and social conventions, it is not clear why mind-independence entails greater normative weight.87 As Philippa Foot points out, it is not clear that rules are normatively light-weighted: “should” statements based on etiquette or on a professional code are most naturally read as categorical imperatives, having a categorical normative force.88 Moreover, Parfit holds that it is not only morality that is mind-independent.89 Mathematics also exist in a mind-independent way. So, how do we distinguish the normativity of morality and mathematics? It seems plausible that morality has a normative importance that mathematics does not have. For instance, stopping people from doing morally wrong actions seems to be of overriding importance compared to stopping people from doing mathematically wrong calculations.90 Now, Parfit seems to be looking in the right place for an explanation for this special normative weight, namely at what it is that constitutes or grounds morality.91 Presumably, the nature of morality should explain why moral concerns have this special normative weight. In the previous chapter, I explain how a theistic conception of morality may do precisely that. Parfit does not unpack how his view on the nature of moral facts may explain the special normative weight, as he mainly makes a negative statement about how morality is not constituted. My point here is not that Parfit’s theory is unable to explain moral motivation or the special normative weight of morality. My point is only that if Parfit were to provide an explanation, his non-ontological entities would have to do some important philosophical work. Now, while Parfit is not particularly concerned with showing how his theory explains these two features, he is very much concerned with how his theory addresses two other philosophical concerns, namely the need for a clear theory on 87 For instance, Peter Singer points out that the evolutionary forces encouraged a certain standard of conduct. This standard has not been created by us, but the fact that we have not created it does not warrant our allegiance. We should rather construct norms, which would be constitutionally dependent on us, that “overcome the genetic tendency to limit our altruistic behaviour to our kin” (Singer, The Expanding Circle, 132). 88 Foot, “Morality as a System of Hypothetical Imperatives,” 309. Foot rejects the overridingness of morality. 89 Parfit also mentions epistemic truths, truths about what we have reason to believe (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:489–510; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:58). So, both the true and the good is mind-independent, and possibly beauty, but Parfit hesitates to affirm this third typical transcendental. See Parfit, 3:321; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:379. 90 Sometimes, such as when building a bridge that needs to hold the weight of crossing cars or when discussing some ethical case in the circles of effective altruists, it might be very important to get one’s calculations right. But in such cases, getting one’s calculations right is also of moral importance. 91 As argued in Southwood, “The Moral/Conventional Distinction.”

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how moral facts exist and the need for a non-trivial account of the truth of moral claims. What I will argue now is that Parfit’s treatment of these two philosophical concerns, clarity and truth, shows the difficulty of remaining quiet on the nature of moral facts and still expecting the nature of moral facts to do a lot of philosophical work. 4.2.1 Earning the Right to Talk of Moral Truth Let’s turn to the question of moral truth, an important topic for Parfit. When critiquing other metaethical positions, he writes that we need a metaethical theory that can “earn the right to talk about moral truth” or give us the resources to do so.92 It is critical to Parfit that moral judgments can be true or false. If there were no moral truths, then nothing would matter. The question I want to draw attention to is the following: what makes moral judgments true? Traditionally, non-naturalists have said that truth and reality are inextricably linked, such that what is true depends on what is real. Accordingly, they have posited real moral properties, properties that have to be included into our ontology, to give an account of what makes moral judgments true. When Parfit eliminates moral properties from our ontology, he also eliminates the truth-makers of moral judgments. Unless he presents other truth-makers, it is no longer clear what our moral judgments are about and what it is that makes them true. Parfit owes an account of what it is that makes our moral judgments true. As philosopher Jamin Asay has argued, the notion of truth-makers seems to be a useful notion for navigating the metaethical landscape.93 Different metaethical positions vary in what they take to make moral claims true; what they take to be the ontological grounds on which morality depends. Moral non-realists, whom Parfit calls subjectivists, hold that moral judgments are made true by some mind-dependent reality. Constructivists hold that moral claims are made true by the rules or principles we have constructed.94 Contractualists hold that moral claims 92

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:176. Asay, “A Truthmaking Account of Realism and Anti-Realism”; Asay, “Truthmaking, Metaethics, and Creeping Minimalism.” Schaffer makes many of the same points, but uses the notion of grounding. See Schaffer, “On What Grounds What,” 359. Asay points out that it’s common to think that the truth-maker theory is a correspondence theory of truth, but that is not the case. See Asay, The Primitivist Theory of Truth, 129–37. Parfit’s rejection of the correspondence theory of truth, then, is not a rejection of truth-makers. See Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 746. 94 Typically, the construction must follow rational procedures. See Korsgaard, The Sources of Normativity, 36. 93

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are made true by agreement, or by some principles that would be rational for everyone to choose.95 Emotivists hold that moral claims are made true by our emotions or by our fitting attitudes.96 Moral relativists hold that moral claims are made true by certain social norms. Moral realists, which Parfit calls objectivists, hold that moral judgments are made true by some mind-independent reality. Naturalists hold that moral claims are made true by some wholly natural feature of the world, such as pain and pleasure.97 Non-naturalists holds that moral claims are made true by some non-natural property. Divine command theorists hold that moral claims are made true by the commands of a loving God.98 All these different metaethical positions provide an account of what moral judgments are about and what conditions make our moral claims true. Parfit turns down all of them, arguing that normative truths are not made to be true by any mind-dependent fact, nor any natural property, non-natural property, or theistic property. Does this mean that Parfit thinks the quest for moral truth-makers is futile, such that he rejects the need for moral truth-makers? Sometimes Parfit might be taken to suggest exactly this. He thinks that we should “deny that these [moral] claims are made to be true by correctly describing, or corresponding to, how some things are in some part of reality.”99 Talk of truth-makers is normally taken to be an investigation into the ontological grounds for truth, so as Parfit rejects an ontological ground for moral truths, he might be taken to reject that there is anything that makes moral truths true. Moreover, the similarities that Parfit sees between mathematics and morality may suggest that he thinks that there are no moral truth-makers. He claims that we do not need to answer questions of what exists (in an ontological sense) when we decide which mathematical claims are true.100 Mathematical truths are necessary truths, so even if nothing existed (in an ontological sense), there would still be mathematical truths.101 In the same way that nothing in our ontology makes mathematical claims true, we can plausibly claim that nothing in our ontology makes moral claims true. 95

Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 1, chap. 15. Response-dependent theories of value, which talk about fitting attitudes, stand in the emotivist tradition and are sometimes called neo-emotivism or neo-sentimentalism. See Jacobsen, “Fitting Attitude Theories of Value”; Rabinowicz and Rønnow-Rasmussen, “The Strike of the Demon: On Fitting Pro-Attitudes and Value.” 97 Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 2, chap. 25. 98 Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again.” 99 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:59. 100 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:480, 485. 101 Parfit, “On What There Is,” 2011, 746. 96

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Now, I do not think that Parfit actually holds that there is no need for moral truth-makers. When he rejects that moral claims are made true by some part of reality, he does not seem to be rejecting truth-making in general but rather rejecting some candidates for the role of truth-maker.102 In Volume Two, Parfit explicitly states that “we need to know what would make such [moral] judgments true or false.”103 Moreover, he states that it is a fundamental question “whether and in what way such [moral] truths must have truth-makers,”104 and the context suggests that the “whether” should be answered in the positive. What I want to draw attention to here is Parfit’s analogy to mathematics. A comparison between mathematics and morality may show exactly why moral claims do need truth-makers. Consider the following question: do mathematics need truth-makers? The issue of whether mathematics requires truthmakers, or any ontological grounding, coincides with the issue of whether mathematical truths are analytic or synthetic.105 An example of a mathematical claim, which happens to be true, is “there are prime numbers greater than 100.” If this is an analytic truth, it is debatable whether a truth-maker is needed. One may argue that analytic truths do not need truth-makers as they cannot fail to be true,106 or one may argue that the meaning is the truth-maker – such that the meaning of a claim is the truth-maker of that claim – as an analytic statement is true in virtue of its meaning. But if mathematical truths are synthetic, it is no longer an open question whether truth-makers are needed. If they are synthetic, they are not true in virtue of their meaning but must be true in virtue of something else, thereby requiring some truth-maker. So, an argument stating that “as mathematics require no truth-makers, moral truths also require no truth-makers” would presuppose that both mathematical truths and moral truths are analytical. Whether mathematical truths are analytic or synthetic is a controversial issue. Parfit holds that some mathematical truths are analytic, such as 2 + 2 = 4, but doubts that all mathematical truths are analytic.107 Concerning moral truths, Parfit is not in doubt. 102 The fact that Parfit sometimes shortens “made to be true by correctly describing, or corresponding to” to “made to be true by corresponding to” suggests that he is not rejecting the concept of truth-makers but rather rejecting the correspondence theory of truth. See for instance Parfit, On What Matters, 3:62. 103 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:401; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:169. 104 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:465. 105 Asay, “Truthmaking, Truth, and Realism,” 37. 106 Parfit states that not even God could make these claims false (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:479). 107 Parfit, 2:490.

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He writes that “substantive normative truths cannot be analytic,”108 and points out that the badness of pain does not follow from the meaning of the words “bad” and “pain.”109 What, then, can we say about the need for truth-makers? If mathematical truths are analytic, they need no truthmakers. And if moral truths are analytic, they can be treated analogously to mathematical truths. But as long as moral truths are not considered analytic, the analogy breaks down, and we cannot exclude the need for truth-makers. As Parfit holds that “like truths about what exists in an ontological sense, no such normative truths could be analytic,”110 it is reasonable to hold that like truths about what exists in an ontological sense, normative truths also need truth-makers.111 Parfit holds that there is something that makes true moral claims different from false ones, but he denies that moral claims are made true by any feature of reality. This has made some scholars, for instance philosopher David Copp, suggest that Parfit’s theory is a minimalist theory of moral truth.112 A minimalist theory is sometimes called a deflationary theory; it deflates concepts such as truth or fact or property in the sense that they are no longer seen as genuine parts of reality.113 Or as philosopher James Dreier somewhat crudely puts it, “Minimalism sucks the substance out of heavy-duty metaphysical concepts.”114 According to the minimalist conception of truth, to say that a proposition “is true” adds nothing to the proposition. To say that “P is true” is merely another way 108

Parfit, 2:543. At least, says Parfit, when it comes to positive normative truths. Parfit, 2:490. 110 Parfit, 2:490. 111 Parfit, or another non-metaphysical non-naturalist, may suggest that the question is not whether mathematical and moral truths are analytical, but whether they are necessary truths. One might claim that necessary truths require no truth-maker, and as both mathematical truths and moral truths are necessary truths, neither requires truth-makers. I would dispute that necessary truths require no truth-maker. Necessary truths that are analytic may need no truth-makers, or have their meaning as their truth-maker, but things are different when it comes to necessary truths that are synthetic. Any truth about a necessary being, which we could call a theological truth, seems to be a good candidate for a synthetic necessary truth requiring a truth-maker, namely God. See also Asay, “Truthmaking, Truth, and Realism,” 38. 112 “I think we can conclude, albeit cautiously, that Parfit’s view fits the base-line view. There are moral truths, moral facts and moral properties, but only in ‘minimalist’ or ‘pleonastic’ senses of the relevant terms” (Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 580). Copp takes Parfit’s view of properties to support this. See Parfit, On What Matters, 3:65–71. 113 Other terms used are the redundancy theory, the disappearance theory, the no-truth theory, and the disquisitional theory. See Stoljar and Damnjanovic, “The Deflationary Theory of Truth.” 114 Dreier, “Meta-Ethics and the Problem of Creeping Minimalism,” 26. 109

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of saying “P.” So, when the minimalist philosopher says that a moral claim is true, she is merely affirming the claim.115 Copp argues that this conception of moral truths is unacceptable, both because it makes the truth of moral claims completely trivial, and because it makes us unable to distinguish moral realists from other metaethical positions; when the error-theorist or the non-cognitivist accepts a moral claim, minimalism grants them the right to talk of moral truth, making their view indistinguishable from moral realism.116 What would Parfit say to Copp’s assessment of minimalism? Parfit wholeheartedly agrees! He thinks minimalism is an unacceptable view of moral truth, both because it undermines the distinctions between different metaethical views,117 and not the least because it gives a trivial answer to the question of “what it would be for these claims to be true,” which Parfit understands as a question about the truth conditions of moral claims.118 It is no surprise, then, that Parfit rejects the minimalist conception of truth and would rather “use the word ‘true’ in a stronger, more-than-minimal sense.”119 Parfit writes a lot on what does not make moral claims true. They are not made true by any part of reality, nor are they true in just a minimal sense. Still, he holds that it is something that makes true moral claims different from false ones. It seems appropriate, then, to give Parfit the following challenge: give an account of what it is that makes moral judgments true. Parfit ought to accept the terms of this challenge. Both in Volume Two and Volume Three, he states that “we need to know what would make such [moral] judgments true or false.”120 He also says that we need to know their “truth conditions,” and that we need to know “what it would be for normative judgments to be correct,” but he seems to take this as three ways of asking for the same thing.121 Moreover, both in Volume Two and Volume Three, he criticises the quasi-realists Simon Blackburn and Allan Gibbard for not being able to give an account of

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Dreier, 26; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:168. Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 574, 576. See also Suikkanen, “Non-Realist Cognitivism, Truth and Objectivity,” 200–201; Asay, “Truthmaking, Metaethics, and Creeping Minimalism,” 215–16; Dreier, “Meta-Ethics and the Problem of Creeping Minimalism,” 31. 117 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:168. 118 Parfit, 3:166. 119 Parfit, 3:225. 120 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:401. “How might such [moral] claims be true? What would it be, for example, for some act to be wrong?” See Parfit, On What Matters, 3:169. 121 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:166; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:401. Italics in the original. 116

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how moral claims might be true.122 For Parfit, there is much at stake: if we cannot give an account of what makes moral judgments true, how can we believe that some moral judgments are, in fact, true?123 So, as Parfit challenges others to answer how moral claims might be true, Parfit’s theory should also be challenged to give an answer. How might Parfit answer his own challenge? When he claims that no part of reality makes moral claims true, he is emphasising that no “part of reality” makes moral claims true, using the word reality in a narrow ontological sense.124 This makes it natural to suppose that it must be something that exists in a non-ontological sense that makes our moral claims true. Parfit says that moral facts, facts about what we have reason to do, exist in a non-ontological sense. But these non-ontological moral facts seem to be poor candidates for the role as moral truth-makers. I cannot see how they can provide anything more than a minimalist conception of moral truth. If we say that our moral belief that stealing is wrong is made true by the fact that stealing is wrong, then we are back to a minimalist conception of truth. The fact that P is not distinguishable from the claim that P, so to say that P is true is merely to affirm P.125 So much for the question of whether truth consists in conformity with reality, systematic coherence, useful belief or something else. Now, Parfit makes clear that “[he uses] the word ‘true’ in a stronger, more-thanminimal sense,”126 and that moral beliefs “are true in some strong Cognitivist sense.”127 Parfit himself does not define what truth in a morethan-minimal sense is, holding that Gibbard has sufficiently explained this sense of truth.128 When Gibbard explains what he takes this sense of truth to be, he writes that it “requires a substantive relation of coreference.”129 However, I cannot see how this more-than-minimal notion 122 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:390; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:169. According to quasi-realism, moral reasons are not mind-independent facts waiting to be discovered. Rather, moral reasons are partly constituted by our evaluative stance. See Blackburn, “Antirealist Expressivism and Quasi-Realism”; Blackburn, “All Souls’ Night.” Quasirealism is close to expressivism, as it sees moral judgments as an expression of our evaluative stance. It is also close to projectivism, as the moral agent projects onto the world moral features that are not antecedently there. Moreover, quasi-realism is similar to Parfit’s project in that it tries to capture the discourse of moral realism without admitting any metaphysical baggage. See Parfit, On What Matters, 3:224. 123 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:166. 124 Parfit, 3:63. Italics in the original. 125 Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 573. 126 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:225. 127 Parfit, 3:195. 128 Parfit, 3:227. 129 Gibbard, “Gibbard’s Commentary,” 206.

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of moral truth is compatible with the key feature of Parfit’s view, namely his non-ontological sense of existence. Parfit rejects that our moral claims refer to, or are made true by, anything substantive. As such, he cannot accompany Gibbard’s conception of more-than-minimal moral truths, a conception of truth involving substantive reference. Moreover, I cannot see how these non-ontological facts can provide more than a trivial answer to Parfit’s challenge to quasi-realists to answer “what would it be for this claim to be true.”130 Right after presenting the challenge, Parfit explains what it is for some moral claim to be true. He says it is true that some act is morally wrong if we have morally decisive reasons not to act this way. But in Parfit’s view, this is true by definition and therefore trivial. As seen earlier, for there to be decisive reasons not to act in some way is just what it means for some act to be wrong.131 It is not very illuminating to say that what it would be for an act to be wrong is that the act is wrong, or to say that what it means to have morally decisive reasons not to act in some way is to have morally decisive reasons not to act in some way.132 Similarly, when Parfit explains what it would be for some moral belief to be mistaken, he says that “these beliefs would be mistaken if they were false.”133 Parfit points out that “Blackburn cannot give this explanation,”134 but as Blackburn rightly comments, it is not much of an explanation to restate a claim in equivalent terms.135 Let me suggest the reason why Parfit says so little substantially about the truth of moral claims. The reason might simply be, as I have suggested above, that the non-ontological sense of existence does not bring much to the table in terms of philosophical utility or explanatory power. With this in mind, it is interesting to see what Parfit says about Scanlon’s metaphysics. In dialogue with Gibbard, Parfit points out that Scanlon’s quietist metaphysics of non-natural properties does not do “some light explanatory work” – it does “no explanatory work.”136 Gibbard notes that Parfit seems to endorse Scanlon on this point, but that is only half 130

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:166, 169. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:167; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:166. 132 And if this explanation is in any way illuminating, it only invites a further question. Before, we asked what is it for an action to be wrong? Now, we ask what is it for there to be a morally decisive reason not to do something? See Copp, “A Semantic Challenge to Non-Realist Cognitivism,” 581. 133 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:395. 134 Parfit, 2:395. 135 Blackburn, “All Souls’ Night,” 87. 136 Gibbard, “Gibbard’s Commentary,” 219. Italics in the original. A contractualist may hold that a community’s agreement is the truth-maker of moral claims, but that would make moral truths dependent on us and therefore not be a realist theory of morality. 131

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the truth. There is a tension in Parfit’s theory. On the one hand, he sides with Scanlon in remaining quiet on the nature of moral facts. On the other, he still expects the nature of moral facts to do some important explanatory work. But it is a difficult – if not impossible – task to remain quiet about something and still expect this something to do some important explanatory work. It is no surprise, then, that when Parfit sets out to explain what it is for some moral claims to be true, he is mainly repeating that they are true, and restating the claims in equivalent terms. Because Parfit wants to stay metaphysically uncommitted, only allowing for nonontological moral facts, he does not seem to have a non-trivial answer to his own question of what it is that makes moral judgments true or false. As such, talk about moral truth will not be substantial but will rather rely on a minimalist sense of moral truth. And just as Parfit finds it unsatisfactory – to be precise, he treats it as a decisive objection137 – that quasirealists cannot provide a non-trivial account of what it is that makes our moral judgments true or false, it is unsatisfactory that Parfit’s theory also falls short of providing a non-trivial account of moral truth.

4.3 An Alternative to Quietism: Talking Loudly about God At the beginning of this chapter, we saw how Parfit makes a distinction between a Quinean approach to metaphysics and an Aristotelian approach to metaphysics. The Quinean approach asks the question “what is there?” Parfit follows Aristotle, holding that “the question is not whether such things exist, but how they do.”138 It appears that Parfit has not carried out the Aristotelian task. Although he says quite a lot about how moral reasons do not exist, he remains quiet about how they do exist. Parfit’s treatment of the metaphysics of morality is largely shaped by his aspiration to show that the ontological status of morality, its sense of existence, is not metaphysically queer. He does acknowledge that there are other “difficult metaphysical questions,”139 and that it is “hard to explain what is involved in the existence of such entities.”140 But he does not pursue these questions. And given his quietism, it is hard to see how he could pursue them. This apophatic approach to the nature of morality does not give him any resources to explain such things as the special normative weight of morality 137 138 139 140

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

On What Matters, 2:395. 2:474. Italics in the original. On What Matters, 3:62. On What Matters, 2:475.

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or moral motivation, nor does it give an account of moral truth.141 When remaining quiet about something, one misses the opportunity to say something substantial about it, explaining it and explaining its relations.142 What I will do now is show what might happen if Parfit’s theory is integrated into a theistic framework. This integration will enable us to say something substantial about the nature of morality and thereby bring a lot more explanatory power into his theory. A theistic framework will involve some metaphysical commitment, but as said above, there is a trade-off between metaphysical commitment and philosophical utility, so some metaphysical commitment is needed in order to do some explanatory work, and I will argue that we do not have to commit ourselves to any queer entities. 4.3.1 Queerness Parfit seems to accept Mackie’s argument that objective values are “too queer” to “be part of the fabric of the world.”143 At the very least, Parfit writes that “many people” assume this to be the case,144 and he takes it to be an objection that needs to be answered.145 He answers the objection by putting forth a non-ontological sense of existence, holding that objective values are not part of the fabric of the world. Now, as I intend to say something substantial about how moral facts exist and what constitutes moral facts, the non-ontological domain of existence will not be available. As such, Mackie’s objection needs a different answer. But there are many possible answers to give, all depending on how Mackie’s argument from queerness is understood. One way to understand Mackie’s argument is to see it as an appeal to the sheer queerness of objective morality. An answer to this can simply be to just bite the bullet and admit that objective moral values are queer. 141 This apophatic approach to the nature of morality also makes it difficult – if not impossible – to give a comprehensive explanation of morality, a comprehensive explanation that shows how moral reasons are related to such things as motivation and normativity. Presumably, one is left with evolutionary or genealogical explanations of motivation and normativity; explanation that are not related to moral reasons. 142 According to Samuel Schaffer, the Aristotelian metaphysical task is namely to say something about the structure of the world, say something about how things are related by being “grounded in, dependent on, and derivative from” other things. Schaffer, “On What Grounds What,” 351, 379. 143 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 23. Mackie writes that his arguments has two parts, one metaphysical and one epistemological. Here, I focus on the metaphysical part. 144 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:19, 486. 145 Parfit, 2:465.

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Morality is queer, but so what? After quoting Mackie, philosopher Mark Platts states that “the queerest thing about this [argument] as it stands is the claim that it is an argument.”146 After all, the world is a queer place. The world consists of neutrinos, infinite sequences of objects, dark matter and impressionist paintings. The fact that something seems queer does not mean that it does not exist or that we should dismiss it. I, for instance, happen to find giraffes quite queer, but I do not expect zoologists to pay much regard to that.147 Others might find quantum superpositions queer, without making a physicist less confident on their existence. Mackie’s queerness objection is probably not best understood as an appeal to the sheer queerness of morality. When Mackie says that objective moral values would be “utterly different from anything else in the universe,” he might be taken to suggest that the existence of moral values is not consistent with our view of the world.148 That is, he might point out that endorsing objective moral values is not consistent with endorsing a naturalistic view of the world. This is how David Enoch interprets Mackie’s argument.149 But again, one might simply answer this by biting the bullet and upholding the existence of these queer entities. If it is problematic to assert the existence of objective moral values within a naturalistic view of the world, one might simply reject naturalism. Parfit, for instance, is not very committed to naturalism but very much committed to the notion that something matters. Similarly, Mackie’s point might not only be that the existence of objective moral entities is inconsistent with naturalism. The appeal to queerness might also be understood as an appeal to how strange it is to suppose that there are entities existing “like Plato’s Forms.”150 This is how Parfit interprets Mackie’s argument from queerness. Parfit’s response is not to bite the bullet but to establish a non-ontological sense of existence, arguing that only the metaphysical non-naturalist commits herself to queer metaphysical entities. One might assume that a theistic account of morality – an account that is not as quiet as Parfit’s but rather aspires to say something substantial about the nature of morality – must admit the existence of ontologically weighty non-natural entities, entities existing in a similar sense as Plato’s Forms. The theist might do exactly that, advocating ontological non-naturalism, but he does not need to do that. As philosopher 146 147 148 149 150

Platts, “Moral Reality and the End of Desire,” 72. If a leopard-moose-camel with an eight-foot neck is not queer, then what is? Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 38. Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 134–36. Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 24.

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Jonas Olson points out, a theist might agree with Mackie, holding that there is something unacceptably queer about irreducible moral entities existing in an ontological non-natural sense. Such entities have, to use terms of coherence and connectedness, few connections to other things in our belief set as they are posited only to explain such things as moral truth. In the theistic view, moral entities do not have to be irreducible. They can be explained in terms of something more fundamental – such as God’s will, God’s command, or God’s being – and have lots of connections to other things in a theistic belief set. As such, a theistic view of morality does not have to include metaphysically queer entities. Because these entities are tightly integrated into a theistic framework, their existence is coherent rather than queer. But still, the theist may judge metaphysically queer any conception of morality that puts forward irreducible moral entities existing independently of human and divine minds, entities only loosely connected to other things in our belief set.151 Moreover, what Mackie finds queer about morality might not primarily be its mode of existence, the non-natural sense of existence, but some of its distinctive features. Mackie finds it strange that there are properties or facts with “authoritative prescriptivity,” facts with “ to-be-doneness” and “to-be-pursuedness somehow built into” them.152 Here, he refers to two features of morality, its normative force and its connection to motivation, saying that there is a “metaphysical peculiarity” to these features.153 So, what Mackie might be suggesting is that it is peculiar to suppose that these properties, being normative and being motivational, are objective or mind-independent properties, properties not constituted by us. Mackie finds it more plausible that normativity is subject-given, that it is constructed rather than discovered.154 This is how Russ ShaferLandau interprets Mackie’s appeal to queerness, namely an appeal to how queer it is that facts can have the property of being normative and motivational.155 I think this interpretation is true to Mackie; it matches how he summarises his argument.156 Furthermore, I think this interpretation takes the discussion in the right direction, or at least a more fruitful one. This is not to suggest that I take objective normativity to be too queer to 151 Olson, “The Metaphysics of Reasons,” 260. Olson does not count theological theories as non-naturalistic theories as they “reduce the normative to the theological.” 152 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 39, 40. 153 Mackie, 49. 154 Mackie, 106. 155 Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 81–82. See also Olson, “The Metaphysics of Reasons,” 263. 156 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 49.

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take into consideration – not at all – but I do think that objective “authoritative prescriptivity” calls for an explanation. I would like to put forward the following point: there is something unsatisfactory about positing brute facts that prescribe certain actions. This is a point that Parfit comes close to making. He writes that when he was a child and was told that he should not act in a certain way, and he asked why, “it was infuriating to be told that such things are not done.”157 Parfit asked a why-question and was unsatisfied when he got no answer. Now, there is always a potential for an infinite regress of why-questions, so explanations must end somewhere, but this does not seem like a satisfactory place to end. It is infuriating, or at least unsatisfactory, to be told that it is just a brute fact that you should not act that way, and to not get an explanation. I think that the infamous question “why should I be moral?” is naturally read along these lines, not as a question for justification (I already know that I should), but as a why-question, as a quest for an explanation.158 Divine command ethicists typically recognise the need for an explanation of why certain facts have a normative force. They do not say that certain things are not done because God’s law is simply a fact you have to comply with. Rather, they are acutely aware that some explanation should be given, for instance that this is the law of a loving God, or that God is better equipped to judge how we ought to act.159 I think Mackie also recognises this need for explanation, finding it queer that there are brute objective facts that, as it were, tell us what to do and demand some behaviour of us. Parfit also seems to recognise the need, finding it infuriating that his why-questions remained unanswered. In the following I will show how an explanation might be given. 4.3.2 Explaining Queer Normativity There are various accounts of the nature of moral truth available for the theist. When giving an account of how moral facts exists, theologian and philosopher Keith Ward suggests that moral facts exist as “an idea in the mind of God.”160 This is very much an Augustinian approach. Just as 157

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:145. The question might also be seen as a variant of the question as whether it is reasonable for me to be moral, typically when being moral conflicts with self-interest. This question is treated in the previous chapter. 159 Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 76; Hare, God and Morality, 274. More on this in chapter 7. 160 Ward, Morality, Autonomy, and God, 210. 158

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Augustine makes use of Plato’s conception of ideas, but locates them in the mind of God, Ward sees moral fact in much the same way as the ontological non-naturalist, but locates them in the mind of God.161 As Ward locates morality in the mind of a personal and relational triune God, his theory might have some explanatory advantage over the nonnaturalist if someone were to ask for an account of why morality is so concerned with persons, virtues and relationships.162 Another theistic account of the nature of morality comes from the view of God as a divine lawmaker. Philosopher Robert Adams suggests that moral facts exist as the expressed will of God, as divine commands. The property of moral wrongness is then identical to the property of being contrary to the command of God.163 This account of how moral facts exist make it easy to explain the “authoritative prescriptivity” of morality. Moral obligations are issued by the creator and sustainer of the world, the highest conceivable being that is not only almighty but also all-good; you do not get any more authority than that.164 Now, while I think both these suggestions are promising – and both may be helpful additions to Parfit’s metaethical system, giving a clear account of what moral judgments are about and what makes them true – I will put forward a slightly different view of morality. Instead of saying that morality comes from God’s ideas or God’s command, I suggest – in line with the last chapter – that morality comes from our relation to God. The Aristotelian metaphysical task is to say how something exists, or “to say what grounds what.”165 What is it that grounds morality? The answer I put forward is the following: morality is grounded in the relationship between God and humanity. As stated above, I think such a conception of morality fits neatly with Parfit’s theory as he presupposes that different kinds of relationships generate different kinds of normative 161

See question 46 in Augustine, Eighty-Three Different Questions. See for instance Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 42. It is along these lines Tillich notes that ontology cannot begin with things, since “that which have no selfhood and subjectivity, cannot explain self and subject.” Tillich, Systematic Theology, 1:173. Note that Ward holds that God reveals himself as a triune relation, but he does not hold that God is in himself a triune relation, and argues against the social trinitarianism advocated by theologians such as Jürgen Moltmann. See Ward, Christ and the Cosmos, pt. III. Regardless, because he holds that God is relational, although not a relation, his reformulation of Trinitarian doctrine will still do a good job of explaining morality. As might become evident in chapter 7, I presume a closer connection, closer than what Ward does, between what God reveals himself to be and what God is. 163 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 281. See also Evans, God and Moral Obligation. 164 See for instance Barth, Church dogmatics, II.2:651. 165 Schaffer, “On What Grounds What,” 351. 162

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reasons. What I will argue now is that this view of the nature of morality, in which morality is essentially connected to our relation to God, can help explain some characteristic features of morality. First of all, seeing morality as arising from our relation to God might help explain the normative weight of morality. That is, not only explain why moral concerns have normative weight, but why morality has a special normative weight, a normative overridingness. Parfit points out that a type of reason is overriding on its own domain. That is, when considering what one legally ought to do, legal reasons override other kinds of reasons. And when considering what one aesthetically ought to do, aesthetic reasons override other kinds of reasons. So, legal obligations are legally overriding, prudence is prudentially overriding, and moral reasons are morally overriding. However, Parfit points out that moral obligations are not just overriding on their own domain, they are overriding all things considered, not just morally overriding but rationally overriding.166 Why does this one type of normativity have a special normative status? The unique normative status of morality needs an explanation, not because it challenges our assumptions about morality (presumably, it does not) – maybe because it is a bit puzzling that one type of normativity is so different from the rest – but most clearly because there is a potential explanation that makes us understand why this is so: the uniqueness of the creator–creature relation. Let me point to some different aspects of the creator–creature relation that can help explain the special normative weight of morality. One aspect of the creator–creature relation that can help explain the special normative weight of morality is that this relationship is the most fundamental relation there is. A person has many different relations: relations to one’s family, friends, neighbours, country, and so on. Obligations that stem from these relations may largely overlap with moral obligations, but they are not identical with moral obligations. Familial or political obligations may at times conflict with moral obligations. As the overridingness thesis states, the person who is subject to moral obligations has a standard by which these other obligations should be judged: if a political obligation is immoral, one ought not to proceed. Accordingly, one’s moral identity seems to be more fundamental than one’s familial or political identity. But why is it that this type of normativity, morality, is more fundamental than other types of normativity? Let’s say that our relation to God generates moral reasons. In the Christian tradition, God 166

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:146.

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is conceived of as personal. As such, the creator–creature relation is a social relation, and like other social relations, it carries with it normative reasons for action. Compared to other social relations, the creaturecreator relation is the most fundamental relation there is. One’s identity in relation to God is more fundamental and encompassing than one’s identity as a member of a family or a nation. Accordingly, the normative obligations that arise from this relation are more fundamental than obligations arising from other relations.167 A second aspect of this relationship that can help us understand why moral concerns are of special importance is that God, in his relation to us, is a major benefactor who has given us many good things to enjoy. As the creator and sustainer of all things, God has given us the gift of life and keeps us in existence from moment to moment. God has not merely created humanity for his own gain or amusement (as the BBC series Westworld illustrates, that would call for rebellion rather than relationship). God loves us, wants only our good, and has – according to Christian belief – gone to great lengths to reconcile a broken relationship: God himself goes into the far country, into the lowliness of creaturely being, humbling himself, suffering and dying, becoming one of us so that we can become one with him. All this, God has done for us and to us. In the words of the Swiss reformed theologian Karl Barth, “He is capable and willing and ready for this condescension, this act of extravagance, this far journey. What marks out God above all false gods is that they are not capable and ready for this.”168 So, in the creator–creature relation, the creator has put down a major effort and the creature has had a major gain. What, then, should be our response to God? First of all, gratefulness is appropriate.169 The gratitude we owe God is far greater than what we owe to any other person we stand in relation to. Moreover, God is the proper object of our ultimate concern, namely that which you should love with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.170 Worship could also be mentioned as a proper response.171 All in all, the effort that God has put into the relationship, and the gain that we get out of it, gives us an especially weighty reason to give priority 167

Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 14–15. Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.1:158. 169 Kierkegaard answers the question “why should I be moral” along these lines. Evans, Kierkegaard’s Ethic of Love, 135. See also Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 252–53; Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 134. 170 Mark 12:28. See Tillich, Systematic Theology, 1:11–12. 171 See for instance Swinburne, Faith and Reason, 168. 168

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to this relation over other relations and to uphold the duties that spring from one’s relation to God.172 A third aspect is the unique value of one’s relation to God. In the Christian tradition, God is typically conceived of as the highest good.173 Accordingly, our relation to God is a relation to the prime exemplar of goodness. No social relationship has more value or more importance than the relationship to God. The unique status of this relation can plausibly explain the unique status of normative obligations generated by this relation. As moral obligations arise from a relation that is of fundamental value, we can understand why this kind of obligation has a special normative weight, an overriding importance, compared to obligations arising from other social relations.174 This way of explaining the special normative status of morality can easily be applied to Parfit’s view of normativity. As seen above, Parfit defends a value-based view of normativity, a view in which normative reasons are based on facts that make something good.175 If a type of normative reason is based on a fact that is of supreme value – that is, if moral facts are based on our relation to God – it follows naturally that this type of normative reasons carries a special normative weight. So, the uniqueness of the creator–creature relation provides an explanation of the special normative status of morality. A theological account of the nature of morality can also offer explanations of other features of morality, such as moral motivation and moral accountability. I will not say much about motivation and accountability as Parfit does not give them much attention, but let me briefly suggest what a theological take on morality can say about these two features. As said above, Mackie finds both the normative force and the motivating force of morality queer. Mackie seems to suggest that the connection between morality and motivation could be explained by saying that the moral agent “is so constituted that he desires this end,” but he does not take that to be a viable option.176 In theism, that is a viable option. Drawing on resources from creation theology, one can argue that the human creature is created with a purpose in mind, with a goal, namely fellowship with God. Moreover, one can argue that the human creature 172 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 252–53; Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 134. 173 More on this in PART THREE where I explore Robert Adams’s theory of value, a theistic theory in the Platonic tradition. 174 Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 135. 175 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:39; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:293. 176 Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 40.

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is so constituted that he desires this end. Again, Augustine makes this point in his famous statement, declaring that our hearts are restless until they find rest in God.177 Moreover, the apostle Paul writes that this longing is present in all of creation.178 Now, this is not to say that desire always points us in the right direction, towards the good or ultimately towards God. There is an ambivalence to desire just as there is an ambivalence to human nature, a nature which is determined both by being created in the image of God and by sin. So, an appeal to creation theology supports the view that humans are created for fellowship with God, a goal we are created to enjoy and desire, which might explain why there is a connection between morality and motivation.179 Seeing morality as grounded in the creator–creature relation may also make room for a connection between morality and accountability. As said previously, Kant sees the need for moral accountability, and moreover, he sees that not all conceptions of morality can make room for this. Accordingly, he advocates the need for a moral order in which it makes a difference whether you live a virtuous life or not, and not in which “one wide grave engulfs them all” whether honest or dishonest.180 There might be different views on exactly why moral accountability is needed. Robert Adams argues that the view in which “one grave engulfs them all” is unsatisfying because it is demoralising; the lack of moral accountability weakens moral motivation.181 William Lane Craig argues that we need moral accountability if there is to be any justice.182 In any case, how can a theistic conception of morality make room for moral accountability? If God is the source of morality, then God is the one to whom we are ultimately morally accountable. In that sense, each of us will be accountable to God.183 But what does this accountability involve? A common theistic conception of moral accountability, at least a popularised conception, is the Kantian view in which God is the judge who rewards virtue and punishes vice. Talk of 177

Augustine, Confessions, bk. 1. Romans 8. 179 One could also argue that God has “to-be-pursuedness somehow built into” himself, talking about the attractiveness of God, his beauty and glory. See for instance Balthasar, The Glory of The Lord I, 18–19; Barth, Church Dogmatics, II.1:649–66; Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 38–39, 132. 180 Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, 5:452. 181 Adams, “Moral Arguments for Theistic Belief,” 151–53. 182 King and Garcia, Is Goodness without God Good Enough? 31; Craig, “The Most Gruesome of Guests,” 181–84. He also argues that justice requires that someone is actually held responsible, which has implications on the doctrine of the atonement. See Craig, The Atonement. 183 This is at least what Paul says in Romans 14:12. See also Matthew 25, Revelation 20. 178

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reward and punishment might sound a bit medieval, but it should be noted that it is an open question as to what exactly the supposed reward and punishment consist of. Some might imagine popular pictures of heaven and hell, where what is at stake is a life on streets of gold or a life in Dante’s inferno. Others might think it is the approval or disapproval of God that is at stake. That being said, I would suggest a somewhat different conception of moral accountability. If morality is constituted by our relation to God, and not by divine sanctions, we might get a different view of accountability than what we find in Kant. As morality arises from our relation to God, part of the function of morality is to facilitate this relationship. While the moral life facilitates friendship with God, the immoral life puts up a barrier. As such, we can reassure Kant that it does make a difference whether you live a virtuous life or not; the vicious life will create a distance between oneself and God, distancing oneself from the highest good.184 Now, Parfit’s theory seems unable to make room for moral accountability. Things existing in a non-ontological sense, be they mathematical, logical or moral facts, does not seem to be able to hold anyone accountable for anything. And while a person or a community can demand that people take responsibility for their actions, creaturely demand for justice will be limited and lacking. It leaves us with too much unfinished business, too many unvindicated innocents and too many unpunished perpetrators: one grave will engulf them all. But if morality exists as grounded in a social relationship, a creator–creature relation that even death does not dissolve, this relation, as other relations, may give rise to responsibility. So, if Parfit’s theory is integrated into a theistic framework, we can make room for such things as moral accountability. I conclude this section by turning back to Mackie’s argument from queerness. One take on the appeal to queerness is to say that morality is queer as long as it is unexplained. When some phenomenon remains unexplained, it typically strikes us as surprising, unexpected, and contrary to our assumptions. In other words, it might strike us as queer. Some scholars, such as philosopher C. Stephen Evans, have argued that what makes some people see morality as something queer is simply that according to their view of the world – that is, a non-theistic view of the world – one would not expect there to be any objective normative features.185 A good way of addressing Mackie’s argument from queerness would then be to explain these features. An explanation provides understanding; it makes us understand why the 184

See Aquinas, “Summa Theologica,” I–II, Q72, A4. Evans, Natural Signs and Knowledge of God, 113–16. See also Mavrodes, “Religion and the Queerness of Morality.” 185

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phenomenon occurs. When understanding increases, surprise and queerness decrease. While Parfit goes to great length to show that morality does not exist in a queer non-natural sense, he provides no explanation of why normativity occurs and no explanation for such things as the overridingness of morality. Rather than explaining why normativity occurs, Parfit endorses what Scanlon calls “reason fundamentalism.”186 Parfit says that “reasons are fundamental”187 and that they are “too fundamental to be helpfully explained in other terms.”188 These statements suggest that Parfit takes moral facts to be brute facts, that is, facts that have “no explanation of any kind.”189 Now, while the quest for explanation may eventually end in some brute fact, Parfit himself points out that we must not end the quest for explanation prematurely, and we must not posit a brute fact where an explanation is in order.190 And here, concerning why there are objective moral reasons, an explanation is in order. It does seem rather queer, or perhaps infuriating, that there are brute objective facts that tell us what to do and demand some behaviour of us. But if Parfit’s theory is integrated into a theistic framework, we need not leave normativity unexplained. Given theism, the occurrence of normativity will be something expected rather than something unexpected. If there is a good God and humans are created with a purpose, reality will naturally have a normative dimension in which it matters how we live our lives. Moreover, theism can also explain distinctive features of morality such as its special normative weight. Such explanatory resources are wanting if we are not to render normativity queer and unexpected, which counts in favour of integrating Parfit’s theory in a theistic framework. Moreover, morality has numerous connections to central parts of Christian theology, meaning that a Christian framework provides a coherent explanation of morality, an explanation much less ad hoc than positing brute normative entities. 4.3.3 Queerness and the Existence of God Parfit does not want to commit himself to the existence of entities that are “too queer to be part of the fabric of the world.”191 Moral entities, 186 187 188 189 190 191

Scanlon, Being Realistic about Reasons, 2. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:148. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:165. Parfit, “Why Anything? Why This?” 623. Parfit, 646. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:134.

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existing in an ontological sense, fall into the category of things that are too queer to be accepted. What, then, about the existence of God? As said above, Parfit holds that when we discuss the existence of God, we are concerned with existence in an ontological sense.192 Now, if a philosopher thinks that moral facts existing in an ontological sense are too queer to be accepted, she might perhaps also think that the existence of God is too queer to be accepted. I do not share the intuition that God is queer. That might not come as a shock, but I do not find it more queer to say that the explanation of the universe – or the most fundamental level of reality, or the condition for all that is – is personal rather than non-personal. More importantly, Parfit does not share the intuition either. While Parfit cannot make sense of the claim that moral entities exist in an ontologically weighty sense, he can make sense of the claim that God exists in an ontologically weighty sense. He writes that we understand the possibility that space and time are not metaphysically fundamental. It makes sense to suppose that there is some entity that is more fundamental, and that both space and time metaphysically depend on this other entity.193

So, the existence of God should not be excluded because of queerness. Though Parfit rejects theism, he takes theism to be a position worth considering for solving various philosophical problems. While the existence of God is not too queer to be accepted, metaphysical commitment is generally taken to be a cost for a theory. Simplicity, on the other hand, is generally taken to be an explanatory virtue. The kind of simplicity that is relevant here is that of ontological simplicity, or parsimony. The call for ontological simplicity is captured by Ockham’s razor, which states that entities are not to be multiplied beyond necessity.194 “Entities” is typically understood in a qualitative manner rather than quantitative, so that what is asked of us is not to multiply types of entities.195 In contemporary metaphysics, Ockham’s razor is reinterpreted as a principle of theory choice. We can call this reinterpretation the principle of parsimony: “Other things being equal, if T1 is more ontologically parsimonious than T2 then it is rational to prefer T1 192

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484. See also Parfit, 2:304. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:484. 194 While this principle is in the spirit of Ockham, it is not in his letters. See Spade and Panaccio, “William of Ockham,” pt. 4.1. 195 Baker, “Simplicity.” For a different view, see Schaffer who argues that what one ought not to multiply is fundamental entities: Schaffer, “What Not to Multiply Without Necessity.” 193

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to T2.”196 A couple of things should be noted about this principle. First, the principle is weaker than Ockham’s razor as it changes the condition of not multiplying entities “beyond necessity” to “other things being equal.” Second, the principle displays a close connection between adopting a theory and adopting an ontology.197 David Enoch provides a good example of how the principle of parsimony applies. Enoch defends what he calls Robust Metaethical Realism, which in Parfit’s terms is ontological non-naturalism. As a non-naturalistic theory, it implies the existence of non-natural entities, which makes Enoch admit that his theory “lose[s] plausibility points merely for not being naturalist.”198 Because non-naturalism implies the existence of more kinds of entities than naturalism, parsimony counts in favour of naturalism. This being said, the first clause in the principle of parsimony states an important condition, namely that the principle holds given other things being equal. Other things being equal, we should prefer theories that do not require new ontological commitments. But other things are rarely equal. Often, we need to postulate certain entities to organise and explain our experiences. There might be different kinds of considerations that warrant such postulations. When it comes to the existence of concrete entities, one could argue that the existence of, for instance, electrons is indispensable to our scientific discourse, as our best scientific theories quantify electrons.199 If we were to discard this type of entity, other things would not be equal. When it comes to the existence of moral entities, Enoch argues that moral entities are indispensable to our moral deliberation. The thesis “there are no moral properties” would affect our first-order normative beliefs, perhaps to the extent that we would end up with the view that nothing matters.200 If we were to discard this type of entity, other things would not be equal. Another consideration that could warrant the postulation of some kind of entity is that these entities are indispensable to our best explanation.201 In the case that some kind of 196

Baker, “Simplicity,” pt. 2. Quine notices that our “acceptance of an ontology is, I think, similar in principle to our acceptance of a scientific theory.” Quine, “On What There Is,” 35–36. 198 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 134. 199 Enoch, 54. See also Quine, “On What There Is,” 31–32. 200 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 42, 50–84. This argument holds better concerning ethics than mathematics. The question of whether mathematical entities exist or not will not affect our mathematical deliberation, but the question of whether moral entities exist or not may affect our moral deliberation. See also Enoch and McPherson, “What Do You Mean ‘This Isn’t the Question’?” 830. 201 See for instance Roberts, “Explanatory Indispensability Arguments in Metaethics and Philosophy of Mathematics.” 197

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entity is indispensable to our best explanation, then other things are not equal. Rather, if some entity provides us with the best explanation of a certain phenomenon, we ought to, by inference to the best explanation, accept this entity into our ontology. If we compare two theories, a theistic theory of morality and a nontheistic theory of morality, the non-theistic theory will be prima facie more parsimonious. As such, the principle of parsimony states that it is rational to prefer the non-theistic theory. So, when putting forth a theistic theory of morality, one should acknowledge that – all things being equal – it would be preferable if the theory were more parsimonious and did not make any ontological commitment. But it is not only theistic theories that come with certain metaphysical commitments. Ontological non-naturalism is committed to the existence of brute non-natural normative entities. Also, Parfit’s theory has some controversial implications, as his theory is committed to the non-ontological sense of existence. Now, the principle of parsimony stands on the condition that all things are equal. If the theistic theory provides a better explanation of morality than the non-theistic, all things are no longer equal, and the principle of parsimony no longer holds. If a better explanation is provided, the inference to the best explanation states that we should prefer the theistic theory, and with this theory, we would also adopt the ontology implied by the explanation. My point, then, is that the explanatory advantage of theism justifies its ontological commitment.

Part Two: Epistemology This part contains a discussion of Parfit’s moral epistemology, a discussion of his explanation of our ability to acquire true moral beliefs. I begin by presenting Parfit’s understanding of the epistemological problem and his solution to it. Then I formulate a more challenging epistemological problem, namely the problem of how to explain the correlation between our moral beliefs and moral facts. I present Parfit’s explanation, which is a Darwinian explanation that appeals to natural selection, and I argue that there is a Darwinian dilemma that challenges it. I suggest how Parfit may try to escape the dilemma but argue that the escape fails, leaving Parfit without an explanation of the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts. Finally, I suggest a theistic explanation. I argue that a theistic framework can provide an explanation of our moral ability, which Parfit’s theory cannot. I also argue that a theism provides justification for our trust in this ability; whether Parfit’s theory can as well remains unclear. This part contains claims about evolutionary psychology, claims about how human cognitive traits can be given an evolutionary explanation, and some empirical claims about how evolutionary history has developed. Such claims are quite speculative, and the more detailed they are, the more controversial they become, so a couple of things should be said about them. First, these claims should be read as having a conditional form: if these claims are roughly correct, here is what might be said philosophically.1 Second, I am not concerned about whether these claims about evolution are correct or not. I will simply rely on claims that Parfit accepts, granting them for the sake of argument, and consider their relevance to moral epistemology. Additionally, I will not give a detailed account of the theory of evolution, only give a brief account of Parfit’s conception of it. The argument that I present will not rely on any one specific conception of evolution. It will not matter for the argument whether the basis for natural selection is the gene, the individual, the smaller group, or the species. Nor will it matter whether traits are selected because they are reproductively 1

I take this approach from Gibbard, Wise Choices, Apt Feelings, 30.

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advantageous, socially advantageous, or culturally advantageous. The argument only relies on the assumption that natural selection has had some influence on human cognitive traits.2

2 The argument does not even rely on the influence of human cognitive traits being a Darwinian influence. See Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 155.

5. THE EPISTEMOLOGICAL PROBLEM

When considering an explanation for the human capacity for knowledge – in this case, moral knowledge – it is helpful to distinguish between two different questions.3 These two questions can be asked about any of our cognitive capacities, such as our perceptual capacity or capacity for theoretical reasoning. First, one could ask for the justification for our faith in the reliability of this capacity. We may trust our ability to form normative beliefs, and we may trust our capacity to form mathematical beliefs, but are we justified in doing so? A second question asks for an explanation of this capacity: if there are normative truths that are independent of us, how do we explain our ability to gain epistemic access to them? One should distinguish between the question of justification and the question of explanation as the quest for an explanation typically starts when the justification is already at hand. For instance, when we ask for an explanation of something, such as why the ocean is blue, we already know that it is the case that the ocean is blue. Moreover, we can be justified in believing something without being able to explain it, such that refuting the explanation of a belief does not amount to a refutation of the belief itself. In the case of moral knowledge, we may be justified in trusting our ability to form some true moral beliefs without being able to explain this ability, and we might have our explanation refuted without that leading us into moral scepticism. Of these two questions, justification and explanation, I will mainly be concerned with whether Parfit’s theory is able to explain our capacity to gain moral knowledge. Defenders of moral realism seem to agree that moral realism faces an explanatory problem concerning moral epistemology, a problem that is often formulated like this: how do we have access to an independent order of moral facts?4 However, this problem is understood in a variety of ways, which amounts to a rather mixed bag of answers. When Russ Shafer-Landau, philosopher and editor of Oxford Studies in Metaethics, defends that we can have access to moral facts, he presents a theory of epistemic justification, explaining how moral beliefs can be justified.5 When philosopher Richard Boyd does the same, he presents a theory of 3

This point is made in Ritchie, From Morality to Metaphysics, 43–44. Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, chap. 7; Oddie, Value, Reality, and Desire, chap. 8; Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, chap. 10. 5 Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, 267. 4

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reference, showing how words can refer to reality.6 As different philosophers answer the epistemological problem in such diverse ways, it should be clarified how to understand the problem of explaining “access” to moral facts. To clarify this, I will first turn to Parfit and show how he identifies the epistemological problem as the causal objection. I will then show how Parfit’s answer to the causal objection sheds light on his moral theory. Next, I will present another formulation of the epistemological problem, namely the correlation problem, and argue that this formulation presents a greater problem for the moral realist.

5.1 The Causal Objection Parfit interprets the epistemological challenge as a challenge of explaining how moral facts can have effects on us.7 He calls this the causal objection, an objection going back to Gilbert Harman. In his book The Nature of Morality, Harman makes a comparison of beliefs about nature and beliefs about morality. We assume the existence of natural entities and natural facts, Harman writes, because they are needed to explain our observations and beliefs. The best explanation of why I see a tree outside my window is that there really is a tree outside my window. But moral facts are not needed to explain our moral beliefs. Such beliefs are best explained by appeal to upbringing, argues Harman. And it is not just that moral facts are not needed to explain moral beliefs. Moral facts are not even able to explain moral beliefs, as moral facts cannot have any effect upon our perceptual apparatus.8 Nicolas Sturgeon responds to Harman, stating that Harman’s argument only creates an interesting objection to the existence of moral facts if it is understood as a causal objection, an objection starting from the premise that moral facts cannot have any causal effect on us.9 Such an argument can be formulated like this: The causal objection: Since non-natural normative properties or truths could not have any effects, we could not have any way of knowing them.10

6

Boyd, “How To Be a Moral Realist,” 115–16. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:488. 8 Harman, The Nature of Morality, 8. 9 Suikkanen, “Naturalism in Metaethics,” 364; Sturgeon, “Moral Explanations,” 235–36. For an overview of the debate between Harman and Sturgeon, see Miller, Contemporary Metaethics, 144–54. 10 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:488. The objection seems to presuppose a causal theory of knowledge. See Goldman, “A Causal Theory of Knowing.” 7

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But this causal objection, Sturgeon writes, is only a good objection assuming that moral facts are non-natural facts. The moral naturalist is not troubled by this objection, because the moral naturalist holds that moral facts are a kind of natural fact. As natural facts are causally efficacious, the moral naturalist can provide a causal link between moral facts and our moral knowledge.11 How can Parfit, who holds that moral facts are not natural facts, answer the causal objection? Parfit accepts the first premise in the causal objection, namely that moral facts cannot causally have any effect on us. But he does not accept that what follows from this premise is that we have no way of knowing moral facts. He writes that when we form beliefs about contingent features of the world, such as the belief that there are craters on the moon, we rely on some perceptual faculty.12 Our perceptual faculty, as Harman points out, meets the causal criterion. But when forming beliefs that are not contingent, such as the beliefs that 1 + 1 = 2, the causal model should be left behind. We should not assume that our way of knowing non-contingent facts proceeds like sense perception, involving causal contact between our senses and what this truth is about. This becomes evident, Parfit writes, when considering computers. We can design computers so that they are able to produce true answers to mathematical questions and to do so in a reliable manner. Computers are able to do this not because they are causally affected by numbers or mathematical truths, but because they operate in ways that correspond to valid forms of mathematical reasoning.13 Although these computers operate in a different manner than human reasoning – they do not have any beliefs or mental states – they show that it is possible to produce true answers without being causally affected by the facts in question. Therefore, Parfit says, we should also believe that humans can form true beliefs when reasoning in valid ways. And by reasoning in valid ways, we are not only able to discover mathematical truths and logical truths, Parfit says, but also moral truths.14 Our way of forming moral beliefs and mathematical beliefs is different from our way of forming beliefs about the world around us because 11 Boyd, “How To Be a Moral Realist,” 121–23; Railton, “Facts and Values,” 63; Sturgeon, “Moral Explanations,” 250. 12 This does not hold for all contingent facts. We can gain knowledge of facts about the future and facts about possibilities without being causally affected by them. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:497. 13 Parfit, 2:493. 14 Parfit, 2:490.

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moral truths and mathematical truths are necessary truths. As said earlier, he does not treat moral truths as analytical truths – the fact that agony is bad does not follow from the meaning of the term – but he does treat them as necessary truths.15 He expresses this view in confrontation with Mackie. Mackie argues that there might be other possible worlds with other moral truths, which would mean that the moral realist needs to account for whether the actual world is one in which, for instance, pain is bad.16 Parfit rejects this, stating that fundamental moral truths are not truths about how the actual world happens to be; they are truths that hold in every possible world.17 Just as 1+1=2 holds in every possible world, so does the fact that pain is bad. Parfit answers Harman’s challenge by appeal to a specific feature of moral facts, namely that they are necessary facts, and shows how this feature has implications on how we explain our knowledge of them. That is, Parfit makes a connection between moral metaphysics and moral epistemology. One should note that Parfit has not yet spelt out a positive account of how it is possible to acquire moral knowledge, but this might not be necessary. As long as moral knowledge does not pose any special epistemological problems, moral knowledge can be explained in the same way as other forms of knowledge.18 To see why, let us assume that knowledge is correctly described as justified true belief. To account for moral knowledge is then to account for justified true beliefs about moral facts. Because moral realism presupposes both moral truth and moral beliefs, all that is needed is to show that one’s preferred theory of epistemological justification can also accommodate moral beliefs.19 I will now show that moral knowledge does pose a special epistemological challenge that the moral realist has to answer. I write “special” because this is not just a particular instance of a general sceptical worry of our ability to acquire knowledge. It is an epistemological problem that is peculiar to the moral non-naturalist. I will call it the correlation problem.

15 Parfit, 2:490. But there might be some moral truths, Parfit says, such as the truth that if a person is punished for a crime he is known not to have committed, the punishment of the person is unjust. 16 Mackie, The Miracle of Theism, 117. 17 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:489. The phrase “fundamental moral truths” indicates that some moral truths are contingent, that they may depend on how the world actually is. 18 Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 156. 19 Shafer-Landau, Moral Realism, chaps. 11–12.

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5.2 Explaining Correlation Let me introduce the problem of explaining the correlation between moral facts and moral beliefs with a story. Suppose we all know a man called Grey. Grey has many beliefs about a village in Nepal. Let’s suppose that a great amount of Grey’s beliefs about this village is true. That is to say there is a striking correlation between Grey’s beliefs about the village and facts about this village. Such a correlation calls for an explanation. In the search for an explanation, we would probably look for a causal route from the village in Nepal to Grey. Maybe he has been there, knows someone who lives there, has read about the village, etc. Anyway, we are confident that there is such an explanation, because if there is no explanation for this correlation between his knowledge and the facts about the village, the correlation becomes too miraculous to believe.20 Hartry Field uses this story to argue that we need an explanation for the correlation between beliefs about mathematics and mathematical facts.21 Almost every time mathematicians believe the mathematical proposition p, it is true that p. When mathematicians believe that p is not the case, it is almost always the case that p is false. This is a striking correlation, and as such, it needs an explanation.22 Field argues that some views on the metaphysics of mathematical truths make it impossible to explain the correlation between mathematical beliefs and mathematical facts. Mathematical platonists believe that mathematical objects are abstract objects. As abstract objects are causally inert, they cannot be causally responsible for the mathematicians’ beliefs. Without a causal connection between the beliefs and the truths, the correlation between them is left inconceivable. Field argues that because the correlation is left inconceivable, mathematical platonism is also inconceivable. Let’s turn back to Grey. Suppose Grey has many moral beliefs, beliefs such as “we should treat others as we want others to treat us,” “we are obliged to give to famine relief,” and “it is wrong to eat meat.” Some of his moral beliefs are more controversial than others, but let us suppose most of them are true. How can we explain the correlation between Grey’s moral beliefs and moral facts? In the same way as the mathematical Platonist has difficulties explaining the correlation between mathematical truths and 20

Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 158. Field, Realism, Mathematics, and Modality, 25–30. 22 Field argues that it is possible to consider mathematical facts as brute entities, but to postulate brute “correlation relations” between the mathematical realm and our beliefs seems implausible (Field, 26). 21

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beliefs, the moral non-naturalist will have difficulties explaining the correlation between Grey’s moral beliefs and moral facts. Why is that? Because the obvious way to explain a correlation between A and B is to say either that A is causing or constituting B, or that B is causing or constituting A (or that they have a common cause). In the case of morality, this amounts to either saying that moral beliefs are causally or constitutively responsible for moral facts, or moral facts are causally or constitutively responsible for moral beliefs (or that some third factor causes both). The first option is not a viable option for the moral realist. Claiming that our beliefs constitute moral facts is not consistent with moral realism as it conflicts with the claim that moral facts are constitutively independent of us.23 The second option is also not viable. It might be a viable option for the moral naturalist, but as shown by the causal challenge above, the moral non-naturalist cannot opt for a causal connection.24 Moreover, it is not a viable option to say, as Parfit does, that while moral facts cannot causally have any effect on us, there is no epistemological problem here as we surely have knowledge of other things that cannot causally affect us, such as knowledge of mathematics. Such a reply does nothing to explain the correlation, and it does not reduce the correlation problem but rather extends its scope to cover both moral truths and mathematical truths. Some account needs to be given on why our moral beliefs happen to correlate with moral truths, but as there is no causal connection between the beliefs and the truths, it is not obvious how the non-naturalist can explain the correlation. It must be pointed out that not all correlations require an explanation. Not even all improbable correlations require an explanation, as improbable things happen all the time. For instance, it is quite unlikely that divorce rates in the state of Maine should correlate with the population’s consumption of margarine. But these two factors do in fact correlate.25 Does this correlation need an explanation? Most of us would say no. It should just be treated as a funny coincidence. What about the correlations between Grey’s moral beliefs and moral facts? Is this correlation one that needs an explanation? If you are convinced that Grey’s beliefs about a village in Nepal cry out for an explanation, it should be equally clear that Grey’s 23 This is the view of desire-based theories of value, which define normativity in terms of what would fulfil our (present fully informed telic) desires or aims. For a discussion of such theories of value, see Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 2, chap. 3; D’Arms and Jacobsen, “Sentiment and Value.” 24 You could escape this objection by considering non-natural moral facts as causally efficacious. Graham Oddie argues this is the case in Oddie, Value, Reality, and Desire, 181. 25 Vigen, “Spurious Correlations,” accessed 26 January 2016, http://www.tylervigen. com/spurious-correlations.

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moral beliefs cry out for an explanation. But you might not be convinced that any of these correlations require an explanation. If so, you are then in the same camp as Ronald Dworkin, professor of law and philosophy, who suggests that our true moral beliefs do not require any explanation, that the correlation can be treated as just a piece of luck.26 However, it is possible to show that something needs an explanation by providing one, an explanation that increases our understanding of the matter of fact or that makes the occurrence of the matter of fact more probable than it just happening by chance.27 I will soon present such an explanation. I follow philosopher David Enoch in thinking that the correlation problem is a quite elegant way of formulating the epistemological problem. It is elegant as it makes few theoretical assumptions: the correlation problem does not depend upon a certain theory of knowledge or theory of justification. What the correlation problem does is simply present a striking correlation, present the need to explain this correlation, and show that the non-naturalistic moral realist will have an especially hard time providing an explanation. Also, the correlation problem is particularly interesting as it is not just an exemplification of some general epistemological problem, such as the problem of how words can refer to reality or how beliefs can be justifiably held. While it is a worthwhile epistemological project to address such issues and to find ways of coping with general sceptical worries, such epistemological discussions do not confront the non-natural moral realist with any problem that is not shared with everyone else. The correlation problem, however, does confront the non-natural moral realist with a problem that is not shared with other metaethical positions. Or to be more precise, other metaethical positions have a fairly obvious way to explain the correlation. For instance, the naturalist can say that moral facts are causally accessible, and the constructivist can say that we constitute moral facts, but the non-naturalist cannot. If the non-naturalist does not manage to explain the correlation between moral facts and moral beliefs, non-naturalism becomes a less plausible metaethical position when compared with other metaethical positions.

5.3 The Darwinian Answer In the following I will present Parfit’s explanation for the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts. He explains how our moral beliefs 26 27

Dworkin, “Objectivity and Truth.” For more on this, see Jakobsen, “Determining the Need for Explanation.”

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match moral facts by providing an evolutionary explanation of our ability to respond to reason, which includes responding to moral reasons. He argues that humans have been designed to have the ability to acquire true moral beliefs – not intentionally designed by a designer, but unintentionally designed by evolution through a process of natural selection (I return to Parfit’s usage of the terms “unintentional” and “design” below). Parfit calls this line of reasoning the Darwinian Answer.28 Parfit uses the example of a computer when dealing with the causal challenge. A computer is able to produce true answers to mathematical questions without being in causal contact with mathematical facts. How does the computer do this? It calculates in ways that correspond to valid reasoning.29 What is the explanation for the computer being able to calculate in that way? The computer was designed to be able to do this. Parfit explains our ability to acquire moral knowledge in a similar way. We can reason in valid ways, which makes us produce true answers to mathematical, logical, and moral questions. The explanation for the ability to reason in valid ways is that we, just like computers, are designed to do so. But we are not designed in the same way as computers are designed. Parfit distinguishes between intentional design and unintentional design.30 An example of a theory of intentional design of human beings would be to say that humans have been designed by God, or by some other agent, in such a way for us to be able to acquire moral knowledge. Parfit admits that this is a real possibility, but he does not opt for it.31 Instead, he argues that we have been unintentionally designed by evolutionary forces. “Design” is a controversial term when applied to evolution, and it is a term that is understood in many different ways.32 For this reason, it needs to be clarified how Parfit understands the term. First, Parfit does not take design to entail a designer. He makes a distinction between intentional design and unintentional design, in which intentional design is taken to describe design done by an agent.33 Unintentional design is

28

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:497. Parfit, 2:499. 30 Parfit, 2:493–94. 31 Parfit, 2:503. Field, who presents the correlation argument against mathematical platonism, also notes that “some beneficent god” might explain this ability. Field, “Mathematical Objectivity and Mathematical Objects,” 396. 32 For different understandings of “design,” see Bekoff and Allen, “Teleology, Function, Design and the Evolution of Animal Behaviour,” 254. 33 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:503. 29

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not the product of an agent.34 Second, Parfit does not take design to entail a pre-established goal. Considering intentional design, a pre-established goal seems to be implied. For instance, an engineer who designs a bridge has a goal in mind of what the end result will be. Some cases of unintentional design can also be understood as goal-driven. For instance, some philosophers take the evolutionary process to include teleological laws that govern the development of organisms, directing their development towards a certain state.35 Understanding evolutionary design in this teleological sense, as goal-driven unintentional design, is a minority view,36 and there is nothing in Parfit’s writing that suggests such teleological understanding of the term “design.” Parfit holds that there are examples of unintentional design that are not goal-driven, and evolutionary design is one such example. So, Parfit’s conception of design involves no designer and no goal. To see how a process without a pre-established goal can be called design, I will now turn to Parfit’s understanding of evolution and the process of natural selection. Parfit gives a brief account of his understanding of evolution.37 He sees evolution as a biological process starting with randomly occurring genetic mutations. The word “random” in this context is normally taken to mean that the mutations occur independently of whether or not they are beneficial or harmful for the organism in question.38 While the occurrence of 34 It is not clear whether Parfit takes all unintentional design to be without an agent, or if just some unintentional design is done without an agent. Could something, for instance a piece of art, be designed unintentionally and still be designed by an agent? Anyhow, Parfit’s argument that design does not necessarily imply a designer would work with either option. 35 Thomas Nagel defends this view, arguing that teleological laws explain the development of consciousness and reason (Nagel, Mind and Cosmos, 2012, 92). Ernst Nagel argues that some biological systems incapable of having intentions should be treated as goal-directed (Nagel, “Goal-Directed Processes in Biology,” 273). 36 Allen, “Teleological Notions in Biology.” This view is often rejected because teleological explanations are taken to be incompatible with mechanistic explanations (Allen and Bekoff, “Function, Natural Design, and Animal Behavior: Philosophical and Ethological Considerations,” 9). Or it is rejected because teleological explanation without an intending agent seems to involve backwards causation. As a teleological understanding of evolutionary forces entails that a future biological outcome can explain the existence of a present biological trait, this means that the effect (a present trait) precedes the cause (a future biological outcome). Backwards causation might be metaphysically possible, but it is not considered viable as a general explanation of a multitude of natural phenomenon (Lowe, A Survey of Metaphysics, 344.). Note that some theories in physics have postulated backwards causation, but such theories have not enjoyed much acceptance. See Schaffer, “The Metaphysics of Causation,” pt. 2.2. 37 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:494–97, 515–17, 527. 38 Ayala, “Darwin’s Greatest Discovery,” 8573.

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mutations is independent of the mutations being beneficial or harmful, their preservation is dependent on whether they are beneficial or harmful. Beneficial mutations are naturally selected as beneficial mutations survive together with their host. The mutations that are reproductively advantageous, mutations that improve the chances for survival either for the organism itself or for its offspring, will over time combine and accumulate. Parfit uses the development of vision as an example of this combination and accumulation.39 Random mutations made some early animals slightly sensitive to light. These animals had a slightly better chance to have surviving offspring, and the surviving offspring would have the same slightly light-sensitive patch on their skin as their parents. After millions of years, the light-sensitive patch would undergo millions of small improvements, eventually developing into an eye.40 Just as combination and accumulation of genetic mutations explain the development of the eye, it also explains other biological traits such as how cheetahs became able to run very fast and how giraffes came to have such long necks.41 This makes Parfit say that cheetahs were selected for their speed and that giraffes were selected for their height, in the sense that extra speed and extra height made them better able to survive. In the same sense, Parfit says, humans were selected for their rationality.42 Parfit argues that it is reproductively advantageous to be rational and reproductively advantageous to have the ability to respond to reasons. We respond to reasons, says Parfit, when we believe, want, or do what certain facts give us reason to believe, want, or do.43 For instance, if we observe three lions enter a cave, and after a while we observe two lions exiting the same cave, these two facts give us reason to believe that there is still a lion inside the cave. Being able to respond to such reason may have saved some early caveexploring humans from early death. Note that there is an important link here between evolutionary advantage and truth. To see this clearly, consider the example of the evolution of the eye. The developed eye (and brain) made early humans not only able to perceive the world, but also to form perceptually based beliefs about the world. These perceptually based beliefs about the world were advantageous because, and only because, they were often true.44 39

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:495. For an account of the evolution of the eye, see Nilsson and Pelger, “A Pessimistic Estimate of the Time Required for an Eye to Evolve.” 41 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:516. 42 Parfit, 2:494. 43 Parfit, 2:493. 44 Parfit, 2:512. 40

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If such beliefs had not often been true, they would have been more deceiving than advantageous.45 The same goes for the ability to respond to reasons. Responding to reasons is advantageous because it enables humans to form true beliefs about the world, and therefore enables them to better adapt to their environments. As the lion example shows, mathematical or logical beliefs might be helpful for survival when, and only when, such beliefs are true.46 One might argue that there is a big difference between this simple reasoning of lions entering and exiting caves and the mathematical reasoning of a genius like Albert Einstein or Kurt Gödel, so that natural selection may easily explain our ability to keep track of lions but not so easily explain our ability to do advanced mathematics.47 Parfit acknowledges the difference but argues that this is a difference of degree and not a difference of kind.48 Natural selection is a process that continuously refines advantageous abilities, slowly giving humans greater and greater cognitive abilities.49 Humans have become able to not only form beliefs about what is happening right now in our immediate environment, or what will soon happen, but also about what might happen in the distant future, and thereby anticipate possible effects of different possible acts.50 Moreover, humans have become able to engage in modal reasoning, reasoning about what might happen as opposed to only what is happening, and such reasoning would most plausibly be an evolutionary advantage. As being able to respond to modal reasoning seems to be evolutionarily advantageous, Parfit argues that the unintentional design of natural selection explains our ability to respond to reasons. To sum up Parfit’s understanding of design, one can say that humans are designed in the sense that natural selection has given us certain abilities that make us better able to survive and reproduce. In this process, some animals were selected for their speed or strength, and humans were selected for their rationality. This understanding of design involves no designer and 45 Some philosophers dispute this claim. Alvin Plantinga argues that the truth-value of a belief is irrelevant for survival as long as one behaves in a manner that is survivalfriendly. False beliefs, or nonsensical beliefs, might be helpful for survival, which makes Plantinga argue that natural selection cannot provide a sufficient explain for why our cognitive faculty is reliable. Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, pt. IV. See also Nagel, The View From Nowhere, 1986, 78–82. 46 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:494, 496. 47 Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, 348–49. 48 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:496. 49 Parfit seems to understand evolution as a process of progress (Parfit, 2:494, 517, 520). For a discussion on the concept of evolutionary progress, see Shanahan, “Evolutionary Progress?” 50 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:494.

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involves no teleological forces directing the evolutionary process towards a certain outcome. What it does involve is a process of natural selection. This means that Parfit takes all terms with teleological connotations, terms like “design” or “selected for,” to be wholly explainable in terms of natural selection.51 Evolutionary forces have never aimed to produce any abilities but have ended up doing so because it was reproductively advantageous. Parfit is in good company when he argues that talk of teleology in evolution can be reduced to talk of natural selection, as this is the mainstream view on teleology among philosophers of biology.52 One might ask what this ability to respond to reasons has to do with moral epistemology. Parfit conceives of normativity in terms of reasons. Moral reasons, then, are just a kind of reason, and our moral deliberation consists in responding to this particular kind of reason. Accordingly, we engage in moral deliberation in much the same way as we engage in mathematical and logical deliberation, namely by reasoning, by responding to reasons. Parfit calls something good or bad only insofar as we have a reason to respond to it in a positive or in a negative way.53 For instance, we always have a reason to want to avoid being in agony (as agony is bad),54 the fact that someone is your child gives you a (moral) reason to care for them,55 and that the fact that some action causes pointless suffering gives a (moral) reason not to perform this act.56 Such reasons are not empirically discoverable. It is because we are designed as beings that are able to respond to reasons that we are able to respond to moral reasons, and thus gain moral knowledge. Our ability to respond to reasons, then, explains the correlations between moral beliefs and moral facts.

5.4 The Darwinian Dilemma In what follows, I will challenge Parfit’s answer to the correlation problem. The part of Parfit’s Darwinian answer that I want to draw attention to is the evolutionary advantage of being able to respond to a certain kind 51

Parfit, 2:494. Allen, “Teleological Notions in Biology.” Parfit’s use of the term “unintentional design” seems to be equivalent to what others have called “natural design” (See the introduction in Thompson, Perspectives in Ethology). 53 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:38. Parfit calls this conception of good “goodness in the reason-implying sense.” 54 Parfit, 2:31. 55 Parfit, 2:528. 56 Parfit, 2:368. 52

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of reason. Parfit writes that we “may have come to have certain beliefs, or cognitive abilities, because these were evolutionarily or reproductively advantageous.”57 He argues that natural selection has given humans the ability to respond to various kinds of reason, such as mathematical reasons; logical reasons; alethic reasons, which concerns assessing probabilities; reasons concerning possibilities, which includes forming beliefs about the possible effects of different acts as well as beliefs about the future; and epistemic reasons, which concern facts that give us reason to have some worldly belief.58 Natural selection favoured the ability to respond to such reasons because “such true beliefs had evolutionary advantages, by helping [early humans] to survive and reproduce.”59 In all these cases – the case of mathematics and logic and so on – there is a relation between, on the one hand, the evolutionary influence on human beliefs and belief-forming mechanisms, and on the other, the truth of these beliefs. In the following, I ask whether this relation also holds when considering moral beliefs. I argue that Parfit’s answer to the correlation problem faces a Darwinian dilemma: the evolutionary influence on our moral beliefs have either been related to moral truths, or it has not been related to moral truths. I argue that none of these alternatives are feasible for Parfit. The first alternative is implausible on scientific grounds, the second leaves him without an explanation of how our moral beliefs correspond to moral truths. The Darwinian dilemma is formulated by philosopher Sharon Street. She argues that evolution does not explain the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts, but rather adds to the difficulty of explaining this correlation. To see why her argument is significant, we need to briefly turn back to the correlation problem. When introducing the correlation problem, we considered Grey’s beliefs about a village in Nepal. Then, we learned about the causal origin of Grey’s beliefs. In that specific case, the origin of his beliefs gave us reason to believe that his beliefs corresponded to the facts about the village. But learning the causal origin of a belief will not always strengthen our confidence in the truth of the belief. The origin could also undermine the belief. This is the possibility that Street explores. Street argues that our moral beliefs have been strongly influenced by factors external to us, and that this influence

57

Parfit, 2:511. “We respond to epistemic reasons when our awareness of certain facts causes us to believe what these facts give us reasons to believe.” Parfit, On What Matters, 2:515. 59 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:494. 58

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makes the moral realist unable to explain how our moral beliefs can correspond to moral facts.60 Street starts off from the premise that evolutionary forces have greatly influenced the content of human evaluative attitudes.61 First, how controversial is this premise? It is in accordance with mainstream evolutionary psychology, a branch of evolutionary biology that suggests that cognitive human traits in some cases must be seen as just as susceptible to evolutionary explanations as human physical traits. Street notes that there are many pitfalls to such evolutionary speculations, and she is sceptical about the details offered by this branch of evolutionary theory. However, she takes the outlines of such evolutionary theorising to be reliable enough for us to explore the philosophical implications.62 Second, what does this premise entail? The premise does not entail that specific moral beliefs are to be treated as inherited traits that have been selected for.63 Rather, some basic evaluative tendencies, which Street characterises as non-linguistic motivational tendencies to experience something as called for,64 is treated as evolutionarily advantageous. For instance, it would be advantageous for early humans (and other animals) to experience some kind of a motivational pull towards feeding its offspring. Such basic evaluative tendencies, says Street, have in turn influenced our evaluative beliefs. So, Street treats natural selection as having a direct influence on human evaluative tendencies, and an indirect influence on human evaluative judgments. However, it is important to note that Street does not take the basic evaluative tendencies to be the only influence on our moral beliefs. What she claims – and this is what her argument rests on – is that evolutionary forces have greatly influenced our moral beliefs, and if this influence had not been present or if the evolutionary history had been 60 A similar argument is given in Joyce, The Evolution of Morality, chap. 6; Kitcher, “Biology and Ethics.” It should be noted that Street formulates her argument to undermine the justification of our moral beliefs. Because I am concerned with questions of explanation rather than of justification, I adapt her argument accordingly. 61 Street takes evaluative attitudes to include states such as desires, attitudes of approval and disapproval, unreflective evaluative tendencies such as the tendency to experience X as counting in favour of Y, and consciously or unconsciously held evaluative judgments, what one should or ought to do, what is good or what is valuable (Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 110). When Street later (p. 144–45) describes moral realism as the view that moral facts are independent of all our evaluative attitudes, her notion of the independence of moral facts is much stronger than the notion of independence presented in chapter 1. While this difference might be relevant for some counterarguments against Street’s dilemma (see Street, 159.), it will not be relevant here. 62 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 112–13. 63 Street, 118–19. 64 Street, 119.

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different, the general content of our moral beliefs would also have been very different.65 The dilemma for the moral realist, then, is to explain how the evolutionary influence on our moral beliefs is related to moral truths. The first horn of the dilemma is to say that there is no relation between the selective forces and independent moral truths.66 If this is the case, then the shaping of our moral beliefs has happened entirely independent of the moral facts that these beliefs are about, entirely independent of the matters of fact that would render these beliefs true. What is to be expected of such influence? Such influence, says Street, must most probably be seen as a distorting influence. Street offers the following illustration: imagine a ship that is heading out for Bermuda. The forces that are influencing the course of the ship are the wind and the tide, which are forces that have nothing to do with where you want to go. These forces might occasionally push in the right direction, but that would be a matter of pure chance. Just as the wind and the tide push the ship in directions that have nothing to do with the goal of the journey, the historical push of natural selection on our evaluative judgments has nothing to do with moral truths. The evolutionary forces might also occasionally push in the right direction, towards true moral beliefs, but that would be a matter of pure chance. So, if we accept the premise that evolutionary Darwinian influences have greatly influenced our moral beliefs, and also hold that these influences have no connection to moral truths, then the evolutionary history stands out as a poor candidate for explaining the correlation between our moral beliefs and moral fact. As a distorting influence would most probably not lead to true moral beliefs, the supposed correlation stands out as more striking, and more in need of an explanation.67 The second horn of the dilemma is to say that there is a relation between the work of natural selection and independent moral truths.68 Street thinks that this is the most feasible option for the moral realist. If one holds that natural selection has influenced human moral beliefs, and also hold that this influence is in some way related to moral truths, then the moral realist is in a good position to explain the correlation 65

Street, 120. Street, 121–25. 67 Street is not concerned with explanatory questions but with justification, arguing that the distorting influence would undermine the justification of our moral beliefs and lead to moral scepticism. To avoid this sceptical conclusion, Street rejects independent moral truths and endorses constructivism. 68 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 125–35. 66

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between moral beliefs and moral facts. Now, the moral realist needs to give an account of this relation. Surely, the relation cannot hold just as a matter of pure chance. So, exactly how are the evolutionary influences related to our moral beliefs? Street considers the view that the relation is “a tracking relation,” that evolutionary forces are tracking moral truths.69 According to the view that the relation holds as a tracking relation, our ability to recognise moral truths has given us a certain advantage that has been reproductively beneficial. Why has this ability been reproductively beneficial? Presumably because the ability to recognise what one has moral reason to prefer and to do – such as having the tendency to value one’s own life, care for one’s children and reward altruism70 – would help humans to flourish and reproduce. If we then ask for an explanation of why our moral tendencies and beliefs correspond to moral facts, the moral realist can say that these beliefs correspond to moral truths because it promoted reproductive success to be able to recognise such truths.71 Street mentions Parfit as an example of someone who might be suggesting this view.72 I will later discuss whether that is the case. Street is critical to the tracking account for the following reason: it puts itself forward as a scientific explanation. It offers a specific hypothesis of how natural selection has proceeded, making empirical claims of how certain human traits have originated. As a scientific hypothesis, it stands to compete with other scientific hypotheses, and Street argues that this is a competition in which the tracking account fares rather poorly. One competing hypothesis is what Street calls “the adaptive link 69 Street argues that if one is to assert a relation, it must be a tracking relation. Street, 134–35. Street borrows the notion of “tracking” from Nozick, Philosophical Explanations, 317. 70 This might sound like trivial examples of evaluative tendencies, but note that other animals have evolved to have a different evaluative tendency on these matters. When it comes to lions, the male has a tendency to kill offspring that is not his own, which is not held against him by female loins. Social insects, like bees, have such strong tendencies to promote the welfare of the community that their own survival is given value only insofar as it is useful for the larger community. See Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 120. 71 Street, 126. Street writes that the moral realist here must presuppose that moral facts are causally effective, which is inconsistent with moral non-naturalism (Street, 159). I do not think that is necessarily the case, and I grant Parfit’s conception of responding to reasons as a non-causal activity. 72 Street’s article is written prior to On What Matters, but after Parfit presented an early draft of the book as part of the Tanner Lectures at Berkeley in 2002. Moreover, Street writes that she has had personal correspondence with Parfit. In support of placing Parfit in this category, she refers to Parfit’s view that cheetahs were selected for their speed, giraffes for their long necks, and humans for their ability to respond to reasons. See Parfit, On What Matters, 2:516.

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account,” the hypothesis that evaluative tendencies have not evolved because they track independent truths, but because these tendencies make us adapt to the environment so that we believe, feel and act in ways that turned out to be reproductively advantageous. Street argues that this latter hypothesis is much more plausible than the tracking account. One reason for this is that it is a simpler explanation. Normative beliefs, for instance the belief that you ought to care for your children, would have had the same evolutionarily advantageous effects whether or not they were true. It would have been our behaviour, not the truth of our beliefs, that had the effect of promoting reproductive success. Explaining the reproductive advantage of these beliefs by their truth, and not simply by the behaviour followed by them, is to make an unnecessary extra assumption.73 Another reason is that the adaptive account is able to explain evaluative tendencies that promote reproductive success but which are not considered to be morally correct, such as the tendency to take the fact that someone is a member of an “out group” as a reason to give him a lesser treatment than those belonging to the “in group.”74 The Darwinian dilemma asks whether some strong influence on our moral beliefs is related to moral truths.75 Saying that there is no relation undermines an evolutionary explanation of why our moral beliefs correspond to moral facts. Saying that there is a relation enables an evolutionary explanation of the correlation problem, but it does so by opting for a scientific theory that is not very plausible.76 One might wonder if there is a third alternative hidden somewhere. Presumably, it’s not. The two options of the dilemma are a proposition and its negation. One of them has to be chosen, but unfortunately, none of them are feasible for the moral realist. So, how can the moral realist escape the dilemma? One way out is to 73 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 129. Parfit agrees on this point. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:513. 74 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 133. For other reasons on why this is a more plausible hypothesis than the tracking account, see Street, 127–35. 75 At the end of her paper, Street notes that this dilemma need not be Darwinian at all. This dilemma will therefore apply to every kind of strong influence on our evaluative ability in which a tracking account has to compete with some scientific explanation. Darwinian influence is just one among many possible influences. Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 155. 76 The relation account proposed above states that it is reproductively advantageous for our moral beliefs to correspond to moral facts. It is also possible to propose a relation account in which it is reproductively advantageous for our moral beliefs not to correspond to moral facts. Street briefly considers such an account and rejects it in Street, “MindIndependence Without the Mystery,” 13.

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dismiss the view that there are mind-independent moral truths, truths to which the evolutionary forces are somehow connected, and instead hold that values are constituted by our evaluative tendencies and desires.77 This is the way out of the dilemma that Street proposes, but it involves a rejection of moral realism and is thus not consistent with Parfit’s metaethics. Another way out is to dismiss an evolutionary explanation of the correlation between moral facts and our moral beliefs. But this way out leaves the non-naturalist with no explanation of the correlation. Yet another way out could be to reject the premise of Street’s dilemma. This is the way, at least partly the way, that Parfit opts for. However, I will argue that Parfit’s way out of the dilemma does not succeed.

5.5 Parfit’s Dilemma In the following, I consider Parfit’s responses to the Darwinian dilemma. He responds to Street by claiming that natural selection has not influenced humans’ moral beliefs. I argue that this response is not consistent with Parfit’s Darwinian answer. While Parfit seems to be making a distinction between our moral ability and our moral beliefs, arguing that only our moral ability is the result of natural selection, his account of the origin of this ability presupposes that natural selection has influenced humans’ moral beliefs. Moreover, I argue that Parfit’s Darwinian answer only provides a good explanation of procedural rationality, the kind of rationality that makes us prudent, but not an explanation of substantive rationality, the kind of rationality that makes us moral. As said at the beginning of this chapter, the epistemological challenge can be formulated as challenging the justification of our moral beliefs, asking whether we are justified in trusting our moral beliefs and beliefforming mechanisms, or it can be formulated as asking for an explanation of the correlation between moral beliefs and moral truths. Above, I have formulated the Darwinian dilemma as a dilemma that undermines a Darwinian explanation of our moral beliefs. However, it can also be 77 Street, “Does Anything Really Matter or Did We Just Evolve to Think So?” pt. 6. Street considers herself an antirealist about value. Before life began, she writes, nothing was valuable. When life began it started to value things, not because it recognised values, but because creatures who valued things tended to survive. This entails that our evaluative judgments are more fundamental than values. To put it in a phrase close to Plato’s Euthyphro: it is not the case that we value things because they are valuable; rather things are valuable because we value them. See Street, “What Is Constructivism in Ethics and Metaethics?” 370.

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formulated as a dilemma that undermines the justification of our moral beliefs. This is actually what Street sets out to do. She formulates a socalled “evolutionary debunking argument,” arguing that the evolutionary origin of our moral beliefs, an origin that has no connection to the truth of these beliefs, undermine their justification.78 Street concludes that undermining the justification of our moral beliefs leads us into moral scepticism in which we have no idea whether the things we value are actually valuable: “as far as you know you haven’t the slightest clue as to whether you should spend your life screaming constantly, doing cartwheels, or something else?”79 Parfit thinks that Street’s evolutionary debunking argument seriously threatens the justification of our moral beliefs. He accepts all the steps in Street’s reasoning. To begin with, he thinks we should “admit that, if we came to have our normative beliefs because these beliefs were reproductively advantageous, these beliefs would have been caused in ways that were unrelated to their truth.”80 Moreover, he agrees that an influence on a belief that is unrelated to the truth of that belief is “a distorting influence.”81 Accordingly, the influence of natural selection would be a distorting influence. If this distorting influence has greatly influenced our moral beliefs, as Street’s premise states, Parfit agrees that our moral beliefs would be challenged. A distorting influence, he writes, would mean that we cannot know whether our moral beliefs are true or not, so that we “cannot justifiably believe that these beliefs are true.”82 Moreover, Parfit thinks that Street’s premise is formulated stronger than it needs to be. Street bases her argument on the premise that natural selection has had “a tremendous influence” on our moral beliefs.83 Parfit writes that if “normative beliefs were even partly produced or influenced by natural selection,” their justification would be undermined.84 For instance, he 78 For an overview of different formulations of such arguments, see FitzPatrick, “Debunking Evolutionary Debunking of Ethical Realism”; Kahane, “Evolutionary Debunking Arguments.” One might wonder if the evolutionary debunking argument commits the genetic fallacy, which is the “error of treating items in the context of discovery as if they belonged to the context of justification” (Salmon, Logic, chap. 3). Parfit does not think this argument commits the genetic fallacy. He sees the two contexts as connected, so whether our moral “beliefs are justified depends on why we have them” (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:509). 79 Street, “Does Anything Really Matter or Did We Just Evolve to Think So?” 691. 80 Parfit, On What Matters, 3:286. 81 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:513. 82 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:512. 83 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 113. 84 Parfit, 2:517.

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holds that if the belief that altruism is good is partly a product of natural selection, then this belief would be challenged.85 Now, while Parfit accepts all the steps in Street’s argument, he is no moral sceptic. His way of avoiding scepticism is to reject the main premise of Street’s argument, reject that natural selection has greatly – or even partly – influenced our moral beliefs. He argues that moral beliefs have not been reproductively advantageous, that they therefore have not been selected for and not been influenced by natural selection.86 Moral beliefs, such as the belief that altruism is good, are “clearly not the product of evolutionary forces.”87 Let me spell out what I take to be a dilemma for Parfit. Parfit faces a dilemma when answering the following question: why do we have the moral beliefs that we have? Parfit could say that we have these beliefs because of natural selection, or he could say that we have these beliefs not because of natural selection but because of something else. At times he suggests one option, at times he suggests the other. When he gives an explanation of why we have true moral beliefs, he proposes a Darwinian answer, arguing that natural selection explains why our moral beliefs correspond to moral truths. But when he treats the justification of moral beliefs, he rejects Darwinian influences, arguing that we do not have the moral beliefs that we have because of natural selection. So, this is a serious dilemma for Parfit. If he rejects Darwinian influences, he no longer has an explanation of moral knowledge. And if he affirms Darwinian influences, he no longer has a justification for moral knowledge. As he cannot exclude either option, he seems to be going for both. This is at best a tension in Parfit’s moral epistemology, at worst an inconsistency. 5.5.1 Escaping the Dilemma: Distinguishing Beliefs and Ability Parfit’s writings imply a possible way out of the dilemma, namely to distinguish between moral beliefs and our ability to respond to moral 85 Parfit argues that altruism cannot be explained by natural selection (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:536–37). For an argument to the contrary, see Singer, The Expanding Circle, chaps. 2–3; Nozick, The Nature of Rationality, chap. IV. In the field of evolutionary biology, the term altruism is given a slightly different meaning than in moral philosophy. In evolutionary biology, altruism describes acts that reduce reproductive fitness (Okasha, “Biological Altruism”). Parfit’s understanding of altruism is not the biological one but the moral one. Nowadays, interesting discussions on the notion of cooperation are connecting the fields of biology and ethics, as well as mathematics. See for instance Nowak, “Five Rules for the Evolution of Cooperation.” 86 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:527–28. 87 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:538. Italics in the original.

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reasons. In chapter 33 of On What Matters, Parfit writes mostly about our moral ability and about the quest for an explanation. His explanation of this ability is Darwinian evolution, and he writes that we are naturally selected for our rationality. In chapter 34, Parfit writes mostly about moral beliefs and whether they are justified. He argues that our moral beliefs are not undermined as their content is not influenced by Darwinian evolution. So, Parfit may be making a distinction between moral beliefs and moral ability, a distinction that allows him to say natural selection both has and has not influenced our moral epistemology: it has influenced our moral ability, but it has not influenced our moral beliefs. This distinction would safeguard Parfit’s theory from inconsistency, but I will argue that there remains a tension in his theory and that this distinction leads Parfit into trouble concerning both justification and explanation. Let’s first consider Parfit’s treatment of moral beliefs and their justification. When Parfit argues that natural selection has not produced our moral beliefs, his key point is that moral beliefs are not evolutionarily advantageous. What is advantageous, says Parfit, is to have a tendency to act in a certain way. It is evolutionarily advantageous to have a tendency to try to avoid death or pain, or to care for one’s children. Someone might claim, says Parfit, that it is also advantageous to have the belief that one ought to do these things. But Parfit rejects that claim. Beliefs would not, or at least seldom, be advantageous both because the belief would be superfluous if the tendency were present,88 and because beliefs appeared much later in the evolutionary history than tendencies.89 Parfit holds that humans came to act upon tendencies long before they came to have normative beliefs or asked questions of whether these beliefs were justified or not. In making this distinction between tendency and belief, and arguing that moral beliefs were not advantageous and therefore not selected for, Parfit thinks he has refuted the premise of Street’s evolutionary debunking argument.90 But that is not the case. In fact, Parfit’s account does not refute Street’s premise but actually affirms it, as he makes a connection between tendencies and beliefs. According to Parfit, tendencies to act in

88 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:514–15, 528. For an argument of the opposite view, namely that normative beliefs are evolutionarily advantageous, see Nozick, The Nature of Rationality, chap. IV. 89 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:517. 90 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:514.

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certain ways did not only precede beliefs of how one should act, they also shaped human beliefs: Early humans came to have these aims, and to act in these ways, because these aims and acts were advantageous. Later humans then came to believe that they had reasons to have these aims, and to act in these ways.91

Parfit writes that while moral beliefs were not advantageous, certain aims and tendencies were, and these aims successively caused or influenced the moral beliefs that appeared later in the evolutionary history. This is all in accordance with Street’s premise, namely that natural selection has indirectly influenced human evaluative beliefs by directly influencing human evaluative tendencies. So, even though natural selection has not given us certain moral beliefs “because this belief was advantageous,”92 Parfit’s position still entails that natural selection has influenced our beliefs, even though they are only “indirectly produced.”93 And as Parfit admits, such an influence “would give us reasons to doubt that these beliefs are true,”94 and make us conclude that we “cannot justifiably believe that these beliefs are true.”95 Street expands on why this sceptical conclusion is warranted. If the influence on our aims and tendencies had been different – that is, if the evolutionary history had been different – the general content of our moral beliefs would also have been different.96 It is plausible to assume that evolutionary history could have taken a different turn. Humans could have evolved more along the lines of social insects, like bees, acquiring the tendency to aim at one’s own survival only insofar as it is useful for the larger community. Or humans could have evolved more along the lines of some herd animals, like lions, where males have the tendency to occasionally kill offspring that is not their own, and where females do not hold this behaviour against the males.97 So, just as the wind and the sea could push a ship in many different directions, the influence of natural selection could have pushed human evaluative tendencies and beliefs 91 Parfit, 2:529. Parfit seems to think this statement needs some qualification. Perhaps one should say that when early humans had an aim, that aim sometimes led to the belief that we have reason to have this aim. 92 Parfit, 2:529. 93 Parfit, 2:528. 94 Parfit, 2:513. 95 Parfit, 2:512. 96 Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 120. 97 Street, 120.

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in many different directions.98 And just as we cannot suppose that the wind and the sea push the ship in the right direction, both Parfit and Street agree that we cannot suppose that natural selection influenced human moral beliefs in the right direction, but rather assume that this influence is a distorting influence that warrants moral scepticism.99 If Parfit’s theory has to include the thesis that natural selection has influenced our moral beliefs, then by Parfit’s own admission, it is no longer clear that our moral beliefs are justified as we have a reason to doubt that our moral beliefs are true. Let me turn to Parfit’s treatment of our moral ability and its explanation. Parfit argues that human beings were selected for their rationality, which can be taken to suggest that natural selection explains our moral ability. A problem with this explanation is that the evolutionary advantage of having the ability to form true beliefs about a certain subject matter depends on this kind of belief being evolutionarily advantageous. As shown above, Parfit gives examples of how, for instance, some mathematical beliefs might help early humans survive. If a kind of belief would promote survival, Parfit writes that “it would not be a coincidence that these humans could form these many true beliefs.”100 As such, natural selection explains the correlation between a certain kind of belief and fact. Now, this explanation depends on the belief in question being evolutionarily advantageous. Given that mathematical beliefs are advantageous, this kind of beliefs can be explained by natural selection. But when it comes to moral beliefs, Parfit holds that these beliefs are not evolutionarily advantageous. And as long as this kind of belief is not evolutionarily advantageous, the ability to acquire such beliefs cannot be explained by saying that human beings were selected for it. While Parfit cannot explain our moral ability by saying that humans were selected for it, there might be other evolutionary explanations available. Let me suggest an alternative evolutionary explanation. Our moral 98 Street points out that there are countless possible internally consistent evaluative systems that natural selection could have favoured, not just the actual evaluative systems that we observe in the animal kingdom. See Street, “Objectivity and Truth: You’d Better Rethink It,” pt. 9. 99 Some scholars argue that the influence of natural selection does point in the right direction. See Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 168–75; Skarsaune, “Darwin and Moral Realism.” Some might suggest that agreement may warrant our moral beliefs. We all agree that we ought to care for our offspring and not kill it. However, as Parfit points out, an appeal to agreement does not work here as a widespread moral agreement is expected given a common evolutionary history. See Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 186; Street, “Objectivity and Truth: You’d Better Rethink It,” 316. 100 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:497.

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capacity may be explained by saying that this capacity was not itself selected for, but was the by-product of some other evolutionarily advantageous capacity.101 Parts of Parfit’s text may suggest that he has something like this in mind. That is, Parfit may be suggesting that humans were selected for their rationality, for their ability to respond to reasons, and from this ability emerged a moral ability, an ability to respond to moral reasons. It is not clear that Parfit suggests such an explanation, but even if he does not, it is an explanation that is compatible with Parfit’s thinking. One thing that suggests that Parfit explains our moral capacity as a by-product of some other capacity lies in how he argues that humans were selected for rationality. Earlier, I described how Parfit makes a distinction between two kinds of rationality: procedural rationality and substantive rationality.102 A person is procedurally rational when he sets out to achieve his aims in a consistent and intelligent manner. This includes, says Parfit, imagining the effects of possible acts, avoiding wishful thinking, assessing probabilities correctly, following common rules of logic, and avoiding making arbitrary distinctions.103 Substantive rationality concerns what we choose and what aims we set for ourselves.104 In other words, substantive rationality concerns morality. When Parfit argues that humans were selected for their rationality, all his examples of what rationality consists of are examples of procedural reasoning, of how deduction or assessing probabilities might be evolutionarily advantageous. So, Parfit holds that the kind of reasoning that humans were selected for is not substantive reasoning but merely procedural reasoning: being prudent would plausibly help humans survive and reproduce. I take him to suggest, then, that substantive rationality is a byproduct of the evolutionarily advantageous ability to engage in procedural reasoning, so that the ability to respond to some kind of reason gave rise to the ability to respond to moral reasons. Let me just briefly relate this account of how our moral ability evolved to Street’s Darwinian dilemma. Street asks whether the development of our moral capacity was related to moral truths (it promoted reproductive 101 By-products are sometimes called spandrels among biologists. See “The Spandrels of San Marco and the Panglossian Paradigm: A Critique of the Adaptationist Programme,” written by Gould and Lewontin, which started the discussion on how many features of evolution are explained as advantageous adaptation and how many features are explained as by-products. 102 See chapter 2. 103 Parfit, Reasons and Persons, 1984, 125; Parfit, On What Matters, 1:62. 104 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:62.

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success to be able to respond to moral reasons) or whether its development was not related to moral truths. Parfit might seem to sidestep Street’s dilemma. Instead of saying “related” or “not related,” he says “by-product,” holding that our ability for moral reasoning is a by-product of our ability to reason. Concerning the ability to reason, this ability was evolutionarily advantageous because it enabled humans to acquire true beliefs about the world. As such, Parfit opts for a truth relation, choosing the horn of the dilemma that states there is a relation between being selected for a certain capacity and the truths of this subject matter. Concerning moral capacity, Parfit does not hold – contrary to what Street writes105 – that this capacity emerged because it was an evolutionarily advantageous capacity; the moral capacity simply emerged as a by-product of the capacity to reason. As Street correctly observes, the Darwinian dilemma still arises for the by-product proposal.106 One needs to say something about why this byproduct (moral capacity) happened to emerge from the base ability (rationality). In doing so, one would need to clarify whether there is a relation between the evolution of this base ability and moral truths. If there is a relation, we have an explanation of why this by-product emerged. That is presumably the case with the ability to do astronomy. True astronomical beliefs do not promote reproductive success, and this ability was therefore not selected for. Instead, the ability to do astronomy is the by-product of a more basic ability, that is, the ability to discover the physical features of the world around us. We can explain why this by-product occurred because there is a relation between the task the base ability was selected for (discovering simple truths about the physical world) and the truths that the by-product discovers (discovering more complex truths about the physical world). So, the Darwinian dilemma arises for the development of the by-product. If there is a relation between the development of the capacity and the truths it discovers, then we have an explanation for its occurrence. If there is no relation, no explanation is given. Parfit provides an evolutionary explanation of our ability to do advanced mathematics via the by-product model. He argues that the ability to acquire true arithmetical beliefs about various small numbers – such as keeping track of dangerous animals entering and exiting caves – might have helped early humans survive because it gave humans true 105 “According to this hypothesis [that Parfit holds], our ability to recognise evaluative truths … conferred upon us certain advantages that helped us to flourish and reproduce” (Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 126). 106 Street, 142–44.

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beliefs. This ability was advantageous because these arithmetical beliefs were advantageous. From this ability emerged a different ability, namely the ability to do advanced mathematics. The ability to do advanced mathematics is a refined extension of the more basic ability, and it emerged from this basic ability because it concerned the same kind of truth: there is a relation between the task the base ability was selected for (discovering mathematical truths) and the truths that the by-product discovers. Parfit points out that while there is a vast difference between these abilities – some animals may understand some simple arithmetic but are nowhere near understanding Gödel’s theorems – it is a difference of degree, not of kind.107 Parfit’s explanation of our moral capacity does not follow the same structure as his explanation of our mathematical capacity. Parfit holds that moral beliefs are not evolutionarily advantageous. Contrary to the evolution of our mathematical ability, no primitive moral ability was selected for because it was advantageous to discover basic moral truths. Instead of arguing that our refined moral ability arose as the by-product of a more basic evaluative ability, Parfit argues that our moral ability arose as the by-product of our ability to reason. This explanation fails, I argue, because of the vast difference between reason and our moral capacity – a difference, as Parfit himself points out, of kind and not of degree. The point that I want to draw attention to, a point that Parfit himself stresses, is that procedural rationality and substantive rationality have different scopes. Procedural rationality concerns how we reason and how we pursue our aims. It is the ability to respond to logical reasons and alethic reasons (assessing probability correctly). Substantive rationality concerns what aims we set: it is “not about how we make our choices but about what we choose.”108 It is the ability to respond to moral reasons. So, procedural reasoning and substantive reasoning are of two different kinds. There is no relation between the task that procedural rationality was selected for – that is, responding to logical and alethic reasons – and moral truths. As Parfit makes clear in his critique of subjectivism, procedural reasoning does not enable moral reasoning.109 It makes us prudent, not moral. Parfit’s sharp distinction between procedural reasoning and substantive reasoning undermines the Darwinian by-product explanation of our moral ability. Concerning our ability to do advanced mathematics, Parfit holds 107 108 109

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:496. Parfit, On What Matters, 1:62. Parfit, 1:78–79. The discussion spans chapters 4 and 5.

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that this ability emerged, as a refined extension, from an ability whose selection and function was related to mathematical truths. As there exists a relation between the basic ability and mathematical truths, it is no coincidence that this by-product ability emerged. However, things are different when it comes to our moral ability. The selective forces that gave rise to procedural reasoning were not related to moral truths, only logical and alethic truths, and the function of this ability is not related to moral truths either. As there is no relation between this ability and moral truths, it is not clear why an ability for discovering moral truths should emerge as a by-product of the ability for procedural reasoning. So, while Parfit may have given a satisfying explanation of how humans have been selected for instrumental reasoning, his distinction between procedural reasoning and substantive reasoning undermines a by-product explained by our ability to acquire true moral beliefs. Without an explanation of this ability, Parfit has not explained the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts.110

5.6 A Theistic Solution to the Darwinian Dilemma So far, I have argued that there are some problems with Parfit’s explanation of the correlation between our moral beliefs and moral facts. Parfit seems to struggle to provide an explanation as there is a tension in his theory, a tension between, on the one hand, wanting to base his moral epistemology on natural selection so that an explanation can be provided, and on the other, not basing his moral epistemology on natural selection so that justification is not undermined. Of these two questions, justification and explanation, Parfit seems to think it is more important to provide a justification of our moral beliefs than to explain why we have true moral beliefs. After all, it would be a serious problem for his moral theory if he had to conclude that we are not justified in our moral beliefs and have no way of knowing whether our moral beliefs are true or not. That would lead into scepticism. But a lack of explanation will not lead to scepticism. As said earlier, we can be justified in believing something even if our explanation is refuted. Parfit also makes this point, writing 110 For an argument that our capacity to reason cannot be explained by appeal to natural selection, see Nagel, The Last Word, chap. 7; Nagel, Mind and Cosmos, 2012, chap. 4. For an argument that natural selection undermines our justification for our faith in the reliability of reason, at least within a non-theistic framework, see Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, chap. 10.

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that even “if we cannot yet explain how we came to have this ability, we can justifiably believe that we can recognise such necessary truths.”111 In what follows, I will first turn to the question of justification and argue that a theistic framework gives us reason to trust our moral capacity, so that Parfit’s sceptical worries can be settled. Then I will turn to the question of explanation and argue that a theistic framework can provide an explanation of the correlation between moral beliefs and moral truths. 5.6.1 Justified Moral Beliefs Let me say something about what arguments aimed at undermining (debunking) the justification of some belief can achieve. The so-called debunking arguments appeal to the causal history, or the origin, of some belief. Obviously, the mere fact that a belief has an origin does nothing to undermine the justification of that belief. But things are different if the origin has no connection to the truth of that belief. For an example, consider Blue, a person who decides to believe that life is meaningless by flipping a coin. Blue’s friend comes to the rescue, pointing out that her belief is unjustified as there is no connection between the means of formulating the belief and the truth about whether life is meaningless or not. As this example illustrates, moral debunking arguments need not be evolutionary. The arguments could appeal to any means of formulating beliefs that are not related to its truth.112 Moreover, this example illustrates what debunking arguments can achieve. The debunking of Blue’s belief says nothing about whether life is meaningless or not. That is, the debunking says nothing about the truth or falsity of the belief; it only says something about your reason for holding this belief.113 So, is Blue justified in believing that life is meaningless? If the flip of a coin was her only reason for holding this belief, she is not. However, she might have other reasons to hold this belief. If she has other independent reasons for holding her belief, the belief is still justified.114 For my own part, I am not troubled by debunking arguments. Debunking arguments only undermine the justification of some belief on the condition 111

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:520. Some could argue that upbringing or cultural influences are not related to moral truths. There is a clear parallel here to arguments stating that religious upbringing is not related to religious truth, thus undermining religious belief. See Baker-Hytch, “Religious Diversity and Epistemic Luck,” 172–74. 113 Kahane, “Evolutionary Debunking Arguments,” 108. 114 Jong and Visala, “Evolutionary Debunking Arguments against Theism, Reconsidered,” 255. 112

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that there are no other reasons for holding the belief in question. As a theological framework can provide other reasons for trusting our moral beliefs (more on this later), Street’s evolutionary debunking argument is not troubling for theistic ethics. But Parfit seems deeply troubled, and the reason might be that he puts a lot of eggs in one basket. That is, he proposes natural selection as the explanation of our moral capacity, letting this explanation serve as the justification for our belief that our moral capacity is reliable, and he does not provide any other reason for trusting this capacity. If the evolutionary debunking argument succeeds, Parfit is left with no reason to trust our moral capacity. The claim that our moral beliefs are not justified might sound absurd. As Parfit writes, we hold many moral beliefs because these strike us as obviously true.115 However, he goes on to say that it is not enough that these beliefs seem to us intrinsically very credible, or that we seem to have strong reasons to have them: “Everything here depends on whether we can trust our ability to form some true normative beliefs.”116 The only reason Parfit provides for trusting this ability is an evolutionary explanation. The fact that Parfit does not provide any other reason to trust this ability than his evolutionary explanation becomes clear in a dialogue with Street. Street argues that the moral realist must provide some reason for trusting our normative judgment, a reason that does not merely assume that this is a trustworthy ability that provides us with true normative beliefs.117 Parfit’s reply is striking. He claims that Street is asking for the impossible: What Street here requires us to do is impossible. Some whimsical despot might require us to show that some clock is telling the correct time, without making any assumptions about the correct time. Though we couldn’t meet this requirement, that wouldn’t show that this clock is not telling the correct time.118

Two things should be said about Parfit’s reply. First, the analogy is not actually helping his case. Asking someone to show that the clock is telling the correct time is a perfectly reasonable request, and it is a request that can be satisfied. A glance at the sun, or at a sundial, might give a reason to think the clock is functioning as it should. Merely saying that 115

Parfit, On What Matters, 2:530. Parfit, 2:542. 117 Street, “Mind-Independence without the Mystery,” 18. Street is not confronting Parfit in this text, but Parfit is citing her in his own discussion, noting that her argument also affects him. See Parfit, On What Matters, 2:533. 118 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:533. 116

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“if we assume the time is 9 a.m., then it is telling the correct time” is not at all satisfactory. Second, while Parfit’s concluding sentence is correct, it is not relevant. It is correct that if we cannot show that the clock is functioning correctly, this does not lead to the conclusion that the clock is functioning incorrectly. Likewise, not being able to provide some reason for trusting our moral ability “does not count against the view that these normative beliefs are true.”119 But this is beside the point. Debunking arguments are not concerned with whether the belief in question is true or false, but with whether it is justified. Street’s debunking arguments show that natural selection, which Parfit takes to be a distorting influence, does not justify our moral beliefs. As Parfit does not provide any other reason for trusting our moral ability, he has not shown that our moral beliefs are justified. Let’s consider what sort of reasons for trusting our moral reasoning can be found in Christian theism. Parfit suggests that the theist can claim “God might have designed our brains” so that we have “God-given abilities to respond to reasons, and to form true beliefs about these reasons.”120 Parfit mentions Alvin Plantinga as a philosopher who advocates this view. I think Parfit’s suggestion is onto something, namely that there are reasons in a theology of creation that can give us further reasons to trust our ability to acquire moral beliefs. So, let me expand on three aspects, where one is from Plantinga, of how the notion of God as creator may give us some faith in the reliability of our moral reasoning. Plantinga starts off from the thesis that God has created humans in his image. A central feature of being created in God’s image, says Plantinga, is the idea that humans are created so that they resemble God.121 Humans resemble God in being persons. That is, humans are beings with intellect and will, who can have beliefs, intentions, and affections.122 Moreover, humans resemble God more particularly in being able to know and to understand. So, the belief that God is the creator, and that God has created humans in a way that resembles God, gives us a reason to trust our cognitive faculties. Plantinga notes that virtually all theists hold that God 119

Parfit, 2:533. Parfit, 2:493. 121 This is a very controversial statement. It is common among Old Testament scholars to hold that “the image of God” does not signify likeness to God but rather a vocation given to humanity (Middleton, The Liberating Image, chaps. 1–2). However, this does not affect Plantinga’s argument. He could simply drop the notion of the image of God and stick to the notion of being created with a resemblance to God. 122 Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief, vii, 212; Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, 4. 120

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is the creator. But mere philosophical theism – the view that there is an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good being – is not sufficient to warrant trust in our cognitive capacities. We also have to add the thesis that God created humans in a way that resembles God himself, and that this resemblance includes cognitive capacity.123 This thesis is found in the theology of many world religions, but Plantinga turns to Christian theology in particular. He draws upon Aquinas who understood the human resemblance to God primarily as “having a nature that includes an intellect,”124 so that humans imitate God “especially in this, that he understands.”125 Now, Plantinga thinks that it might be an overstatement to say that human likeness to God primarily concerns intellect and understanding. A more moderate statement – which says the ability to understand is part of the resemblance –still warrants the view that God has created humans to be able to gain knowledge.126 As creator, Plantinga writes, God has made both humans and the world in such a way that there is a certain fit between mind and reality, a certain fit between the world and our cognitive faculties that enables humans to know a great deal about reality. Now, Plantinga is more concerned with abstract reasoning than moral reasoning. So, for the purpose of this chapter, one might add that God is not only the creator of reality as such but also the creator of the moral reality, and that God is not only an abstract knower but also a moral knower. Accordingly, the thesis that humans are created with a resemblance to God not only gives us a reason to trust our cognitive capacities in general but also a reason to trust our moral capacity in particular.127 A second reason to trust our moral capacity comes from the notion of being created for a relationship with God. Earlier, I have argued that part of the function of morality is to facilitate a relationship with God, in the sense that the moral life facilitates friendship with God whereas the 123

Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function, 236. Aquinas, “Summa Theologica” I, q.93, a.4. 125 Aquinas, “Summa Theologica” I, q.93, a.6. 126 Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, 269. 127 I will not say much on exactly how God created humans, only that I am sympathetic to the view called theistic evolution. According to this view, God’s creative activity does not compete with the evolutionary process. Rather, God has providentially set the conditions for this process and continually sustains it. This theistic view of evolution is similar to Nagel’s teleological view of the evolutionary process – with the exception of explaining this teleology in terms of God’s sustaining and creative activity – and as this theistic view fits with Nigel’s philosophical system, it presumably also fits with Parfit’s (see Nagel, Mind and Cosmos, 91–93). Moreover, this view enables a constructive dialogue between the fields of theology and science on questions such as anthropology, consciousness and ethics. See Nowak and Coakley, Evolution, Games, and God. 124

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immoral life puts up a barrier. Let’s say that humans are created for relationship with God, and that the moral life plays an important part in humans’ relation to God. If this is the case, it is reasonable to suppose that humans are created so that they are able to live a moral life. It is reasonable to suppose that humans are created so that they can distinguish good from evil, distinguish a moral life from an immoral life, and accordingly also have some true moral beliefs. This line of reasoning relies partly on the Kantian notion that ought implies can.128 If one ought to seek a relationship with God, it is reasonable to suppose that one can do so. And if the moral life plays a vital part in facilitating this relation, it is reasonable to suppose that one can know something about what the moral life consists in. So, the belief that humans are created for a relation with God gives a reason to trust our moral capacity. A third reason to trust our moral capacity comes from the notion of God as a giver of vocation. This notion says something about God, namely that God cares about how humans live their lives, and that he calls them to a certain life or a certain service. It also says something about humans, namely that humans are the type of creatures that are capable of receiving a vocation given by God. Now, there is a connection between the notion that humans are created for a relation with God and the notion of humans as receiving vocation: according to a Christian view on vocation, the true goal of man’s vocation is fellowship with Christ.129 But with the notion of vocation, I want to draw attention to God who calls humans to particular acts of service, God calling the individual to participate in the redemption of the world. As the world differs across space and time, and as humans differ in their skills and dispositions, God presumably calls a particular individual to a particular service. Karl Barth, for instance, sees God’s vocations to humans as ad hominem and ad hoc, as to a specific person and to a specific situation. God’s calling, then, is “something highly particular.”130 This notion of vocation as something temporally and historically contingent means that vocation does not belong to the work of God the creator but, to use Trinitarian terms, the work of the Holy Spirit.131 So, the belief that God calls humans to a certain way of life, along with the belief that humans are capable of receiving vocation given by God, provides a reason to believe that humans can acquire some true moral beliefs. 128 129 130 131

Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:112, 125. Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.3.2:521, 540. Barth, IV.3.2:499. See Biggar, The Hastening that Waits, 164. Barth, Church Dogmatics, III.2:501. See Biggar, The Hastening that Waits, chap. 2.

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To sum up, Parfit presents one reason for thinking that we are justified in our moral beliefs, namely that the ability to respond to reasons was evolutionarily advantageous so that humans were selected for it. There are two problems with Parfit’s account. First, Parfit conflates the notion of procedural rationality and substantive rationality, claiming that humans were selected for rationality in general. But it is nothing in his argumentation that supports the claim that humans were selected for substantive rationality, meaning that it is unclear whether Parfit has provided a reason to trust our substantive rationality. Second, Street’s evolutionary debunking argument undermines natural selection as a reason to trust our moral capacity. As this is the only reason Parfit has for trusting our moral capacity, he is left without any justification for our moral beliefs. Now, if Parfit’s theory is integrated into a theological framework, the demand for justification can be met. The notion of a God who has created our cognitive faculties, and who has created us for a certain kind of life, gives us a reason to trust our capacity to discern how to live our lives. Moreover, the notion of a God that is involved in history and calls humans to action also gives us a reason to think that we can have some true moral beliefs. These means of acquiring moral beliefs – be that God’s creation, God’s call, or God’s assistance – have a connection to the truth of moral beliefs, meaning that these reasons are not threatened by undermining arguments. So, given a Christian framework, we have reasons to trust our moral capacity and can therefore justifiably believe that we have true moral beliefs. In what follows, I will turn to questions of explanation. 5.6.2 Explaining Correlation A quest for explanation is a quest for understanding. When asking for an explanation, we want to know why something is the case. One way of explaining something is to show how this particular thing fits together with the whole, how it fits together with other things we hold to be true. Let me do a brief summary and evaluation of Parfit’s explanation. Parfit explains the correlation between our moral beliefs and moral truths by appealing to how this correlation fits well with our beliefs about evolution, about how humans have been selected for rationality. However, this explanation does not seem to be comprehensive enough. It makes us understand why we are creatures with procedural rationality but not why we are creatures with substantive rationality. Moreover, the fact that Parfit on the one hand rejects that natural selection has influenced our

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moral beliefs – which he takes to be a distorting influence – and on the other hand affirms an influence through advantageous evaluative tendencies, leads at best to a tension in his theory and at worst an inconsistency. Above, I gave some reasons why humans, given some theistic beliefs, have reason to trust their ability to engage in moral reasoning and attain true moral beliefs. These reasons also function as explanations. These reasons show how the belief that we can trust our moral capacity fits together with other theistic beliefs, other things the Christian theologian holds to be true. The thesis that God has created the cognitive abilities of humans, that humans are created for a certain kind of life, and that God calls humans to particular acts of service, makes us understand why humans have a moral capacity. The belief that humans have a trustworthy moral capacity fits very well with these theistic beliefs. A moral capacity is implied, if not entailed, by these theistic beliefs: if humans’ cognitive capacities are created by God, and humans are capable of receiving vocation from God, then it is to be expected that humans have a good amount of moral beliefs that correspond to moral facts. I have earlier shown how Lipton makes a distinction between lovely explanations and likely explanations. A lovely explanation is one that provides understanding, and as loveliness is a symptom of likeliness, a lovely explanation will also be likely to be true. I take these last two paragraphs to show that a theistic framework provides a lovelier explanation than Parfit’s non-theistic framework. Moreover, it is also possible to demonstrate that a theistic explanation is more likely than Parfit’s nontheistic explanation. The question I want to draw attention to is the following: under what conditions would we expect a correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts?132 Let’s first consider the condition that Parfit proposes, namely natural selection. Parfit holds that natural selection has had an influence on human aims and evaluative tendencies. As Street’s Darwinian dilemma shows, this influence must either have been related to moral truths or not related to moral truths. As it is implausible to suggest that the influence is related to moral truth, one must assume that it is not truth-related. In consequence, Parfit assumes that the influence of natural selection on human evaluative tendencies is a distorting influence. As human moral beliefs are the product of these tendencies, they also have been affected by the distorting influence. The point, then, is that the likelihood of natural selection giving humans moral beliefs that correspond to moral facts is 132

See Swinburne, The Existence of God, 215–18.

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rather low. As Street says, it must be treated as a remarkable coincidence.133 Now, this is not to say that human moral beliefs are incorrect. At one point, Parfit says that even if moral beliefs were directly produced by natural selection, these beliefs need not be mistaken but could correspond to moral facts.134 It is true that moral beliefs, produced by natural selection, could correspond to moral facts. But pointing out that there could be a correlation does not raise the likelihood of there being a correlation. This conclusion merely points out that the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts is unexpected; it does not provide an explanation but points out the need for one. So, given the influence of natural selection, the likelihood of a correlation between moral facts and moral beliefs is rather low. Consider the case that there is a God who is capable of creating humans with the ability to acquire moral beliefs, and who intends to do this. In that case, it is no massive coincidence that humans are able to acquire moral beliefs. Rather, a certain correlation between moral facts and moral beliefs should be expected. Given the existence of God, then, the likelihood of our moral beliefs corresponding to moral facts would be quite high, higher than the likelihood of the correlation occurring given natural selection. Now, let me put this more formally. Let P stand for probability, C for correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts, Ns for natural selection, and the symbol | stand for “given.” As I have argued, P(C|Ns) is lower than P(C|God).135 So, a theistic explanation makes the correlation more probable than Parfit’s non-theistic explanation, meaning that the theistic explanation is the likeliest explanation. Being the likeliest explanation has a noteworthy implication, namely that one can make an inference to the truth of this explanation. According to the so-called likelihood principle, if some matter of fact is more probable on one hypothesis than on another, the occurrence of this matter of fact will support the one hypothesis over the other.136 So, if the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts is more probable given God than given natural selection, this correlation will support theism over Parfit’s non-theistic alternative. In formal terms: P(C|Ns) < P(C|God) → P(Ns|C) < P(God|C). In plain English, one can conclude that the correla133

Street, “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value,” 132. Parfit, On What Matters, 2:532. See also Enoch, Taking Morality Seriously, 168– 75; Skarsaune, “Darwin and Moral Realism.” 135 One could of course also include natural selection here, saying P(Mb|Ns & God) without changing anything. 136 Collins, “The Teleological Argument,” 205. 134

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tion between moral beliefs and moral facts supports the hypothesis of theism. I will call this a theistic argument from moral epistemology. Note that this argument does not require that P(C|Ns)=0. That is, it does not require that the influence of natural selection on our moral belief leads to moral scepticism. The conclusion only requires that the correlation is more probable given theism than non-theism. The formulation of this theistic argument may be familiar to some. I have not come across any moral arguments formulated this way, but there are other theistic arguments with this structure. The most familiar arguments that employ this structure is the fine-tuning arguments for the existence of God. Such arguments will often proceed by first showing that a fine-tuned universe is more probable given theism than given nontheism, and then conclude that a fine-tuned universe supports theism over non-theism.137 Moreover, Alvin Plantinga presents a theistic argument with a very similar structure. Plantinga develops a theory of knowledge, arguing that a belief is warranted if it is produced by cognitive faculties functioning properly. Plantinga argues that the probability of human rationality functioning properly is higher given theism than given naturalism, so that human rationality supports theism over naturalism.138 Formally, it can be put like this: P(R|N) < P(R|God). Now, I think my argument from moral epistemology is stronger than Plantinga’s argument from rationality. As shown above, a non-theist like Parfit can present a quite plausible explanation of human procedural rationality, but not of the moral faculty of substantive rationality. Accordingly, P(Substantive R|Ns) is lower than P(Procedural R|Ns), meaning that an argument from moral epistemology will more clearly support theism than an argument from rationality. 5.6.3 Creation, Sin, Redemption As shown earlier, Parfit is troubled by moral disagreement. If two people have conflicting moral beliefs, there must be an error somewhere. Parfit writes that people often have conflicting moral beliefs because they do not know all the relevant non-moral facts, or because they have not 137 See for instance Collins, “The Teleological Argument”; Friederich, “Fine-Tuning.” The term “a fine-tuned universe” by Robin Collins is taken to mean that the laws and constants of physics are finely tuned in the sense that if these constants had been just slightly different, life would have been impossible. 138 Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function, chap. 12; Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief, 227–40; Plantinga, Where the Conflict Really Lies, chap. 10.

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carefully reflected on the arguments.139 But there might be cases in which both parties are reasoning as best they can, trying to take into account all relevant facts, and the disagreement is still present. Such persistent moral disagreement is problematic for Parfit. He writes that if we have no more reason to suspect an error in other persons’ minds than in our own, this disagreement “give us reason to doubt that we are the people whose beliefs are true.”140 Disagreement might even give us reason to doubt whether any of these conflicting beliefs are true, or even if there are moral truths altogether.141 Parfit’s solution to the problem of moral disagreement is an optimistic moral epistemology, an optimism that careful moral reasoning will resolve moral disagreement. He puts forth what he calls the convergence claim: If everyone knew all of the relevant nonnormative facts, used the same normative concepts, understood and carefully reflected on the relevant arguments, and was not affected by any distorting influence, we would have similar normative beliefs.142

Most of this chapter has dealt with the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts, with explaining moral knowledge. This correlation is presumably not perfect. For my own part, I do not expect that all of my moral beliefs are true. So, a moral theory has to account for not only moral knowledge but also moral error. Parfit perceives moral disagreement and moral error as a threat, not only as a threat to our confidence in our own moral beliefs but also as a threat to the truth of moral realism. His response to this threat is an optimistic moral epistemology, expressed in the convergence claim. Let me make the following claim: this optimism is too optimistic. I might be wrong in this claim. Parfit has some hopes that disagreement will come to an end and our moral beliefs will converge.143 However, moral disagreement has always been present, and it is not many among us who see themselves as morally impeccable. A moral theory should be able to explain why humans are liable to persistent error, explain the human fallibility both to know the good and to do the good. At the very least, a moral theory should make room for this imperfection. As Parfit develops a moral epistemology with an infallible 139 140 141 142 143

Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit, Parfit,

On On On On On

What What What What What

Matters, 2:552–53; Parfit, On What Matters, 3:309. Matters, 2:427. Matters, 1:418. Matters, 2:570. Matters, 3:435.

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potential, he does not leave much room for such imperfection. Moral error is not explained but merely explained away. Now, let me present some theological resources that can help us understand moral fallibility, and do so without making us doubt whether any of our moral beliefs are true. According to Christian theology, the human condition is not only determined by being created in the image of God. Humanity is also under the condition of sin. Some theologians have defined sin as “that which God does not want done,”144 but that is not to say that sin is only a description of human acts. Sin is also a description of a state in which human beings find themselves in. So, sin is an inescapable and encompassing reality, affecting the human being. I want to draw attention to a particular effect of sin, namely what has been called “the noetic effect of sin,” the effect of sin upon the human mind. Influenced by sin, humans set aims that they ought not to set. According to a traditional Augustinian conception of sin, sin affects humans so that they no longer direct their lives towards God, the highest good, but instead love lesser worldly goods.145 Higher goods are replaced by lower goods. Instead of living a life directed towards the highest good, humans live lives directed towards themselves, living self-oriented and selfdirected lives.146 So, sin has an effect on human aims. Under the condition of sin, the human capacity to set appropriate aims and evaluating competing goods properly, is warped. This is not to say that humans typically wake up in the morning and decide “today, I want to do three things: make breakfast, take a walk, and idolatrously love myself instead of God.” The point is rather that humanity is in such a condition that selfcenteredness comes naturally – as well as gluttony, greed, sloth, and pride – and that we take ourselves to have good reasons for having these aims.147 So, there is a noetic effect of sin upon human substantive rationality. Moreover, there is a noetic effect of sin upon human procedural rationality. The seventeenth-century philosopher Blaise Pascal, belonging to the Augustinian tradition, writes about sin as self-deception. That we deceive ourselves has consequences for our theoretical reasoning. While it is often prudent to seek the truth, as that will help us carry out our projects, truth is often unwelcome when it opposes our desires, projects, 144

Jenson, Systematic Theology, 2:133. See also Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.2:404–5. Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, 2:243–45; Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 20. 146 It might also be a problem, a sin, that some people love themselves too little. 147 Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 32. 145

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or aims, giving us a motive to reject the truth. We may embrace alternative beliefs, beliefs that might be false but are more welcome because they support our cause. So, we might deceive ourselves because we do not find truth attractive enough.148 Such self-deception might have religious relevance. The religious person may deceive himself in his approach to God, constructing a notion of God based on one’s own desires, aims, or agenda, thereby creating God in one’s own image. Or people may conceive of God as something that does not concern them – for instance as some impersonal abstract object rather than a living God, or maybe as a creator that does not care about his creatures, as a permissive grandparent that accepts everything, or as a fierce judge that accepts no one – which is deceptive in the sense that one is fleeing from God rather than seeking God. Moreover, self-deception might have moral relevance. Parfit holds that everyone will be in moral agreement if they are careful in their reasoning and take into account all that is relevant. The human tendency of self-deception casts doubts on this claim. Humans are fallen, but they are not demonic. While it is true that humanity is under the condition of sin, this is not the whole truth. The Christian view is not that sin has eradicated human likeness to God. There is a duality to humanity. Humans are not all good, or all bad, but both great and wretched. Humans are under the distorting influence of sin and display a likeness to God. Therefore, a distorting influence need not warrant moral scepticism, as Parfit worries. Seeing humans as created by God gives us reason to say that humans are able to recognise the good, at least to some extent, despite any distorting influence. Now, I think this duality fits better with how we experience the human condition and our engagement in moral matters. Parfit’s epistemological optimism seems to reflect an ideal world more than the real world. I take this theological explanation of the human moral capacity to be more comprehensive than the explanation Parfit aims at, comprehensive in the sense that it not only explains moral knowledge but also moral error. This duality of creation and sin can provide some understanding not only of the human fallibility in knowing the good but also of the fallibility in doing the good. The moral ideal does not seem to be within reach. Hardly anyone seems to be able to consistently do what is right. Even the apostle Paul admits he fails to do the good that he wants.149 Philosopher John Hare describes this as a moral gap, a gap between the moral demand 148 149

Wood, 12, 38. See also Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief, 212–13. Romans 7:19.

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and the human ability to meet this demand. This gap was anticipated in chapter 3, where Kant held that ought implies can, creating the following problem: is it not unreasonable to hold people accountable to standards that they are unable to reach? If we grant this is unreasonable or perhaps even incoherent, we may set out to bridge the gap between duty and ability. One way of doing so could be to acknowledge our limited ability to do the good and lower the moral demand.150 Another way could be to keep the moral demand high and insist that we are able to reach it. Parfit’s moral optimism seems to fit this view, and at times he expresses quite demanding moral views: The money that we spend on an evening’s entertainment might instead save some poor person from death, blindness, or chronic and severe pain. If we believe that, in our treatment of these poorest people, we are not acting wrongly, we are like those who believed that they were justified in having slaves.151

Parfit upholds a demanding morality and insists that we ought to uphold it. This view faces a couple of problems. First, there is the problem of upholding demands that cannot be met. As Kant points out, it is problematic to say that someone ought to do the undoable. Ought implies can. Saying that people ought to uphold the demanding moral requirements presupposes that people are able to do so, but that is an implausible assumption. The second problem is more of a psychological concern. Keeping a demanding moral standard and insisting that humans ought to comply with it, leads to a burdensome moral theory. That a theory is burdensome does not mean it is false, but one should be aware of the psychological implications. Confronted with this demanding conception of morality, the human effort will hardly ever be sufficient. Humans will constantly fall short of the standard, producing a constant experience of failure. So, there is a psychological price to pay for upholding this demand. Let me sketch out how the moral gap can be bridged by God’s grace and God’s assistance. God’s grace may enable us to uphold a demanding moral standard without getting overwhelmed by guilt or shame or a feeling of insufficiency. Through his gracious acts, God offers both forgiveness and acceptance. God sees us as “in Christ” and does not count our imperfections and shortcomings as part of our new identity. If seeing the world as it really is, is to see it from God’s point of view, then seeing 150 151

Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, chap. 6. Parfit, On What Matters, 3:436.

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oneself as one really is, is to see oneself from God’s point of view.152 If a person’s view of himself is determined by his imperfections and shortcomings, then he is not truly seeing himself but rather engaging in selfdeception. So, a gracious God who accepts humans regardless of all his shortcomings may make the moral demand psychologically possible. God’s grace may enable us to hold that humans can meet the moral demand. As seen earlier, Kant held that human moral shortcoming could render his moral theory inconsistent: if we cannot achieve the highest good, then we ought not. Kant solved this by arguing that perfection is possible not in this life but in the heavenly life. Now, I think Hare is correct in pointing out that the problem of human moral shortcoming is not solved merely by adding more time. It is doubtful that perfection will be achieved if we only live long enough. A better solution, which is the one Hare suggests, is God’s assistance.153 God is not only the creator but also the redeemer, the one who sets humans free. Solving the problem of human shortcoming, even in the heavenly life, requires God’s redeeming power, a God who makes all things new, renewing our hearts and our minds. Now, God’s assistance is not only restricted to the heavenly life. It is also already present, through the work of the Spirit. But God’s renewal is completed in the heavenly life; humans will not be completely free from the condition of sin until then, and perfection is not achievable until then. While God’s renewal may eventually enable humans to uphold the moral demand, it might seem paradoxical to hold that humans should try to uphold a demanding morality in this earthly life in which human perfection is unattainable. Hare turns to the following Augustinian ideal: “God bids us do what we cannot, that we may know what we ought to seek from him.”154 Contrary to appearances, this ideal does not violate Kant’s principle that ought implies can. What is impossible is not doing what God wills of us, but doing it on our own, without his help. So, our moral shortcoming makes us see that we need help in transforming ourselves. To sum up, seeing humanity determined by both creation and sin, and eventually redemption, gives a better understanding of human moral shortcoming than what Parfit’s optimistic rationality does. It gives a morally comprehensive epistemological explanation, as it provides understanding of both moral knowledge and moral error. It can also account 152

Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 218. Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, 38–68; Hare, Why Bother Being Good? 54–74. 154 Hare, God and Morality, 83. Hare quotes Augustine, “On Grace and Free Will,” 16, 32. 153

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for the human fallibility in doing the good. Instead of bridging the moral gap by insisting that humans are able to meet the moral demand, a theological framework can make room for moral fallibility, acknowledging that there is a gap between duty and performance. A theological framework can also do this in a way that is consistent with upholding a moral ideal, and at the same time as a way that is psychologically acceptable.

Part Three: God and the Good My thesis in this book is that Parfit’s metaethical theory is improved when integrated into a theistic framework. This thesis would be challenged if a theistic framework gave rise to new metaethical problems, problems that Parfit’s theory do not face in a non-theistic framework. My aim in this third part of the book is to give an account of the relation between God and the good, showing that the notion of God is not only consistent with moral realism, but fits very well with it. I start by discussing a dilemma from Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro. This dilemma gives rise to several questions concerning God’s role in a metaethical theory, challenging whether the notion of God is consistent with moral realism. Next, I present a solution, and I do so in two stages. First, I lay out a solution based on the work of divine command ethicist Robert Adams. Second, I show how this solution can be improved philosophically – showing how both Adams’s value theory and moral theory could benefit from Parfit’s account of reasons – and how it can be improved theologically, keeping Adams’s value theory but replacing his moral theory, arguing that the moral life does not consist in obeying commands but in imitating Christ.

6. THE EUTHYPHRO DILEMMA In this chapter, I will present an argument from Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro, an argument saying that God cannot play an explanatory role in a theory of value or in a theory of ethics. Philosopher Philip Kitcher takes this argument to “demolish the thesis that religion can provide a particular type of foundation for ethics.”1 If Kitcher is correct, this argument would seriously challenge my thesis that Parfit’s metaethics is improved in a theistic framework. In the following, I present Socrates’s argument in Euthyphro. Then I will show that this argument presents a theist with a dilemma concerning how to describe the relation between God and morality, and show why both horns of the dilemma are problematic for the theist. In the dialogue Euthyphro, Socrates asks Euthyphro to tell him what the nature of piety is. Euthyphro answers that piety is what the gods love. After hearing this answer, Socrates presents Euthyphro with a choice: is the pious good because it is loved by the gods, or do the gods love the pious because it is good?2 Socrates helps Euthyphro to see that the first alternative is problematic, as the fact that the gods love something cannot explain why piety is good. After all, they have just talked about how the gods love all sorts of things, and that the gods even disagree among themselves about what is good.3 To opt for the second alternative would be to say that the gods love that which is worthy of love, that they love that which is good. Plato argues that this alternative does not identify the essence of piety: that the gods love piety is merely an accident of piety, not its essence, as the pious would still be good even if the gods did not love it. Plato himself was not troubled by this dilemma. In fact, Plato does not present his question to Euthyphro as a dilemma as he only sees one of the alternatives as problematic. Socrates quickly gets Euthyphro to embrace the second alternative, saying that the good is independent of the gods’ love. However, a theist might still conceive of Socrates’s question as a dilemma, at least if the theist believes that there has to be a connection between God and morality. 1 2 3

Kitcher, The Ethical Project, 115. Euthyphro, 10a, in Plato, “Plato in Twelve Volumes.” Euthyphro, 7e.

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Socrates’s question may be reformulated in many ways so as to present a dilemma for various moral theories.4 Let me show how it can be reformulated so as to present a dilemma as how to describe the relation between God and moral realism. This book presupposes that there are moral facts. It is a moral fact that one should not kill. This book also presupposes – which is not always the case with the Greek gods – that there is a match between God’s will and moral facts. God wants that which is good; God wants that one should not kill. The dilemma, then, is whether the theist should ground moral facts in God’s will, or ground God’s will in moral facts. As a modern Socrates might put it: is something a moral fact because God wills it, or does God will it because it is a moral fact? To apply the dilemma on a specific case, one could ask whether genocide is wrong because God forbids it, or whether God forbids genocide because it is wrong. Both alternatives, either saying that the wrongness of the act is dependent on God or saying that the wrongness of the act is independent of God, have their problems. I will start by considering the first alternative.

6.1 First Alternative: Good Because God Wills It The view that God creates or constitutes moral facts is a position that fits well with the common theistic belief that God is the creator and sustainer of all things.5 If moral facts fall under the scope of “all things,” then it follows that their existence is due to some act of God.6 It must be said that there are different views on what means God uses to create moral values. Some appeal to the divine will,7 others to divine intention,8 command,9 emotion,10 or desire.11 I will appeal to God’s will. This choice does not 4 Note that the Euthyphro dilemma is also a dilemma for other theories of value, such as subjectivism (Kauppinen, “Moral Sentimentalism,” pt. 4.2), constructivism (ShaferLandau, Moral Realism, 42–43), and response-dependent theories of value (Johnston, “Dispositional Theories of Value,” 171–74). 5 This horn of the dilemma can be read in a strong way or in a weak way. A strong reading would be that being willed by God is a necessary condition for being morally good. A weak reading would be that being willed by God is a sufficient reason for being morally good. I take the dilemma to invite a strong reading of this first horn. 6 For different views on what falls under the scope of “all things,” see Craig, God Over All. 7 King, “William of Ockham’s Ethical Theory.” 8 Quinn, “Obligation, Divine Commands and Abraham’s Dilemma.” 9 Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again.” 10 Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, chap. 5. 11 Miller, “Divine Desire Theory and Obligation.”

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imply that I support a divine command theory of morality – I do not, more on that later, so feel free to read any preferred alternative. But no matter how the theist sees God constitute moral facts, the theist will face at least two problems if he holds that morality is dependent on God, namely the problem of contingency and the problem of God’s goodness. 6.1.1 The Problem of Contingency The problem of contingency is touched upon by Plato when he points out that the gods love all sorts of things. The problem of contingency may be presented as follows: start from the assumption that morality depends on what God wills. This means that if God wills x, then x is morally good. But if God’s will is free, free in the sense that there are no constraints on God’s will, then God can will anything. One can imagine God creating moral facts in a similar manner as a monarch creates legal facts. The monarch may create any law he wants, and God may create any moral law he wants, making it morally wrong to steal, to murder, and to worship other gods. And if God can will anything, then anything can be good.12 So, moral facts become contingent in the sense that nothing is necessarily good or bad, and anything could be good or bad. How is this problematic? One reason for saying it is problematic is that goodness becomes something entirely different than what we normally mean when we use the word. If moral facts depend on what God wills, and God can will anything, then there is a possible world where murder is morally good, where torturing children is morally good, and where counting leaves is morally good. In other words; moral goodness becomes a property that can be ascribed to literally anything! It is this problem, the problem of contingency, that makes Parfit claim that normative facts cannot “be grounded in claims about … God.”13 The reason is simply that Parfit cannot accept that all moral facts are contingent. He holds that some normative truths are necessary truths, such that “not even God could make these claims false.”14 I think Parfit is correct to say that not all moral fact can be contingent, and I will therefore not propose any theistic grounding of morality that would imply that morality is fully contingent. In the following I will expand on why I think such 12 This follows from the formula □ (p → q) → ◇ (p) → ◇(q). Le Poidevin, “Euthyphro and the Goodness of God Incarnate,” 208. 13 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:444. 14 Parfit, 2:479. Parfit seems to presuppose that their necessity is not grounded in God.

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a theistic grounding is problematic, consider a possible defence, and argue that the defence fails. The scholastic theologian William of Ockham endorses a divine command theory of morality, holding that moral facts are grounded in God’s command. Goodness, he argues, is dependent on God’s free will. What makes an act have the quality of being morally good is not the act itself, none of the qualities of the act, but the fact that the act is commanded by God.15 This is to say that the moral quality of an act is distinguished from the act itself. One and the same act can be either good or bad dependent on what God commands. As a consequence, Ockham accepts that there are possible worlds in which God wants all humans to hate him, where God wants us to do things that are impossible, and where God (contrary to what Descartes thought) wants to constantly deceive us. If God wants me to do something, then it is morally good to do it.16 As such, to say that an act is good would not tell us anything about the quality of the act, it would only tell us that God wills the act in question. Now, the question that needs to be addressed is whether it is acceptable to separate the moral quality of the act from the act itself. Modern divine command ethicists are not willing to do so.17 One reason why they are not willing to separate the moral quality of the act from the act itself is based on the intuition that there are some things that cannot be good no matter what anyone, even God, has to say about it.18 Take for instance the case of murdering your own son just for the fun of it. Surely, such an act does not just happen to be morally wrong; it is necessarily morally wrong. A second reason is that such a separation, in which anything can qualify as good, contradict the supervenience thesis. The supervenience thesis in ethics can be formulated as follows: if two possible entities are alike in all base respects, they are alike in all ethical respects.19 This thesis has played a key role in arguments for and against

15 “But the act of hating God, as far as sheer being in it is concerned, is not the same thing as the wickedness and evilness of the act. Therefore, God can cause whatever pertains to the act per se of hating or rejecting God without causing any wickedness or evilness in the act. … The hatred of God, theft, adultery, and actions similar … can even be meritoriously performed by an earthly pilgrim if they should come under a divine precept” (Ockham, On the Four Books of the Sentences [of Peter Lombard], in Idziak, Divine Command Morality, 55–57). 16 Adams, “Ockham on Will, Nature, and Morality,” 266. For a defence of this view, see Joyce, “Theistic Ethics and the Euthyphro Dilemma.” 17 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 35–36; Quinn, “Divine Command Theory.” 18 Joyce, “Theistic Ethics and the Euthyphro Dilemma,” 62. 19 McPherson, “Supervenience in Ethics,” pt. 1.2.

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different views about ethics.20 To get a grip on what the supervenience thesis says, consider an example from aesthetics: Painting A is a beautiful painting. If painting A and painting B are similar in all respects – similar colours, shapes, brush strokes, etc. – then painting B must also be a beautiful painting. Returning to the case of ethics, the supervenience thesis says that there can be no ethical difference between acts X and Y without there being some natural or non-ethical difference between them. But if whatever God wills is morally good, then this supervenience thesis no longer holds. If God’s will is free, then God could frequently change his mind on whether for instance murdering is an acceptable hobby or not.21 This would mean that two acts that are equal in all natural respects are not necessarily morally equal. So, if one wants to hold on to the supervenience thesis, which generally is taken to be both an obvious and uncontroversial thesis,22 then one must reject the thesis that anything can be good as long as God wants it. Moral philosopher Richard Joyce argues that it is really not that troublesome for the theist to hold that morality is contingent. Consider the following case.23 If I tell you that our mutual friend Amber might be a serial killer, you would naturally be quite surprised and alarmed. But suppose that I also told you that it is not very likely that Amber is a serial killer. In fact, I am 100 per cent certain that she is not a serial killer. All I want to say is that there is a possible world where she is a serial killer, which is to say that being a law-abiding citizen is not an essential property of Amber. When all this is said, the claim that our good friend might be a serial killer turns out to be not so alarming after all. In the same way, Joyce says, the claim that God might want us to murder one another is not of much interest. Even if the wrongness of murder and mayhem is only contingent, this should not undermine our complete confidence that these things are in fact morally wrong. We can be perfectly confident that God does not want anything of that sort. But why can we be confident that God does not want anything of that sort? Because if God is a wise and rational being, it seems safe to assume that God has good reasons to exercise his will one way or another. Joyce does not want to speculate too much into what kind of reasons God might have, but he suggests that God might want humans to flourish and be happy. God’s reasons for exercising his will could then be based on certain utilitarian calculations: he wants things 20 21 22 23

For examples, see McPherson, “Supervenience in Ethics.” Mawson, “Morality and Religion,” 1035. McPherson, “Supervenience in Ethics,” pt. 2. Joyce, “Theistic Ethics and the Euthyphro Dilemma,” 64.

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that maximise happiness.24 So, if God’s will can be based on reason, then it should not worry the theist that morality is contingent. Has Joyce managed to give the theist a way out of the problem of contingency? I would argue that he has not managed to do so. The theist who opts for the first horn of the Euthyphro dilemma, namely that moral facts are based on God’s will, cannot at the same time hold that God’s will is based on certain reasons. To see why, consider Parfit’s conception of substantive rationality. If God wants certain aims or goals because there are reasons counting in favour of these goals, then God is substantively rational: his will is based on certain normative reasons. However, these reasons then become more fundamental than the will of God. Consider the example that it is morally wrong to sacrifice children. This is morally wrong because God wills it to be wrong. But if God’s will is based on a reason, for instance love, then it follows that love is the most fundamental reason for why it is wrong to sacrifice children, not the will of God. Following the principle of transitivity (if p because of q and q because of r, then p because of r), love becomes the real reason not to sacrifice children, not the will of God. So, if one says that God’s will is based on some substantive reasons, then one has lapsed over to the other horn of the Euthyphro dilemma. If this first horn is to be maintained, namely that moral facts are grounded in the will of God, then God cannot have a normative reason to exercise his will one way rather than another.25 A possible reply to this could be to argue that God’s will is based on procedural rationality and not substantive rationality. That would make God’s will morally fundamental, and not an external normative reason, but one could still say that God’s will is based on reasons in the sense that it is consistent, takes into consideration relevant non-normative facts, and so on. However, this reply falls into Parfit’s critique of subjectivism: one can merely be procedurally rational no matter what one wants. It is along this line of thought that Philip Kitcher critiques the view that morality depends on God’s will. He holds that a will that is not based on what one has reasons to want is an arbitrary will. If God has no (substantive) reason to want what he wants, then God could want whatever. This arbitrary will gives a moral theory that looks very much like subjectivism, a theory in which goodness simply consists in whatever pleases the most powerful 24 Joyce, 57. See also Alston, “Some Suggestions for Divine Command Theorists,” 317–18. 25 This position is defended by Martin Luther. See Luther, The Bondage of the Will, sec. 88. See also Kawall, “Moral Realism and Arbitrariness,” 111; Sullivan, “Arbitrariness, Divine Commands, and Morality,” 34–35.

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being.26 Kitcher’s main point, which I take to be correct, is as follows: if God’s will is arbitrary, then it no longer has any moral force. To arrive at this point, Kitcher asks himself the following question: should a person follow orders given by this arbitrary divine will? One might have prudential reasons to follow divine orders. God is, after all, a very powerful being. If you do as he wants, you may be given eternal reward; and if you do not follow his will, you may be heading towards eternal punishment. Knowing this gives you a prudential reason to follow God’s will. But it does not give you a moral reason. The mere power of a commander has no bearing on whether you ought to follow his commands. Just as one cannot excuse the performance of every act commanded by a powerful human emperor by correctly stating “I was only following orders,” it is hard to see how one should be able to justify the performance of any act by correctly stating “I was only following God’s will.” So, according to Kitcher, the theist who insists that whatever God wills is good is in fact not in a situation in which he can say one ought to obey God’s commands. The theist might be able to give an account of how God’s commands are obligatory (after all, God is a powerful ruler) but not how they are moral. Submission to authority is, at best, ethically neutral.27 6.1.2 The Problem of God’s Goodness A second problem with the view that it is God’s will that constitutes moral facts is how to make sense of the thesis that God is good. God is often described as being morally good in much the same ways as other agents are described as being morally good: if God acts, God’s actions can be described as good. If God is an agent, he can be described as a morally good agent.28 However, if something is good because God wills it, then God’s goodness seems trivial. Peter Singer points out that if goodness is defined as “what God wills,” then claims concerning God’s goodness become empty of meaning.29 To say that God’s will is good would be to say that God’s will is in accordance with God’s will. To say 26 Kitcher is paraphrasing a point from Leibnitz’s Discourse on Metaphysics. See Leibniz, Discourse on Metaphysics and Other Essays, 2. 27 Kitcher, The Ethical Project, 166–70. See also Antony, “Atheism as Perfect Piety,” 75; Russell, Why I Am Not a Christian, 9. 28 Not everyone will describe God as a moral agent. See for instance Davies, The Reality of God and the Problem of Evil, chap. 4. Davies argues that God’s goodness should not be understood as moral goodness but as perfection. I agree with Davies that God’s goodness is more than moral, but not that it is less. 29 Singer, Practical Ethics, 3. For a discussion, see Clark, “God’s Law and Morality.”

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that God is good would be to say that God is the way he wants to be or that God approves of himself. To say that God does what is morally good would be to say that God does what he wants to do. The last two of these statements are not completely empty of meaning. A theist will probably believe that God does what God wants and that God approves of himself. But it is not a truism that God does these things. After all, it is not difficult to imagine a person (or a Greek god) who suffers from weakness of the will or who does not approve of himself.30 While statements concerning God’s goodness are not empty tautologies, there are at least three issues left for the theist. First, one should ask oneself what the theist has in mind when he says that God is good. Surely, he does not merely intend to say that God practices what he preaches – whatever that may be? While it is not a truism that God practices what he preaches, this does not capture what people seem to have in mind when they say that God is good. Typically, God’s goodness is meant to be admirable. And while it is a good thing to live up to one’s standards, God living up to a standard that God has set for himself is not by itself all that admirable. Second, it is unclear whether the thesis that God is morally good in virtue of following his own will is compatible with moral realism. When Parfit criticises subjectivism, he criticises the view that goodness consists in that which the moral agent wants. Saying that God’s goodness consists in whatever God wants looks very much like subjectivism, a sort of divine subjectivism, and subjectivism is not compatible with moral realism.31 A third issue is that it would be pointless for a religious person to praise God for his good actions. Why? Because if God would have wanted to do something completely different, maybe the exact opposite of what he had done, he would have been doing an equally good deed. No matter what action God would choose to perform, the action would be in accordance with his will and would therefore be a morally good action. The statement “what God does is good” would therefore not say anything about the quality of God’s actions. This statement would not be enough to distinguish God from a tyrant, or from the devil, and would therefore not be something that makes God worthy of worship.32 30

Joyce, “Theistic Ethics and the Euthyphro Dilemma,” 59. This is not to say that moral realism must be conceived of as independent of God. The independence clause of moral realism is typically understood in the sense that morality is independent of humans, such that realism allows for morality to be dependent upon God. But it seems to be easier to uphold realism and defend the view that human moral goodness depends on God’s will, than to uphold realism and defend the view that divine moral goodness depends on a divine will. 32 Leibniz, “Meditation on the Common Concept of Justice,” 45–46. 31

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6.2 Second Alternative: God Wills It Because It Is Good The second horn of the Euthyphro dilemma states that God wills something because he has normative reasons to do so. For instance, God wants to be merciful because it is a moral fact that mercy is good, and God wants humans not to inflict suffering because it is a moral fact that suffering is bad. This horn of the dilemma does not entail a wholly contingent morality and is as such a better fit with Parfit’s metaethics. Moreover, it makes good sense of the statement that God is morally good. That God is morally good can be taken to mean that God always wants and always does what is good. If God is thought of as all-knowing, then this means that God is the perfect moral judge, the ultimate ideal observer who always knows what is good. Opting for this horn is to follow in Plato’s footsteps, holding that moral facts do not depend on God and his will. But this alternative also has its problems. First, it challenges some of the attributes that I have earlier ascribed to God, such as God being sovereign and unconditioned. Second, this alternative also makes God more or less irrelevant in a moral theory. Let’s first consider how this alternative challenges some of the attributes typically ascribed to God. God’s sovereignty is challenged if God is not the source of moral facts. There would be something existing independent of God, something that God did not create and does not sustain, and therefore something over which God is not sovereign. Moreover, God’s independence is challenged if God is not the source of moral facts. At the end of chapter 2, I laid out Tillich’s description of God as unconditioned. God is that which is not conditioned or dependent on anything else. If moral facts exist independent of God, then God’s goodness would be dependent upon the extent to which God conforms to an independent moral standard. It might not be worrisome that an attribute of God is conditioned upon something – God being creator is dependent upon creation, and God’s relation to his people is dependent upon his people – but it is worrisome if the attribute in question is a necessary attribute. If it is necessary that God is good, and God’s goodness is dependent, then God himself becomes dependent.33 Additionally, moral facts existing independent of God challenges the view that God is – in the words of Tillich – the “ultimate concern,” the view that nothing is of greater importance, or deserves more reverence, than God.34 If moral reasons are conceived 33 Murray and Rea, An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, 247; Plantinga, Does God Have a Nature? 32. 34 Tillich, Systematic Theology, 1:11.

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of as overriding other reasons for action, then there would be something independent of God that is also of overriding importance to God, something that humans should have greater reverence for than God.35 The second problem with this horn of the dilemma is that in displacing God as the source of morality, one is also diminishing to what extend God can serve as an explanation of morality. As Socrates points out in his dialogue with Euthyphro, this horn of the dilemma implies that good and bad would be equally good and bad if God did not will anything, or if God did not exist at all. If God is not the source of moral facts, God is not their explanation either. As such, it would be just as little need for a theory of Christian ethics as there is need for a theory of Christian mathematics. One should rather follow Plato’s approach to a theory of morality, not being concerned with the gods but with the good. The point, then, is that this horn of the dilemma makes it very difficult to argue that God can play any constructive role in a metaethical debate.36 It provides very little room – if any – to do what I try to do in this book, namely to think theologically about morality and to argue that theism can provide a better explanation of morality than non-theism. Opting for this horn of the dilemma is a poor fit for what I set out to do in this book.

35 Karl Barth is onto this point when commenting on the value of life. He notes that if this value is taken as a supreme value in its own right, then one has introduced a kind of second god. Barth, Church Dogmatics, III.4:398. 36 Still, God could play some role in a moral theory. Without taking God to be the originator of moral facts, one could hold that God is a transmitter of them in the sense that God helps us distinguish moral truth from falsity. As such, the notion of God could play a role in a moral epistemology. But this is a limited role. For instance, in our moral deliberation, it seems to be an epistemological detour to first try to discover what God’s will is, hoping that this in turn leads to discovering moral facts. See Goodman, “Ethics and God,” 138; Wierenga, “A Defensible Divine Command Theory,” 396.

7. ANSWERING EUTHYPHRO

This chapter starts with a presentation of philosopher Robert Adams’s theistic theory of value. Inspired by a Platonic theory of value, Adams answers the Euthyphro dilemma by identifying the good with God. I find Adams’s theory useful as it shows how it is possible to formulate a moral theory that upholds God as the source of moral facts while avoiding the problem of contingency and the problem of God’s goodness. It is also an ontological parsimony theory. It reduces the number of brute facts that a moral theory has to postulate by grounding value and moral facts in God. Moreover, it is a theory that fits well with Parfit’s conception of normative reasons. Parfit writes about moral facts as moral reasons. These reasons are, as seen in chapter 3, “goodness-related, or value-based” in that they are based on facts about what is good or valuable.1 This fits well with Adams’s view that God constitutes moral facts (in Adams’s terms, moral obligations) in a way that is value-based, based on God’s good nature. After presenting Adams’s theory and showing how it avoids the problem of contingency and the problem of God’s goodness, I suggest some improvements. I argue that it is not clear, on Adams’s account, what to make of the statement “God is good” and I suggest a way to clarify it. Moreover, I argue that Adams’s account of value is too Platonic. Adams holds that finite things are good insofar as they resemble the infinite good. I suggest that his theory of resemblance should not only take into account the nature of the infinite good but also the nature of the finite thing. Then I argue that Adams’s theory of the morally right and wrong, his theory of obligations, is not Platonic enough. Adams presents a divine command theory, a theory in which moral facts are seen as divine commands. Whenever Parfit considers a theistic theory of morality, it is this kind of theory he examines. However, I argue that Adams’s divine command theory is not entirely consistent, that it does not give a comprehensive enough account of moral wrongness, and that it does not cohere very well with Christian theology. I go on to suggest that a moral life does not consist in obeying commands but in resembling the good and being united with the good; that is, resembling God and being united with God. 1

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:51.

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7.1 Adams’s Answer: None of the Above The Euthyphro dilemma is frequently discussed among divine command theorists, namely the theorists who hold that moral facts follow from God’s command and thereby insist on taking the first horn of the dilemma. To avoid the problem of contingency, where God could command whatever, these thinkers usually presume that God only commands that which is good. But then the dilemma strikes again: is something good because God commands it, or does God command it because it is good? To this second dilemma, a popular reply is to opt for none of the alternatives.2 Divine command theorist Robert Adams argues that God only wants that which is good, but that it does not imply that God’s will concurs with a moral standard independent of God. Instead, he holds that the standard of goodness is God himself. This way of answering the Euthyphro dilemma is quite similar to Plato’s own answer. God plays much the same part in Adams’s value theory as the Form of the Good plays in Plato’s.3 Adams draws upon Plato’s suggestion that the sensible things in this world are likenesses, or imitations, of the forms under which they are classified. Adams sees God as the supreme good, and all particular good things are good only insofar as they have a likeness to, or a resemblance to, God. For instance, it is good for humans to be compassionate, trusting and patient, because this resembles God. This is to say that God is what constitutes values and that he is the standard of goodness all values are measured against. For an illustration, consider the standard metre bar, a platinum bar held in Paris that was previously used as the standard measure of length.4 This bar was one metre in length, and all other things could only be said to be a metre in length insofar as they resembled this standard metre bar. In the same way, everything other than God can be said to be good or bad only insofar as it resembles, or fails to resemble, God himself.5 In earlier writings, Adams presents his identification of the good with resembling God as a theory of meaning. This is to say that “good” means 2 Joyce, “Theistic Ethics and the Euthyphro Dilemma,” 62; Mawson, “Morality and Religion,” 1036. Some leading proponents of this line of reasoning are the philosophers Robert Adams, William Alston and Philip Quinn. 3 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 28. 4 One metre is no longer defined by a prototype, but by how far light travels through a vacuum in a certain time. However, one kilogram is still defined by a prototype, namely the international prototype kilogram, which is a cylinder that is held in a vault in Saint-Cloud, France. It might be better to use the kilogram as an illustration rather than the metre bar, but as the metre bar is frequently referred to in the literature, I stick with this outdated prototype. 5 Mawson, “Morality and Religion,” 1036.

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“resembles God.”6 In later writings, Adams shifts from presenting a theory of the meaning of good to a theory of the nature of good. He realises that that “good” does not mean the same as “resembles God.” But this is no worry, it is the nature of the good that he is really after. This shift in Adams’s theory is due to the work of philosopher Hilary Putnam. Putnam pointed out that the meaning of the word “water” and the meaning of the term “H20” are not identical. But while water and H20 do not mean the same thing, as the meaning of the word water includes nothing about its chemical structure, they are the same thing. The property of being water is necessarily identical to the property of being H20. So, when Adams claims that the good is identical to resembling God, he is not making a claim about semantics but a claim about metaphysics.7 When Adams answers the Euthyphro dilemma, he makes a distinction between the good and the right, and a distinction between values, which concern moral worth, and moral duties, which concern whether some action is obligatory or wrong to perform. Not all good things are obligatory to perform. It might be a good thing to volunteer at the Salvation Army, and it might be a good thing to write a PhD, but that these things are good does not entail that it is obligatory for me to do these things. So, values and duties are conceptually different. In addition to being conceptually different, Adams gives them different origins. God’s nature constitutes values, but it is God’s commands that constitute duties. Accordingly, Adams identifies moral wrongness with the property of something being contrary to God’s commands.8 This is to say that moral wrongness follows the first horn of the Euthyphro dilemma: something is morally right or morally wrong because God commands it.9 But as God’s commands are based on God’s good nature, Adams can avoid the problems of this horn of the dilemma. 7.1.1 Avoiding the Problem of Contingency The problem of contingency is that it is problematic to have a moral theory in which anything can be given the label “morally good.” A problem in Ockham’s theory is that a separation of moral qualities and natural 6

Adams, “A Modified Divine Command Theory of Ethical Wrongness.” Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 72; Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 15–18. See also Putnam, “Meaning and Reference.” 8 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 281; Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 76. 9 As indicated here, Adams equates “moral obligation” and “moral wrongness.” See also Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 232. 7

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qualities leads to a rejection of the supervenience thesis. Adams’s theory does not conflict with this thesis. He holds that something is good insofar as it resembles God. As certain natural features are what makes something resemble God, there is a connection between natural features and moral features. This means that two things that are alike in all natural respects will also be alike in all moral respects. Ockham’s moral theory implies that nothing is necessarily good or bad. Adams’s theory does not have this implication. As Adams holds that something is good insofar as it resembles God, the key question is whether there is some necessity to how God’s nature is or if God’s nature can be anything. If God’s nature could be anything, then anything could be good, and morality would be contingent. For instance, if it is possible that God’s nature is in such a way that hostility towards outsiders resembles his nature, or unfaithfulness resembles his nature, then these things would be morally good. However, if there is some necessity to what God’s nature can be like, then there is also some necessity to what sorts of things resemble God’s nature and therefore some necessity to morality. Adams claims there is some necessity to God’s nature. Not only does he claim that God is a necessary being, that God cannot fail to exist, but furthermore that God cannot fail to have the nature that he has. He mainly defends this claim by appealing to the so-called perfect being theology, following the eleventh-century theologian Anselm in arguing that God must be the greatest conceivable being there can be.10 So, moral values are just as necessary as God’s nature.11 Because God’s nature has to be a certain way, values that are to resemble God’s nature must also be a certain way.12 Adams uses the distinction between moral values and moral duties to say that moral values are necessary while moral duties are contingent.13 Although God must have a certain nature, he does not have to issue certain commands. Adams is a divine command ethicist, but his line of 10 Adams, 43, 45. Adams understands “can be conceived” as “could possibly have been actual.” At other times, Adams makes the more modest claim that there are certain properties that are necessary for God to have (Adams, 47, 254). 11 This holds if resembling God is necessary (not only sufficient) for being valuable. Adams holds that this is the case (Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 30, 47, 176; Mawson, “Morality and Religion,” 1036). He also holds that if it is true that moral wrongness is identical to being contrary to a loving God’s command, then it must be necessarily true. See Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 77. 12 Since God is a necessary being, this holds in all possible worlds, meaning that there is no possible world where values are different. Adams, “Divine Necessity”; Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 47. 13 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 367.

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reasoning will work equally well under a divine desire theory or divine will theory. Adams writes that there are some things that a good God might command and some things that he might not command. For instance, if God had created a different world, perhaps a world in which our sensibility had been greatly different, then he might have needed to issue different obligations to secure the necessary values. Does this mean that the problem of contingency still stands? Not really. While moral obligations are contingent, not all moral obligations are possible, as moral obligation must be consistent with the necessary moral values. This makes the theist able to say that there is no possible world in which God issues the command to be cruel to others, because being cruel to others does not resemble God’s nature.14 When Adams says that not all moral obligations are possible, he is saying that there are limits to what kind of commands God can issue. As such, he is distancing himself from other divine command ethicists, such as Ockham, who argue that God is free to issue any and all commands. Adams proposes what he calls a modified divine command theory, modified in the sense that he makes a qualification as to what kind of God is able to issue morally obligatory commands: acts are obligatory when they are commanded by a loving God, a God whose nature is goodness.15 This means that it cannot be obligatory to be unfaithful, or to show hostility towards outsiders, because a loving God would never command such a thing. Philosopher Wes Morriston is not satisfied with Adams’s way of arguing that God would never command something terrible. Morriston writes that Adams might be correct in saying that a good God would never command a terrible thing X. God may have the ability to do so, but he would never exercise that ability. However, Adams’s divine command theory still has the counterintuitive implication that if God were to command X, then X would be morally obligatory. Even if a good God would in fact never command rape, it is still true that if he were to command it, then it would be morally obligatory. This implication is so counterintuitive, Morriston argues, that the divine command theory should be abandoned.16 So, when Adams says that God would never command something terrible, Morriston asks “but what if he did”? However, Morriston 14

Adams, 250, 255. Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 76; Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 281. 16 Morriston, “What If God Commanded Something Terrible?” 250–52. See also Sinnott-Armstrong, “Why Traditional Theism Cannot Provide an Adequate Foundation for Morality,” 106. 15

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is asking for the impossible. If a good (omnibenevolent) God were to command something terrible, he would no longer be good. Therefore, it is not metaphysically possible for a good God to command something terrible. In other words; there is no possible world in which a good God commands something terrible. So, the implication that Morriston outlines is an impossible one and should not worry Adams.17 7.1.2 Avoiding the Problem of God’s Goodness The problem of God’s goodness concerns the danger of making the statements “what God does is good” and “God is good” empty of meaning. Let’s start with the former statement. The problem here is as follows: if it is true that something is good just because God wills it, and if it is true that God could will anything, then the statement “what God does is good” would not say anything about the quality of God’s actions. Whatever God did would be good. Saying that “what God does is good” amounts to saying that God does what he wants to do. However, this is not a problem under Adams’s theory. According to Adams, God’s will and God’s actions are in accordance with God’s good nature. God’s will and God’s actions are determined by the goodness of God, which means that the statement “what God does is good” says something about the quality of God’s actions.18 What about the statement “God is good”? If God is the standard of goodness, as he is in Adams’s theory, and all things are good only insofar as they resemble God, then the statement “God is good” seems to say that God resembles God. But when Adams says that God is good, he must surely mean something more than the notion that God resembles himself. After all, everything has the property of resembling itself. What Adams means when he states that God is good, is that God is simply the definition of good. Goodness is not something that God has; it is not a 17 Morriston writes that some people might object to his argument by saying that the implication he outlines is an impossible counterfactual, and that impossible counterfactuals are only vacuously true, meaning that they are true but not instantiated in any possible world. Morriston is not convinced by this objection, stating that there are some impossible counterfactuals that are non-vacuously true. However, even if there are some impossible counterfactuals that are non-vacuously true, all counterfactuals that are self-contradictory are only vacuously true (Lewis, Counterfactuals, 24–26). Morriston’s counterfactual is self-contradictory, as an omnibenevolent God would no longer be omnibenevolent if he were to command something terrible. 18 For a discussion on how God’s actions can be morally good without being subject to God’s own commands, see Alston, “Some Suggestions for Divine Command Theorists”; Archer, “Divine Moral Goodness, Supererogation and The Euthyphro Dilemma.”

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property that God exemplifies. Rather, goodness is something God is. For an illustration, consider the standard metre bar again. When a person is pointing at the metre bar and says that this bar is a metre in length, he does not mean that this bar resembles itself in length. What he is trying to say is “this is just what being a metre in length is.”19 Just as the bar is that which constitutes a metre, God is that which constitutes the good. If this is what the statement “God is good” means, namely that God is the definition of good, one might wonder how informative it is. Can the statement “God is good” tell us anything about what God is like, or is it just as informative as saying “the metre bar is one metre” or saying “God is like God”? Adams argues that the statement “God is good” does tell us something about God. As mentioned above, Adams appeals to perfect being theology. When he first explains what it means that God is good, he seems to describe God’s metaphysical status, saying that God has a supreme degree of intrinsic excellence.20 God’s moral quality seems to follow from his metaphysical quality: if God is the greatest being, he is also the greatest being in terms of value – moral value and non-moral value. So, the statement “God is good” tells us that God is the exemplar of perfect goodness, which is quite informative. After all, it would make a big difference for a theist if he suddenly found out that God was the perfect exemplar of evil. However, some might object to Adams by saying that if God is the definition of the good, God would be good no matter what qualities he inhabited. For an illustration, let us return to the metre bar. If the metre bar is the sole definition of what it is to be one metre, then the metre bar would be one metre no matter how long it is. No matter if the metre bar is just as long as two fathoms or just as long as six fathoms, it would still be one metre in length. So, if the metre bar would be one metre no matter its length, God would be good no matter what qualities he exemplifies. Adams seems to anticipate an objection along these lines. He writes that if God would be good no matter what qualities he exemplifies, then it would be trivial to claim that God is good. But the claim is not trivial, he argues, because the claim that God is the standard of goodness is not the first line on a blank slate of an ethical theory. The claim is made against a background of many beliefs about which properties are good, and what properties must be present in the character of a being that is the definition of good.21 If we are correct in our belief that a certain quality 19 20 21

Mawson, “Morality and Religion,” 1036. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 14. Adams, 253.

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is good, for instance the quality of being just, then we can be sure that God is just. The quality of being just is important to Adams. He argues that if God is not just, then he is not good, and we should not follow his commands.22 So, to be that which defines the good, God must be just. He must also satisfy other conditions, says Adams, such as not being sadistic, and not loving cowardice.23 So, whereas a metre bar might have any length, a good God might not exemplify any quality. I will return to this point shortly. Finally, the statement “God is good” might also say something about the appropriate attitude one should have towards God. A theist will typically claim that the statement “God is good” makes God worthy of worship, and Adams holds that the theist is right to claim this. Adams describes God as the supreme intrinsic goodness. God is the supreme goodness in the sense that among all finite good things, God is the infinite good. I take intrinsic goodness to mean that God’s goodness is derived from himself, not from something external.24 As that which is good in itself is worthy of love and admiration, and God is the supreme intrinsic goodness, then the theist can confidently say that the fact that God is good makes God worthy of love and admiration.25 So, the statement “God is good” appears to have some meaning after all.

7.2 Improving the Answer Above, I have shown how Adams’s theistic metaethical theory avoids the Euthyphro dilemma. Adams develops a theory in two stages. First, he gives a theistic account of value, identifying God with the good. Second, he gives a theistic account of morality, identifying moral wrongness with God’s command. I start by treating Adams’s theory of value, suggesting two adjustment to Adams’s theory of the good. I suggest that the way a 22

Adams, 254. MacIntyre, “Which God Ought We to Obey and Why?” Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 46. 24 See Korsgaard, “Two Distinctions in Goodness.” As Korsgaard, I distinguish between two conceptual pairs. On the one hand, there is intrinsic/extrinsic goodness; on the other, there is goodness for its own sake or goodness as a means (also called instrumental goodness). Intrinsic/extrinsic concerns the location of value: does the thing in question have its goodness in itself or is its goodness derived from something else? Ends/ means concern the way we value things. Adams confuses this distinction when he takes intrinsic goodness to be the opposite of instrumental goodness. See for instance Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 13, 114, 178. 25 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 19, 193. See also Murphy, God and Moral Law, 102. 23

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certain thing ought to resemble the good depends on the thing’s nature, and that this theory of resemblance should not be applied to all kinds of goodness. Then I clarify Adams’s view on what it means to say that God is good. When all this is done, I turn to the second part of Adams’s theory, his conception of moral obligations as divine commands. 7.2.1 Goodness as Resemblance I agree with Adams when he says that God is the one intrinsic value and that other things are valuable insofar as they resemble God. However, his theory of resemblance would be improved by the following consideration: a theory of resemblance should not only take into account the nature of God but also the nature of that which is to resemble God. This consideration will help Adams explain why some features can make one kind of thing resemble God while the same features do not make another thing resemble God. Let’s take a look at the example of a gourmet dinner. Can a gourmet dinner resemble God? Adams thinks so. He quotes the Psalmist – Taste and see that the Lord is good – and interprets it quite literally.26 A gourmet dinner is something that is appropriate to value as there is some resemblance to God. What is it that makes the gourmet dinner good? One possible candidate is the feature of having a perfect balance of the sweet and the sour. Now, it hardly seems plausible to suppose that the same features that make the gourmet dinner good also make a human being good. Therefore, a theory of resemblance should not only take into consideration what the nature of God is like but also the nature of that which is to resemble God. To put the matter a bit more formally: what is good for individual X does not only depend upon the nature of God, which X is to resemble, but also on the nature of X.27 If this point is incorporated into Adams’s account, he would be able to explain why it is good for a human to have the property Y that resembles God, good for a gourmet dinner to have the property Z that resembles God, but not good for a human to have property Z, nor a lack not to have it. Furthermore, not only does it seem plausible that the features that make a meal good are not the same as the features that make a dog good or a human good, it also seems plausible that the features that make a father good are not the same as those that make a farmer good or a pharmacist 26

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 30; Psalm 34:8. Peter Railton makes a similar point when discussing response dependent theories of morality. See Railton, “Red, Bitter, Good (1998),” pt. III. See also Murphy, God and Moral Law, 159–60. 27

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good. As pointed out by virtue ethicists, but also by Kantians such as Christine Korsgaard, different roles call for different qualities.28 So, if Adams’s theory of resemblance also takes into account the subject’s identity, he will be able to say that the qualities of an excellent teacher might not be the same as those of an excellent lawyer or an excellent parent or an excellent friend. A theory of resemblance that takes into account the nature of both the resembling subject and the resembled object will also enable Adams to say that there are some features of the infinite good that are not good for humans to resemble. Take for instance the feature of being independent. God is independent. He is not dependent on anything for his existence. Humans are not independent. They are dependent upon the whole of creation, upon each other, and upon God. Commenting on the creation story in Genesis, the German reformed theologian Jürgen Moltmann notes that humans were created last, which means humans are the most dependent living things. All other created things can live without humans, but humans cannot live without these other things.29 Humans are not only dependent upon creation, they are also dependent upon each other. From the moment a human is born, the human is dependent on fellow humans. In different ways, humans will remain dependent throughout their lives. Finally, humans are dependent on God, the source of being who created them and keeps them in existence from moment to moment. Humans are dependent beings. The normative question, then, is whether humans ought to be dependent beings or whether they ought to try to be independent, to resemble the independence of God. A common answer from the Christian tradition is that dependence is something to embrace, not something to overcome. Striving for independence is described in the theological literature as “humanity curved in on oneself,” which is the classic metaphor for human sinfulness.30 A human that is curved in on himself is no longer open to God and no longer open to another. To strive for independence is to alienate oneself from others, from God, and from oneself. To strive for independence is to deny that the human condition is essentially relational, essentially dependent. When writing on sin as pride and self-sufficiency, Karl Barth notes that this activity is a parody of the incarnation. In the incarnation, God became man. God could do so without 28 Korsgaard says people in different roles have different practical identities, which calls for different qualities and different behaviour (Korsgaard, The Sources of Normativity, 101). 29 Moltmann, The Living God and the Fullness of Life, 81. 30 The metaphor (Latin: incurvatus in se) originates from Augustine and is developed in the theology of Luther and Barth. See Jenson, Gravity of Sin.

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ceasing to be God. Striving for independence, man tries to become God. Man cannot do so without ceasing to be man. So, while the incarnation fulfils the concept of God and reveals the glory of God, striving for independence contradicts the concept of man. Striving to resemble God’s independence would therefore not be something good, it would be a sin.31 A theory of resemblance needs to allow for the possibility that there are some features of the infinite good that are not good for humans to resemble. This can be done if the theory takes into account the nature of both the resembling subject and the resembled object. By arguing that there is a difference between divine nature and human nature, one could argue that there are some features that belong to divine nature that do not belong to human nature, and thus some divine features are not good for humans to resemble. If this point is incorporated into Adams’s theory, it means that his theory of the good does not only need to treat the question of who God is but also of who man is. If this point is not incorporated, it is hard to see how it can be argued that there are some aspects of the infinite good that are not good for humans to resemble. When developing a moral theory, one needs to say something about how to determine what is good for humans, how to determine what features of the infinite good humans ought to resemble. Such questions belong to the field of moral epistemology. I will say something about this later, suggesting that the incarnation should be central in the development of a Christian moral theory. But for now, let me just point out an epistemological implication of Adams’s theory of value. There is a potential epistemological worry with a metaphysical theory stating that something is good insofar as it resembles God, namely the worry that knowledge of the good presupposes knowledge of God.32 One would then have a situation where acquiring true moral beliefs either depends on first acquiring true beliefs (not just any beliefs) about God, or on God somehow revealing his commands. In Adams’s theory, this is not a worry. Adams says that if something resembles God, it does so because it has certain features. This means that goodness is a property that things have in virtue of other natural properties that they have. These natural properties can be identified by persons independent of their amount of knowledge of God, which means that moral knowledge need not presuppose knowledge of God.33 31 Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.1:418–23. Barth notes that while God is independent, he is not curved in on himself, not self-contained. God is love and not only love for himself. 32 D’Arcy, “Worthy of Worship: A Catholic Contribution,” 194–95. See also Evans, God and Moral Obligation, 38–39. 33 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 29.

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Let me suggest a second adjustment to Adams’s theory of the good as resemblance, an adjustment concerning the scope of this theory. Adams applies this conception of resemblance to everything that is described as good. Finite things are good only insofar as they resemble the infinite good. He does not only have the morally valuable and the aesthetically valuable in mind. If a finite thing is in any sense good, it is so because it resembles God. However, some things seem appropriate to call good, but they are hard to conceive of as resembling God. A gourmet dinner might be one example, but it is also hard to see how clean air, riding my bike to work, a piece of chocolate, or a good night’s sleep resemble God.34 So, I would suggest a more limited use of the theory of goodness as resemblance, limited to moral value. In chapter 2, I showed how Parfit distinguishes between different kinds of reasons. Reasons given by the agent’s desires or aims are called subject-given reason, and reasons given by the object of these desires or aims are called object-given reasons. Of these two kinds, only object-given reasons are moral reasons. My suggestion is to restrict the scope of Adams’s theory of resemblance so that it only covers things that are good in the object-given sense, not things that are good in the subject-given sense. Such a restriction would give a value theory where the morally good is good insofar as it resembles God, while the goodness of a bike ride or a piece of chocolate is due to something else than resemblance. The fact that I like to ride my bike gives me a reason to ride my bike, and the fact that I like chocolate gives me a reason to eat it. Parfit calls this kind of reason, reasons based on our likings or dislikings, hedonic reasons. He writes that he likes chocolate, dislikes the feeling of touching velvet, and dislikes the “deadening effect of most overhead lights.”35 As such, Parfit has a hedonic reason to eat chocolate and a hedonic reason not to touch velvet. Now, Parfit points out that it is neither rational nor irrational to dislike the feeling of touching velvet. That is to say; there are no object-given reasons for or against liking chocolate and disliking 34 While resting on the seventh day may resemble God, the Psalmist claims that God does not “slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:4). 35 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:53. Another example is pain. The badness of pain is not due to the sensation itself, but due to the fact that it is a sensation we dislike (Parfit, 1:54). Parfit also places aesthetic experiences in the category of likings and dislikings, saying that “we never have reasons to enjoy, or be moved by, great music” or poetry or art or artistic works (Parfit, 1:53). I think this view does not take aesthetics seriously enough. As implied by the theistic theory of the good laid out in Part III, where God is conceived of as both the infinite good and the infinite beauty, we have reasons both to respond to morality and aesthetics. See Jakobsen, “Monotheism and Value Monism.”

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velvet, no object-given reasons for having these hedonic likings and dislikings. As there are no object-given reasons, there is also no normativity; people do not ought to like chocolate, and they do not ought to dislike touching velvet. However, people do have a reason – an object-given reason – to have the sensations that they like. We have a strong reason, says Parfit, to want that which we strongly like and to avoid that which we strongly dislike.36 So, when Parfit is avoiding touching velvet, he is rational, not because this is a rational stance towards velvet but because it is a rational stance towards his dislikings. A theistic theory of the good – a theory where God is the intrinsic value of which other good things derive their value from – can make use of Parfit’s distinction between different kinds of reasons. If Parfit’s theory is integrated into a theistic framework, it enables the theist to say that some things are good in the sense that we like it – such as riding my bike to work – while moral worth is derived from that which has intrinsic value, namely God. 7.2.2 The Meaning of “God Is Good” Adams understands the statement “God is good” to mean that God is the definition of goodness. An objection to this view was raised above, namely that if God is good in the sense that he is the definition of goodness, then he wold be good no matter what qualities he inhabited. And if the statement “God is good” does not restrict the qualities that God can embody, then the statement does not tell us anything about what God is like. Adams’s answer to this objection is that the statement “God is good” does restrict the qualities that God can embody. He says that God, if he is to be good, must be just.37 God also has to satisfy other conditions in order to be good, for instance not being sadistic and not loving cowardice.38 I take Adams’s answer to be misleading at best, and circular at worst. The reason why I find Adams’s answer problematic is that it looks as if he is establishing some intrinsic good-making properties, such as justice, that qualifies God’s nature as good. What then is the ultimate standard of goodness, is it God or is it justice?

36 Parfit, On What Matters, 1:56. Having sensations that we strongly like, and avoiding sensations that we strongly dislike, contributes to our well-being – and well-being is something we have an object-given reason to pursue (Parfit, 1:101). 37 Adams, 253–54. 38 Adams, 46.

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Adams holds that a good God must have the property of being just, which forces the following question: is justice something good because it is possessed by God, or is God good because he possesses the property of justice? In other words; does God make justice good, or does justice make God good?39 On the one hand, Adams clearly states that “the standard of goodness is defined by the divine nature,” which indicates that it is God’s nature that defines goodness and that it is God who makes justice something good.40 On the other hand, Adams asks himself: could it be the case that God is not a suitable candidate for the role of the good? What if God was a sadist? Could he then fill the role of the good? Adams writes that “a deity would have to satisfy certain conditions” to be the standard of goodness, conditions such as not being sadistic.41 He further writes that “such requirements do not completely determine what the deity would be like,” which implies that these requirements to some degree do determine what God is like.42 So, it seems Adams is writing that God must satisfy certain conditions in order to be good, and that it is these “attributes that constitute in fact God’s goodness.”43 In other words, God must possess certain good-making properties, such as justice, in order to be the standard of goodness. It seems like Adams is aware of the potential problem of both suggesting that God defines goodness and suggesting that God must possess certain good-making properties in order to be the standard of goodness. The problem is that one might end up with a circular theory, a theory where God constitutes the goodness of certain properties, and these properties in turn constitute the goodness of God. When writing on God’s justice, Adams specifies that he is using a “thin theory” of justice to avoid that his theory of moral obligation ends up being circular. Adams says that a thin theory of justice is a theory of justice that does not include any moral obligations.44 That way, God can be just, and his commands can be just, without there being any moral obligations logically prior to God’s commands. To say that God is just is merely to say that “God judges according to facts” and that God “cares about each person’s interests,” which means that some privileged people do not enjoy more of God’s favour than the 39 A similar point is made in Koons, “Can God’s Goodness Save the Divine Command Theory from Euthyphro?” 178–82. 40 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 49. 41 Adams, 46. 42 Adams, 46. 43 Adams, 176. 44 Adams has the term of a “thin theory” from Rawls, but Adams and Rawls use the term differently. See Rawls, A Theory of Justice, Revised Edition, para. 60.

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less privileged.45 However, while the notion of a “thin” theory of justice makes Adams avoid circularity concerning moral obligations, he seems to step right into circular reasoning concerning God’s goodness. Adams’s thin theory of justice might not contain any obligations, but it is a normative notion. By saying that justice includes caring about everyone’s interests, and not favouring some people at the expense of others, Adams is using the notion of impartiality, which is clearly a normative notion. Adams seems to hold that God’s goodness is dependent on God’s conformity to the normative notion of justice.46 I take such a view to be highly problematic. First, such a view runs the risk of being idolatrous in the sense that it is justice, and not God, that is the ultimate reference point. If it is justice that is our ultimate concern, then justice has taken the place of God. Second, such a view conflicts with the view that God is sovereign. Saying that God has to satisfy certain conditions in order to be good implies that there are certain things besides God, such as justice, that are intrinsically good. If justice is intrinsically good, then it is good in itself, and not good because of its resemblance to God. Adams seems to end up qualifying God’s nature as good by using a standard of goodness that is independent of God. Phillip Kitcher has argued that this is the only viable option for the theist, quoting Kant that we can only recognise the Holy One of the Gospel as good if we have a standard for valuation that is independent of God.47 However, it is theologically problematic to assert that there are moral facts that do not depend upon God but which God is dependent upon if he is to be good (see chapter 6). If justice is taken to be something intrinsically good, if moral facts such as “justice is good” and “forgiveness is better than resentment” is not dependent on God, then God is subject to these truths and must conform himself to them. If justice is not taken to be something intrinsically good, then Adams ends up in circular reasoning: if justice is not intrinsically good, then its goodness is dependent on God, but God’s goodness is in turn dependent on him being just, which is clearly circular. Adams grapples with the question of whether God would be good no matter what qualities he inhabits.48 Could God be identified with the good if his moral qualities were on par with an average Greek god? Adams solves this question by saying that God must satisfy certain conditions in order to be good. If God satisfies these conditions, then he is a suitable 45 46 47 48

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 254. Adams, 253–54. Kitcher, The Ethical Project, 166; Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 408. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 46.

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candidate for the good. So, if God were to love sadism, it would not be the case that sadism is good, it would rather be the case that God would not be a suitable candidate for the good. However, there are other ways to answer that question, answers that do not enter into the problem of making God subject to, and dependent upon, a moral standard. One way to respond could be to say that one is asking for a contradiction. To ask whether God, as the standard of goodness, could be something other than good, seems to be equivalent to ask whether the definition of a triangle could include four angles, or whether Plato’s idea of the good could include evils. The ultimate standard of goodness cannot be anything but good. If God is the standard of goodness, he cannot be anything but good. One could ask a slightly different question, namely whether goodness would be something different than it actually is if God would have different qualities than he actually has. That is a good question. It is also a different question, a question concerning whether the good is contingent and whether God’s nature is contingent, which was addressed above. The guiding idea behind this response is that the first principle of value cannot be held up to some independent principle of value.49 One would be begging the question against the view that God is the first principle of value if one insists that God must be held up to some independent standard if we are to determine whether God is good. Obviously, we often enquire whether some entity – such as a person or a Greek god – is good by holding it up to some standard of goodness – such as God or the infinite good. However, the standard itself cannot be held up to an independent standard, no matter if the standard is identified as God, as a Platonic idea of the good, or some other principle. Another question concerning God’s goodness that Adams grapples with is the question of whether it is trivial and without content to say that God is good, namely whether it will be merely like saying that God is God.50 Adams holds that it is not trivial, as the claim that “God is good” is made against a background of many beliefs about what properties are good. These properties must be reflected in the character of a being that is the standard of goodness. This means the statement “God is good” can in fact tell us something about what God is like, at least to the degree that we know what it means to be good. If it is true that justice is good, then 49 Alston, “Some Suggestions for Divine Command Theorists,” 320–21; Linville, “Moral Particularism,” 152. 50 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 253.

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we can know that God is just. If it is true that love is good, then God is love. So, our knowledge of the good – which is always revisable – can give content to the statement “God is good.” As stated above, Philip Kitcher objected to this line of reasoning. He argued that a derivation from our concept of goodness to what God is like implies that our concept of goodness defines God, and as such is more fundamental than God.51 Adams indicated how this objection can be met. He briefly states that he is not offering a definition of the good that is intended to “introduce goodness as something previously unknown,” but that he “presupposes an ability to make fairly competent assessments” of the good, and that he is only trying to explain something about what the good “consists in.”52 However, as Adams does not elaborate on this, it is a bit unclear what he has in mind. He seems to suggest that there is a difference between identifying qualities that are good (in Adams’s words, making assessments of the good of some things) and giving a metaphysical account of the good (in Adams’s words, explaining what the good consists in). Let me do some further elaborations on how Adams could meet Kitcher’s objection. When describing God, Adams appeals to concepts such as justice and love. He does not intend to introduce these properties as if we’ve never heard of them before. When we arrive at church and hear the preacher say that God is just, we take this statement to mean that God possesses a property that we are already familiar with. We already know what justice is, and we learn from the preacher that God is in fact just. Does this mean that we use a concept that is independent of God to define God, as if this concept was more fundamental than God? Not at all. What Adams could say is this: there exist two pathways, or two derivations, here to be considered, namely an ontological one and an epistemological one. On the one hand, goodness is derived from God so that he provides the ontological foundation of morality. On the other hand, our understanding of God’s goodness may be epistemologically derived from our moral concepts.53 The ontological pathway runs from God to goodness, while the epistemological pathway may run the other way, namely from our moral concepts to an understanding of God’s nature. So, once the theologian has established that God is the defining exemplar of goodness, the ethicist may spell out what it entails that God is good. 51

Kitcher, The Ethical Project, 166. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 24–25. 53 Linville, “Moral Particularism,” 151. It is of course possible that Adams has something like this in mind, but he does not manage to express it. 52

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Realising that there are two derivations here to be considered should make one realise where the error in Kitcher’s reasoning lies. Kitcher claims that as long as our understanding of what it means that God is good is dependent on our moral concept, God’s goodness is metaphysically dependent on our moral concepts.54 But this is not the case. The epistemological pathway and the ontological pathway may run opposite ways, and Kitcher seems simply to conflate these two pathways.55 However, saying that our understanding of God’s goodness is dependent on our moral concept does entail something about the relation between dogmatics and ethics. It entails that doctrinal implications can be drawn from ethical premises. Dogmatics, then, can appeal to ethics to clarify certain points, such as giving content to the statement “God is good” by appealing to our ethical concepts. This seems to be what Jesus does when he says that God has made himself like a father to his people. The moral concepts of his listeners are used to give content to what this entails: “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”56

7.3 Moral Wrongness and Divine Commands I will not turn to Adams’s account of moral obligations, or moral wrongness, or what Parfit calls strongly decisive reasons. He identifies obligations with the commands of a loving God. Such a moral theory provides a tight connection between God and moral realism, and in doing so provides a theistic explanation of morality – which is exactly what I set out to do in this book. A divine command theory might seem as a natural choice when constructing a theistic theory of morality. Parfit, for instance, seems to presuppose that the only way to ground morality in God is by a divine command theory.57 However, I will argue that this is not the best 54 Kitcher is also wrong to quote Kant in support of his argument. Kant argues that morality cannot be ultimately derived from examples and makes an epistemological point saying that we need principles of morality in order to recognise the Holy One as good (Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 408). However, I take Kant to be mistaken on this point, which is an epistemological point. It seems very plausible that we can recognise a good person or good personal behaviour without having a prior concept of good against which a given instance is measured. See Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 54. 55 The epistemological pathway might also run the same way as the ontological, for instance when one is arguing from what God is like to how one should act. 56 Matthew 7:11. 57 Parfit, On What Matters, 2:444. See also Parfit, On What Matters, 1:170; Parfit, On What Matters, 2:322, 585.

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way to make a connection between God and moral facts, and consequentially, that a divine command theory is not the best option when integrating Parfit’s metaethics in a theistic framework. In what follows, I will argue in favour of a major adjustment concerning Adams’s theory of obligations, namely that one should give up the view that moral facts are necessarily constituted by divine commands. Then I will present a view on how morality is dependent on God, a view that is in conformity with Adams’s value theory but represents a deviation from his moral theory. Let me start by presenting Adams’s reasons for holding his theory. First of all, the theory that moral wrongness is constituted by the commands of a loving God provides a tight connection between God and moral realism, which is precisely why this theory is of interest to the discussion in this book. Secondly, it satisfies the demand for the objectivity of morality. Moral properties should not be dependent on our beliefs or desires, says Adams, and they are not dependent on our beliefs or desires if they are only dependent on God’s command.58 A third reason is that it makes one able to distinguish good acts from obligatory acts. Adams argues that it is not always morally wrong to refrain from doing what is morally best. There are things that would be good to do but that we do not have to do, and that there are even things that would be morally best to do that we do not have to do. That is to say, this distinction makes room for supererogatory acts, acts that go beyond what is morally obligatory.59 A theory of the good will not by itself be able to distinguish that which is morally obligatory from that which is morally good but not obligatory, but a divine command theory will be able to make this distinction.60 Furthermore, Adams argues that if some acts are obligatory, then some sort of a divine command theory is actually implied. If there is a God, and if some acts are obligatory, then we should expect God to issue commands. This is to be expected as it is hard to find any reason why God would want something to be obligatory but not command it, why he would leave the obligatory uncommanded.61 So, we should expect the obligatory to be identical to God’s commands, and a simple way to explain why this is so is to say that God’s commands constitute the obligatory. 58

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 256. Adams, 260. Adam admits that it is possible there are no supererogatory acts. Perhaps God requires us to always do what is morally best. But even if there are no supererogatory acts, a metaethical theory should not rule them out in advance but rather allow for the possibility of the supererogatory. 60 Adams, 231–33, 259. 61 Adams, 261. 59

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There are some distinct features of Adams’s divine command theory that one should bear in mind. First, there is an element of necessity between moral wrongness and God’s command. When Adams says that the commands of a loving God constitute moral wrongness, he means that an act cannot be morally wrong unless God has issued a command. For an act to be morally wrong, it is not only a sufficient condition that God has issued a command; it is a necessary condition that he has done so.62 Adams’s divine command theory also has an element of love in it. It is the commands of a loving God that constitute moral wrongness. This emphasis on love makes Adams qualify his moral theory as a modified divine command theory. This emphasis on God’s love represents a noteworthy deviation from traditional divine command theories.63 Firstly, the stress on love represents a slight departure from the deontological insistence that seems to be at the heart of a traditional divine command theory, namely that you should follow commands for their own sake, not because they are loving or just or inhibit some other quality. Secondly, divine command theory has traditionally been associated with a particular conception of God’s nature. Take for instance the divine command theory of Ockham. His theory was to a large part motivated by a conception of God’s nature, which emphasised God’s absolute power, freedom from all constraints, and the unknowability of God’s will by human reason. Adams does not share Ockham’s motivation. A divine command theory that emphasises God’s love, such as Adams’s theory, will not make much effort to defend God’s absolute power or freedom. Such a theory would rather hold that God’s power and God’s freedom are metaphysically limited, for instance by God’s love. 7.3.1 Why Does God Issue Commands? I take the ability to account for the distinction between the good and the obligatory as a feature that counts greatly in favour of Adams’s divine command theory. However, there are two questions I would like to raise. One question concerns why God issues exactly the commands that he does. But an even more fundamental question: why does God issue commands at all? Adams seems to find it quite obvious that God issues commands. He says that if one believes that there are obligatory acts, then it 62 Adams, “Divine Command Metaethics Modified Again,” 77; Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 280. 63 Chandler, “Divine Command Theories and the Appeal to Love,” 238.

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is hard to believe that a loving God should leave the obligatory uncommanded. I take this statement to be too strong. Had Adams made a weaker statement, for instance that a loving God would not leave the obligatory uncommunicated, then I would agree with him. However, it seems perfectly conceivable that a loving God would not issue commands. This is because issuing commands seems, at least at the face of it, not a loving thing to do.64 If my neighbours found out that I command my wife to eat dinner with me, or command her not to cheat on me, they would probably think that there is something wrong with the relationship. How good can a relationship based on commands really be? Now, this illustration is not intended to show that a loving God cannot issue commands, only that God does not necessarily do so, because a loving relation in which one does not issue commands seems perfectly conceivable. The illustration above also shows that issuing commands is, by its very nature, quite a harsh and forceful thing to do. Anyone who issues commands should have a good reason to do so. Adams does not explicitly treat this question of whether commands are too harsh for a loving God to issue. However, he might answer that it is true that one needs a good reason to issue a command, and further argue that God has a good reason for issuing commands. What could such a good reason look like? Adams holds that obligatory acts are also the morally best acts, which means that if some act is commanded by God we can know that this act is the best thing to do.65 By this reasoning, Adams could argue that because God has far greater knowledge than humans do and thus knows what is best for us, God can issue certain commands in order to secure certain goods for us. This gives God a reason to issue commands, a reason based on what is good. Some scholars, such as philosopher Stephen J. Sullivan, have argued that an answer along these lines is problematic.66 If God’s reasons for commanding something is based on the good, or maybe more specifically based on God’s love, then the command itself becomes superfluous. Terms like “moral rightness” and “moral wrongness” would ultimately refer to these qualities, love or goodness, and not to God’s commands. This would imply, says Sullivan, that moral wrongness consists in acting contrary to love, not contrary to divine commands. However, there is an issue with Sullivan’s argument. The argument will not work unless we suppose that love is sufficient for God to determine his commands. 64

Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 263. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 261. 66 Sullivan, “Why Adams Needs to Modify His Divine-Command Theory One More Time,” 76. See also Chandler, “Divine Command Theories and the Appeal to Love,” 236. 65

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Adams holds that love is necessary, but not sufficient for God to determine his commands. Adams claims that there is not “a unique set of commands that would be issued by any supremely good God.”67 There are some things that a loving God might command and might not command. For instance, Adams thinks that a supremely good God has in fact issued certain commands regarding euthanasia, but at the same time he thinks that there is a diversity of commands regarding euthanasia that a supremely good God could have issued.68 From the view that love, or the good, is necessary but not sufficient to determine the obligatory, two implications can be drawn. Firstly, if the good is not sufficient, then an appeal to the good does not make God’s commands superfluous. Secondly, if the good is necessary, then Adams might be able to argue that God always has a reason for issuing the commands that he does, namely a reason based on the good. Such a reason could justify the practice of issuing commands, a practice that initially seems quite harsh.69 The implication that the good is necessary, but not sufficient, reveals an area where Adams’s divine command theory needs some more development. It is important to Adams that the obligatory is not fully derivable from the good. The obligatory is always something good, but the moral quality of an obligation is something in addition to the good. So, when God makes a command, he makes something good become obligatory, giving it further qualities that it did not previously have. Here lies a challenge to Adams’s theory that is similar to a well-known challenge to classical divine command theories.70 In the divine command theory of Ockham, the goodness of an action is an additional quality, a quality added by God. A challenge to Ockham, then, is to explain why God adds this quality to some acts and not others. In Adams’s theory, the obligatoriness of an action is an additional quality, a quality added by God. So, why does God choose to transform some good things, and not others, into obligations? God’s reason for making the commands that he does cannot be entirely based on the good, as the good is not sufficient to explain the obligatory and there are several good things that are not commanded. Does God issue the commands he does simply because that is what he wants to do? If this is the 67

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 255. Adams, 256. 69 Swinburne suggests that God’s reasons for issuing commands could be that commands give us further motivation to do good, that commands coordinate our actions so that more good is realised, or that they get us into the habit of doing good. Swinburne, “What Difference Does God Make to Morality,” 161–62. 70 Morriston, “God and the Ontological Foundation of Morality,” 19. 68

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case, then we run the risk of having a theory where moral obligations become arbitrary. If we want to avoid the arbitrariness objection by saying that God’s will follows his nature, or that God’s reason for commanding the things he does follows from his nature, then we run the risk of saying that it is God’s nature, and not God’s commands, that constitute obligations. I would argue that a reasoning along this line is a viable option (more on that later), but it would be a giant leap away from a divine command theory. So, as far as I can see, Adams’s theory has not provided a sufficient explanation of why God transforms the goods that he does into obligations. Let me sum up what has been said so far. Adams holds that divine commands are necessary for something to be morally wrong. A major strength of this theory is that it can account for the distinction between the good and the obligatory, even though the theory has some explaining to do concerning why God transforms the goods that he does into obligations. Later, I will argue that this is not the only way of accounting for this distinction. But for now, I would like to draw attention to a point made above, namely that a loving relation in which one party does not issue commands is perfectly conceivable. A loving relation, or a loving God, does not seem to imply the issuing of commands. But that is not Adams’s point either. His divine command theory of moral wrongness is first and foremost driven by his analysis of moral obligations, not of his analysis of God. That is to say, Adams does not start off with a conception of God and ask what theory of morality naturally follows. Rather, he starts off with a conception of moral obligation and asks what the best account of it would be.71 What I will do now is to present two arguments in favour of modifying Adams’s theory of moral wrongness, two arguments intending to show that Adams’s theory of moral wrongness is not comprehensive enough, as some things can be morally wrong without them being commanded by God. 7.3.2 Two Arguments against the Necessity of Divine Commands As moral wrongness is dependent on God’s commands, Adams writes that nothing is necessarily morally wrong.72 This makes philosopher Wes Morriston raise two critical questions. What if God remained silent on a 71

See for instance Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 249–50. Adams, 367. I take Adams’s use of “necessary” here to mean logically necessary. Because Adams believes that divine commands are issued by a good God, he believes there are commands that God cannot issue. As such, there is some metaphysical necessity to which moral obligations are possible. For instance, it is metaphysically impossible for God to command cruelty. See Adams, 281. 72

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subject X? If he did, then X would neither be obligatory nor forbidden. Moreover, what if God failed to issue any commands at all? Then nothing would be morally wrong.73 However, says Morriston, it cannot be true that nothing would be morally wrong if God had not given any commands. Why can’t this be true? Morriston argues that it cannot be true because there are at least some necessary truths about what is morally wrong, such as the fact that it is wrong to cause intense and prolonging suffering. Because there are such necessary truths about what is morally wrong, truths that hold no matter what a God would command, Morriston argues that Adams should change his view on whether some moral obligations are necessarily true. If Adams does not change his view on this matter, then he is forced to say that if there is no God that issues commands, then there are no morally wrong actions. I do not think that Morriston’s argument would have much impact on Adams and his moral theory. In fact, Adams seems happy to bite the bullet and say that if there is no God who issues commands, then nothing is morally wrong.74 However, Morriston is on to something. His two questions – What if God remained silent on subject X? What if God did not issue any commands at all? – are appropriate questions to ask Adams, but I want to pursue these questions in a different direction than the one Morriston takes. Instead of arguing that Adams should accept necessary moral obligations, I will argue that Adams should give up the view that God’s commands are necessary for moral obligations. Both of Morriston’s questions provide a reason to give up this necessary dependence on God’s commands. First, consider the case that God did not command anything. A similar case has been discussed above, namely the question “what if God commanded something terrible?” But the question “what if God commanded something terrible?” and the question “what if God did not command anything?” cannot be treated in the same manner. While the former question implies a contradiction, namely a loving God who commands terrible things, the latter does not imply any contradiction. There does not seem to be any logical inconsistency in claiming that a loving God does not issue commands, and a loving God who does not issue commands seems perfectly conceivable. If something is both consistent and conceivable, it is possible. This means that while it is metaphysically impossible that a 73

Morriston, “What If God Commanded Something Terrible?” 255. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 281–82. Adams could also say, as divine command theorist Philip Quinn does, that necessary truths might be dependent upon God. See Quinn, “The Primacy of God’s Will in Christian Ethics,” 495. 74

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loving God commands terrible things, it seems metaphysically possible that a loving God does not issue commands.75 Now, let me present an illustration to show that there can be moral wrongness even if God does not command anything, which would mean that God’s command is not necessary for something to be morally wrong. Imagine that a loving God creates a world with plenty of humans, and where Amber is one of them. As God exists, and as values are constituted by a resemblance to God, values such as goodness and badness exist in this world. However, God has not issued any commands. In Adams’s theory, this lack of divine command means that no acts can be morally wrong. However, it seems possible that certain bad things could still be morally wrong. This possibility becomes evident when considering Adams’s connection between moral wrongness and blame. Adams holds that one is only to blame if one does something morally wrong or if one refrains from doing something morally obligatory.76 Refraining from doing something that is good but not obligatory, such as not donating to Oxfam, is not blameworthy. So, if a person is blameworthy, then she has done something wrong. Let’s return to Amber. Amber is somewhat rebellious. She knows what is good and what is bad, but she repeatedly pursues the morally bad and refrains from doing the good. Can Amber be blamed for this behaviour? If Amber is blameworthy, it follows in Adams’s theory that she has done something morally wrong. And if she has done something morally wrong, then it is possible for something to be morally wrong without God issuing any commands. How would Adams respond to this illustration? He might respond by referring to his distinction between morally wrong actions and morally horrible actions.77 Adams holds that the fact that an action is morally horrible is not sufficient to make the action morally wrong. He thinks that the morally horrible does not entail moral wrongness, as one can find an action morally horrible even when one does not believe it to be wrong. As such, Amber would have done something morally horrible but not something morally wrong. However, I cannot see that Adams has any good examples of actions that are morally horrible and not morally wrong. His prime examples of moral horror are actions that violate

75

Quinn treats this as a real possibility in Quinn, “Theological Voluntarism,” 82. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 235, 269. For an overview on theories on blame and on the connection between blame and moral wrongness, see Tognazzini and Coates, “Blame.” 77 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 104–7. 76

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human’s likeness to God, actions such as murder, rape and torture.78 These actions are violations of something sacred, says Adams, and are therefore horrible acts. But all these actions are morally wrong actions, and they are certainly accompanied with both guilt and blame. I would say that this suggests, contrary to Adams, that morally horrible actions are actually a specific type of morally wrong actions. If this is the case, Amber is still to be blamed. Now, Adams might just stand firm on his position, stating that Amber cannot be blameworthy because she has not disobeyed any of God’s commands. It is said that one man’s modus ponens is another man’s modus tollens, and this might be the case here. One man might say that as Amber is blameworthy, divine commands cannot be necessary for moral wrongness. Another man might say that as divine commands are necessary for moral wrongness, Amber cannot be blameworthy. However, I find it more plausible that she is to blame than she is not to blame, more plausible that Amber is in fact blameworthy for repeatedly pursuing the morally bad and refraining from doing the good. Amber’s behaviour would qualify as a gratuitous evil. According to a broad understanding of evil, Amber’s behaviour is an evil as it is a bad state of affairs,79 and it is gratuitous in the sense that the agent antecedently knew she could have prevented the state of affairs in a way that would have made the world overall better.80 Now, it seems strange that performing some gratuitous evil would not be sufficient for being blameworthy. After all, many versions of the problem of evil is driven by the claim that God is blameworthy for even permitting gratuitous evil.81 I would suggest that Adams’s theory of moral wrongness needs a modification, a modification that makes room for moral wrongness even if God does not issue any commands. Parfit’s conception of normative reasons could make such room and account for blame in the case of Amber. In his theory, Amber has a strong reason to pursue the good, a strong reason not to pursue the evil, and she ought not to act contrary to these reasons. One can say that she has a decisive reason to perform some gratuitous evil. Acting contrary to such decisive reason would be wrong, and Amber would be to blame.

78

Adams, 107–12. For a discussion on different concepts of evil, see Calder, “The Concept of Evil.” 80 For a discussion on this definition of gratuitous evil, see Rhoda, “Gratuitous Evil and Divine Providence,” 287–93. 81 Trakakis, “The Evidential Problem of Evil.” 79

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I will now turn to a second argument against the position that God’s command is necessary for something to be morally wrong. We should ask ourselves whether there are moral matters on which God has not issued a command. According to Adams, God must have issued commands covering any and all moral matters. How does God issue these commands? Adams, who is a Christian thinker, holds that some commands are found in the Bible, but not that all commands are found there. God may still be revealing his commands to us, and he may do so in a variety of ways. However, God must do something when issuing commands. Adams writes that a divine command will always involve a sign. God intentionally causes this sign, and the sign is such that the intended audience understands what is commanded.82 So, as nobody can be under a moral obligation unless God’s command is communicated to her,83 Adams’s theory of moral wrongness must involve a God who issues all kinds of commands to all kinds of people, and who continuously does so when new moral questions arise. This is to say that Adams’s theory involves a very active God. I do not find Adams’s claim plausible, namely the claim that God has issued commands covering any and all moral matters. Adams’s claim can be contrasted with a weaker claim made by the divine command theorist Edward Wierenga. Wierenga claims that the divine command theorist need not be ashamed to say that God has revealed commands regarding certain moral matters.84 I take Wierenga’s claim to be entirely correct. However, once his qualification is removed, once it is claimed that God has not only revealed commands regarding certain moral matters but all moral matters, then we have a claim that is harder to defend and easier to disprove. All that is needed to disprove Adams’s unconstrained claim is one example of a moral matter where God has not issued any command. Let me consider some possible candidates. Take for instance the theological debate on euthanasia. An examination of God’s commands does not seem to play a big part in the theological discussion on this topic.85 Why not? Presumably because it does not seem like God has issued any command concerning euthanasia. God might have commanded us not to murder, and he might have commanded us to relieve suffering, but none of these commands says anything

82 83 84 85

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 265. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 263. Wierenga, “A Defensible Divine Command Theory,” 397. See for instance the overview on the debate in Biggar, Aiming to Kill, chaps. 1–3.

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definitive about the morality of euthanasia.86 But even if God has not issued any commands on this matter, euthanasia should not be considered morally neutral. Either it is a right thing to do, or it is a wrong thing to do. So, if it is the case that euthanasia is either right or wrong, and if it is the case that God has not issued any commands on the matter, both which seem more plausible than not, then God’s command cannot be a necessary condition for something to be morally wrong. Consider the appropriateness of being grateful to God. When Adams writes on religious devotion, he lists several reasons for why we should be grateful to God. If God created us, loves us, keeps us in existence from moment to moment, and if he has given us many goods to enjoy, then we clearly have reasons to be grateful to God. Adams does not take gratitude towards God to be commanded by God. However, it seems evident to Adams that we should be grateful. It seems so evident that it might even be required of us! 87 If Adams means what he says here, if he is not just a bit careless in his phrasing,88 then he has come up with an example of something that is possibly required of us without it being dependent on a divine command. And if it is even possible that something is required without being dependent on a divine command, then divine commands cannot be a necessary condition for something to be obligatory or forbidden. For a last candidate of something that can be morally wrong without being commanded by God, suppose that God created persons that resembled himself, but gave them no commands. In Adams’s theory, these persons will be valuable because they resemble God.89 If they have worth, then some attitudes towards them are more appropriate than others. For instance, if persons have worth, then they should presumably be treated as ends in themselves and not merely as means.90 So, if Adams has already taken the first step and said that persons have worth by 86 As the theologian Nigel Biggar argues, it is not obvious that the command not to kill holds in all situations (Biggar, Aiming to Kill, chap. 2). See also chapter 1 in Biggar, In Defence of War. In Aiming to Kill, Biggar argues that there might be rare cases in which intentionally killing someone is morally permissible, such as euthanasia, but he nonetheless argues against legalisation of euthanasia. 87 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 252–53. Adams describes gratefulness as a possible religious obligation. But as he says earlier, all religious obligations are in the category of moral obligations (Adams, 232). 88 Which he sometimes seems to be. See Morriston, “What If God Commanded Something Terrible?” 255–56. 89 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 120. 90 Or as Adams says, “The value of the sacred … [is] something we have reason to treat and not to treat in certain ways” (Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 121).

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resembling God, why not take a further step and say that this worth implies that we have moral obligations towards one another, even in the absence of divine commands?91 Well, Adams’s moral reasoning seems actually to imply an acceptance of the view that worth implies moral obligations. When Adams discusses the morality of abortion, he does not mention any of God’s commands. He rather uses the notion of human likeness to God,92 and asks whether the human foetus resembles God. Adams takes the foetus to resemble God in some way, which means that the foetus has worth. Because the foetus has worth, Adams sees the destruction of the foetus as a violation of something sacred. Adams writes that this is a reason against performing an abortion, but that the reason is “not always decisive.”93 As such, this reason will normally override all other reasons, but not on all occasions. So, what has Adams done here? He has managed to argue that we have decisive moral reasons for not performing an action, unless strong reasons say otherwise, and he has done so not by referring to God’s commands but by referring to God’s nature. Therefore, it seems actually to be in line with Adams’s own moral reasoning to say that not all moral reasons presuppose a divine command. 7.3.3 An Alternative View on Obligations While I do not share Adams’s view that divine commands are necessary to constitute moral obligations, I do believe that there are moral obligations. But if divine commands do not constitute moral wrongness, what does? In order to put forward an alternative view of what constitutes moral obligation, I will make a distinction between three normative notions – values, obligations, and reasons – and clarify how Adams relates them. Value comes first. We have already seen how Adams sees God as the good itself, as the standard of goodness. Adams writes that some acts resemble God’s nature and that some do not, and only those who do resemble God’s nature are good. Furthermore, he holds that moral wrongness is value-based in the sense that God’s commands are based on his 91

Linville, “Moral Particularism,” 157; Yandell, “A Moral Essentialism Response,”

172. 92 Adams actually uses the phrase “the image of God,” but it is evident that he means humans’ likeness to God. These two terms do not mean the same thing. It is common among Old Testament scholars to hold that “the image of God” does not signify likeness to God, but something more in the line of humanity’s responsibility as God’s earthly delegate. See Middleton, The Liberating Image, chaps. 1–2. 93 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 114.

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good nature, and commands only put us under moral obligations as long as they are consistent with God’s good nature.94 So, Adams’s theory of obligations presupposes his theory of the good. The good and the obligatory stands in a hierarchical relation where the obligatory is dependent on the good. As such, one can say that both values and obligations are dependent on God’s nature. Second is moral obligation. While Adams sees obligations as dependent on the good, there is a difference between the good and the obligatory, a difference that is due to God’s commands. God’s commands constitute obligations, and one of the roles of obligations is that they provide reasons. Adams writes that obligations constitute reasons for doing that which one is obliged to do and reasons for refraining from doing that which would be wrong to do.95 So, Adams places the three normative notions – the good, the obligatory, and reasons – in a hierarchical order where the good is the most fundamental, where obligations are constituted according to what is good, and where reasons are constituted by obligations. Here is how my view of obligations compares with Adams’s view: I agree with Adams that the good is fundamental, but I suggest that reasons should be considered more fundamental than obligations. Instead of saying that obligations constitute reasons, as Adams says, I hold that reasons constitute obligations. This gives the following hierarchical order: obligations are constituted by reasons, and reasons are based on the good. When I say that reasons constitute obligations, I do not mean that every reason constitutes an obligation. Parfit’s understanding of reasons is helpful here.96 Parfit writes that we often have sufficient reason to act in any of two or more ways. I might have sufficient reason both to become a doctor and a missionary, and I might have sufficient reason both to give part of my income to Oxfam and not to do so. In these cases, it would be acceptable to act in either way. Such cases make room for supererogatory acts, acts that you have a moral reason to do but not a decisive reason, so that it would be good to do it but not wrong to refrain. But sometimes we have strongly decisive reason to act in only one way, reasons that strongly outweigh any set of conflicting reasons. For instance, some people will hold that we always have strongly decisive 94 95 96

Adams, 255, 281. Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 241. Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 1, chaps. 1–2.

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reasons not to kill. What I suggest, then, is that strongly decisive reasons constitute what Adams calls a moral obligation. If we always have strongly decisive reasons not to kill, then we would be under the obligation not to kill. Above, I argued that moral wrongness can exist in the absence of God’s command. As implied by Adams’s own writings, the fact that a certain thing is good or valuable may provide a strongly decisive reason to act. There can be strongly decisive reasons for some act or some attitude, for instance reasons for being grateful to God or reasons for refraining from performing euthanasia or abortion that are not based on God’s command. This means that there can be moral requirements that are not the result of a divine command, which contradicts Adams’s theory. He holds that a divine command is necessary for something to be a moral obligation. As such, he is not able to incorporate any of these moral requirements mentioned, meaning he does not give a comprehensive enough account of moral obligations. However, the view that strongly decisive reasons constitute obligations is able to account for such moral requirements. This account of moral obligations is therefore more comprehensive than Adams’s account, and has therefore an advantage over Adams’s account. Where does this Parfit-inspired conception of obligations leave God’s commands? If God should command something, then I believe we have a strongly decisive reason to act according to the command – and so does Parfit, given that there is a God.97 So, if God commands something, then it is obligatory. But not all obligatory things need to be commanded by God. In other words, God’s commands are sufficient for something to be obligatory but not necessary. This means the view that strongly decisive reasons constitute commands is able to account for obligations that have not been commanded by God, while at the same time keeping God as a moral authority. Let me consider an objection to the view that the obligatory is based on reason. Adams briefly discusses Thomas Nagel’s distinction between what is rationally acceptable and what is rationally required, a view that is very similar to Parfit’s, and argues that one cannot collapse the morally obligatory into the notion of what we have most reason to do.98 Why not? Because a rational requirement cannot represent the full force of a moral 97 “Most of us would agree, for example, that if the Universe was created by an omniscient, omnipotent, and wholly good God, we ought to obey this God’s commands” (Parfit, On What Matters, 2:552–53). 98 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 238.

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requirement. It is a bit unclear what Adams means by “full force,” but what he seems to have in mind is the force that leads to moral guilt. Adams writes that if you do something that is irrational, then you have something to feel silly about. But if you do something immoral, then you have something to feel guilty about – and being guilty is more serious than being silly. Adams argues that in Nagel’s theory, which is a theory that centres around what one has reason to do and what acts are rational and irrational, it would never be appropriate to feel guilty. It would only be appropriate to feel silly, says Adams, which means that the theory does not capture our notion of morality. However, it seems to me that the view that reasons constitute moral obligations could incorporate the same notion of guilt that Adams operates with. So, let me expand a bit on Adams’s understanding of moral guilt.99 Adams holds that moral obligations and moral guilt belong together, and he holds that both notions must be understood in relation to a social context. First and foremost, moral wrongness belongs in a social context. If an action is morally wrong, there must be at least one person, distinct from the agent, who may appropriately have an adverse reaction to it. If there is no such person, the action could still be bad but not wrong. This means that when we are under an obligation, we are always under an obligation to some person or persons.100 Moral wrongness and guilt belong together in the sense that moral guilt is an objective moral condition that applies when one has done something morally wrong.101 However, says Adams, we do not have a concept of guilt merely to express the state of having done something wrong. A concept of guilt must also make sense of features such as the fact that guilt can be made amends for or forgiven, and practices such as punishing and apologising. To makes sense of these features we need to understand guilt against the background of a social context. A notable feature of guilt that Adams elaborates on is alienation from other people. He holds that guilt consists largely of alienation produced by the wrong act. If I am in a social relationship and I do not fulfil my obligation in this relationship, then this will have a negative impact on the relation itself. Suppose for instance that I knowingly say something 99 I will leave behind the contrast between immoral and irrational and instead stick to the contrast between feeling silly and feeling guilty, because it is unclear whether Adams has the same understanding of “irrational” than the rationalists he criticises. See Parfit, On What Matters, 1:122–23. 100 Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 233. 101 Adams, 239.

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that offends my wife. I believe I was wrong offending her, I feel guilty, and this act has created a distance between me and my wife. It has made me somewhat isolated from her. Guilt and alienation go hand in hand. However, there might be a reconciliation. My wife might forgive me, which would release me from my guilt. When I am released from my guilt, the alienation also ends.102 There might, of course, be other conceptions of guilt out there, but as it is Adams who criticises rationalists such as Nagel for not being able to account for moral guilt, I will presuppose Adams’s own conception of guilt.103 So, is the view that reasons constitute moral obligations able to incorporate this conception of moral guilt? It seems to me that Parfit’s theory, as well as Nagel’s,104 is able to do so. First of all, Parfit’s conception of reasons makes a distinction about what one should feel silly about and what one should feel guilty about. He makes a distinction between reasons in general, and moral reasons in particular. Take for instance two types of reasons such as prudential reasons and moral reasons. Prudential reasons are provided by your wants and desires, and moral reasons are provided by what is good. If you fail to do what you have strongly decisive prudential reasons to do, for instance, if you fail to fill up on gas so that you cannot complete the twelve-hour drive that you so much wanted to complete, then you should feel a bit silly finding yourself out of gas on the highway. But if you fail to do what you have strongly decisive moral reasons to do, for instance, if you fail to do what God has commanded (granted that divine commands provide decisive moral reasons), then you have something to feel guilty about. This means that it is possible to employ the concept of reasons to make sense of moral obligations, and at the same time grant that there is a difference between doing something that should make you feel silly and doing something that should make you feel guilty. Parfit himself does not write a lot about guilt, but it is telling that when he writes about people who act contrary to what one has decisive reason to do, he uses the term “irrational,” but when he writes about people who act contrary to what one has decisive moral reason to do, he uses terms such as “blameworthy.”105 102

Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 239. Take for instance Heidegger who writes of guilt as indebtedness as well as responsibility. Heidegger sees guilt as something that is presupposed by morality, not something that is a result of it. See Polt, Heidegger, 89; Heidegger, Being and Time, 284–86, 329–32. 104 Nagel, The View From Nowhere, 1986, 200. 105 See the difference in chapter 1 and chapter 6 of Parfit, On What Matters, vol. 1. Occasionally, Parfit uses terms such as “remorse,” “guilt,” or “indignation” when writing about acts that are contrary to strong moral reasons. See Parfit, 1:165. 103

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It is notable that when Adams presents his view of moral guilt, he does so without bringing in the notion of a command. It does not seem essential to Adams’s conception of guilt that one violates a command. What is essential is the connection between moral wrongness and the social context. However, the view that moral reasons constitute moral wrongness seems to be able to bring in the social dimension as the view that divine commands constitute moral wrongness. As said above, when Parfit distinguishes among self-interested reasons, person-relative reasons, and impersonal reasons, he recognises that social relations give rise to reasons. For instance, he says that the fact that you are a parent gives you reasons to act in certain ways towards your child.106 If I fail to act according to these reasons, either reasons provided by a parent–child relationship or reasons provided by my relationship to my friends or my community, then I have something to feel guilty about. So, Parfit’s account of moral reasons makes room for guilt, as moral reasons are given by social relations. That is, at least some moral reasons are given by social relations, namely person-relative reasons, reasons that depend on our relation to people. Impartial reasons, however, are not given by social relations, and these reasons are the ones that Parfit’s moral theory is mostly concerned with. Examples of impartial reasons would be reasons for actions towards strangers or animals or future generations. So, there might be something to Adams’s critique after all. Parfit’s conception of normative reasons may account for moral guilt when these reasons are person-relative, but things are different with impartial reasons as these are not given by social relations. If Parfit’s theory is integrated in a theistic framework, he may be better able to account for moral guilt. Given Adams’s theistic theory of value, there is a fundamental connection between morality and the social context. If one understands God as the good, and if God is understood as in the Christian tradition, then the result is a view where all values stem from a social relation – namely a Trinitarian relation. Earlier, I have argued that the highest good for humans is to participate in this relationship, in a friendship with God, and that the moral life facilitates friendship with God while the immoral life puts up a barrier. The connection between guilt as alienation and the theological notion of sin becomes apparent here. If one avoids doing the good or pursues that which is not good, then one is distancing oneself from the good. In other words, one is distancing oneself from God. This is to say that moral wrongness, or 106

Parfit, On What Matters, 1:205.

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sin, always affects at least one relationship, namely the relation of creature to creator.107 So, given a theistic framework, morality is essentially connected to a social relation, the social relation of creature to creator, and can as such give a more comprehensive account of guilt than what Parfit’s theory can provide.

7.4 From Obeying Commands to Imitating the Divine Above, I have argued against Adams’s view on how God is the source of moral facts in his theory of morality as divine commands. I will now propose a positive account of the connection between God and morality, an account in which the relation to the divine is more fundamental then divine commands. I propose a theory in which the goal of the human life is a relationship with God. In this theory, the moral life facilitates this relationship and Jesus Christ is the model for how to live a moral life. To set the stage for this proposal, let’s first consider a distinction between two ideas of morality, a distinction made by philosopher Linda Zagzebski.108 Zagzebski writes that some ethical theories arise from the idea that morality compels, focusing on obligations, and some ethical theories arise from the idea that morality attracts, focusing on values. From the idea that morality compels follows a conception of ethics as law, for instance Kant’s theory in which ethics is the law of reason. This conception of ethics has since dominated theological ethics, or at least so argues Elizabeth Anscombe in the classical paper “Modern Moral Philosophy.”109 The reason why theological ethics has largely favoured the idea that morality compels is largely due to theological anthropology. Take for instance Karl Barth, a theologian who holds that morality compels. Barth argues that the human creature is a sinner, namely a creature that “does not find the divine good in himself.”110 As such, “he is not at all ready on his side to will and do this good within the limits of his

107 Adams writes that when someone violates a command, the commander may rightfully be angry (Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 239). Zagzebski criticises this view, arguing that what makes God angry is not primarily that his commands are not met, but that his relationship with us has been wounded, that we are alienated from him (Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 264). I side with Zagzebski here. 108 Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, xi. 109 Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy.” See also Korsgaard, The Sources of Normativity, 4. 110 Barth, Church Dogmatics, II.1:554.

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creatureliness.”111 Because the human creature does not manage to will or to do the good, morality comes as a bidding from outside. As the word “command” connotes, morality is about law, and it is a law that is imposed on a reluctant nature.112 However, theological ethics does not have to be an ethics of law. Morality can be seen as attracting rather than compelling. The idea that morality attracts is found in Plato, where the good has almost a magnetic force. This is the conception of ethics that Zagzebski recommends. I find it interesting that Adams presents a theory that on the one hand is very Platonic and on the other is very Kantian. Adams’s value theory is very much inspired by Plato’s treatment of the good, while his theory of ethics is essentially an ethics of law. I will argue that a Christian view of ethics should leave behind the ethics of law and instead wholeheartedly embrace the idea that morality attracts. So, instead of holding that moral facts are given by God’s commands, as Adams does, I suggest that moral facts are given by the good, given by God’s nature – a suggestion that is very much in line with Parfit’s conception of moral reasons as value-based. The moral life, then, does not consist in obeying commands but in approaching the good and trying to resemble the good. In other words, the moral life consists in imitating the good. Or in theological terms, to imitate God. I will call this conception of morality “the moral doctrine of imitatio Dei.”113 So, while Adams holds that the good life consists in obeying divine commands, I suggest that the good life consists in trying to resemble the good, resemble God as much as humanly possible. There are several reasons why I think a theory of imitation is a better fit for Christian theology than a divine command ethics. First, it fits well with a New Testament vision of the moral life, such as Paul’s term of being “in Christ,” a notion that connects the moral life with imitation and fellowship with Christ. Second, imitation seems actually to be implied by biblical commands. And third, it fits very well with central parts of Christian theology, particularly the incarnation; the moral doctrine of imitatio Dei is a theory where the incarnation actually matters. In what follows, I will elaborate on these three points.

111

Barth, II.1:554. See also Barth, II.1:651. Biggar, The Hastening that Waits, 15. 113 The term is borrowed from Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 190. Note that this theory does not presuppose that God is the definition or the prime exemplar of goodness, as God is in Adams’s theory, only that God is all good. 112

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7.4.1 A History of Imitation To talk of the moral life in terms of imitation is not something new. For instance, it is key to Aristotle’s moral theory that we learn how to live virtuous lives by imitating someone’s example.114 However, the notion of imitation is more specific in a theory of imitatio Dei than in Aristotle’s writing. God is not just a good exemplar, an exemplar that could have been traded off for any other good exemplar, but the defining exemplar of the good life. Moreover, imitatio Dei sets out to imitate the good itself, which is quite Platonic, and insists that the good is a person, which is quite un-Platonic. Also, a specific Christian talk of the moral life in terms of imitation is not something new either. The theme of imitating Christ is found both in the biblical material and among early Christians. If we turn to the Church Fathers, we see that several of them wrote about the imitation of Christ in this moral sense. Clement, for instance, writes that “our instructor Jesus should draw for us the model of the true life” and that we are to be “assimilated to God by a participation in moral excellence.”115 In the same fashion, Irenaeus writes that it is “by becoming imitators of His works as well as doers of His words that we may have communion with Him.” 116 Here, Clement and Irenaeus connect the notion of Christ as a model for the moral life with the notion of union with Christ.117 So, the exemplar that is imitated is not just an aid to achieve the good life, as imitation is in Aristotle’s theory. Rather, the good life consists in communion with the imitated exemplar. If we turn to the New Testament texts, we see that Jesus is not recorded using the word “imitation” (Greek: mimeomai). However, the theme of imitation is present. Over and over again, Jesus urges people, “follow me,” and he says that his followers ought to learn from his example.118 The theme of imitation is also present in Paul’s writings. Professor of theology and ethics Stanley Grenz argues that in Pauline theology, the heart of the moral life is the imitation of God after the model of Christ.119 Paul uses the word “imitation” and does so in a moral context. When urging his fellow Christians to live a moral life, Paul tells them to be

114

Aristotle, Poetics, 1448b; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1115b. Clement, “The Instructor,” 1.12. 116 Irenaeus, “Against Heresies,” V. 1. 117 See also Athanasius, “On the Incarnation,” chap. 9; Origen, “De Principiis,” sec. 4.1.31. 118 See for instance Mark 1:17; Matthew 11:29. 119 Grenz, The Moral Quest, 119–20, 267–68. 115

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“imitators of God.”120 Additionally, Paul lets the exemplar of Christ determine the content of moral prescriptions. He urges his readers to have the same mindset as Jesus Christ, advocating humility and selflessness.121 He writes that a husband should love his wife “just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,”122 and that people should forgive each other “as God in Christ has forgiven you.”123 While the term “imitation” does appear in Paul’s writings, he only tells his readers to imitate Christ three times.124 A more central term in Pauline theology is that of being “in Christ” (Greek: en Christō).125 The New Testament scholar James Dunn identifies three ways in which Paul uses this term.126 There is an objective usage that refers to the redemptive act that has happened or will happen in Christ.127 There is a subjective usage that refers to the believers’ existential participation in the new reality brought about in Christ.128 Finally, there is an active usage where Paul is urging his readers to adopt a particular attitude or action. Now, these three categories have considerable overlap. Dunn’s point is not to construct clear-cut categories but simply to show how deeply integrated the notion of being in Christ is to Pauline theology. What I want to draw attention to is Paul’s active usage of the term “in Christ.” This usage shows how Pauline theology, at its very core, connects the notion of union with Christ with the notion of moral life. Union with Christ entails a Christ-like life, and a Christ-like life means a life of imitation.129 To borrow the words of another New Testament writer: whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did.130 120 Ephesians 5:1 (Greek: ginesthe oun mimetai tou theou). See also 1 Thessalonians 1:6; 1 Corinthians 11:1. 121 Philippians 2:5. 122 Ephesians 5:25 123 Ephesians 4:32. 124 See the three cases in note 880. There are also other cases in which Paul urges his readers to imitate him (1 Corinthians 4:16) or other churches (1 Thessalonians 2:14) who are in Christ. 125 Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 391. Dunn notes that phrase “in Christ” or “in the Lord” occurs 130 times in the Pauline Corpus. See also Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 502–8. 126 Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 397–99. 127 For example, Romans 3:24: “All are justified … through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus.” 128 For example, Romans 12:5: “We are all one body in Christ.” 129 Paul holds that it is not our imitation but the work of Christ that brings us into union with him (Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 410–11). This is to say that moral life is a consequence of the union with Christ rather than a precondition. See for instance Romans 6, where Paul first elaborates on the “in Christ” motif (6:1–11) and then draws the ethical consequences (6:12–14). 130 1 John 2:6. See also Romans 13:11–14; 2 Corinthians 5:17.

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7.4.2 Commands So, the theme of imitation is found both among the Church Fathers and in the biblical material, and we find a tight connection between the notion of Christ as the exemplar for imitation and the notion of union with Christ. While there are New Testament texts that bring forth the notion of imitation, there are also texts that bring forth the notion of command. In the New Testament, we find several ethical prescripts in the form of commands. Take for instance the Gospel of John, where Jesus states, “This is my commandment, that you love one another.”131 However, the question is not whether biblical texts, or Jesus himself, expresses commands or not. The question is what the source of such moral obligations is, whether the source is God’s commands or God’s nature. I suggest the latter, namely that moral duties are given by God’s nature, and that divine commands merely communicate these duties. When discussing an alternative view of obligations above, I took moral reasons to be value-based, to be provided by the good. If the good itself is understood as God’s nature, so that things are good insofar as they resemble God, then moral reasons are provided by that which resembles God. This means that it is God’s nature, and not God’s commands, that is the ground of both values and obligations. That it is God’s nature that gives rise to moral duties actually seems to be implied by a number of commands found in the Bible. Take for instance the imperative “be holy.” Why should God’s people be holy? Namely because “I, the Lord your God, am holy.”132 Or take Jesus’s commands to be perfect and merciful: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect”133 and “be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”134 Here, Jesus points back to God both to explain why we have a certain duty and to give content to the duty. He does the same in his command to love. Jesus says that he imitates the Father’s love, and that his followers in turn should imitate his love: “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”135 The same is the case in Jesus’s teaching on forgiveness. In Matthew 18, Jesus tells a parable in order to illustrate that there is no upper limit on how many times we should forgive, because there is no upper limit to God’s forgiveness.136 So, because God forgives, humans should forgive. And because God loves, humans should love. 131 132 133 134 135 136

John 15:12. Leviticus 19:2. Matthew 5:48. Luke 6:36. John 13:34. Zagzebski makes this point in Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 240.

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These expressions of commands seem to identify a deeper reason for upholding a certain duty than the command itself, namely that humans should uphold a certain duty not because God says so, but because God is so.137 In other words, humans should imitate God. This means that the moral life does not consist only in obeying divine commands, but in trying to resemble God as much as humanly possible. 7.4.3 A Christian Theory of Morality Until now, I have shown that the New Testament’s vision of the moral life, as well as biblical commands, supports a moral doctrine of imitatio Dei. The following point is more systematic, or dogmatic, in nature: a theory of imitation coheres very well with other Christian beliefs. First, the theory of imitation has a stronger connection to the theological theme of sanctification than Adams’s theory. The Christian life does not consist in submission to law but rather in being conformed to the image of Christ. A moral theory that not only emphasises what the person does (following commands) but also emphasises the person’s character (trying to resemble the character of God) fits better with how sanctification involves transformation. The imitation of Christ involves the attempt to become a new self, a self that is clearly myself, but which I also recognise that I do not yet fully exemplify. Second, a theory of imitation is better integrated with a Christian view of revelation, namely the view that God ultimately revealed himself in the person of Jesus.138 This means that since the incarnation, the will of God is both perfectly expressed and perfectly fulfilled in Jesus Christ, not in a set of commands. Third, a theory of imitation coheres well with the Christian view of what constitutes the relationship with the divine. As Adams intentionally leaves out the doctrine of the incarnation, his divine command theory looks like an Old Covenant theory, implying that it is obedience to the law that constitutes the human relation to God. A theory of imitation fits better with the view that it is Christ, and not the law, that constitutes the human relation to God. Fourth and most importantly, the 137

Linville, “Moral Particularism,” 156–58. There are different views among Christians on exactly how God reveals himself. Some emphasise God’s revelation in Holy Scripture, others in history, others in nature, others the continuous revelation to his people through his spirit. See for instance Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, 1:198–229. My claim here is not that God only reveals himself in Jesus, but that God’s self-revelation in Jesus Christ has a unique status when considering how God has given himself to be known. 138

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theory of imitation shows the importance of Christology in ethics, whereas Adams’s theory does not. Let me explain why I think this point is so important. Consider the following question: what is it that makes a moral theory qualify as a Christian moral theory? If a moral theory is to be called Christian, then it is not enough that the theory is consistent with Christian theology. Rather, Christ must play a defining role in the theory.139 Christian ethics must arise from the gospel of Jesus Christ. If it does not, it might be called theological ethics but not Christian ethics. It is of course possible, and it happens frequently, that Christians have ethical convictions in which Christ does not play a defining role. In that case, there would be ethical Christians without there being Christian ethics.140 Now, this view of what it takes to make a moral theory Christian mirrors Karl Barth’s view of what it takes to make theology Christian. Barth writes that a Christian theology must be christologically determined, in all its parts, if it is to be Christian theology.141 As Christian ethics is a part of Christian theology, it follows that it too must be christologically determined in order to be a Christian theory of morality.142 Some people might think that it is too strong a statement to say that Christian ethics must be christologically determined. In that case, a weaker statement, namely that Christian ethics must be influenced by Christology, would still be sufficient for my argument to work.

139 See for instance O’Donovan, Resurrection and Moral Order, 11; Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 321. 140 For instance, Oliver O’Donovan criticises the moral theory of John Finnis for having “no evangelical content to the moral reasoning,” so while Finnis’ account may be ethics done by a Christian, it is “not, I think, theological ethics” (O’Donovan, Resurrection and Moral Order, x–xi). 141 “A church dogmatics must, of course, be christologically determined as a whole and in all its parts” (Barth, Church Dogmatics, I.2:123). To see how serious Barth is in his claim that all parts of theology should be christologically determined, consider what he writes when discussing the relationship between God and evil: “per definitionem Christological thinking forms the unconditional basis for all other theological thinking, even that which deals with the relationship between God and evil. It is thus quite out of the question to start with certain prior decisions (e.g., concerning God, man, sin, grace etc.) and then to support these christologically” (Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.3.1:175). 142 Concerning moral theology, I take Barth to be a bit un-Barthian. While Christology is essential in his moral theory, the determining factor in his moral writings is the notion of a divine commander (Barth, Church Dogmatics, III.4:4). His divine command theory is explicitly Trinitarian – in that it expresses the commands of God the creator, the commands of God the reconciler, and Christology is essential to it – but Christology is not the determining factor. See Biggar, The Hastening that Waits, chap. 2; Barth, The Holy Spirit and the Christian Life; Barth, “The Gift of Freedom.”

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Adams’s divine command theory seems to be consistent with Christian theology, and there are some important connections with Christian theology as a good God plays an essential role in the theory. But the theory as such is not christologically determined. The incarnation, the person of Christ and the stories of his life do not play an essential part. In fact, the incarnation hardly plays a role at all. In Adams’s four-hundred-page book on God and morality, Christ is hardly mentioned, and he is never made relevant to Adams’s moral theory. This means that Adams, who is a Christian, is missing out on all the features of Christian theology that derive from the life, death and resurrection of Christ.143 The moral theory of imitatio Dei that I propose will, contrary to Adams’s theory, be defined by the incarnation. According to Christian theology, Jesus is God, the second person of the trinity. If Jesus is God, then imitating God will be the same as imitating Christ. This means that imitatio Dei can be formulated as imitatio Christi. With imitatio Christi, we have a theory of morality that is christologically determined both in its material and formal aspect. It is christologically determined in its material aspect as the content of the imitation is spelt out by the stories of the life of Christ.144 It is christologically determined in its formal aspect as Christ is the essential centre of the moral theory: Christ is not just a good exemplar for imitation, but the defining exemplar of the good life. To imitate Christ is not merely to imitate a being who happens to instantiate a set of general principles or virtues, so that someone else could equally well have filled the role of exemplar by instantiating a set of virtues. Rather, the imitation is essentially tied to the person of Christ, the incarnate one. It should be noted that a moral doctrine of imitatio Dei works better inside a Christian framework than outside. A theory of imitating God will face two problems, but these problems will not arise in a Christian framework because of the doctrine of the incarnation. First, if someone sets out to imitate the divine, this person must have some knowledge of the divine. So, one needs to give an account of how we, mere immanent human creatures, can come to know the transcendent. Second, a divine nature is something other than a human nature. Theologians have

143 Adams states that he undertakes theological ethics and not exclusively Christian ethics, but he often connects his theory to parts of Christian theology (Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods, 6). 144 The theological question of the relationship between the historical Jesus and the Christ is an important one, but it will not be addressed here.

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described the divine as the “wholly other,”145 which suggests that there is a vast distance between human nature and the divine nature. If God is the “wholly other,” one needs to describe what on earth a life of imitating the divine would look like. Now, these two problems might be hard to resolve, but not that hard within a Christian framework. To the first point, Christian theology emphasises that God has revealed himself. We can know God because God has given himself to be known. So, the Christian theologian can say something about how we can have knowledge of God. To the second point, Christian theology emphasises that God has revealed himself through Jesus. In Jesus, we can imitate a person who combines the divine nature with human nature. This means that it is possible to describe what it would be for a human to imitate the divine: by learning how Jesus responded to certain situations, and by learning how Jesus was motivated by certain ideals, goals and purposes, we can learn what a life of imitation looks like. So, one can say that imitatio Dei is made possible by imitatio Christi.146 If the moral life consists in imitating Christ, what role is left for divine commands? I suggest the following: God’s commands do not constitute moral wrongness; they communicate moral wrongness. To understand God’s commands as communicating moral wrongness is clearly a departure from Adams’s modified divine command theory. But the main elements of Adams’s theory can still be maintained. As long as God’s commands provide us with a reason for action, as they plausibly do, one may still hold that God’s commands guide us and one may still say that if God commands us to do something, then it is obligatory to do so. In a theory of imitation, then, God’s commands still have a role to play, although a less central role than in Adams’s theory. When I say that God’s commands communicate what is right and what is wrong, I do not say that the only way of gaining moral knowledge is to discover what sort of commands God has issued. A theist may assume that God has created us in such a way that the proper use of our reason, and the guidance of our moral sentiments, are normally sufficient to determine our moral obligations. Anyhow, it would be strange for a theist not to consult God’s revealed will if he believes that he has access to it. In some cases, he may find it easier to identify God’s commands (through consulting scripture, for example) than to independently determine whether an 145 For instance, the early Barth, who is a so-called dialectical theologian. See Barth, Church Dogmatics, III.2:114. 146 Zagzebski, Divine Motivation Theory, 2004, 233; Tanner, Christ the Key, 18.

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action has the property of moral rightness or moral wrongness. And in some cases, God’s revealed will may be used to adjust his moral judgments. If this person discovers that God commands or forbids what common sense regards as morally indifferent, this discovery might provide a sufficient reason for correcting his initial moral judgment. For instance, this person may discovery that God commands him to love his enemies and to do good to those who hate him, which may lead him to revise his opinion that he has no moral obligations to do so.147 So, God’s commands are not made irrelevant. Even though they are not seen as constituting moral wrongness, they can be seen as communicating moral wrongness. To wrap things up, let us take a look back at Adams’s reasons in favour of a divine command theory. Adams prefers his divine command theory for three reasons. The theory accounts for the objectivity of morality, it connects God and morality, and it accounts for the distinction between good acts and obligatory acts. How well does the theory of imitatio Dei handle these concerns? It accounts equally well for the objectivity of morality, as values are not constituted by our beliefs but by God’s nature. It also provides a connection between God and morality, and a stronger connection to Christian theology than Adams’s theory, as imitatio Dei is connected to imitatio Christi. What about the distinction between the good and the obligatory? Adams’s theory accounts better for this distinction, as his divine command theory more or less entails it. By itself, a theory of imitatio Dei does not account for the distinction between the good and the obligatory. However, it is not alarming that it does not. There are other ways of accounting for the distinction, for instance by use of Parfit’s conception of reasons, which seems like a simple and elegant way of making sense of the distinction. Now, while the reasons that count in favour of Adams’s theory does not count against a theory of imitatio Dei, there are some concerns that make a theory of imitatio Dei preferable to Adams’s modified divine command theory. There are two philosophical concerns that I want to draw attention to. Firstly, the view of imitatio Dei is not challenged by any of the arguments against the necessity of divine commands presented above. Even if God did not command anything, God’s nature would still constitute values, which would be sufficient for there to be moral reasons and moral obligations. As such, the moral doctrine of imitatio Dei can incorporate a more comprehensive account of moral obligations. Secondly, it is in some sense a simpler view: why say that moral obligation depends on divine com147

Wainwright, Religion and Morality, 107–8; Luke 6:27.

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mand, which again depends on what is good, when one can simply say that moral obligations consist in refraining from acts that are not good (that is, acts that are contrary to God’s nature)?148 Moreover, as this chapter has shown, there are also some theological concerns that make a theory of imitation preferable to Adams’s theory. One concern is that a theory of imitation fits better with the New Testament vision of the moral life, as well as with biblical commands. But most importantly, a theory of imitation is deeply integrated with this central part of Christian theology; that is, it is actually a Christian theory of morality, a theory in which the incarnation is made relevant.

148

Linville, “Moral Particularism,” 156.

8. CONCLUSION

When Alan Gibbard comments on Parfit’s third volume, he writes: My central objection to Parfit’s ‘non-realist cognitivism’ … is not that it gets things wrong, but that it doesn’t get enough right, and so leaves fundamental normative claims a mystery. Parfit’s account doesn’t explain what’s crucial and most illuminating, and so it doesn’t get us as high on the mountain as we can hope to be at this stage of inquiry.1

This is also my central objection to Parfit. I do think that Parfit gets a lot of things right, but his theory is not complete, not because he gets a lot of things wrong but because he lacks the resources to get it all right. Most of all, he lacks the resources to explain “what’s crucial and most illuminating” about morality, namely the special normative weight of morality, the metaphysical status of morality, and moral knowledge. It is worth noticing that Parfit seems to appreciate what Gibbard says, writing, “I am glad that this is now Gibbard’s central objection to my view.”2 I hope that Parfit would have been equally happy with my contribution to the discussion.3 Let me do a brief summary. The thesis I have set out to defend is that Parfit’s metaethical theory is improved by being integrated into a theistic framework. The improvement consists in being able to give a better explanation of moral realism, and a theistic framework offers explanatory resources. In PART ONE, I have shown how Parfit’s theory faces two problems concerning the metaphysics of morality, and that Christian theism offers solutions. First, a theistic framework gives him the resources to answer the profoundest problem, enabling him to uphold both the importance of happiness and the overridingness of moral normativity. I have shown how this problem can be solved by the notion of God as judge, which is what Kant does. But as this solution leads to an unsatisfactory conception of God and of the moral life, I suggest keeping the structure of Kant’s solution but using a Christian conception of God rather than 1

Parfit, On What Matters, 3:206. Parfit, 3:225. 3 At the very least, I hope Parfit would be glad about my theological contribution in the way he is of Street’s constructivist contribution, namely acknowledging that these “forceful arguments, though I believe them to be unsound, help us to make philosophical progress” (Parfit, 3:18). 2

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Kant’s deistic conception.4 This construction, I think, gives a more appealing conception of God and of the moral life – at least one that fits better with the kind of theism presented in this book – and I think it makes some progress in the discussion of the profoundest problem, in which the Kantian answer is more or less taken for granted as the Christian answer.5 The second metaphysical problem concerns the metaphysical status of moral facts. Parfit suggests that moral facts have no metaphysical status. By promoting a non-metaphysical view of morality, Parfit wants to avoid metaphysical issues while still being able to uphold moral realism. I have argued – in a way that, to my knowledge, is a novelty – that the problem with Parfit’s non-metaphysical quietism is not that it contains many errors and as such gets things wrong, but that it does not get enough things right. Even if we grant Parfit’s quietism, this view does not give him the resources needed to explain such things as normativity, what normative claims are about, and what it would be for normative claims to be true. Christian theism, however, can provide resources that explain these issues by appealing to aspects of the creator–creature relation. In PART TWO, I have shown how Parfit’s theory faces an epistemological problem, a problem of how to explain the correlation between moral beliefs and moral facts. Parfit proposes a Darwinian explanation. I have argued that there is a tension in this explanation between, on the one hand, holding that the ability to acquire moral beliefs was reproductively advantageous, so that humans were selected for this ability, and, on the other hand, holding that moral beliefs were not reproductively advantageous, so that an evolutionary influence on moral tendencies and beliefs must be considered a distorting influence. Moreover, I have argued that Parfit’s explanation is not comprehensive enough as it only gives a good explanation of procedural reasoning and not substantive reasoning. According to Christian theism, God has created humans with certain cognitive faculties, to a certain kind of life, and calls humans to action, making us understand why there is a certain correlation between moral beliefs and facts. Moreover, I have shown that a theistic explanation is not only lovelier but also likelier than Parfit’s non-theistic explanation. This leads to a theistic argument from moral epistemology, a moral argument following the structure of the fine-tuning argument, which to my knowledge is a novelty. 4 5

I think it is correct to call Kant a deist. See Wood, “Kant’s Deism.” See chapter 3.2.

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In PART THREE, I have argued that the notion of God is consistent with moral realism. I have shown how the Euthyphro dilemma presents certain challenges to theistic ethics, how these challenges can be answered by following Robert Adams. Moreover, I have shown how Adams’s answers can be improved, both philosophically and theologically, so that the result is a value theory and a moral theory that not only fits well with Parfit’s theory but also fits well with Christian theism. By doing this, I intended to show that theism fits well with moral realism, so that integrating Parfit’s theory into a theistic framework will not give rise to major problems. I have obviously not considered all possible objections to a theistic view of ethics, but I have considered those I take to be most pressing. Moreover, by presenting a Christian view on God’s relation to value and morality, I have tried to contribute to the theological discussion of how to conceive of Christian ethics. Let me draw some conclusions. One of Parfit’s theses is that all the major moral theories converge, that they are all climbing the same mountain. This book supports Parfit’s convergence thesis, as it shows that Parfit’s theory is compatible with a theistic view of ethics. But this book goes further. When Thomas Nagel presents his philosophical position, he says his theory is more “at home” in a theistic framework than in a nontheistic.6 My claim is that this notion also applies to Parfit’s theory. As Gibbard points out, Parfit’s lack of explanatory resources does not get us as high on the mountain as we can go. I argue that theism is not only compatible with Parfit’s theory but that it also improves it, enabling us to reach the mountaintop (perhaps the Biblical writers were correct to call God El Shaddai, God of the mountain). Theism improves Parfit’s theory in the sense that it provides a better explanation of moral realism. It is an explanation that is more comprehensive, explaining more features of morality than Parfit’s non-theism does, and it is an explanation that is more cohesive, fitting better with and increasing our understanding of moral metaphysics and moral epistemology. When this theistic explanation of morality is set up against Parfit’s non-theistic explanation, theism comes out as the best explanation. Two conclusions can be drawn from this. First, the notion of God is not redundant in a moral theory. Implicit in Parfit’s metaethics is a significant challenge to theistic ethics. If one can construct a moral theory without the notion of God, and if one can do so without any loss, then God is made morally superfluous. By arguing that theism gives a better 6

Nagel, The Last Word, 130.

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explanation of morality, one can conclude that God is not superfluous. Second, given that God is the best explanation of moral realism, one can make an inference to the best explanation, inferring the existence of God from moral realism. The use of such reasoning, of making an inference to the best explanation, is manifold. A doctor may infer that you have the flu as that is the best explanation of some set of symptoms. An astronomer may infer the existence of dark matter as this hypothesis provides the best explanation of some set of phenomena. A biologist may infer the hypothesis of natural selection because this hypothesis provided the best explanation of that evidence. As I have argued that Christian theism can better explain certain features of morality than non-theism, I have prepared the ground for an inference to the best explanation that infers the existence of God from moral realism. If I am correct in my argument that moral realism is better explained by theism than non-theism, then the truth of moral realism counts in favour of theism, and Parfit’s metaethical theory supports theism over atheism. Note that this argument is not deductive. I have not argued that theism provides the only explanation of morality, only that it provides a better explanation. As such, this is no proof for the existence of God, nor is it an argument in which the conclusion that God exists follows necessarily. It is an abductive argument from moral realism to the existence of God, and in an abductive argument the conclusion is implied rather than entailed. In other words, an abductive argument may state that some matter of fact counts as evidence for Christian theism, but not that it counts as proof. Some might argue that theism is not a very good explanatory candidate as it faces serious problems on other fronts, such as the problem of evil, so that these problems lower the plausibility of theism and consequentially lower the plausibility of a theistic explanation of morality. It might very well be the case that theism has its theoretical issues, but even if it has, this does not affect my argument. Presumably, a theistic framework will, as all other frameworks, have its strengths and weaknesses. There might be things that count against theism, such as suffering, and there might be things that count for theism, such as moral realism. Moreover, the argument I have made is not categorical. I do not argue that any conception of morality implies the existence of God. All I argue is that this specific conception of moral realism counts in favour of theism over non-theism. As Christian theism provides a better explanation of moral realism than Parfit’s non-theism, this particular conception of morality supports theism over atheism. To argue that a theistic framework

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is preferable “all things considered” would require one to consider all things – arguments in favour of the existence of God as well as arguments against – and that is not the task of this book. In this book, I have focused on a particular conception of morality, namely Parfit’s metaethics. I have not argued that Christian theism provides a better explanation of any conception of morality, only that it provides a better explanation of the one found in Parfit’s work. However, some of my arguments may also be applied to other conceptions. In PART ONE, I laid out the profoundest problem. Any moral theory that wants to uphold both the importance of morality and the importance of happiness, and does not identify the two, will face this problem. It is telling how both Kant and Sidgwick, upholding two very different moral theories, felt the weight of this problem. So, this part of my discussion can be applied to quite a lot of other moral theories. PART ONE also contained a discussion of Parfit’s quietist view on metaphysics. This is a view that he shares with some other philosophers, such as Thomas Nagel and T. M. Scanlon.7 While there are differences between the kind of quietism advocated by these three thinkers, much of what is said about Parfit’s quietism can also be said about Nagel’s and Scanlon’s. Moreover, as Parfit’s theory is not only quietist but also non-naturalistic, much of what is said about how Christian theism provides a good explanation of non-natural moral facts can be brought into the discussion on non-naturalism. So, there is a potential for arguing that Christian theism provides a better explanation of moral facts than what other non-naturalistic accounts do, such as the non-naturalism of David Enoch, Erik Wielenberg, or William FitzPatrick. Lastly, PART TWO contained a discussion on moral epistemology. The correlation problem is a problem for all moral theories that see moral facts as constitutively independent of humans, but it is most of all a problem for non-naturalistic theories. The discussion on epistemology can presumably be applied to other non-naturalistic theories. So, while this book contains a discussion on Parfit in particular, it may have relevance for a larger metaethical discourse. As a final concluding remark, I think my project of improving Parfit’s metaethical theory also has relevance for theological discourse. When I proposed an account of the connection between God and morality, I showed how one could give an account on merely theistic grounds, but I argued that there are theological concerns that count in favour of employing specific Christian resources such as God’s self-revelation in 7

See also Olson, “Skorupski’s Middle Way in Metaethics.”

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Christ. My point here is that it is not only theologically preferable to employ specifically Christian resources, but also philosophically preferable to do so. I have shown that there are resources in Christian theology, resources not present in mere philosophical theism, that help improve Parfit’s metaethics and provide a better explanation of morality. In other words, a Christian theological ethics, one that makes use of specific Christian resources, provides a path further up the mountain than what mere theological ethics does. This suggests that the Christian ethicist has good reason to get involved in moral discourse in a properly Christian manner, not only engaging in moral reasoning or theological moral reasoning but in Christian moral reasoning, drawing on the richness of the Christian tradition.

9. BIBLIOGRAPHY

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10. INDEX

abortion; 205; 207 abstract objects; 84; 127 Adrian Moore; 95 afterlife; 60; 64; 67-69; 72; 75; 76 Allan Gibbard; 5; 20; 21; 27; 92; 103; 104; 105; 121; 223; 225 Alvin Plantinga; 83; 133; 149; 152; 153; 158; 161; 175 Aristotle; 12; 71-74; 83; 106; 107; 111; 213 Augustine; 71; 111; 115; 163; 186 Blaise Pascal; 76; 115; 160; 163 C. Stephen Evans; 10; 116 categorical imperative; 27; 41; 98 Christian ethics; 176; 213–221; 217; 218; 225 Christine Korsgaard; 25; 28; 41; 45; 70; 81; 96; 100; 184; 186; 211 Cian Dorr; 89; 90 Clement; 213 cognitivism; 5; 20; 223 consequentialism; 31; 37; 55 contractualism; 31; 37; 52; 55; 57 Darwinian answer; 134; 140; 142 Darwinian dilemma; 135; 139; 140; 146; 147; 156 David Copp; 87; 91; 92; 102-105 David Enoch; 7; 81; 108; 119; 129; 227 David Hume; 29 debunking arguments; 150; 152 deontology; 31; 37 divine command theory; 33; 34; 169; 170; 177; 181; 194-199; 216-220 doodness as resemblance; 185-188 Dostoyevsky; 33 dualism of practical reason; 44; 48; 54

egoism; 41; 43; 60; 72 epistemology; 14; 123; 126; 134; 142; 143; 149; 158; 159; 176; 187; 224; 225 error theory; 103 eschatological compensation; 67; 68; 73 euthanasia; 70; 198; 203; 204; 207 Euthyphro; 16; 140; 167-184; 190; 224 evolution; 131 evaluative tendencies; 136-140; 144; 156 evolutionary advantage; 132-148; 155; 224 intentional design; 130; 131 natural selection; 130-145; 149; 151-158; 226 unintentional design; 130-134 evolutionary influence; 135; 137; 224 explanation; 11; 14-18 likeliest explanation; 157 likelihood; 157 lovely explanation; 156 famine relief; 57; 127 future Tuesday indifference; 27 G. E. Moore; 7; 9; 29; 85 Geoff Sayre-McCord; 4; 5; 7; 8; 25 Gilbert Harman; 124-126 God conception of God; 33; 36; 69; 72; 73; 89; 113; 118 creator–creature relation; 34; 70; 74; 76; 112-116; 224 friendship with God; 71-77; 116; 153; 210 God as judge; 60; 68; 69; 73; 74; 77; 109; 110; 115; 161; 175; 223 God’s commands; 76; 173; 179; 190; 195; 197-207; 212; 215; 219; 220

248

INDEX

God’s goodness; 34; 35; 72; 169; 173-177; 182-185; 189-194 God’s will; 64; 109; 168-176; 178; 182; 196; 199 image of God; 70; 115; 152; 160; 205 Parfit on theism; 34; 89 relation to God; 70-76; 111-116; 154; 216 resembling God; 152; 153; 177182; 185-188; 204; 205; 215 sovereign; 175; 191 the supreme good; 62; 178 the ultimate concern; 113; 176; 191 unconditioned; 17; 37; 62; 175; 186 happiness; 28-30; 41-44; 47; 54; 58-76; 80; 172; 223; 227 Henry Sidgwick; 30; 31; 41-67; 72; 73; 227 Hilary Putnam; 88; 179 imitation; 212-218; 219; 221 imitatio Christi; 76; 213; 218; 219; 220 imitatio Dei; 212; 213; 216; 218; 220 Immanuel Kant; 27; 31; 41; 47; 60-77; 115; 154; 162; 163; 191; 194; 211; 223; 227 Irenaeus; 71; 213 J. L. Mackie; 11; 12; 14; 81; 91-93; 107-109; 116 James Dreier; 102 Jamin Asay; 99 Jürgen Moltmann; 111; 186 Karl Barth; 70; 111; 113; 115; 154; 160; 176; 186; 187; 211; 217; 219 Katarzyna de Lazari-Radek; 48; 52; 53; 56 Keith Ward; 13; 60; 67; 68; 76; 110; 111 Kit Fine; 89; 90 Linda Zagzebski; 14; 168; 194; 197; 211-219

mathematics; 84; 86; 87; 89; 94; 97-101; 119; 127; 128; 133; 135; 142; 147; 148; 176 metaphysics; 6; 10; 83; 85; 87; 92; 95; 105; 106; 118; 126; 127; 179; 223; 225; 227 moral accountability; 114; 115 moral agreement; 30-32; 100; 105; 145; 161 moral disagreement; 21; 30; 158; 159 moral duties; 9; 14; 51; 53; 64; 66; 70; 71; 72; 74; 179; 180; 215 moral error; 159; 161 moral facts correlation problem; 124; 126; 128; 129; 134; 135; 139; 227 mind-independent; 6; 98; 100; 104; 109; 139 ontological status; 88 overridingness; 51; 56; 62; 66; 74; 97; 98; 112; 117; 223 moral obligations; 10; 47; 69; 74; 82; 112; 114; 177; 181; 185; 190; 194; 199; 200; 204-209; 215; 219; 220 moral realism; 4; 5; 7; 8; 14; 25; 85; 194; 195; 223; 225 moral scepticism; 144 naturalism; 12; 13; 20; 23; 28; 29; 31; 35; 80; 81; 82; 86; 95; 108; 119; 158 Nicolas Sturgeon; 124; 125 Nietzsche; 33 nihilism; 21; 22; 33; 35; 86; 92 no clear question; 86; 88; 90 non-cognitivism; 20-22; 31; 35; 86 non-naturalism; 13; 14; 20; 25; 28; 31; 80; 81; 84; 85; 92; 93; 95; 108; 119; 120; 129; 138; 227 normative impartialist; 48 moral rationalism; 51-53 normative force; 9; 24; 25; 34; 45; 50; 98; 109; 110; 114 overriding; 50; 51; 66; 74; 75; 98; 112; 114; 176 reason-implying; 52; 97; 134 rule-implying; 97

INDEX

self-interest; 43; 48; 53; 54; 65; 76; 110 special normative weight; 74; 97; 98; 106; 112; 114; 117; 223 undermining morality; 53-56; 62 value-based view; 114 weak moral rationalism; 51-53 normative beliefs; 25; 26; 30; 119; 123; 139; 141; 143; 151; 152; 159 objectivism; 20; 23-25; 28; 79; 96; 100 ontology; 6; 9; 14; 75; 79; 81-84; 88; 92-94; 99; 101; 111; 119; 120 abstract objects; 84 actualist sense of existence; 82; 84; 90 narrow sense of existence; 83; 84 non-metaphysical non-naturalist; 91; 102 non-ontological existence; 84-98; 104-108; 116; 120 plural sense view; 82; 83; 94 single sense view; 82; 83 wide sense of existence; 83; 84 ought implies can; 63; 154; 162; 163 parsimony; 16; 118-120; 177 Paul Tillich; 37; 74; 111; 113; 175; 176 Paul, the apostle; 115; 161; 212-214 Peter Lipton; 15; 156 Peter Singer; 48; 50; 52; 53; 56; 98; 142; 173 Philip Kitcher; 136; 167; 172; 173; 191-194 Plato; 9; 81; 90; 91; 108; 111; 140; 167; 169; 175-178; 192; 212 platonism; 80; 84; 177; 192; 212; 213 prudence; 43; 48; 50; 54; 56; 59; 67; 72; 76; 112 quasi-realism; 21; 103; 104-106 queerness argument; 9; 10; 14; 81; 83; 91; 92; 106-110; 114-118 quietism; 88; 93-96; 105; 106; 224; 227

249

R. M. Hare; 6; 10; 13; 14; 20; 22; 63-68; 77; 110; 161-163 rationality; 26-28; 46; 65; 132; 133; 140; 143-148; 155; 158; 160; 163; 172 irrational; 28; 46; 47; 51; 188; 208; 209 less than fully rational; 46; 47 ought rationally; 46 procedural rationality; 26; 27; 148 rational; 4; 14; 26-28; 41-51; 56; 62-65; 73; 100; 118; 120; 132; 146; 171; 172; 188; 207 substantive rationality; 27; 28; 140; 146; 148; 155; 158; 172 reasons decisive reason; 26; 46; 47; 50-58; 66; 105; 194; 202; 206-209 hedonic reasons; 188 impartial reasons; 46; 48-50; 54; 56; 59; 210 instrumental reasons; 26; 27; 45; 149; 184 modal reasoning; 133 moral reasons; 14; 27; 44; 48-51; 56; 57; 60; 69; 70; 80-84; 96; 104-107; 112; 117; 130; 134; 142; 146; 148; 176; 177; 188; 205; 209-212; 215; 220 object-given reasons; 24-28; 44; 188; 189 person-relative reasons; 45; 48; 49; 69; 210 prudential reason; 47-50; 55-58; 76; 173; 209 respond to reasons; 132-134; 138; 146; 152; 155 self-interested reasons; 45-60; 69; 210 subject-given reasons; 23-27; 44; 109; 188 sufficient reason; 46-59; 168; 206; 220 telic reasons; 45; 128 value-based reasons; 44; 114; 177; 205; 212; 215 Reasons and Persons,; 24; 27; 31-35; 45; 75; 145; 146 Richard Boyd; 8; 123

250

INDEX

Richard Joyce; 25; 85; 136; 170-172; 174; 178 Robert Adams; 10; 14; 68; 69; 76; 100; 110-115; 168; 170; 177-225 Russ Shafer-Landau; 6; 7; 109; 123; 126; 168 Schopenhauer; 33 Sharon Street; 25; 27; 122; 135-147; 151-157; 223 Simon Blackburn; 6; 20-23; 103-105 sin; 65; 74; 115; 158; 160; 161; 163; 186; 210; 217 noetic effect of sin; 160 subjectivism; 20; 23-28; 31; 35; 99; 148; 168; 172; 174 supererogatory; 51; 195; 206 supervenience; 170; 180 the causal objection; 124 the highest good; 64 the kingdom of God; 60; 64; 65 the moral argument; 11; 13 the problem of contingency; 169; 172; 177-181 the problem of God’s goodness; 177 the profoundest problem; 42-44; 47; 54-60; 61; 65-75; 223; 227

the rationalist problem; 58; 59 the regress objection; 17 theological ethics; 211; 212; 217; 218; 228 Thomas Nagel; 12; 17; 47; 51; 88; 131; 133; 149; 153; 207; 208; 209; 225; 227 Thomas Scanlon; 31; 44; 47; 86; 88; 91-96; 105-117; 227 triple theory; 31; 32; 37; 46; 47; 57 trolley problems; 55 truth Minimalism; 99; 102; 103 more-than-minimal sense; 103; 104 truth conditions; 103 truth-maker; 99-105 universalism; 41-43; 60; 72 vocation; 70; 152; 154; 156 W. V. Quine; 79; 83; 84; 119 Wes Morriston; 11; 181; 182; 198; 200; 204 William Lane Craig; 10-12; 67; 94; 95; 115; 168 William of Ockham; 93; 118; 119; 168; 170; 179; 180; 181; 196; 198

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31. P.F. Bloemendaal, Grammars of Faith. A Critical Evaluation of D.Z. Phillips’s Philosophy of Religion, Leuven, 2006 32. J.-M. Narbonne & W.J. Hankey, Levinas and the Greek Heritage followed by One Hundred Years of Neoplatonism in France: a Brief Philosophical History, Leuven, 2006 33. J.-W. Barbeau (ed.), Coleridge’s Assertion of Religion: Essays on the Opus Maximum, Leuven, 2006 34. W. Stoker, Is Faith Rational? A Hermeneutical-Phenomenological Accounting for Faith, Leuven, 2006 35. L. Anckaert, A Critique of Infinity. Rosenzweig and Levinas, Leuven, 2006 36. P. Schaafsma, Reconsidering Evil. Confronting Reflections with Confessions, Leuven, 2007 37. K. Johannesson, God Pro Nobis. On Non-Metaphysical Realism and the Philosophy of Religion, Leuven, 2007 38. C.R. Joby, Calvinism and the Arts: A Re-assessment, Leuven, 2007 39. J. Geldhof, Revelation, Reason and Reality. Theological Encounters with Jaspers, Schelling and Baader, Leuven, 2007 40. B. Hebblethwaite, The Philosophical Theology of Austin Farrer, Leuven, 2007 41. P. Fridlund, L. Kaennel, C. Stenqvist (eds.), Plural Voices. Intradisciplinary Perspectives on Interreligious Issues, Leuven, 2009 42. B. Carter, ‘The Little Commonwealth of Man’: The Trinitarian Origins of the Ethical and Political Philosophy of Ralph Cudworth, Leuven, 2010 43. C. Ryan, Schopenhauer's Philosophy of Religion. The Death of God and the Oriental Renaissance, Leuven, 2010 44. M. Vejrup Nielsen, Sin and Selfish Genes. Christian and Biological Narratives, Leuven, 2010 45. K. Alfsvag, What No Mind Has Conceived. On the Significance of Christological Apophaticism, Leuven, 2010 46. H. Clement, Antwort auf den Nihilismus. Die Philosophische Theologie von Wilhelm Weischedel, Leuven, 2010 47. J.-O. Hendriksen, Finitude and Theological Anthropology. An Interdisciplinary Exploration into Theological Dimensions of Finitude, Leuven, 2010 48. P. Fridlund, Mobile Performances. Linguistic Undecidability as Possibility and Problem in the Theology of Religions, Leuven, 2011 49. G. Dumbreck, Schleiermacher and Religious Feeling, Leuven, 2012 50. W. Stoker & W.L. van der Merwe (eds.), Culture and Transcendence. A Typology of Transcendence, Leuven, 2012 51. R. MacSwain, Solved by Sacrifice. Austin Farrer, Fideism, and the Evidence of Faith, Leuven, 2013 52. J.-A. Meylahn, The Limits and Possibilities of Postmetaphysical God-Talk. A Conversation between Heidegger, Levinas and Derrida, Leuven, 2013 53. D. Leech, The Hammer of the Cartesians. Henry More’s Philosophy of Spirit and the Origins of Modern Atheism, Leuven, 2013 54. R. Masson, Without Metaphor, no Saving God. Theology after Cognitive Linguistics, Leuven, 2014 55. G. Keogh, The Evolution of Hope. Theological Metaethics in the Context of Evolution, Leuven, 2016 56. E.D. Baldwin, Fully Informed Reasonable Disagreement and Tradition Based Perspectivalism, Leuven, 2016 57. N. Brunsveld, The Many Faces of Religious Truth. Hilary Putnam’s Pragmatic Pluralism on Religion, Leuven, 2017

58. J. Bryson, The Christian Platonism of Thomas Jackson, Leuven, 2016 59. N.H. Gregersen, M. Stenmark (eds.), Naturalism and Beyond. Religious Naturalism and Its Alternatives, Leuven, 2016 60. C. Cimorelli, John Henry Newman’s Theology of History. Historical Consciousness, Theological ‘Imaginaries’, and the Development of Tradition, Leuven, 2017 61. D.-J. Eklund, Faith and Will. Voluntariness of Faith in Analytic Theism, Leuven, 2017 62. D.A. Michaud, Reason Turned into Sense: John Smith on Spiritual Sensation, Leuven, 2017 63. F. Jonbäck, The God who Seeks but Seems to Hide, Leuven, 2017 64. C.R. Brewer, Christian Theology and the Transformation of Natural Religion: From Incarnation to Sacramentality. Essays in Honour of David Brown, Leuven, 2018 65. J. Orr, The Mind of God and the Works of Nature: Laws and Powers in Naturalism, Platonism, and Classical Theism, 2019 66. J. Gillett, Compatibilist Freedom and the Problem of Evil, 2018

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