Right Reason

The blog of Dr Glenn Andrew Peoples on Theology, Philosophy, and Social Issues

Stephen Law on the Cosmological Argument

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Sometimes even professional philosophers get basic arguments wrong. Especially when criticising religious beliefs.

This is the second time in a pretty short space of time that I’ve criticised something said by Stephen Law. I don’t want people to think that I’m picking on him. It’s a coincidence, I swear. I had a book of his out of the library and critiqued his (apparent) claim that Christians who use the fine-tuning argument commit the lottery fallacy. Then when I was in that same library a couple of days ago that same book caught my eye because I recognised it as the book that I recently had out. Right next to it was another book by Stephen Law. It was bright green, so it stood out. That’s how I came to be reading him again and how I spotted the comments that I’m about to comment on. I promise, it’s nothing personal.

Having said that, it’s still an example of some pretty bad philosophy. Law’s book The Philosophy Files is basically an introduction to philosophical issues for young people. In general, it’s good; enjoyable, clear, helpful and it has nifty pictures. I have on my desk the edition published in 2000.

But just as with his other book that I commented on, The Philosophy Gym, things head south when it comes to the section on theism (belief in God). Now of course we should cut him some slack. The book isn’t an in-depth textbook. It provides an introductory coverage of issues for people who may never have encountered them before. But even in a simplified presentation, surely we have a duty to represent people’s positions in a way that doesn’t mislead, and that doesn’t portray people that one disagrees with as using arguments that are much worse than the arguments that they use in real life.

Richard Dawkins and the Beliefs of Children

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Recently I read a few comments by Richard Dawkins on the phrase “a Christian child” or “a Muslim child” etc. he writes:

A phrase like “Catholic child” or “Muslim child” should clang furious bells of protest in the mind, just as we flinch when we hear “One man, one vote.” Children are too young to know their religious opinions. Just as you can’t vote until you are eighteen, you should be free to choose your own cosmology and ethics without society’s impertinent presumption that you will automatically inherit those of your parents. We’d be aghast to be told of a Leninist child or a neo-conservative child or a Hayekian monetarist child. So isn’t it a kind of child abuse to speak of a Catholic child or a Protestant child? Especially in Northern Ireland and Glasgow, where such labels, handed down over generations, have divided neighborhoods for centuries and can even amount to a death warrant?

Catholic child? Flinch. Protestant child? Squirm. Muslim child? Shudder. Everybody’s consciousness should be raised to this level. Occasionally a euphemism is needed, and I suggest “Child of Jewish (etc.) parents.” When you come down to it, that’s all we are really talking about anyway. Just as the upside-down (Northern Hemisphere chauvinism again: flinch!) map from New Zealand raises consciousness about a geographical truth, children should hear themselves described not as “Christian children” but as “children of Christian parents.” This in itself would raise their consciousness, empower them to make up their own minds, and choose which religion, if any, they favor, rather than just assume that religion means “same beliefs as parents.” I could well imagine that this linguistically coded freedom to choose might lead children to choose no religion at all.

There’s a certain disanalogy here with political points of view. Being a “Hayekian monetarist” or a “Leninist” is largely (or at least to some extent and in an important way) about cherishing certain values, whereas religious belief has more to do with affirming certain claims as metaphysically true. Some parents look for a discounted nursery at the beginning to see if the child would fit in.

But more importantly, Richard Dawkins is on record as treating all factual beliefs as “scientific” beliefs. There’s a factual answer to the question of whether or not the moon orbits the earth, or how many protons there are in an atom of lead. I doubt that Professor Dawkins would look kindly on the parent or teacher who answered a young boy’s question about the moon by saying “I’m sorry Timmy, you’re too young. I can’t possibly impose my view of the moon’s movement upon you. How dare I try to make you share my beliefs.” I’m interested in your thoughts. Do you agree with Richard Dawkins? Should fact claims that most people would consider “religious” be treated as exceptional – unlike all other beliefs – and excluded from the beliefs we share with our children? If so, why?

I do wonder, too, how Richard Dawkins would answer his own child (hypothically) if she asked him: Is there a god?

Don’t get a PhD

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That’s right. Don’t get a PhD.

You might read the title of this blog entry and think that I’m kidding. Well, I’m being intentionally provocative I’ll grant, but I’m not kidding. Every now and then someone asks me if I would recommend that they go ahead and get a PhD in philosophy or theology. As rule of thumb, I wouldn’t. Why not? Didn’t I enjoy my experience? Yes, very much. I got a scholarship to pay for all my fees and a living allowance, so I got to do stuff I love for three years and get paid for it. It was great! And if that’s all you’re after – three years of doing what you love, then I take back my warning. Go ahead, do it, because you will very probably get what you want. But…

But what if you’re not doing it just for the satisfaction and pleasure. Are you going to do it for the knowledge? Read books. Start a blog and write articles. You don’t need to get a PhD to write your dissertation cover page. Actually you would only go after a PhD if you already knew your subject well enough to say something lengthy about it. And then we come to the more likely culprit. You want to get a PhD because you think you’ll be able to enter professional academia once you’ve got a PhD, and perhaps a few publications.

Now, some people ask me this because – no boasting intended – they admire what they think I’ve achieved. I’ve got a PhD, so I would know if it’s a good idea for them, because I’ve been there and done that. Well here’s the thing: Did you also notice that even though I completely finished the PhD in mid 2007 and it’s now mid 2010, I haven’t had a single academic job – not even a job interview? Imagine that I’m in a rowboat, in the middle of a lake. So are a hundred other people. The lake is big enough to hold just one hundred rowboats. We all have fishing rods, and our heavily baited hooks are in the water. There’s a single fish in the water, and everyone on the lake knows it. You’re standing at the shore and you call out, “so…. should I bring my boat and rod out there too?” Another illustration: There’s an elevator full of people. No, not just full, it’s absolutely stuffed with people, and the crowd overflows out into the lobby, where still more people – dozens of them, are pressing in as hard as they can, trying to get into the elevator. Should you try to get in? Imagine that the scene before you does not change. The people in the elevator are quite happy to stay there, and the crowd pressed hard up against them just keeps on pressing it, showing no sign of letting up. You haven’t even entered the mob yet. Should you stand around for hours waiting to get in?

Consider the New Zealand scene in philosophy: Your options for universities are Auckland, Waikato, Victoria, Canterbury and Otago. There are a few smaller places (e.g. polytechnics) that may have an elective paper or so in philosophy, but these are the main options. Do they all hire new faculty each year? No of course not. There might – might – be two full time recruitments each year in the nation, and that’s a really good year. How many graduates do you suppose there are? I don’t care to guess. Take into account, too, the fact that departments will not only consider New Zealand candidates. The situation is the same on a larger scale in the US, the UK, and Australia. As a PhD grad in philosophy, you will almost certainly not get a job on a philosophy faculty. Period. Deal with that. Should you get a PhD in philosophy (or theology)? If you’re doing it for the love of it, sure why not. It’s expensive, but whatever. If you’re thinking of doing it to enter the academic profession with that degree, then you had better be special. Or you had better know somebody – in which case someone better than you is going to get screwed over. So you’d better be special. But can I recommend, in general, that you fling yourself into a pool of candidates – a pool that I am in – that already faces impossible odds? No. I can’t. The best advice I can give to most people (read: to normal people, who might happen to have a keen interest in philosophy and teaching) is simple: Don’t do it.

Glenn Peoples

Kalam: Does anything at all come into existence?

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The kalam cosmological argument is a version of the argument from first causes. It is part of a philosophical case for the existence of God, and goes like this:

  1. Whatever begins to exist has a cause of its existence (This is the major premise)
  2. The universe began to exist (This is the minor premise)
  3. Therefore the universe has a cause of its existence (This is the conclusion)

A response has been offered to the argument. You won’t find this response in textbooks or peer reviewed journal articles on philosophy of religion, but it’s out there – on movie and video game discussion forums, in YouTube clips (and in the comments section of YouTube clips) and the like.

Seeking endorsements

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Greetings readers (and listeners). I have a request.

It’s no secret that I’m trying to land a teaching job at a university, or a role that makes use of my training and abilities. To that end, I’m putting together a CD that I’ll be sending out to organisations and colleges. I’m requesting something that I’d like to put on that CD – as well as on this site and to use in general for promoting the podcast and blog.

When Someone gets a letter, email or job application from me saying that I run one of New Zealand’s most popular blogs, or that I run the most popular podcast in the humanities in the country, and perhaps in Australasia, I’m never really sure that anyone’s impressed. What I’m looking for is endorsements from people who follow the podcast or who have listened to a substantial number of episodes. I include the blog in what I’d like people to endorse, but the podcast is more important, because a teaching role has more to do with the ability to convey ideas verbally.

I hate to get all elitist, but the reality is that I’m applying for roles in higher education, so people who view my material are more likely to care about the opinion of qualified people who work in the field. So here’s what I’m looking for: I’m looking for brief statements of endorsement of the blog and especially the podcast, from people who have postgraduate qualifications in philosophy and/or theology, and who are employed at a college of higher education (or any organisation that you think might be relevant in regrad to your teaching role) to teach and/or research in an area with a heavy philosophical component (any area of philosophy is fine: philosophy of religion, ethics, metaphysics, epistemology, political philosophy or political science, philosophy of science, critical thinking, take your pick). If you’ve ever recommended an article or episode here to students (or even just the blog/podcast in general), that would be an excellent thing to include as well.

If you’re willing and able to do this, then you have my sincerest thanks and appreciation. Be sure to list your qualifications, your position, and the college or organisation that you work for. Drop me a line HERE if you can help.

Newcomb’s Paradox: Box One or Two?

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Are you a one-boxer or a two-boxer?

The following scenario represents Newcomb’s paradox (non-relevant details may have been changed): I want you to imagine that there exists a person called The Predictor. He predicts human decisions, and has always gotten it right. Due to his legendary status, some say he’s a man, others a machine, others an angel. One thing everyone is sure of, however, is that if the predictor predicts that a person will make a particular decision, then you would be smart to bet the house on that decision being made, such is his amazing strike rate.

Now imagine that one day as you’re walking along the street, a black van pulls up alongside you, a bag is pulled over your head, and you’re bundled inside. The van speeds away as you lose consciousness. When you wake up, you’re in a brightly lit room, sitting in a chair, unrestrained, at a table – a bit like one you’d expect to see on the pavement outside a coffee shop. On the table in front of you are two black cube-shaped boxes, each about one litre in volume. You can’t see inside them because they have closed lids. They are each labelled with a large white letter. One is A, the other is B. Sitting across the small table from you is a man who you’ve never seen before. “Hello,” says the grey haired man in an old, wise sounding voice. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the predictor. And as for these boxes you see here, you can keep either both of them, or, if you prefer, just box B. The reality is, of course, that I already know which option you’ll pick. I predicted it, you see, and I’ve never been wrong before. Remember, I’m the predictor!”

“You’ve never been wrong before? Wow… can you see the future?” You ask. “No, not as such,” he replies. “What I offer are predictions about things that I haven’t seen. They are forecasts. My prediction about which box or boxes you will choose isn’t based on me having been told by God, or through having a magic window on the future. I’m just a very, very, very good predictor.”

You’re convinced, but still a bit stunned by the whole experience. You ask “What’s in the boxes?” He replies, “Why, money of course. I chose how much money to put into them based on my prediction about which option you would choose. Box A contains one hundred dollars, you can be quite certain of that. As for box B, listen very closely: If I predicted that you would choose boxes A and B, then I didn’t put anything in box B. It’s empty. If, however, I predicted that you would choose only box B, then it contains one million dollars.

A million dollars sure sounds nice. So, which option should you choose – Box B, or both boxes? And why would you make that choice? I’ll wait for a few people to answer before I say any more.

Glenn Peoples

The Lottery Fallacy Fallacy

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Some arguments are like mosquitoes. They get slapped and well and truly squashed – unambiguously defeated in plain sight for all to see, obviously crushed. The smeared body is witnessed. But then as soon as you try to relax again, that familiar whining sound fades in again. You think, Didn’t I just squash you? Yes you did, and it’s back.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, objections to divine command theories of ethics are a good example of arguments like this. But they’re not alone. Another is the Lottery Fallacy Fallacy. I know, calling something a “fallacy” is a bit of a rhetorical device, but I use the term because the argument that I want to rebut – again – is one that trades on using that word for rhetorical effect, so my use of the word twice must surely double the effect!

Education and Morality: Are smarter people more virtuous?

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This blog entry was prompted by a recent Facebook conversation. A friend of mine was remarking that she had just watched the movie The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, which is set amidst Hitler’s notorious “final solution” in Nazi Germany. Understandably, she found the movie upsetting, and she wondered (out loud) how people could bring themselves to treat each other so cruelly.

Facebook being what it is, a diversity of responses was on offer, but one that appeared fairly early one came from a young woman at university. The problem, she told all readers, is that people stereotype and discriminate, and in order to be more enlightened, accepting and more humane was to become more educated (like her, I can only assume). I replied by suggesting that actually education doesn’t turn wicked people into good people. It only enables people to be more cunning in their wickedness. A young student (or graduate, I’m not sure) promptly took me to task for suggesting that education made people evil, and then proceeded to begin cobbling together a lecture on the psychological factors that make people like that. Now of course, I never said that education makes people evil (apparently her education hadn’t helped her to read more carefully). I said that education makes wicked people more cunning in their evil.

“A New Euthyphro” is published

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My paper “A New Euthyphro” has been published by the journal Think: Philosophy for Everyone (a journal of the Royal Institute of Philosophy) volume 9, issue 25. Think is an enjoyable  journal featuring presentations of complex philosophical issues in a stripped-down digestable way for a wider audience than just those with graduate degrees in philosophy. In fact I think that presenting issues in this way is precisely the philosopher’s role, to serve the wider human community and not just the academic elite.

In this paper I present a modern version of the classic dialogue Euthyphro by Plato, a dialogue that was once thought (and still is by some outside the field of philosophy of religion) to have demolished the idea that morality is determined by the will or commands of God. In this version, however, Euthyphro is given a fighting chance by being allowed to share the insights of modern philosophy of religion and meta-ethics as it has dismantled Plato’s critique.

The paper was actually accepted for publication in this journal in 2007, but after quite some months the editor’s computer crashed, and the article, along with my contact details, were lost. A couple of years later when nothing seemed to be happening I got back in touch, found out what had happened, and the wheels started moving again, and now at last it has rolled off the press.

Are churches charities?

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Is there a neutral way of deciding whether or not to treat churches as charitable organisations and therefore tax exempt?

An interesting discussion broke out over at M and M recently about a guest post by bethyada on whether or not the tax exempt status of churches directly costs taxpayers. I’ll let his piece speak for itself and won’t really get into the actual subject of it, because in the comments section a different issue came up that I’d like to put out there for your consideration.

One of the correspondents was insistent that the tax exempt status of churches amounted to a “privilege” that nobody else gets, and that no organisation should have tax exempt status by virtue of of being a church – they had to actually be charitable.

As many readers will know, a lot of churches have food banks, they run programmes for children, they might provide counselling, among other things. But are churches already charitable, regardless of what else they do? According to New Zealand law, a charitable purpose (for tax exemption purposes) “includes every charitable purpose, whether it relates to the relief of poverty, the advancement of education or religion, or any other matter beneficial to the community” [Charities Act 2005, Section 5(1)].

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