Ethical Statements are Ordinary Scientific Statements

1. Introduction

Ayer writes in Language, Truth and Logic, “in so far as statements of value are significant, they are ordinary ‘scientific’ statements; and in so far as they are not scientific, they are not in the literal sense significant, but are simply expressions of emotion which can be neither true nor false.”[1] Before attempting to demonstrate the nonsensical nature of non-scientific statements of value, Ayer attempts to rule out the former suggestion that such statements are scientific.

Ordinary scientific statements Ayer characterizes as both synthetic and verifiable. These criteria immediately exclude the “absolutist” view of ethics in which statements of value are held to be discoverable through some mysterious form of “intellectual intuition” rather than empirical observation. Such statements would be synthetic but not verifiable – and therefore not scientific.[2] The “naturalistic” view, as represented by subjectivist and utilitarian models, Ayer thinks is beset with difficulties all its own. The first objection he brings against such views is of the general form: since it not self-contradictory to say that some interest-gratifying thing, x [i.e., some pleasant thing, desired thing, approved of thing, etc.] is not good, or that some bad things are interest-gratifying [i.e., pleasant, desired, approved of, etc.], it cannot be the case that the sentence “x is good” is equivalent to “x is interest-gratifying.”[3] While I concede that this is the case for a large number of interest-based models, I deny that it is true of every possible model. My project in this paper, then, is to work out at least a sketch of how one might provide a reductive analysis of ethical statements that is as satisfactory as Ayer’s analysis of scientific statements, proceeding on the hypothesis that both classes of statements are synthetic and verifiable to the same degree.

The general account of ethical statements I will be working with goes as follows: To say that some act x is good, or better than some other act y, is to assert one’s belief that act x, when all relevant evidence has been taken into account, will prove to have been most conducive toward producing for the agent some intrinsically desirable outcome, e.g., eudaimonia or human happiness. With respect to this analysis of the ethical term “good,” I will simply push back against Ayer’s objection and affirm that it is, in fact, self-contradictory to call that action wrong that is most conducive toward producing the eudaimonic state. As I’ve already noted, if my account of ethical statements is accurate, then such statements would fall under Ayer’s broad definition of “scientific.” The bulk of this paper, then, aims to address the apparent differences between these and other scientific statements by providing alternative analyses of troublesome ethical statements.

But this is not quite yet sufficient to satisfy the logical positivist’s challenge. A further difficulty facing those who would seek to vindicate ethical statements as meaningful is to demonstrate not merely the possibility of a purely scientific analysis of ethical statements, but to show that the model that it suggests actually does underlie our existing ethical notions.[4] As Ayer writes, “we reject utilitarianism and subjectivism, not as proposals to replace our existing ethical notions by new ones, but as analyses of our existing ethical notions.”[5] What the logical positivist requires from us, therefore, is an analysis of ethical notions as they are actually employed in everyday language. Focusing our attention exclusively on the term “good,” what criteria might we employ to determine whether our analysis is properly connected with the “existing ethical notion”? Only once we are sure our analysis has the proper target in view can we attempt to show how such a notion might derive from our interactions with the empirical world.

2. A Reductive Analysis of Goodness

According to Stevenson, a satisfactory analysis of the term “good” must capture its “vital sense.” While this vital sense itself Stevenson has difficulty explicating, he takes it to involve several basic requirements – requirements that “appeal strongly to our common sense.” These he enumerates as follows: first, goodness must be a topic for intelligent disagreement; second, It must be “magnetic,” i.e., it must explain the connection between goodness and normativity; and third, it must not be discoverable solely through the scientific method.[6] We will now address each of these requirements in turn.

2.1 Goodness must be a topic for intelligent disagreement

In order to satisfy our common sense notion of the term, it is argued, we must be able to sensibly disagree about whether something is “good.”[7] One apparent weakness of interest-based ethical models, if you recall from Ayer’s first objection, is that two individuals arguing whether x is good, where “good” is taken to be synonymous with [some variation of] “interest-gratifying,” are not contradicting one another when they assert opposite judgments. For example, A’s assertion, “I desire x,” and B’s assertion, “I don’t desire x,” are not incompatible assertions, while A’s assertion, “x is good,” and B’s assertion, “x is not good,” are incompatible assertions. For two individuals’ disagreement to be a sensible one, argues Ayer, the locus of disagreement must be in the beliefs of each with respect to some common empirical fact(s) and not merely in their different attitudes concerning that fact or set of facts. The subject of ethical disagreement will be picked up again in section 3.3. There I will demonstrate with respect to differing ethical judgments that all apparent disagreement in interest is ultimately reducible to disagreement in belief.

2.2 It must be “magnetic.”

A second requirement to which our analysis is expected to conform if it is to satisfy common sense is that it be able to account for the normative force of ethical ascriptions. “A person who recognizes x to be ‘good’ must ipso facto acquire a stronger tendency to act in its favor than he otherwise would have had.”[8] With respect to interest-based theories that analyze goodness relative the native interests of the speaker, this requirement imposes no special difficulty.[9] While my account is of this general class, it will nonetheless require some argumentation to demonstrate its immunity to this type of objection.

According to my account, the term “good” may be used variably to mean either instrumentally good or intrinsically good. The intrinsically good will be given by the somewhat obscure title, eudaimonia. This designation is intended generally to capture a particular ideal state of being – a state of human “flourishing,” if you will – and is in principle assessable by entirely empirical criteria. Only people can be “good” in the intrinsic sense. The instrumentally good, then, is that which contributes toward the actualization of the eudaimonic state. Actions, objects, experiences and mental states (e.g., beliefs, desires, attitudes) might be called “good” in this second sense.

Generally speaking, then, all statements of the form “x is good” entail a corresponding normative imperative appropriately related to x. Since the vast majority of these statements concern things that are “good” in the instrumental sense, we will focus our analysis on instances of this type. Proceeding in this fashion, “x is good” roughly entails the following set of normative imperatives relative to the nature of x:

1)    Where x is some action, “x is good” roughly entails “A ought to perform x”

2)    Where x is some object or experience, “x is good” roughly entails “A ought to desire to have or experience x”

3)    Where x is some mental state, “x is good” entails “A ought to [believe x, desire x, or take such and such attitude toward x],” etc.

From here we may provide a complete analysis of one of the above to demonstrate our general technique. In (1) above, “A ought to perform action x,” is understood to mean, given A’s interest in attaining the eudaimonic state Z (which, again, is an objective matter: A’s interest is empirically given by Z), and provided the causal datum “if x, then Z,” then A is rationally obliged with respect to Z to perform action x. The one point I hope is apparent from this account is that normativity is at bottom a function of human rationality, not emotional caprice. 

Note also that this way of speaking is not unique to ethical contexts. Normative terms are also employed, I think in equivalent fashion, in situations in which a state of affairs is supposed to obtain, i.e., in virtue of its following from certain facts previously verified, when we are no longer in a position to verify those supporting facts as still obtaining. For example, A’s wife might ask him, “Are the keys in the car?” to which A might reply, “They should be.” What A means by his use of the term “should” in this context is that the keys being in the car follows from the evidence that is presently in his possession, but that he cannot now be certain that new facts which bear on his conclusion haven’t disrupted the integrity of his judgment (e.g., A’s son may have removed the keys upon returning from school). Normative terms, understood in this way, are simply affirmations of rational or logical entailment spoken in non-ideal epistemic situations, and are employed equivalently in both ethical and ordinary empirical contexts. 

2.3 It must not be discoverable solely through the scientific method.

A final requirement with which Stevenson thinks our analysis must comply to satisfy common sense is that “the ‘goodness’ of anything must not be verifiable solely by use of the scientific method.”[10] My address to this criterion will be slightly different than those previously dealt with. In the first place, I deny its primary assumption: my account recognizes no fundamental difference between ethical and ordinary scientific statements. Rather than address the requirement directly, therefore, I will address instead the argument Stevenson gives to justify it. The argument attacks interest theories, the strongest form of which Stevenson believes himself to be representing below:

Consider, for example, the definition: “x is good” means most people would approve of x if they knew its nature and consequences. How, according to this definition, could we prove that a certain x was good? We should have to find out, empirically, just what x was like, and what its consequences would be. To this extent the empirical method, as required by the definition, seems beyond intelligent objection. But what remains? We should next have to discover whether most people would approve of the sort of thing we had discovered x to be. This couldn’t be determined by popular vote – but only because it would be too difficult to explain to the voters, beforehand, what the nature and consequences of x really were.[11]

The first of Stevenson’s objections is that in defining the good as that which most people would approve of x if they knew its nature and consequences, we create an epistemic barrier to individuals forming accurate ethical judgments. But how serious of a problem is this for interest theories? After all, there’s no evidence to suggest that normal moral functioning requires epistemic perfection. It seems the vast majority of us are quite capable at forming at least inductively strong ethical judgments on the relatively small number of facts presently in our possession. [PC4] Furthermore, doesn’t the common sense notion that we are each capable of maturing and improving in our ability to make sound ethical judgments suggest some meaningful relation between the quality of our ethical judgments and the number of relevant facts in our possession?

Epistemic considerations aside, Stevenson objects that even if the majority came to approve of x on the basis of all the empirical facts pertaining to it, it would nonetheless remain an open question whether any individual who found out about this would be rationally required to conform to the majority view. As the following Moorean argument contends,

No matter what set of scientifically knowable properties a thing may have (says Moore, in effect), you will find, on careful introspection, that it is an open question to ask whether anything having these properties is good. It is difficult to believe that this recurrent question is a totally confused one, or that it seems open only because of the ambiguity of “good.” Rather, we must be using some sense of “good” which actually is not definable, relevantly, in terms of anything scientifically knowable. That is, the scientific method is not sufficient for ethics.[12]

            Such an objection, however, fails to address my view, for the account I’m proposing does not rely on a majority’s approval, but on an objective factual relation obtaining between each individual, a particular course of action[PC5] , and his or her ideal state. In the case that all empirical data were provided with respect to the constitution of our ideal state and the practical means by which to attain it, I deny that any one of us would question our ethical responsibility with respect to these facts. At worst, some individual A might fail to perform the action that she acknowledges is good, but then the “open question” would concern the quality of A’s character, or perhaps her sensibility, not the objective ethical value of x.

3. Ethical Statements as Ordinary Scientific Statements

Recall that according to Ayer, “a statement is held to be literally meaningful if and only if it is either analytic or empirically verifiable.”[13] Ordinary scientific statements fall within this second class of meaningful statements. My purpose in this section is to demonstrate that ethical statements, too, belong to this class of meaningful synthetic propositions. I will do this by first defining my obligations with respect to each criterion and then demonstrating through a discussion of ethical disagreement how both are satisfied.

3.1 Verifiability

            Upon discovering his first (strong) iteration to have excluded even the statements of empirical science, Ayer offered the following emendation to his verification criterion of meaning: “[a proposition] is verifiable, in the weak sense, if it is possible for experience to render it probable.”[14] That such an emendation was necessary to vindicate scientific statements as meaningful is evident from a cursory consideration of empirical propositions. As Ayer notes, “Empirical propositions are one and all hypotheses, which may be confirmed or discredited in actual sense-experience. And the propositions in which we record the observations that verify these hypotheses are themselves hypotheses which are subject to test of further sense-experience. Thus there are no final propositions.”[15] He goes on later to describe hypotheses generally as “rules which govern our expectation of future experience.”[16] In order to vindicate ethical statements by the verification criterion, therefore, we need only demonstrate that they, too, function as hypotheses in this capacity.

3.2 Syntheticity

            Ordinary scientific statements, furthermore, are synthetic, i.e. they communicate facts about empirical objects. Their truth or falsity, therefore, is conditioned upon the actual features of the empirical world as provided through phenomenal experience. For ethical statements to be included within this larger class, we must be able to prove their common relation to the empirical world. In order to do this, we need merely to show that all ethical terms are ultimately reducible to non-ethical terms, i.e., terms the referents of which are phenomenal in nature. It is precisely the accomplishment of this task that the logical positivist denies is possible.[17]

3.3 Ethical Disagreement

            One way in which logical positivists often seek to demonstrate the irreducibility of ethical terms to non-ethical terms is to provide an analysis of ethical disagreement. According to the most standard forms of the argument, there are two potential sources of disagreement: disagreement in belief and disagreement in interest. Disagreement in belief, typical of the sciences, occurs when A believes p and B disbelieves p. Disagreement in interest, on the other hand, “occurs when A has a favorable interest in x, when B has an unfavorable interest in x, and when neither is content to let the other’s interest remain unchanged.”[18] With regard to this distinction, Stevenson remarks that, “empirical knowledge resolves disagreement in interest only to the extent to which such disagreement is rooted in disagreement in belief.” The problem, however, arises in the apparent fact that not all disagreement in interest is of this sort. Rather, as Stevenson points out, “The disagreement in interest may arise not from limited factual knowledge, but simply from A’s sympathy and B’s coldness.”[19] If ethical statements really were like ordinary scientific statements, Stevenson is essentially arguing, all disagreement in interest would ultimately be rooted in disagreement in belief, and then would be resolvable, at least in principle, by appeal to empirical facts alone. But cases like that in which it seems every empirical reason has been provided and yet the disagreement persists seem to provide a counterexample to the generalization we might otherwise wish to draw. Before investigating what might be happening in these latter cases, let’s take a more in-depth look at those cases in which disagreement in interest is clearly reducible to disagreement in belief.

In Stevenson’s example, A and B can’t agree on whether it is better to go to the cinema or a symphony. A has an interest in cinema; B has an interest in the symphony. Each is trying to modify the interests of the other to achieve a consensus.

Clearly, [each] would give reasons to support their imperatives. A might say, “But you know, Garbo is at the Bijou.” His hope is that B, who admires Garbo, will acquire a desire to go to the cinema when he knows what play will be there. B may counter, “But Toscanini is guest conductor tonight, in an all-Beethoven program.” And so on. Each supports his imperative (“Let’s do so and so”) by reasons which may be empirically established.[20]

In such a situation, if any of A’s reasons were to succeed in swaying the desires of B so that she shifted her interest from the one activity to the other, then we would have established that the apparent disagreement in interest was actually rooted in a more fundamental disagreement in belief, namely a belief over which activity best served the common desire of both parties.

In characterizing the disagreement above an “apparent” disagreement in interest, I am already departing slightly from Stevenson’s analysis. According to Stevenson, the introduction of new facts works to resolve disagreements in interest by affecting a change in one person’s interests to match those of the other. But it should be clear in such cases that the introduction of new facts can be efficacious in changing a person’s interests only to the extent that those interests are conditioned upon the former or latter set of facts. But then it is not right to call these genuine interests at all, but rather opinions or beliefs about one’s genuine interests. For this reason, rather than call these interests in the primitive sense, I propose we think of them as the derived conclusions of practical deliberations. Such conclusions are read off as practical imperatives, with all the reasons supporting them serving as their inductive ground.

In making this latter suggestion I have parted ways completely with Stevenson, who argues, “empirical facts are not the inductive grounds from which the ethical judgment problematically follows…If someone said, ‘Close the door,’ and added the reason, ‘We’ll catch cold,’ the latter would scarcely be called the inductive ground of the former.[21] With respect to this assertion, I simply disagree. I can only speculate that the presentation of the two statements (and the obvious enthymematic quality of the argument) is obscuring for Stevenson their logical relation to one another. Slightly adapted for sake of clarity, the argument can be interpreted as having the following implicit logical structure:

1.     If A closes the door, then we will not catch cold (reason)

2.     If we don’t catch cold, we each individually will be closer to attaining our respective eudaimonic states (empirical hypothesis)

3.     Therefore, if A closes the door, then we each individually will be closer to attaining our respective eudaimonic states (by 1 and 2)

4.     If the performance of a particular action brings an individual closer to attaining his/her eudaimonic state, then that action is good for that individual (definition of instrumental good)

5.     Therefore, A’s closing of the door is good for both A and B (ethical judgment, by 3 and 4)

6.     Therefore, A ought to close the door (imperative, by 5)

But how does our analysis handle those apparent cases in which the disagreement in interest arises not from limited factual knowledge, but from A’s sympathy and B’s coldness? Simply by taking A’s sympathy and B’s coldness themselves to be the products of rational calculations. The fact of the matter is that attitudes often change – in response to new facts, or, perhaps more commonly, new experiences that teach us to see the old facts in a new way. The plasticity of attitudes in response to empirical data suggests that such attitudes, too, are analyzable by the same methods as employed above (i.e., via empirical demonstration and the exchange of reasons).

To the extent that such methods still fail to achieve consensus, we may resolve the tension in either of two ways: first, we may simply conclude that one of the individuals is, as a matter of fact, wrong (though whether or not we are able to determine with certainty which individual is wrong, or why, remains an epistemic concern); or, second, we may reason that the two individuals, despite appearances, are engaged in two arguments rather than one, and that both individuals’ judgments are right (or wrong, as it may be) relative to the distinct set of facts relevant to each case. This is what I propose is happening in Stevenson’s second example. Here, A and B are arguing about whether a public dole would be good. All the consequences of the dole have been made known to both parties. Now Stevenson has us suppose a situation in which A is poor and unemployed, and B is rich. In such a case, he argues, “the disagreement might not be due to different factual knowledge [but] to the different social positions of the men, together with their predominant self-interest.”[22] In such a case as this, it is ambiguous just what the matter of disagreement is precisely. Is the question whether the public dole would be good with reference to all empirical facts pertaining to A exclusively? to B exclusively? to both A and B as part of an integrated community? Different sets of empirical data become relevant to the ethical judgment as we shift from one context to another. Relative to any one context, however, there remains just one right answer with respect to its relevant data set. If the arguments I have provided are sound, then there exist at least three legitimate methods of resolving ethical disagreements without recourse to anything non-empirical, and without offending our common sense notions of ethical terms.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ayer, Alfred Jules. Language, Truth and Logic. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1952.

Stevenson, C.L. “The Emotive Meaning of Ethical Terms.” Logical Positivism. Edited by A.J. Ayer. New York: The Free Press, 1959.

---

[1] Alfred Jules Ayer, Language, Truth and Logic, (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1952), 102-103.

[2] Ibid., 106.

[3] Ibid., 105.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] C.L. Stevenson, “The Emotive Meaning of Ethical Terms,” in Logical Positivism, edited by A.J. Ayers (New York: The Free Press, 1959), 266.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid., 277.

[10] Logical Positivism, 267.

[11] Ibid., 267-68.

[12] Ibid., 268.

[13] Language, Truth and Logic, 9.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Ibid., 93-94.

[16] Ibid., 97.

[17] Logical Positivism, 275-276.

[18] Ibid., 277.

[19] Ibid., 279.

[20] Ibid., 278.

[21] Ibid., 278-79.

[22] Ibid., 279.

Chapter 1: Evolution and Christian Belief (Part 1)

I. Motivating the Project: Why should anyone care about conflicts, whether real or imagined, between science and faith?

Plantinga’s book, as the title implies, is all about alleged conflicts between the scientific and theistic worldviews. Before he begins to address any of those allegations in particular, however, he wants to show that his project is an important one. He does this, in short, by upholding the commonsense view that the claims of modern science, as one of mankind’s greatest intellectual achievements, deserve to be taken seriously and not simply disregarded whenever they appear to conflict with our accepted religious tradition. Since it this claim that really motivates Plantinga’s entire project here, I think would be worthwhile to spend some time entertaining potential objections. First, the quote:

It would be a serious matter if any of these alleged conflicts [between science and theism] were genuine. First, science is widely and justly celebrated as a splendid intellectual achievement – perhaps mankind’s most splendid effort along these lines; but then any human enterprise in serious conflict with it has some explaining to do. Second, science does or should enjoy particularly high regard among Christians [because modern science is an impressive way in which humankind communally reflects the divine nature and is a striking development of the image of God in humanity].[1]

Q1: Do you agree that religion should be accountable to science, or vice-versa? If so, why, and to what degree?

As Plantinga notes, allegations of conflict between science and religion have a long history, extending back at least to the 17^th century conflicts between the Catholic hierarchy and early astronomers like Galileo and Copernicus. Eventually, however, these initially unorthodox ideas managed to gain mainstream acceptance, and are now fundamental to our conception of the universe. So…

Q2: How should we strive to negotiate the disagreements (whether real or apparent) between our scientific and religious authorities? What standards should we use to evaluate their rival claims and determine which, if either, to adopt?

On pages 6-7, Plantinga challenges certain historians’ representations of the church’s early conflicts with science as being somewhat sensationalized. He is particularly critical of the interpretation that portrays the religious authorities as “the force of repression and tradition, the voice of the Old World, the dead hand of the past, etc.”

Q3: How do you think a disinterested observer who read of these events (e.g., the church’s persecution of early astronomers) for the first time in his/her history book would interpret them? How do you think he/she should interpret them? Do you think that we, as non-disinterested parties (whether theistic, agnostic, or atheist), should strive to have the same outlook as the disinterested observer, or does our perspective from within give us special insight that is also valuable in interpreting these events? How might you motivate your case to the disinterested observer?

Q4: Does the general tendency that we observe for orthodox religious views to gradually adapt, and ultimately conform, to the views of science say anything significant about the general reliability of these two enterprises? Does the history of religion provide something like a pattern from which we might extrapolate and conclude something stronger about its rightful place in influencing our present opinions on empirical matters (e.g., that the church merely “represents the force of repression and tradition, the voice of the Old World, the dead hand of the past, etc.”)? What further considerations might there be to justify the continued confidence of religious people in the church as an authority on matters about which they have historically so often fallen on the wrong side of?

The questions above could easily segue into two of my favorite areas of philosophical debate, both relating to the field of epistemic normativity. These are:

(1)  Disagreement: Does the fact that someone else disagrees with us give us a reason to adjust our beliefs, or at least our confidence in our beliefs? What if that someone else is recognized as being of equal or superior intellectual capacity to ourselves?

(2)  Formation of New Opinions: Where do our opinions come from, and what things can cause or influence one to change their opinions? Why do some things (experiences, arguments, feelings, intuitions, etc.) cause or influence some people to change their opinions, but not others? How strongly correlated are our beliefs to a thing’s likelihood of being true (i.e., are our beliefs reliable indicators of truth)? Are there other stronger indicators of a thing’s likelihood of being true? (We talked a little bit about this one in our last discussion)

Since both of these are somewhat tangential to the main subject of our discussion, however, I’ll leave it to you guys to decide whether or not you’d like to pursue them further…

II. Allegations of Conflict: In what ways are science and religion alleged to be incompatible with one another? Are these conflicts real or imagined?

Ok, now that we’ve given some critical thought to the assumption that motivates Plantinga’s project, let’s move on to considering the actual allegations of conflict that his book seeks to resolve. These are outlined on page 3 and can be condensed as follows:

Claim 1: Religion and science are incompatible because science affirms evolutionary theory, which is at odds with the Christian/theistic worldview.

Claim 2: Religion and science are incompatible because theism affirms that God acts specially in the world (i.e., through miracles and other kinds of direct action), which is at odds with the scientific worldview.

Claim 3: Religion and science are incompatible because the epistemic attitudes characteristic of them are incompatible.

Since only the first of these claims is addressed in chapters 1 and 2, that’s where’ll focus this week’s discussion.

In order to evaluate the claim that religion and science are incompatible because of their conflicting views about evolution, Plantinga first lays out what, in his opinion, evolutionary theory entails. The definition that he provides is presented below:

The “six theses of evolutionary theory” (construed broadly):

(1)  Ancient earth thesis – “the earth is very old, perhaps some 4.5 billion years old”

(2)  Progress thesis – “life has progressed from relatively simple to relatively complex forms”

(3)  Thesis of descent with modification – “the enormous diversity of the contemporary living world has come about by of offspring differing, ordinarily in small and subtle ways, from their parents”

(4)  Common ancestry thesis – “life originated at once place on earth, all subsequent life being related by descent to those original living creatures”

(5)  Darwinism – “there is a naturalistic mechanism driving this process of descent with modification, the most popular candidate [being] natural selection operating on random genetic mutation”

(6)  Naturalistic origins thesis – life itself developed from non-living matter without any special creative activity of God but just by virtue of process described by the ordinary laws of physics and chemistry.

Plantinga proposes the convention of using the term evolution to encompass the first four of the above theses, Darwinism to include through the fifth, and treating the sixth separately as its own independent thesis (p. 10).

Q5: Do you agree with the way Plantinga has characterized evolutionary theory? Is he right to treat theses 5 (Darwinism) and 6 (Naturalistic Origins thesis) as independent of – i.e., not logically entailed by – evolutionary theory proper? If he is, why do you think so many people treat theses 5 and 6 as proper elements of evolutionary theory?

Plantinga’s Critique of Dawkins’ Argument

The Darwinian claim (according to Dawkins):

(1)  There is a history that traces in detail the development of all forms of life in a stepwise fashion, as evolutionary theory describes

(2)  There is good evidence for current views as to the overall shape of the history

(3)  We have some informed guesses as to how, at a high level of abstraction, some of the transitions occurred

Dawkins sets up his argument by posing the following three questions. The answers to these will provide the justification for his conclusion, i.e., serve as premises in his argument for naturalism.

(1)  Is there a continuous series of Xs connecting the modern human eye to a state with no eye at all?[3]

(2)  Considering each member of the series of hypothetical Xs connecting the human eye to no eye at all, is it plausible that every one of them was made available by random mutation of its predecessor?

(3)  Considering each member of the series of Xs connecting the human eye to no eye at all, is it plausible that every one of them worked sufficiently well that it assisted the survival and reproduction of the animal concerned?[4]

Plantinga condenses these three questions into the following formula, which he calls the Big Question (BQ):

BQ: Is there a path through organic space connecting, say, some ancient population of unicellular life with the human eye, where each point on the path could plausibly have come from a preceding point by way of a heritable random genetic mutation that was adaptively useful, and that could plausibly then have spread through the appropriate population by way of unguided natural selection?[5]

Dawkins’ Answers (as presented by Plantinga):

To 1: “It seems to me clear that the answer has to be yes, provided only that we allow ourselves a sufficiently large series of Xs.”

To 2: “My feeling is that, provided the difference between neighboring intermediaries in our series leading to the eye is sufficiently small, the necessary mutations are almost bound to be forthcoming.”

To 3: “Yes,” (then provides a possible account of how the eye may have formed through such a process)

Plantinga’s Objections

Objection 1: “There is surely no guarantee that there is a not too improbable path through organic space from some early population of unicellular organisms to human beings, or for that matter, to fruit flies.”[6]

The premises, his answers to questions (2) and (3) above, are controversial, unsupported, and pretty much guesswork. There is no attempt at the sort of serious calculation that would surely be required for a genuine answer.[7]

Objection 2: “Even if [Dawkins] is right about the answers to (2) and (3) it doesn’t follow that the whole path is plausibly possible in this sense – that is, it doesn’t follow that the path is not astronomically improbable. That is because of the temporal constraint imposed. Suppose there have been multicellular organisms for, say, a billion years. This means that the series can’t be arbitrarily long and the distance between the points arbitrarily small.”[8]

[I]f it’s to be relevant, the length of the series will have to be constrained by the time available, and each step in the series will have to be such that it can arise by way of genetic mutation from a previous step. Furthermore, (and crucially,) each mutation will have to be fitness-conferring (r at least not unduly costly in terms of fitness), so that it’s not too improbable that they be preserved by natural selection.[9]

Q6: What is meant by “could plausibly” in the sentence “each point along the path is such that it could plausibly have come from a preceding point on the path by way of a heritable random genetic mutation”?

Plantinga says that Dawkins defines plausibility in terms of biological probability:

Biological possibility – Is to be explained in terms of probability: “A given point on a path could plausibly have come from a preceding point by way of genetic mutation just if it is not too improbable that do so.”[10]

Objection 3: “If he is successful, what Dawkins really shows is that the arguments against there being a Darwinian series are not conclusive. What he shows, if he’s successful, is that for all we know there is such a series, so that for all we know it’s possible that the living world came into be in this fashion.”[11]

Plantinga thinks that the above argument form (p is not astronomically improbable, therefore p) is so uncompelling as to suggest that it was meant to rely on further premises not explicitly stated, namely (1) that theism represents the only alternative to naturalism,[12] and (2) theism isn’t plausible (namely, because design doesn’t explain organized complexity, but rather presupposes it, since the designer would have to be as complex as what it creates/designs).[13] Plantinga summarizes the adjusted argument as follows:

Dawkins’ argument reformulated

(1)  There are just two explanations of life: unguided Darwinism and an explanation, guided Darwinism, perhaps, that involves design.

(2)  Guided Darwinism, involving design, is no explanation at all since it already presupposes complexity by positing an intelligent designer.

(3)  Therefore, unguided Darwinism is the only explanation.

I actually think that Plantinga is right here. God or no God, science needs a mechanical explanation for the stunning diversity we observe in this world – a plausible answer to the question of how we got from there (the state of affairs described by cosmologists and astrophysicists) to where we are today (“this stunningly intricate world with its enormous diversity and apparent design”). The mechanism of natural selection seems to have all the right tools for the job, and it’s not yet obvious that we’re in any need of anything further. Perhaps if the serious calculations Plantinga faulted Dawkins for not providing were furnished, then natural selection would seem an inadequate explanation. In his 2012 book Mind and Cosmos: Why the Materialist Neo-Darwinian Conception of Nature is Almost Certainly False, philosopher Thomas Nagel suggests that the critical arguments raised by proponents of intelligent design actually do raise enough legitimate questions to demand a more thoughtful response from evolutionary theorists. What do you think?

Q7: Do you think that natural selection is adequate to the task of explaining the “stunningly intricate world with its enormous diversity and apparent design”? Why or why not?

Q8: What do you think about Plantinga’s claim on page 24 that the theist has more freedom with respect to this debate to, essentially, follow the evidence where it leads, since God presumably provides an alternative explanation for what is observed? Does a religious worldview make it easier or more difficult to infer to the best explanation (both generally as well as with respect to this particular question)?

Plantinga’s Objections to Dawkins’ Reformulated Argument

Objection 4: “[Dawkins’] argument doesn’t depend on the facts of biology; it is substantially independent of the latter.”

Objection 5: “We aren’t trying to given an ultimate explanation of organized complexity, and we aren’t trying to explain organized complexity in general; we are only trying to explain one manifestation of it. And (unless you are trying to give an ultimate explanation of organized complexity) it is perfectly proper to explain one manifestation or organized complexity in terms of another.”[14]

Explanations come to an end; for theism, they come to an end in God. For any other view on the same level of generality they also come to an end. The materialist of physicalist, for example, doesn’t have an explanation for the existence of elementary particles or, more generally, contingent physical or material beings; that there are some is, from that perspective, a brute fact. It isn’t easy to say precisely what counts as begging the question; but to fault theism for failing to have an ultimate explanation of mind is as good a candidate as any.[15]

Here, Plantinga offers a final reconstruction of Dawkins’ argument:[16]

(1)  The existence of God is monumentally improbable – about as probably as the assembly of a flight-worthy Boeing 747 by a hurricane roaring through a junkyard.

(2)  It is not monumentally improbable that life should have developed by way of unguided Darwinism. In fact, the probability that the stunning complexity of life came to be in that fashion is greater than the probability that there is such a person as God.

(3)  We should prefer unguided Darwinism to an explanation involving Design.

(4)  There are just two explanations of life: unguided Darwinism and an explanation, guided Darwinism, perhaps, that involves design.

(5)  Therefore, by an inference to the best explanation, we should accept unguided Darwinism.

Objection 6:  “Conced[ing,] for the moment, that unguided Darwinism is more probable than an explanation involving design, does it follow that the former is to be preferred to the latter? There is more to a good explanation than the probability of the explanans."

Q9: What are the criteria for comparatively evaluating competing hypotheses/explanations? Applying these, is there any decisive reason to prefer the theistic explanation over the naturalist explanation, or vice-verse?

Objection 7: “If all the explanations are highly unlikely, am I obliged, nonetheless, to pick and endorse one of them?...What ever happened to agnosticism, withholding belief?”[17]

Objection 8: Why think the existence of such a person as God is unlikely in the first place?...According to the classical conception, God is a necessary being, i.e., He exists in all possible worlds. The objective probability of God’s existence, therefore, is 1.”[18]

Plantinga concludes: “Dawkins gives us no reason whatsoever to think that current biological science is in conflict with Christian belief.”[19]

Q10: Are you satisfied with Plantinga’s defense in this chapter? 

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[1] Ibid., 3-4.

[2] Pragmatism, 26-27.

[3] Note that, as Plantinga points out, “the human eye is just a stand in for life forms generally” (p. 19).

[4] Ibid. 18.

[5] Ibid., 19.

[6] Ibid., 22.

[7] Ibid., 23.

[8] Ibid., 23.

[9] Ibid., 21.

[10] Ibid., 20.

[11] Ibid., 25.

[12] “For the nontheist, undirected evolution is the only game in town, and natural selection seems to be the most plausible mechanism to drive that process. Here is this stunningly intricate world with its enormous diversity and apparent design; from the perspective of naturalism or nontheism, the only way it could have happened is by way of unguided Darwinian evolution; hence, it must have happened that way; hence there must be such a Darwinian series for each current life form” (ibid., 24).

[13] “Any God capable of intelligently designing something as complex as the DNA/protein machine must have been at least as complex and organized as that machine itself…To explain the origin of the DNA/protein machine by invoking a supernatural designer is to precisely explain nothing, for it leaves unexplained the origin of the Designer” (ibid., 26).

[14] Ibid., 27.

[15] Ibid., 28.

[16] Ibid., 28-29.

[17] Ibid., 29.

[18] Ibid., 29-31.

[19] Ibid., 31.