SDG here (still not Jimmy) with more on materialism and the moral argument (continued from Part 3).
The ethical approach sketched in the preceding posts is neither a rhetorical conceit nor a straw man. There are ethicists and moralists who really advocate this kind of thinking, who advocate extramarital flings, for instance.
One school of moral philosophy — the only thing that makes any kind of sense to me on a materialist outlook, variously called emotivism, nihilism or "boo-hurrah" — explicitly reduces moral valuations to emotional expressions of aaversion or attraction.
I respect the consistency of materialists who grasp the nettle and agree that what we call moral valuations are merely flutters of aversion or attraction, no more (or less) important or normative than other such flutters, from our appetitive response to haggis to our favorite or least favorite colors.
I respect the humanity, or if you like the humanism, of those who, despite professing a materialist outlook, find "boo-hurrah" emotivism unconvincing and try to make a case for more rigorous or normative moral obligations. I find their efforts wholly unpersuasive.
I do not see that consistency and moral humanism can ever be successfully combined in a materialist outlook. (In other words, to borrow a well-known construction, you can be a materialist, or a moral humanist, or consistent, or any two of the three, but not all three.)
The gap between the empirical pluses and minuses of what we call moral or immoral behavior and the level of responsibility that human beings feel to keep the moral code as they understand it is simply too wide. What impels us to do good and shun evil is not simply an appetitive flutter that we are free to disregard whenever it is convenient to do so, or when the empirical pluses and minuses don’t seem to warrant it.
On one level, I can certainly understand a materialist who says something like: "Look, it’s very simple: I love my partner, and no incentive could induce me to betray her/him, or even entertain the notion. Our relationship makes me happy, and anything else would only harm my happiness, not add to it."
Humanly speaking, I well understand how he feels. Certainly it’s how I feel, blissfully married to a goddess as I am. But then my marital bliss is substantially rooted in a trans-materialistic perception of what love is, and who and what Suzanne is, in a way that I for one can’t imagine sustaining if I personally were thoroughly persuaded of materialism.
My usage of "goddess," of course, is neither literal nor cultic. Like "louse" feelings, "goddess" is here a figure of speech, a hyperbolic metaphor. In my case, though, this figure of speech is at least intended by me to express something real about her — not just something about the state of my emotions or feelings. I can hardly put it better than C. S. Lewis did:
You can’t, except in the lowest animal sense, be in love with a girl if you know (and keep on remembering) that all the beauties both of her person and of her character are a momentary and accidental pattern produced by the collision of atoms, and that your own feelings are just a sort of psychic phosphorescence arising from the behaviour of your genes. ("On Living in an Atomic Age")
Some materialists (not all) will no doubt dissent from this. I understand how they feel; I don’t understand what they are thinking.
If persons are no more than the sorts of bio-electrical-chemical processes we’ve been discussing until now, all our gas about morality, as well as human dignity, personal rights, love, respect, honor and so forth, are very much the same sorts of delusions that Dawkins says God himself is. Lewis again:
Animism, apparently, begins at home. We, who have personified all other things, turn out to be ourselves mere personifications. Man is indeed akin to the gods: that is, he is no less phantasmal than they … Almost nobody has been making linguistic mistakes about almost nothing. By and large, this is the only thing that has ever happened. ("The Empty Universe")
I won’t deny that we might try to contrive, even as materialists, to enjoy the illusions of personhood and dignity as if they were real, at least for a while. Maybe. But give it time. Odds are, eventually that ex-Fundamentalist will get over his hangup about the evils of cards and see them for what they are: little rectangular bits of heavily coated, colored paper, no more and no less.
Likewise, live long enough with the belief that other persons are merely bio-electrical-chemical processes, let it sink into the depths of what men of another age would have called your soul, and see whether in the long run you consistently treat them as if the concept of personal dignity really meant anything, or how worked up you are able to get about such bio-electrical-chemical processes as murder or rape.
For the time being, Archie, I think you’re living in the shadow of a transcendent worldview you’ve abandoned without fully walking away from it. In the end, on your accounting, "boo-hurrah" is all there is to it. If you say you see things differently, at this point I can only shrug and agree that we see things differently.
As it happens, shrugging and disagreeing may be all we can do regarding a whole host of varying perceptions, values, choices, motivations and behaviors.
Many of us would agree that an adult whose sexual preferences include or focus on young children is a danger to the children and to society. The molester might (or might not) have a different point of view; society’s point of view is widely but not universally accepted. Kinsey argued for the normalization of adult-child sexual interactions, and others since him have followed suit. Most of society would brush this aside without a second thought; I would agree (from my supernaturalist perspective) that this is basic moral sanity, but is is at least questionable forensics.
Recently in New York hooligans set a homeless man on fire. Ten days later, he died in a hospital.
When you hear that, Archie, as a materialist, do you feel outrage? If so, which of the following do you feel is more outrageous? That
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a lost soul (speaking of course strictly poetically) who was in all likelihood a drag on society rather than an asset was subjected to a harsh exercise in survival of the fittest? Or that
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millions of dollars of shared social assets that could have gone to productive uses were spent in a futile effort to care for this useless man, rather than simply finishing the job and using the money in some socially beneficial fashion?
I know, caring for the man makes us all feel better about ourselves, right? But couldn’t we just as easily have gotten our warm fuzzies using the money to help other people who weren’t going to die anyway? How greatly were the herd-interests of the human race, or even of one particular borough, ever invested in this particular situation?
Christopher Hitchens, debating Doug Wilson, described sociopaths and psychopaths as "part of our haphazard evolution and our kinship with a nature that often favors the predator." Yet he also said "I find I have no alternative" to calling them "evil."
Wilson’s reply: "But you surely do have an alternative. Why not just call them ‘different’?"
To that, I would add a second question: Evil. Different. In a materialist universe, aren’t those just two different ways of saying the same thing?
Hitchens’ humanism outstrips his philosophy here. He knows deep down that right and wrong are not simply a matter of individual taste or perception, yet his philosophy will not allow him to formulate an understanding of right and wrong that is truly normative for all persons.
Here is a thought-experiment reportedly posed by Richard Dawkins to a theist:
You are on a deserted beach with a rifle, an elephant and a baby. This is the last elephant on earth and it is charging the baby. Do you shoot the elephant, knowing the species would become extinct?
Bracket the obvious difficulties inherent in the situation as posed (which for all I know might not have been reported exactly as originally framed), such as the vanishingly small chances of a species with only a single surviving specimen ever making a comeback.
Bracket, too, the case for or against the answer given by the theist, who felt that the question was "a no-brainer" and hoped only that she "would shoot straight enough to kill the beast." (A theist myself, and thoroughly committed to human exceptionalism, I think a case can be made that the question is more interesting than its original hearer felt.)
The point here is Dawkins’ reported response. Apparently, Dawkins was outraged that anyone would dissent from the priority he placed on preserving the endangered species. Presumably he would not have been outraged to learn that the theist differed from him regarding the palatability of haggis, but I’ve already made that point. Here I have a different question.
The point of Dawkins’ thought experiment was to assert the fundamental equivalence of one species with another. There is nothing fundamentally different about man that sets him qualitatively apart from the rest of the animal kingdom.
Very well, then. Under what circumstances might Dawkins be moved to outrage at the elephant?
Many behaviors that in the human world are subject to the harshest moral censure exist in the animal kingdom as mere behaviors, nothing more. Animals haven’t developed the capacity for large-scale atrocities that humans have, but certainly behaviors that in humans we would call rape and cannibalism and murder and bullying occur in the animal kingdom.
If we happen to witness such an event, we might feel pangs of pity for those on the receiving end of such behavior, but we don’t feel outrage at the aggressors.
Even Dawkins doesn’t, I suspect.
Yet, like Hitchens having "no alternative" but to call evil evil, Dawkins does feel outrage at human beings who deviate from what he obviously feels is a standard that somehow has some bearing on other human beings, a standard that is not solely a function of his own bio-electrical-chemical processes.
Coming soon: Round-up of responses to reader comments to date.



