The Problem of Evil - Common Sense Atheism
The Problem of Evil - Common Sense Atheism
The Problem of Evil - Common Sense Atheism
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40 Philosophical Failure<br />
proved by an argument that was a success by the standard we are<br />
considering. <strong>The</strong>n I discovered that at least one important authority<br />
(László Kalmár) had his doubts about the cogency <strong>of</strong> the argument I<br />
had found so impressive and was in fact inclined to think that Church’s<br />
<strong>The</strong>sis was false. 1 Since I was unwilling to suppose that Kalmár was<br />
mad or irrational, I changed my mind. ‘‘Back to zero,’’ I thought. (And,<br />
in any case, Church’s <strong>The</strong>sis is a best a borderline case <strong>of</strong> a substantive<br />
philosophical thesis.)<br />
<strong>The</strong> account <strong>of</strong> philosophical success we have been examining sets the<br />
bar too high. I propose to lower it by relativizing success in philosophical<br />
argument to context. A few moments ago, I said, ‘‘Philosophical<br />
arguments are not best thought <strong>of</strong> as free-floating bits <strong>of</strong> text’’. By<br />
‘‘free-floating’’, I meant detached from any context—that is, I meant<br />
that a philosophical argument should be evaluated only in relation to<br />
the various circumstances in which it might be <strong>of</strong>fered. I will mention<br />
two ways in which whether a philosophical argument was a success or a<br />
failure might depend on context.<br />
First, whether an argument was counted a success or a failure<br />
might depend on the purposes <strong>of</strong> the philosopher who has <strong>of</strong>fered the<br />
argument. Did this philosopher mean, for example, to produce converts<br />
to its conclusion? It is not invariably the case that the purpose <strong>of</strong> a<br />
philosopher in <strong>of</strong>fering an argument is the winning <strong>of</strong> converts. <strong>The</strong><br />
philosopher may frankly admit that the argument is unlikely to convince<br />
very many people to accept its conclusion—and not necessarily because<br />
he thinks most people are mad or stupid or ‘‘logically challenged’’<br />
or irrationally attached to some false view <strong>of</strong> the world. Perhaps he<br />
thinks that the conclusion <strong>of</strong> his argument lies in an area in which it<br />
is very difficult to reach any conclusion with certainty—owing, in the<br />
words <strong>of</strong> Xenophanes or someone <strong>of</strong> that sort, to the obscurity <strong>of</strong> the<br />
matter and the shortness <strong>of</strong> human life. And yet he may think that<br />
the argument is a pretty good one. (This is the attitude I try, without<br />
any very conspicuous success, to cultivate with respect to arguments<br />
I am particularly fond <strong>of</strong>.) To take a different sort <strong>of</strong> example, there<br />
are philosophers who have devoted a great deal <strong>of</strong> time and care to<br />
arguments for conclusions that almost everyone was going to accept in<br />
any case. Arguments for the existence <strong>of</strong> an external world, for other<br />
minds, for the mathematical or physical possibility <strong>of</strong> one runner’s<br />
overtaking another .... Presumably, the purpose <strong>of</strong> such philosophers<br />
is not to increase the number <strong>of</strong> people who accept the conclusions <strong>of</strong><br />
these arguments. (It is not even, necessarily, to provide a rational basis