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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Philosophical Failure 41 for things that people had hitherto believed without any rational basis. My wife is one of those people who don’t quite see the point, evident as it is to us philosophers, of discussions of Zeno’s paradoxes, and who has, in consequence, never read Salmon or Grünbaum or any other author on this topic. But I very much doubt whether her belief that it is possible for one runner to overtake another—I’m sure she does believe this, although in fact I’ve never asked her—is a mere prejudice lacking any rational foundation.) Now the second sort of consideration I offer in support of the thesis that success in philosophical argument should be thought of as contextrelative. Even if a philosopher’s purpose in producing an argument is to produce converts to its conclusion, the kind of argument that is best for his or her purposes will depend on various features of the audience to which it is addressed. A trivial example would be this: Thomas’s First Way is suitable for presentation to an audience of people who have normal beliefs about the reality of motion in a way in which it would not be suitable for presentation to an audience of Eleatics. The following would seem to be a reasonable principle to adopt as regards the presentation of arguments in philosophy or any other field. Suppose one is presenting an argument for the thesis q to a certain audience, and that p is one of the premises of this argument; if one thinks that p is true, and if it is reasonable for one to suppose that one’s audience will agree that p is true, then one need not bother to present an argument for p—not even if one happens to know of a really lovely argument for p, and one is aware that there exist philosophers, philosophers of a school unrepresented in one’s audience, who deny p. Few works of political philosophy open with a refutation of solipsism. Now let me take a step back and ask how these rather abstract reflections are to be applied. How do I mean to apply them? What use do I propose to make of the idea that questions about the success of an argument should be raised in a way that takes account of the context in which the argument is presented? One way in which I might apply this idea in these lectures would be for me to ask myself which premises of the argument I propose to examine—the argument from evil—might seem doubtful to you, my actual audience. But I really know very little about you, and, even if I did, I should not want to present arguments that were so carefully tailored to your beliefs and preconceptions that they might be effective only in this company—select though it be. I am inclined, rather, to direct my efforts to a more general and abstract goal. Let me try to describe this more general goal. It is something like this: to ask myself

42 Philosophical Failure which premises of the argument from evil might seem doubtful to the members of an ideal audience—an audience composed of people whose nature is suggested by that ‘‘ideal observer’’ to which certain ethical theories appeal. But in trying, in my own mind, to flesh out this idea, I have found it necessary to consider not only an ideal audience but an ideal presentation of an argument to that audience. The concept of an ideal presentation of an argument, I think, is best explained by supposing that argument to be presented within the context of an ideal debate. Let us take a moment to think about what a debate is, for there is more than one way to understand this idea. When philosophers think of a debate—at least this is what my experience of philosophers seems to show—they usually think of two people, generally two philosophers, arguing with each other. On this model, so to call it, of debate, a debate comprises two people who hold opposed positions on some issue each trying to convert the other to his own position—and each trying himself to avoid being converted to the other’s position. Thus, a debate about the reality of universals would be of this nature: Norma the nominalist and Ronald the realist carry on an exchange of arguments; Norma’s purpose in this exchange is to turn Ronald into a nominalist (and, of course, to prevent Ronald from turning her into a realist), and Ronald’s purpose is to turn Norma into a realist (and, of course, to prevent Norma from turning him into a nominalist). This model of debate suggests a definition of what it is for a philosophical argument to be a success. A successful argument for nominalism would be an argument that a nominalist could use to turn a realist into a nominalist—and a successful argument for realism would be similarly understood. But how are we to understand the generality implied by the phrases ‘‘a nominalist’’ and ‘‘a realist’’? Perhaps we could make this generality more explicit, and therefore clearer, by saying something like this: A successful argument for nominalism would be an argument that any ideal nominalist could use to turn any ideal realist into a nominalist. By ideal nominalists, I understand nominalists who satisfy the following two conditions, or something that could be obtained from them by a minimal amount of tinkering and adjustment of detail: ideal nominalists are of the highest possible intelligence and of the highest degree of philosophical and logical acumen, and they are intellectually honest in this sense: when they are considering an argument for some thesis, they do their best to understand the argument and to evaluate it dispassionately.

Philosophical Failure 41<br />

for things that people had hitherto believed without any rational basis.<br />

My wife is one <strong>of</strong> those people who don’t quite see the point, evident<br />

as it is to us philosophers, <strong>of</strong> discussions <strong>of</strong> Zeno’s paradoxes, and who<br />

has, in consequence, never read Salmon or Grünbaum or any other<br />

author on this topic. But I very much doubt whether her belief that it is<br />

possible for one runner to overtake another—I’m sure she does believe<br />

this, although in fact I’ve never asked her—is a mere prejudice lacking<br />

any rational foundation.)<br />

Now the second sort <strong>of</strong> consideration I <strong>of</strong>fer in support <strong>of</strong> the thesis<br />

that success in philosophical argument should be thought <strong>of</strong> as contextrelative.<br />

Even if a philosopher’s purpose in producing an argument is<br />

to produce converts to its conclusion, the kind <strong>of</strong> argument that is best<br />

for his or her purposes will depend on various features <strong>of</strong> the audience<br />

to which it is addressed. A trivial example would be this: Thomas’s<br />

First Way is suitable for presentation to an audience <strong>of</strong> people who<br />

have normal beliefs about the reality <strong>of</strong> motion in a way in which it<br />

would not be suitable for presentation to an audience <strong>of</strong> Eleatics. <strong>The</strong><br />

following would seem to be a reasonable principle to adopt as regards<br />

the presentation <strong>of</strong> arguments in philosophy or any other field. Suppose<br />

one is presenting an argument for the thesis q to a certain audience, and<br />

that p is one <strong>of</strong> the premises <strong>of</strong> this argument; if one thinks that p is<br />

true, and if it is reasonable for one to suppose that one’s audience will<br />

agree that p is true, then one need not bother to present an argument for<br />

p—not even if one happens to know <strong>of</strong> a really lovely argument for p,<br />

and one is aware that there exist philosophers, philosophers <strong>of</strong> a school<br />

unrepresented in one’s audience, who deny p. Few works <strong>of</strong> political<br />

philosophy open with a refutation <strong>of</strong> solipsism.<br />

Now let me take a step back and ask how these rather abstract<br />

reflections are to be applied. How do I mean to apply them? What use<br />

do I propose to make <strong>of</strong> the idea that questions about the success <strong>of</strong> an<br />

argument should be raised in a way that takes account <strong>of</strong> the context in<br />

which the argument is presented? One way in which I might apply this<br />

idea in these lectures would be for me to ask myself which premises <strong>of</strong> the<br />

argument I propose to examine—the argument from evil—might seem<br />

doubtful to you, my actual audience. But I really know very little about<br />

you, and, even if I did, I should not want to present arguments that were<br />

so carefully tailored to your beliefs and preconceptions that they might<br />

be effective only in this company—select though it be. I am inclined,<br />

rather, to direct my efforts to a more general and abstract goal. Let me try<br />

to describe this more general goal. It is something like this: to ask myself

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