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Review of Michael Martin, Atheism, Morality, and Meaning (Prometheus Lecture Series). Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 2003. Pp. 330. US $21.00 In On Liberty, having observed that people tend to abort a chain of thought whose consequences they fear, John Stuart Mill claims that to be genuinely intellectual a person must be willing “to follow his intellect to whatever conclusions it may lead.” [1] Michael Martin no doubt agrees with Mill’s conception of the qualities of an intellectual, and his new book gives ample occasion to reflect on exactly what is involved in pursuing the consequences of a chain of thought, come what may. These are issues of method, however, and any discussion of them presupposes a grasp on the thesis of his book, which can be summed up as follows. First, Martin presents atheism as (1) able to provide a theoretical basis for a belief in the existence of objective standards of morality, and (2) able to give good grounds for the possibility of living a life that, though finite, has genuine purpose and meaning. Facing him is the contrary Christian claim that atheists—because they deny an almighty Lawgiver whose authority establishes judg¬ments as true or false and a future life which gives their lives meaning—are in danger of becoming ethical relativists and nihilists, people who admit no objective moral standards and for whom life has no purpose or meaning, people for whom nothing matters. Second, Martin upends this Christian argument by saying that it is the Christian who is unable to support, and in danger of losing her grip on the notion of an objective morality, and it is the Christian who is incapable of explaining how an infinite life has purpose or meaning. These are strong claims—bound to irritate many believers in the unlikely case that any take up this book and read it—and they need a strong defense. Martin gives one, always exonerating the atheist and incriminating the theist, first on the issue of morality (Part I of his book) and then on the matter of life’s purpose or meaning (Part II). In Part I, Martin defends non-theistic morality by means of an Ideal Observer theory. This doctrine refers moral decisions (e.g. “Shall I cheat on my taxes?”) to the actions of an imaginary or hypothetical moral agent whose moral emotions and reactions (e.g. disapproval) are trustworthy guides to right and wrong because we have supposed her to possess all of the properties (rationality, objectivity, empathy, relevant knowledge and so forth) of a perfect moral agent. Martin denies that his account involves reasoning in a circle. Though that would be the case if moral beliefs were explained in terms of an Ideal Observer’s moral beliefs, his theory explains moral beliefs in terms of an Ideal Observer’s moral feelings, and is therefore immune to the charge of circularity. Martin holds up divine command theory as the main Christian alternative to his atheistic account of what grounds the objectivity of moral beliefs. According to divine command theory, “cheating is wrong” is true because God has commanded us not to cheat. Putting aside for now the difficulty of understanding how a non-spatial, non-temporal deity can give commands, Martin objects that a theist cannot avoid the snare of voluntarism: Is cheating wrong because God commands it, or does God command us not to cheat because it is wrong? If a Christian chooses the former alternative, Martin says, she leaves open the possibility that God might command what we think is wrong, e.g. to kill our children. Presumably we would then not be able to endorse the view that what God commands us to do is right. The other alternative leaves us unable to explain why God has moral authority or is conceived of as the source of moral law, since it places laws above and prior to God, who is reduced to the role of a messenger. Readers who doubt whether Christians really emphasize divine command theory as much as Martin seems to think should ask themselves whether Christians can provide any other equally clear account on which to base their claim that only they possess the keys to a moral life. The possibility of living a life that has purpose and meaning is the topic of the second portion of the book. Martin begins by asking, what do we mean by saying life has no meaning? In an attempt to get a grasp on this elusive idea, Martin analyzes the notion of life’s meaningfulness into one of purpose and one of value. He proceeds to define the idea, the meaning of life, either to signify a life of purpose, or to signify a life of value (he accepts both definitions). To begin with, purposes must be significant, non-arbitrary, and gratifying, but need not be lasting or even completed in one’s lifetime. (Martin does not explain the concept of value so carefully as that of purpose.) Despite disbelief in eternal life, an atheist can live a meaningful life, he argues, if she has a purpose in the above sense. For example, a palliative care nurse, on this view, may have a life of purpose, hence a meaningful life, even if she believes neither in her own nor her patients’ eternal life. The Christian supposes that only belief in an afterlife makes life meaningful, but on Martin’s analysis, extension of life is irrelevant to the purpose (or value) of a life, since an eternal life could be without purpose. Indeed, since religious concepts of eternal life do not stand up well under scrutiny, Martin believes that a truly meaningful life is possible only when such ideas are excluded from our system of beliefs. He thus rejects Richard Taylor’s analysis (in “The Meaning of Life”) of Camus’ ‘Myth of Sisyphus’ that life is meaningful only if it results in something of never-ending value, or alternatively, only if it consists in creative activity. Martin asks, is a chef’s life without meaning because her products are not lasting? Is a mother’s life without meaning? Moreover, he argues that part of what gives meaning to a Christian is dedication to living a Christ-like life; and in a portion of the book that may make even some atheists wince, Martin argues that it is impossible to derive meaning this way, one, because it is impossible to determine exactly what Christ’s standards of behavior are, and two, because his behavior often seems unworthy of imitation. (Martin has in mind indications that Jesus indulged in fits of rage, was dismissive of his mother, and so on.) Any conceit that only as a Christian can life can have meaning, he concludes, evaporates upon examination of the grounds—eternal life, a Christ-like life—on which it is based. J. S. Mill, I remarked above, advocates following a line of reasoning to its conclusion, no matter what the consequences may turn out to be. If we judge by his method in this book, Martin, like Mill, also places a high value on fearless rationality. Yet some readers may see his approach in a less flattering light, as a relentless, pitiless, rational process paired with obtuse literalism. One of Martin’s most frequent strategies is to nail down the emptiness of a religious notion by strenuously attempting to make it clear. For example, he points out that a command, divine or otherwise, is a speech act, and speech implies a mouth. But God can’t actually give commands since he isn’t in space/time, doesn’t have a mouth, and can’t engage in or make another engage in speech acts. This difficulty applies to any supposed transmission of God’s commands to a prophet, and so the Divine Command theory has no way of getting going. At such points in Martin’s text even a hard-core atheist may feel inclined to shout, “Oh come on!” Even Socrates irritates us after awhile with his pursuit of clarity and his stating of the obvious, and, in time, Martin’s arguments begin to read as disingenuous, and at fault for being grossly, indeed deliberately, insensitive to symbolic meaning. A religious reader will be even less charitable, and she will, more than likely, take Martin’s arguments as evidence of colossal stupidity. “Of course”, such a believer might say, “If you think of commands as literally as you do, you’ll find the whole idea puzzling. But when I say that God issues commands I for heaven’s sake don’t mean that God opens a big mouth, with teeth behind and so on!” But to take Martin’s side again, what exactly is meant by the notion (say) of a divine command? And if, at the end of the day, the Christian can’t say what she means by it, so much the worse for Christianity and for her claims about it. What exactly do you mean, Martin asks over and over, for he knows that the demand for clarity is a powerful strategy. By insisting on clarity and exactness, Martin wins his case against the Christian every time. On the other hand, despite impeccable reasoning and indubitable evidence, he has not won his case where it counts most, for before we open his book we know—and he knows—that it has absolutely no persuasive power for a theist. … Recall Mill’s observation that people often cut short a chain of reasoning if they fear the conclusion to which it may lead. Freud makes a related point when he raises the suspicion that tactics, such as being forbidden “to raise the question of … [a religious belief’s] authenticity” are reserved for beliefs that one suspects will not withstand scrutiny. [2] Such behavior implies that the believer is in the curious epistemic position of believing that what she sincerely believes is true is very likely false. That she has external reasons for refusing to question her religious beliefs—out of concern for social welfare in the absence of religious belief, or perhaps because life seems disappointing without them—makes the matter worse for Freud, since to justify religious belief in this fashion underscores how little genuine belief is involved in the first place. Mill and Freud seem puzzled, incredulous, and more than a little disgusted by this sort of behavior. Though they are right to notice this behavior as typical of religious believers, its very frequency makes me hesitate to applaud their dismissive reaction to it. The fact that many people behave in a certain way does nothing to commend that behavior to us, but it does mean that we should look very carefully at what they are doing. And this we do not find in Freud and Mill. Many atheists might attribute this peculiar quality of religious belief to weakness in character, irrationality, stupidity, lack of education, or to tradition, culture, and family. But this doesn’t match up with the qualities possessed by many of the believers whose beliefs—and whose way of believing—seems utterly foreign to one’s own. On the contrary, one often finds behind their passionate defense of particular religious beliefs an equally strong conviction about the value of the way in which they believe. What one finds, I suggest, is a moral stance about belief, a belief about the way belief should be exercised. What Freud and Mill have noticed is behavior that is explicable in terms of how differing value judgments about the use of belief shape the nature of our particular beliefs in different ways. William James’ discussion of the will to believe comes closest to articulating this point. James’ examples of two such divergent value judgments about belief are “believe truth” and “shun error”:[3] “Believe truth! Shun error!—These, we see, are two materially different laws; and by choosing between them we may end by coloring differently our whole intellectual life. We may regard the chase for truth as paramount, and the avoidance of error as secondary; or we may, on the other hand, treat the avoidance of error as more imperative, and let truth take its chance.”I would expand on James’ point in the following way. What people judge to be of value about belief comes to the surface when some of their particular beliefs are under attack. Many of my religious students, for example, under pressure to defend their religious beliefs, identify allowing that some things are impossible with close-mindedness and value being conceptually open to all possibilities. Though my students are mature adults, something not unlike this attitude is vividly displayed by the young child who resists the idea that something (an infinite universe, a square circle) is impossible: “But maybe it could happen, you don’t know!” What this type of thinker believes is both that there is value in thinking of all things as possibilities and that when setting limits to human knowledge it is wise to be extremely skeptical. Their mantra might be, “we can’t know for sure”. To dismiss such attitudes as indulgent or irrational is to fail to see, or to ignore, exactly how believing is ethically constrained for the religious person. It’s not that “anything goes” in their intellectual life, but the very opposite is true: their conception of belief is highly constrained by, say, the intellectual value of wonder and humility. If you want to address them successfully, I suggest that you address their beliefs about reasoning and do so without condescension or moral superiority, for otherwise you might simply fail to understand what goes on in the mind of the theist and fail to address them at all.
Department of Philosophy
[2]Sigmund Freud, Future of an Illusion (New York: Norton, 1989), p. 33.
[3]William James, The will to Belief and Other Essays (Dover, 1956), p. 18.
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