An Objective Immoral Moral Law

My friend Squelchtoad has posed another useful thought example up at his interblag.  I’m excerpting below, but you should pop over and read the whole set up.  It’s targeted to people like me, who think morality exists in some objecting, possibly neo-platonist way and therefore feel unsettled without a well-grounded moral philosophy.  Squelchtoad writes:

Suppose I could demonstrate to you beyond all possible doubt that one of the following two propositions was necessarily true:

  1. There does not exist a supreme being.
  2. There exists a supreme being (In the sense of an eternal, omnipotent, and omniscient creator of the universe) who commands that people rape one another, abandon any children they bear, and cause as much senseless pain as possible to humans and other animals[1].

Would you—could you—hope that (2) was the case instead of (1)? Are you prepared to hope for an “objective” Moral Law if that law will be deeply contrary to your current (ungrounded) moral beliefs, or do you simply want those beliefs validated? …Indeed, I worry that some people who abandon ethical convictions they hold in order to gain the certainty of a spelled out meta-ethical theory[2] may have fallen into a trap akin to the conjunction fallacy. People find stories with more specific information more plausible and likely, even though making a claim more specific makes it harder for it to be true! While it may feel easier to choose one meta-ethical theory than to be confident that “something-I-know-not-what” underlies your moral beliefs, that doesn’t mean you should do so, or that you need to in order to expound and act upon your moral beliefs.

I’ve had a post gestating for a while that now feels like a response to Squelchtoad’s challenge, so I’ll run it tomorrow.  Today, I’d like to know what your intuitions are.  The idea of an immoral objective morality is so bizarre to me that I instinctively flinch away when it’s proposed.   And that’s a reminder to go back to the Yudkowsky piece linked:

When you’re doubting one of your most cherished beliefs, close your eyes, empty your mind, grit your teeth, and deliberately think about whatever hurts the most. Don’t rehearse standard objections whose standard counters would make you feel better. Ask yourself what smart people who disagree would say to your first reply, and your second reply. Whenever you catch yourself flinching away from an objection you fleetingly thought of, drag it out into the forefront of your mind. Punch yourself in the solar plexus. Stick a knife in your heart, and wiggle to widen the hole. In the face of the pain, rehearse only this:

What is true is already so. Owning up to it doesn’t make it worse. Not being open about it doesn’t make it go away. And because it’s true, it is what is there to be interacted with. Anything untrue isn’t there to be lived. People can stand what is true, for they are already enduring it. —Eugene Gendlin

So I’m screwing my courage to the sticking point and trying to see if Squelchtoad’s question actually relies on a contradiction or if he just managed to trigger a cognitive flinch by pointing me toward a reducto ad absurdum that holds one of my beliefs up to ridicule.

What tools would you bring to bear on this problem?  I did think of going back to Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling (an exploration of the problem of Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac) and marshalling the absurd Knight of Faith be my champion in this fight.

But, to be honest, I’m still baffled by that book and its pro-paradox arguments, so I’m going with my usual technique: try and shift a philosophy problem into another abstract discipline for a new perspective (and to see which bits you have to excise to get it to fit in a new frame).

Making Book on God

A reader of Marginal Revolution posed a theological thought experiment this week, and a friend challenged me to answer.  Here’s the pitch:

In this thought experiment you are a contestant on a gameshow. The host of the gameshow (let’s call him Alex) has a notecard that says whether or not god exists and to what extent he is involved in the affairs of mankind. You start with $1,000,000 that you must allocate across five possible categories:

  1. Scriptural literalism. Bet into this category if you believe that one of the religious texts is precisely accurate.
  2. God is omnipresent. Bet into this category if you believe that god is everywhere and intimately involved in our lives.
  3. God as a guide. Bet into this category if you believe that god is only there for the major turning points in life and/or when we reach out in prayer.
  4. God as a watchmaker. Bet into this category if you believe that god set the universe in motion but is no longer around.
  5. Atheism. Bet into this category if you believe that god does not exist.

You can distribute the money however you like (e.g. all $1,000,000 in one category or $200,000 in each). After you’ve allocated your $1,000,000 Alex flips over the notecard and reveals which of the five categories is correct. You keep any money that you’ve allocated into the correct category.

There are a couple problems with this set-up, which is why I didn’t send my friend a bet distribution.  The nit-pickiest is that I would be really quite happy with $200,000, so I would be betting somewhere between my true expected probability distribution and a simple even split.  But the bigger problem is that I don’t think these five buckets are clearly defined enough that I’d feel comfortable betting at all (unless I really trusted the bookie).

Starting with the first category “Scriptural Literalism,” I’m a little chary of how the bookmaker is defining “precisely accurate.”  I’d put pretty much no money down on the proposition that the earth is 6000 years old or that the stars are painted on the inside of a celestial globe, which is what I think this category is meant to encapsulate.  However, some holy books (or subsections) are meant to be read as parables or allegories and they might be accurate in that sense.  There must be a better way to frame this section.

Categories 2-4 are too vague and probably need to be coupled with a definition of ‘God.’  Otherwise, a undefined First Cause definitely satisfies 4, but so does a computer science grad student if we’re all living in a simulation that has not been modified since start conditions.  Category 2 is so vague that I have no idea what satisfies it.

 

If you guys can come up with a better way to to divvy up the sample space, I’ll place my bets, and I’ll put together a google form so that the readership can weigh in, too.

Epistemology for Time-Travelers

I’ve been mulling over a weird thought-experiment, and I’d be really interested in your intuitions.  (I’ll explain why I’ve been thinking about it in a subsequent post).

Poof! In a burst of special effects, you’re confronted by a doppleganger you!

“Hi,” other!you says, “I’m you from the future.”  Future!you knows enough about you that you’re convinced it is indeed you, and does something that makes it probably s/he is really from the future (predicts a couple events).

“Wow,” you say, “my mind has been blown.”

“You shouldn’t speak so fast,” says future!you.  ”I should tell you I’ve also converted to [not your current religious beliefs].”

After reviving you with smelling salts from the future, the new you says, “Look, I can’t tell you the exact reasons I changed my mind (it’s a timey-wimey restriction) but I’m glad to talk epistemology with you until you agree that we have the same threshold for evidence on this question.”

Should knowing that future!you has been persuaded be enough to persuade you?

Does the very fact of a conversion eliminate your confidence in future!you’s rationality?   What kind of things would you still have to agree on in order to believe that what persuades them would persuade you?