International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 1 7.'3-2t (1985). 9 1985 Martinus NilhoffPublishers, Dordreeht. Printed in the Netherlands.

THEISM, MORALITY AND THE 'WHY SHOULD I BE MORAL?' QUESTION

JOHN BISHOP Department of Philosophy, The University of Auckland, Private Bag, Auckland, New Zealand

I begin with a 'desert island' example. Its motivation is the same as inspired Glaucon's use of the legend of Gyges' ring in the Republic (359d), namely to inquire into the rational justification for the individual's acceptance of the unconditional claim upon him of an objective morality. I am sitting in my office one afternoon when there is a knock on the door and a dapper middle aged man enters. I recognise him as a member of the University Administration, and, sure enough, he introduces himself as Mr Plunkett, Assistant Registrar for budget-cutting procedures. 'I'm afraid I have bad news', he says, as he takes the seat I offer him, 'though you will see I have some ameliorating proposals exclusively for you. Under the Government's policy of financial constraint, a directive has been issued that all Philosophy Departments in the nation are to be culled by one third. There appears to be considerable resentment amongst those currently in power against academics who allegedly command no publicly useful skills yet enjoy themselves at public expense, writing pointless books and corrupting the youth on the side.' I turn pale. Plunkett leans forward in sympathy. 'It's very unfair, I know. But that's how the Government sees the matter, and we all know that he who pays the piper calls the tune.' With trembling hands I reach for my note pad. It takes but a minute to calculate that, once all our vacant and temporary posts are relinquished, there will still be one permanent Lectureship in Philosophy to be disestablished if the Government's directive is to be met. Plunkett continues: 'In these distressing circumstances, the University has no choice but to operate a "last in, first out" policy. And - I regret to say - the reason why you are the first person in your department to hear this news is simply that you are the one permanent philosopher who has to be made redundant.' When my tantrum subsides, I find that Plunkett is still with me, smiling rather strangely. 'There is something I can do,' he says, 'which will help you considerably, if only you will permit me to assist.' 3

'Oh! Please, Mr Plunkett!', I reply. 'Do call me Mephistopheles', he returns, with a self-ingratiating grin. I cannot disguise my alarm, and mumble something very silly about funny Irish names. Plunkett, or rather Mephistopheles, continues. 'Should one of your colleagues resign before the order for cuts in Philosophy is signed, you would, of course, be safe.' I nod. 'Now, I have here,' he continues, removing a device like a calculator from his coat pocket, 'a truly remarkable instrument known as a Brain Wiper. I am prepared, for a small fee, to make it available to you for five minutes.' I inspect the device. It has a keyboard and a button labelled, 'activator'. 'You simply type in a person's name, follow it with the day's code for bringing the activator on line, unlock the safety catch here, and press the activator button. The result is that 90% of the information in the nominated person's brain is wiped almost on the instant. I am sure you appreciate that with this device you could soon render any of your colleagues quite unfit for philosophical duty.' Is this some macabre joke? I ask myself. But what I ask Mephistopheles is this: 'Why should I believe that this device would work?' Mephistopheles hustles me out of the room to the Biology building and, following a series of experiments on some initially quite intelligent chimpanzees, convinces me that his device has the claimed effect. I am told enough of the relevant physical theory to understand that the remote brain wiping procedure is indeed reliable: this is not black magic nor some paranormal phenomenon. Furthermore, I am entirely convinced that, if I did wipe another's brain using this device, the true explanation for this catastrophe could not possibly be detected. Mephistopheles leaves me to think things over. I find that his offer is worth taking seriously~ Apparently - and lamentably my moral dispositions do not make it a psychic impossibility for me even to consider eliminating others in the pursuit of my own advantage. As I ponder the matter, however, I am beset by anxiety. True, it is certain the device will work. True, my use of it could not be detected. But I am haunted by the thought that the brain wiper might some day become available to someone whose interests might be well served by brain wiping me. I bring the matter up with Mephistopheles at our next meeting. Mephistopheles soon reassures me. There is no chance that my use of the brain wiper would initiate a trend towards the ruthless brain wiping of professional competitors which could eventually work to my own destruction. For one thing, use of the brain wiper is undetectable. For another, there is adequate evidence (we need not pad the story further by making any up!) to establish that this is the only brain wiper in existence, and what Mephistopheles is actually offering me is the opportunity to use it once and destroy it along with its blueprints. There can be no guarantee, of course, ~that brain wipers will never be re-invented: but my choice can have no bearing on that. All too late in the piece, I raise the obvious objection: if I use the brain wiper,

what of the colleague who is my victim? What Mephistopheles is urging me to do is at least as morally horrible as murder, and I waste no more time in telling him so. His response is scathing! '"Morally horrible", indeed! How well conditioned you are! Consider the facts, man. Of course, there is a conflict of interests. As so often, it's your chance of happiness against someone else's. You have, I know, been brought up to accept an altruistic ethic - but, consider, isn't it quite possible that this is just an invention by which the powerful maintain their position? It's not just religion that's the opium of the people, you know - conventional morality is just as much so. So, give yourself a chance of maintaining your own happiness, and free yourself from this yoke. Of course, it's morally wrong to use this brain wiper. But why should you care about that? Why, in these extremes, should you do what is morally right?' Hesitantly, I offer this reply: 'Look, it's morally wrong to destroy another person for your own advantage, and that's all there is to be said. The immorality of what you suggest is by itself an overwhelmingly good reason for rejecting your offer.' This really sets Mephistopheles off! 'If that's the best you can say, then I suspect Philosophy would be better off without you. Of course, there can be no better reason for refraining from doing something beyond its being, all things considered, morally wrong - provided, that is, that you choose to operate within the moral point of view. What I want from you is a good reason for continuing to take the moral point of view under these circumstances. Don't you philosophers pride yourselves on a readiness to ask for reasons to justify beliefs which the ordinary man takes to be obvious or even sacrosanct? Surely you are not blind to my point: why should you, rationally, do what you ought morally to do in this situation, which, as I will grant, is to destroy this brain wiper without using it?' I am now quite upset. Mephistopheles' reminder of the distinction between rational and moral obligation is well taken. And the temptation to agree that it is in my best interests to use the brain wiper is very strong. But I am tormented by doubt. Is this man setting up a devilish trap in which to ensnare me, or is he just helping me further along the path of liberation from conventional morality? Finally, almost in tears, I burst out: 'But how could I live with myself if I did such a thing? How could I enjoy my job knowing that I had retained it only at the cost of deliberately inflicted suffering? Indeed, how could I even bring myself to choose which of my colleagues to nominate on the brain wiper? The pangs of conscience would begin from the moment I embarked on the plan you suggest, and would remain with me for the rest of my life. So, even if there were no other reason for refraining from using the brain wiper, I should nevertheless rationally reject your offer simply for the sake of my own peace of mind.' Mephistopheles makes a soft clucking noise. 'I know this line well! You lot are so weak. Still, however unfounded they may be, your habits of mind are quite real and must be taken into account. I can well

accept that if you did what is rationally the right thing here, you wouldn't have the psychic strength to enjoy the consequences. I have the solution, however. First of all, we can set the brain wiper so that we type in the name of each of your senior colleagues, and then it selects the victim at random. It will surely help the process of rationalization a bit if you can think of yourself as inflicting a game of Russian roulette on your colleagues, rather than as deliberately marking one of them down for destruction.' Observing that I am not looking much happier, Mephistopheles takes a pill box from his jacket and shows me the sulphur coloured pills it contains. He explains that these are rationalizing-amnesia pills: the effect of taking one will be that the memory of whatever I do in the following two minutes will be lost to me forever. Furthermore the two minute gap, together with any prior event which may give a clue to its contents, will be replaced in my ostensible memory with a rationalization of the circumstances acceptable to my conscience. Thus, I can take the pill, use the brain wiper, one of my colleagues will then be reduced to a vegetable, and I shall remember nothing, except that I had an extraordinary series of discussions with a certain Mr Plunkett in which I nobly resisted his attemPts to persuade me to destroy one of my colleagues. Mephistopheles has now put me on the spot. I can avoid a serious threat to my happy way of life only by taking a monstrously immoral action, but in a context in which there is no chance of detection or punishment, no possibility of being plagued by remorse, and no chance that my wickedness may, through some complex causal chain, undermine the social and moral order which protects me.

II I do not know how I would actually react in the situation described in my story. The reader will perhaps be relieved to hear, however, that I believe - and with strong feelings of conviction - that I ought not to use the brain wiper. But I also accept the justice of Mephistopheles' challenge: I should surely have a very good reason for adhering to the moral prohibition on destroying others when such adherence will certainly threaten my own happiness. In this section I want to offer a (somewhat) sophisticated version of a well known justification for unexceptioned adherence to the moral law which theists sometimes propose. Let us suppose that Mephistopheles visits me one last time. Then we may envisage the following conversation, with me - though not necessarily in p r o p r i a p e r s o n a - playing the role of 'Theistic Hero': Mephistopheles : Right! What's the verdict? Theistic Hero M.

: I"I have nothing to do with your proposal!

: You fool! These scruples will cost you dear. You cannot possibly have a reason for this stubbornness.

T.H. : Oh! But I do! The very best of reasons. For I'am convinced that, all things considered, it is not in my own interests to do anything morally wrong, and that this deed would be very seriously morally wrong. M.

: How so? I thought I explored every avenue with you, and that I'd satisfied you that every self-regarding consideration told in favour of brain-wiping one of your colleagues?

T.H, : Ah, but you cunningly left my ultimate interests out of consideration. M.

: 'Ultimate' interests? What do you mean? Surely you are not naive enough to suppose that ultimately the wicked come to a nasty end? Immorality can pay excellent dividends, I assure you, especially when practised selectively by a person like you who already enjoys a reputation for moral respectability. You're not going to start spouting Platonic nonsense about wrongdoing disturbing the balance of the soul and so being against the interests of the wrongdoer, are you?

T.H.

No. But I am going to 'start spouting' a view of the world which you will find just as offensive. Christian theology makes it clear that I have wider interests than those canvassed in our recent discussions, and, since I care about these, I must reject your offer.

M.

(paling at the mention of his opposition): Spout away, then. Let's hear what you think this Christian theology says, and then - though honestly I don't know why I bother - I'll show you what's wrong with it.

T.H.

This world, I believe, is tile creation of an all-powerful and morally perfect being. God's purpose in creation is to share his love with morally free creatures themselves capable of loving. These free and rational persons choose their ends with a view to achieving their own happiness, but, given their creaturely finitude, there is a real possibility that they will mistake their own truest interests. In fact, the ultimate happiness of each person consists in his finding some way - and there will be myriad different ways - of fulfilling the general purpose for which God made him, namely to share in a commonwealth of love. What we call the principles of morality then, are just those practical principles which determine the value of actions as contributing to or detracting from the agent's own ultimate happiness. (Given the objective nature of this ultimate happiness, it is no wonder that Augustine could sum up the Christian ethic with the words, dilige, et quod vis fac - 'love, and do what you like' [In Epist. Joann. Tractatus, vii, 8] .) Now, no individual can, in fact, achieve his own ultimate happiness at the expense of others. Tile created order, stemming as it does not from some arbitrary whim of the Creator, but from the very essence of his creative love, lust is such that I can attain my own final happiness only by cooperating with, and not by competing with, others. Consequently, however much in 'this worldly' terms it may appear to the contrary, for me to use the brain wiper would block the fulfilment of my own best interests.

M.

O, how powerfully the various forms of dualism appeal to you religious people! How you can reasonably believe that your truest interests are so different from their 'this worldly' appearances, I just don't understand.

Let me remind you of the pitfall which Hume so brilliantly exposed in much religious thinking: the more you insist that the real world - and the powers (if there be any) who created, sustain and control it - are distinct from the way experience shows them to be, the less clear is the sense that can be made of your claims. My experience of human life gives me a pretty good grip on what I mean by 'your interests' in this situation - but frankly I just cannot understand what you mean when you talk of your 'ultimate' (as opposed to your 'this worldly') happiness and how it consists in a share of some 'commonwealth of love'. It strikes me that you are simply, and perversely, giving the name 'ultimate happiness' for what ought to be described as 'miserable frustration', if you seriously maintain that such happiness lies in the path which accepts loss of job, income, prestige and enjoyment. At the very best, you are dealing here in abstract ideals, and there's not a shred of evidence to show that, even if you can make your notion of ultimate happiness empirically meaningful, this ideal is actually attainable. So far, then, you haven't adequately defended the rationality of your refusing my offer. T.H. : Well, perhaps my position does need amplification. The mere fact that the empirical evidence counts against my claim that my own truest interests in being 'ultimately' happy are not in any way furthered by the exploitation of others does not, however, rob that claim of all meaningfulness. But the onus is on me to give fuller content to the idea of this 'commonwealth of love', purposed by God, in which the final happiness of all creatures consists. I believe I could discharge it - namely by a process of analogical extrapolation from states of satisfaction which are quite, familiar to human experience. I agree as well that, so far, all I have shown is that, on my theistic view of the world, if I care about my own true happiness, then I should, rationaUy, refrain from using the brain wiper. I haven't given reasons for the claim that it is rational for me actually to seek my own ultimate happiness, rather than to confine myself to more concrete and directly attainable ends. But it is essential to Christian theism to proclaim that ultimate happiness is attainable, and so there is a plank to my platform which makes your concern about the motivational impotence of unrealistic, abstract ideals irrelevant. Unless we can believe that the kingdom of love is attainable, we might turn away sadly with the thought that, though this vision of co-operation and harmony is wonderful, and no doubt does constitute in principle the happiest state of any human person, given the way the world is, its attainment is impossible. In which case, the rational thing to do would be to accept the unpalatable facts and be satisfied with what is attainable - namely, a degree of material comfort and power, ends, which, as things are, can be achieved only by a certain amount of judicious exploi ration of others. But the Christian Gospel proclaims the good news that the highest ideal is attainable through the victory of Christ. M.

: I still find your position very weak. You will have to maintain, I think, not just that this 'kingdom of love' is attainable, but that it is very likely (perhaps even certain) to be attained. And you will also have to link your own decision over the brain wiper to the probability of its attainment. For, if you are all going to end up eventually in a wonderful web of shared love no matter how you decide in the present case, I'll suggest that you might as well have your 'this worldly' happiness too. But these concerns pale away before the proofs I can now give you that this Christian theology

you accept is quite unreasonable. First of all, we can show, given that you agree that human suffering and immorality are realities, that the kind of God you believe in just cannot exist ... And here Mephistopheles and Theistic Hero embark on a lengthy discussion of the Argument from Evil and the possibility of defending the reasonableness of the theistic worldview.

III I wish now to take up two questions. First, is the answer Theistic Hero gives Mephistopheles a satisfactory answer to his question? Evidently, if theism itself is unreasonable (as it is if the Argument from Evil succeeds, for example), our answer is, a fortiori, no. My interest here, however, is in whether there are any grounds short of a general critique of the reasonableness of theism for rejecting Theistic Hero's response even as a possible answer to the 'Why should I be moral?' question. Second, the question arises whether, if Theistic Hero's answer is satisfactory, there are any alternative satisfactory answers to Mephistopheles' question which do not rest on theistic (or any equivalently problematical metaphysical)assumptions. If these questions are to be answered, 'yes' and 'no', respectively, then we have an argument - which we may dub the Rational Motivation Argument - for requiring theism as part of the rational basis for accepting any objective morality which prohibits use of the brain wiper in the circumstances described. By a suitable process of generalization we would then produce an argument to show that it is rational to accept a certain kind of objective morality only if one is a theist - or, at least, shares with the theist the crucial belief that the ultimate interests of all persons are harmonious and realistically attainable. (I take it as rather unlikely that anyone could reasonably arrive at this belief without countenancing some religious point of view.) This Rational Motivation Argument, we may observe, owes nothing to the so-called Divine Command Theory which holds that to say that an action is morally required just means that it is commanded or at least approved by God: While the proponent of the Rational Motivation Argument will no doubt concede that it is true - even necessarily true - that conduct is morally right if and only if it is divinely approved, he may also accept that God approves right conduct for the reason that it is right, and so be obliged to reject any deftnition of righteousness as action in conformity to divine command. Before we consider whether the answers to our questions are indeed as the Rational Motivation theorist requires, we must treat a presupposed issue, namely that we do need an answer to the 'Why should I be moral?' question which Mephistopheles presses upon us. For perhaps this presupposition is mistaken. On a plausible Kantian analysis, moral obligations are defined as those which

10 apply independently of the agent's interests. Thus the request for a reason to do what is (conceded to be) morally obligatory reduces, on this view, to a pointless demand for a prudential reason for doing what must be done no matter what prudence may counsel. If we adopt this account of what it is for an action to be morally required, then I will quite adequately answer Mephistopheles if I establish that I am indeed morally required to refrain from using the brain wiper. Nevertheless, the Kantian analysis of what moral obligation comes to does not insulate me from Mephistopheles' unsettling demand, which many now be restated thus: 'What reason is there to justify your belief that refraining from using the brain wiper is morally required of you?'. Implicitly, the challenge is general: if what it means to say that an action is morally required is that the agent must do it no matter what his interests may be, then what reason do we have for believing that any action is ever morally required? Perhaps there are no such things as 'moral' requirements. Perhaps we should require of ourselves only those actions which the consistent pursuit of 'enlightened' self-interest prescribes, however much it may suit us at times to do something because it is conventionally, and mistakenly, held to be morally required. So, the force of Mephistopheles' challenge remains, and now begins to sound even more shocking. Instead of asking why we should stick with the moral point of view, he now asks what reason there is for thinking that there is a moral point of view at all. Of course, one might respond to Mephistopheles' challenge by admitting that it makes sense but denying that there is any point in searching for a rationally justifiable reply to it. As Kai Nielsen (1963) suggests, it may be that here 'decision or commitment is king' and we are face to face with what he calls 'the commonsense core of subjectivism'. (I take 'subjectivism' to be the meta-ethical view that the moral permissibility or impermissibility of an action 13 for an agent A is determined by A's own (chosen) attitude to 13, and not by any property of 13-type actions which obtains independently of A's attitudes, beliefs, etc..) On this view, the denouement with Mephistopheles will have one of two possible scenarios. In the first, Existentialist Hero rejects the use of the brain wiper in freely choosing to construct for himself the essence of an altruist (or in freely choosing any other project which requires this response). And, in the second, Existentialist Anti-Hero accepts Mephistopheles' offer as part of an equally free project of 'liberated' egoism; On this view, as Nielsen (1963:281) says, 'it's finally a matter of what sort of person you want to be'. Perhaps there are other grounds, distinct from this species of subjectivism, for holding that, though Mephistopheles' challenge makes sense, there is no point in trying to answer it. The moral sceptic might maintain that, though some actions are indeed objectively morally required, we are unable to know which. And an intuitionist might maintain that, although we can and do know which actions are morally required of us (in some situations, anyway), no rational justification can be given to back up such claims to knowledge. I shall do nothing to argue against either subjectivism~ or these forms of scepticism and intuitionism. Rather, my interest here is in considering what sort of reasons could be given for believing that we know it to be a fact that I ought not to accept Mephistopheles' Offer

11 of the use of the brain wiper. In particular, to assess the Rational Motivation Argument, we need to ask (as we saw before) whether Theistic Hero's reason is - or could even be - a good one, and whether (if it is a good one) it stands alone as the only good reason for accepting an unconditional obligation to refrain from destroying others in the pursuit of one's own career. I am thus conceding, that the Rational Motivation Argument can get no grip if subjectivism or scepticism or intuitionism (in their stated versions) are true. But it is still of great interest to discover whether or not, as the Rational Motivation Argument maintains, the only satisfactory r e a s o n for accepting the claim of a morality which would absolutely rule out brain-wiping in the described circumstances carries with it commitment to theism. Surely, there must be s o m e quite non-theological reason for thinking it true that I ought not to destroy a colleague to secure my own happiness? But what are the possibilities here? The fact that I happen to dislike that self-seeking which shows no concern for the interests of others is no justification of my belief that I ought not to harm others to serve my own advantage. Of course, my dislike may well cause me to reject Mephistopheles' offer. But that is a different matter. It is possible, indeed, that I should discover that there is n o good reason for believing that I should not use the brain wiper, and so come to have good reason for trying to master the dislike which would cause me not to use it. Similarly, no justification for the moral prohibition on brain-wiping could be derived just from the putative fact that ruthless self-seeking meets with social disapproval. Perhaps the justification for such moral claims is just their self-evidence? Once I contemplate the true character of the deed Mephistopheles would have me do, I shall just perceive - through my 'moral sense' - that I must not do it with a 'clarity and distinctness' which puts this truth beyond doubt. One objection to this view, of course, is to argue that agreement that I should not use the brain wiper is not sufficiently widespread for this truth to count as self-evident. But, even if it is the case that people agree as widely on this matter as they do (for example) about self-evident formal truths, it might still be objected that what explains universal agreement here is not the self-evidence of the truth, but rather a uniform conditioning to the effect that this truth is beyond question. In the case of formal truths, a transcendental argument is available to show that their widespread acceptance is a necessary precondition of the very possibility of coherent linguistic communication. Perhaps, then, this suggestion that certain fundamental moral truths are simply self-evident could be maintained only if some parallel transcendental argument is available. And, of course, the notion that the acceptance of an objective morality is a condition of the possibility of life in an ordered and stable society is both a popular and a plausible one. We might hope that such an argument would secure the reasonableness of the vast majority of prohibitions on the destruction of others for the sake of selfish gain. But it is too much to expect from this kind of argument a justification of the rationality - let alone the s e l f - e v i d e n c e - of believing that I ought not to use the brain wiper in the very special circumstances in

12 which Mephistopheles places me. The reasons for this will, perhaps, emerge more clearly once we consider what is surely the most promising possibility for a nontheological, but objectivist, rational response to Mephistopheles' challenge. Why not take a hint from Theistic Hero's response, but drop what might be thought its unnecessary theological veneer? We might agree that all that can ultimately justify my belief that I ought not to use the brain wiper would be the fact that so to refrain is, in the long-term, in my own best interests. To use the brain wiper would be wrong, and, as Socrates taught, wrongdoing always harms the wrongdoer. So, in my own interests, I ought not to do wrong. What need, then, for theological trimmings? It is surely clear that this Socratic Principle, harnessed to any decent normative ethic anyway, is empirically counterevidential. True, it is in general in an individual's best interests to respect the morality of his society, since his own security is protected by adherence to it. But, as Glaucon and Adeimantus effectively observe in the Republic, what follows is just that a citizen's own best interests will be served by his not contravening morality only when - as will admittedly usually be the case - contravention would be likely to undermine the general acceptance of morality or his own acceptance as a member of his society. The story of my encounter with Mephistopheles, like the story of Gyges' Ring, is explicitly designed to provide a case in which neither of these conditions obtains. But why, it might be objected, should a rational defence of morality be required to justify doing right in such extreme cases which are perhaps merely imaginable? The rational defence of morality as a social institution is obvious: the moral 'social contract' works, in the long run, to everyone's advantage - or anyway it is rational at least to expect that it will. Given that, as a matter of fact, no one can ever be justified in his belief that his immoral action will have no tendency to undermine the social order in a way which may ultimately harm him, no further defence is needed of the rationality of an individual's being required to fulfill his moral obligations no matter how he is placed. This objection rests on a contentious factual claim. The 'desert islands' of Gyges and his ring or my encounter with Mephistopheles are not really so remote. Ordinary experience occasionally does provide opportunities in which, in all probability, a carefully executed major moral lapse will work greatly to the agent's advantage. Yet, even if this were not so, meeting the desert island cases is a fair test of any hypothesized defence of an objective morality. For, unless we consider such cases, part of the evidence which ought to be brought to bear may remain submerged. Only by imagining a case in which the probability of the wrongdoer's suffering harm is known by him to be zero, can we discover whether or not we wish to maintain that he still ought to refrain from wrongdoing. If we do wish to maintain this thesis, then we must accept that, if claims about what an agent ought morally to do are justifiable at all, they cannot be justified in terms of the agent's own interests, however 'ultimate'. On the other hand, of course, we may find that our attachment to ethical egoism remains intact - once all belief in the possibility of being harmed by one's own wrongdoing is removed, there is no longer good

13 reason to accept the claim of morality upon one's will. If we continue to maintain (as I assume we should) that I ought not to use the brain wiper in the circumstances described, then any attempt to justify this claim in terms of my own self-interest will founder, unless we are prepared to agree that empirical history does not provide the whole story about what is in my own ultimate interests. Only by adopting a theory which shows that gaining advantage from wrongdoing is invariably an illusory expectation, can we hope to save the ethical egoist's strategy for a defence of the rationality of universal adherence to an objective morality which, inter alia, would rule out the intentional destruction of others to satisfy one's own - necessarily, short-term - interests. Such a theory, it seems to me, must be a theological one. Or, at least, it must be one which adopts a worldview which posits the existence of interests whose fulfilment is possible only in a 'dimension' beyond empirical history. For, within history, wrongdoers sometimes receive as much fulfilment of their (historical) interests as the morally pure.

IV Apparently, then, a non-theologically-laden version of Theistic Hero's response to Mephistopheles is unsatisfactory. Stripped of its theological content, it reduces to ethical egoism, and so prescribes my acceptance of Mephistopheles' offer. But what we are exploring is the possibility of defending the belief that I ought not to accept. We must now consider whether Theistic Hero's response is itself adequate. Evidently, this response is as much a version of ethical egoism with its - essential - theological claims, as it becomes when divested of them. Since there is much plausibility to the Kantian claim that, if there is such a thing as distinctively moral obligation, it holds unconditionally, we must face the challenge that Theistic Hero's response amounts to a rejection of objective morality altogether. For, though it does entail the truth of the claim that I ought not to use the brain wiper, it does so only given the condition that I adopt certain ends (namely, the fulfilment of my own truest 'other-worldly' interests). And so it does not secure the unconditionality which this obligation would have to have if it were to be a properly moral obligation. If Kant is correct in his view that an action which the agent would not have done had he not believed it to serve his own interests has no moral worth even though it conforms to the requirements of morality, then Theistic Hero's worldview is as subversive of morality as any form of (so called) 'ethical' egoism, and ought to be rejected outright on that account. At this point we encounter a dilemma. On the one hand, there are grounds for thinking that there should be good reason for accepting certain obligations as unconditional. Yet, on the other, suitable reasons for accepting any beliefs about what one ought to do inevitably seem to appeal to our contingent acceptance of some end, interest in which provides the ground for the obligation. But such

14 justifications evidently fall short of securing unconditional practical obligations. Let us reinforce the dilemma. If there were in the end no justtfication for believing that I ought not to use the brain wiper (nor to accept any other categorical command), then my conformity to this principle would be blind, and so hardly of true moral worth. A person who obeys moral commands just because they are commanded is but a child. Moral maturity - and thus the possibility of fully morally worthwhile action - requires an understanding of the basis for the commands of morality. Indeed, a society which denied the possibility of examining reasons for accepting unconditional moral claims, would expose itself to the danger of slavery - of conforming to a set of categorical commands which couM have no other basis but external imposition by authority. So we must assume that moral worth consists in the willing acceptance of unconditional obligations whose justification as :such is understood. If moral maturity is possible, then, such a justification must at least be available in principle. But what could such a justification be? Given that justifications which appeal to interests (however long-term) cannot in principle secure the existence of any obligations which obtain independently of all considerations o~ interest, the only option seems to be the one Kant canvassed in his normative ethic. Kant sought to derive the supreme principle of an unconditional objective morality from an a priori consideration of the kind of consistency in his action which a rational agent, just in virtue of his rationality, must seek to promote. There is, then, a justification for accepting moral obligations - and it is one that is derived from the agent's own autonomy. The source of his obligation to act will never reside in the heteronomy either of an external authority or of his own (contingent) desire to achieve certain ends. Thus, for Kant, the answer to the question, 'Why should I accept these principles as having an unconditional claim to be obeyed?', will be 'Because your own rational nature prescribes that you should follow them'. Admittedly, this answer might give rise to the further question, 'But why should I act on the basis of rational principles at all?'. While Max Black (1982) has recently defended the non-absurdity of this question, his preferred answer to it does, I think, rest on an appeal to the interests of a rational agent, which might suggest that the Kantian resolution of our dilemma is chimerical. Besides, it is notorious that Kant's application of his categorical imperative requires the assumption that very much more than consistency must be adopted as a value on pain of irrationality by an agent. In which case, Kant's justification of his own normative ethic arguably does appeal to certain widely shared, but nevertheless contingent, interests of rational agents. This is not, however, the place for a critical discussion of Kant's ethics. What is important is to recognize that Kant's position signals a possible way of resolving our dilemma: indeed, a justification for accepting any morality is required - but it must prescind from any appeal to the agent's interests, since only then can it justify genuinely categorical moral obligations. If moral laws are principles which the rational, agent cannot but accept on pain of irrationality, then the argument which shows them to be such provides just the sort of justification we need.

15 The possibility of this Kantian response would have to be denied by a proponent of the Rational Motivation Argument, for, of course, it threatens the thesis of ethical egoism on which he relies. If we suppose, for the sake of argument, that the Kantian response is ultimately unsuccessful, then Theistic Hero's version of ethical egoism may return to the centre stage, and we may now consider further its resolution of our dilemma which is, of course, to insist that there must be a justification for accepting that I ought not to use the brain wiper, and to argue that the provision of such a justification in terms of my ultimate 'other worldly' interests is not, in fact, as subversive of morality as might at first appear. (Indeed, in his discussions with Kant Theistic Hero will, I suggest, .put maximum pressure on the role which the rational agent's membership of the 'intelligible' world is held by Kant to play in the defenCe (so far as it may be made at all) of the very possibility of the categorical imperative. Is it arguable, perhaps, that Kant's use of this notion reduces to an appeal to the claim that, as free agents, we have interests which are not 'of' this phenomenal world?)

V If Theistic Hero's claims about what my real interests are hold true, then his response does provide a good reason for me to refrain from using the brain wiper. The problem is, however, that his response equates the principles of morality with those hypothetical imperatives which objectively apply to my action should I care to seek the fttlf'flment of my own long-term interests. This is a problem just because we have a deeply entrenched intuition to the effect that an action which the agent would not have done had he not believed it to serve his own interests can be of no moral worth, even if it should happen to conform to (what we take to be) moral requirements. Let us consider this intuition further, with an eye to the possibility that Theistic Hero's style of ethical egoism might be shown consistent with our conviction that there is a significant difference between prudence and morality. First, :we may note the distinction between, (a), acting intentionally from a self-interested motive, and (b), performing an action whose rational justification rests (in part) on the fact that the agent has certain interests. In type-(a) cases, the agent's own reason for his action is to promote his own interests, whereas in type-(b) cases it is merely the case that the reason which justifies the agent's action is grounded on the agent's own interests. Of course, particular type-(b) cases in which there is a self-interested reason for the agent to act as he does may also fall under type-(a), ff this reason is the agent's reason for acting. The point of the distinction, however, is that they need not: at the extreme, an agent's reason for acting might be to frustrate his own interest in some outcome, and yet it actually be the case that the only objectively valid reasons for that action rest on appeal to the agent's own interests. (I hope it is apparent here that we must avoid that usage of 'in his own interests' which renders it tautologous that every intentional action is performed by the agent in his own interests. To say that an

16 agent has a self-interested motive in acting is not merely to say that the agent acts in order to promote some desired end. For an agent may intend to achieve an end which he takes to be independent of, or even contrary to, his own interests. Merely to intend a given end is not sufficient, in our present sense, for having an interest in its achievement.) Given this distinction, we may observe that actions done from self-interest intuitively resist classification as morally valuable far more in type-(a) cases than in cases which are (merely) of type-(b). It does bother us that a person should carefully calculate what action will best serve his own interests, make his decision to act while observing (or perhaps even taking account of) the fact that his interests are best furthered by moral conformity, and then carry his decision out by doing the morally right thing. But if a man's sole motive for doing what is morally right is that he believes his action morally required of him, and then it should turn out that what he did can be shown to be rationally justifiable only by appeal to his own interests, then we should not suppose that his action had no moral worth. Now, Christian ethical psychology emphasizes the importance of being prepared to lose your own Soul in order to save it, a view which, despite its initial appearance of paradox, is consistent with one way of resoMng our dilemma. One should recognize - presumably during a period of relatively detached reflection - that the general practice of the Christian normative ethic, determined as it is by facts about what our highest happiness consists in, is made rational only because it serves the true interests o f each individual. Thus, there is a reason for me to accept the claim of morality as an unconditional constraint upon my will, and the reason is that so to do is (ultimately) in my own best interests, and, if I am rational, I ought to try to promote my own best interests. However, in practice, one should do one's best to subdue all those self-centred attitudes to which the flesh is heir, and seek to develop the habit of acting just out of respect for the moral law and for that reason alone. Of course, our self-centred desires do not, even if we satisfy them, promote our own true interests - thus, if we were perfectly rational, we could accept, in practice as well as theory, that we should act always in such a way as to promote our own true interests (which, we may recall from Theistic Hero's response, harmonize rather than compete with the true interests of all other beings). Since we are not perfectly rational, and, indeed, are prone to continual distraction from the achievement of our own true interests - should we have enough nous to discern them! - we shall in fact do better to follow the moral law quite independently of considering whether it is in our interests to do so. Perhaps, however, the opportunity to act just from reverence for the moral law, is pre-empted in some situations by conscious deliberation focussed upon perceived self-interest and its conflict with what is believed to be morally required. My encounter with Mephistopheles provides just such an occasion. Of course, one might have such firm habits of moral reverence that deliberation which takes account of self-interest would just never get going. We may imagine the response of a Theistic Super-Hero who simply says, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!' as soon as the immoral suggestion is made. (Yet Jesus, we may recall, seemed to find it necessary

17 to argue for rejecting Satan's temptations in the wilderness - although his arguments are appeals to authority rather than self-interest.) However, the typical human situation is very different: apparent self-interest is frequently considered and seen to provide good reason for immorality. The suggestion considered above, then, rested on a naive separation of theory (which involved appeal to 'true' selfinterest) from moral practice (which did not). There can be actual situations of moral choice, in which the agent seeks a reason for keeping to morality, even though he supposes it against his own interest to do so. Here, any habitual reverence for the law has been blocked, and the theist must bring his full theoretical defence to bear on the situation. Thus, if this defence is accepted, the agent will act, perhaps quite calculatedly, in order to promote his own self-interest. His mind will be made up, that is, by his deciding that the morally required choice is, in fact, the one which ultimately secures his own advantage. And thus the anxiety that this theistic version of ethical egoism is as subversive of true moral practice as any secular variant of the same thesis will re-emerge. I want now to suggest that conformity to the moral law may still be a fully worthwhile moral act even if it is motivated by considerations of self-interest alone. This may be so, it seems to me, if the motive is not what I call a 'competitively self-interested' one. I suggest that our intuition about the incompatibility of purely self-interested motivation and moral worth comes to this: if a person would not have conformed to morality unless he had believed that he would have gained some advantage over other people thereby, then his action is of no moral worth. If one's sole motive is to serve one's own interest even at the expense of harm to those of others, then whatever one does has no moral value, even if it happens to accord with what duty requires. However, it is possible to act just from self-interest without having such a competitively self-interested motive. On a view of the world, such as the Christian one, for which an individual's ultimate happiness is attainable only if he abandons competitive self-seeking, one is motivated by weU-founded self-interest only if one has no intention of seeking to gain at the expense of others. Indeed, Christian theology maintains that it is a single state of affairs - the completing of the coming of the Kingdom - which harmoniously combines the fulfillment of each of our individual interests with the total redemption of the entire cosmos. On this view, insofar as it depends on me to bring in the Kingdom - which is extensionally equivalent to attaining my own fulfilment - it is quite irrational to try to satisfy myself by exploiting others. That would just hold things up for all of us. (If I may insert some more theology: clearly, things would be held up for ever if it all depended on people like me. But a 'second Adam' has joined the fight and will prevail.) Thus, by making the quite counterevidential claim that the true interests of each individual are only co-attainable, the theist's version of ethical egoism sheds a feature which is generally part of secular versions. The latter leave open the possibility that my long-term interest should require ignoring or even frustrating the long-term interests of others. But the theist will insist that it can never be right for me to promote my interests above those of others, not because an action motivated just

18 b y self-interest cannot be morally valuable, but because my own true interests can be fulfilled only if those of others are also. Our intuition that morally worthwhile action must be motivated by reverence for the moral law itself (to give it its Kantian dress) is preservable, it seems to me, if we construe the moral law as providing those rules for action which conserve and promote the harmonious jointsatisfaction of the real interests of every member of (to be Kantian once again) the Kingdom of Ends. To act out of concern to promote your own best interests, then, will necessarily be to promote the interests of others as well. Once the element of interpersonal competition is removed from the notion of acting from self-interest, there can be no barrier to accepting that self-interested actions may be of the highest moral worth. Kai Nielsen (1963:280) has observed that the 'Why should I be moral?' question 'has been traditionally embedded in the thick muck of metaphysics'. And he adds the following footnote: 'It (i.e. the question) received a new coat with Donald Walhout's essay "Why Should I Be Moral? A Reconsideration", The Review of Metaphysics, 12 (June, 1959), 570-88. Consider only "...the final theoretical answer" to our question is that "one should be moral because this fits into a pattern of universal harmony of all things..." and the "universal harmony of all things can be regarded as the ultimate culmination of all existence, not indeed as a description at any particular moment of time, but as an all-pervasive ideal." But such an ideal is not left to the whims of mortal will, for we are told, "it may be regarded as rooted in the ultimate power of being that produces what is." Apparently it is too much to expect that the days are over when this kind of philosophy could be written. Walhout sees there is a problem about justifying the moral point of view that was not adequately met by Bradley and Pritchard but in answering what he calls "the ultimate question" he gives us this nonsense.' (280) Perhaps Theistic Hero's version of ethical egoism could be regarded as similarly nonsensical- although it does at least have the merit that the 'nonsense' is admitted to be theological, a fact which Walhout may perhaps have wished to disguise. What is unfair on Nielsen's part is that he simply denigrates, and does not even bother to explore, what emerges from the argumentation of his own excellent article as the only alternative to subjectivism, scepticism or anti-rational inuitionism. Nielsen (1963:305) concludes: 'for limited patterns of behaviour, no decisively good reasons can be given to some individuals that would justify their doing the moral thing in such a context (sc: as provided by the 'desert island' cases)' (his emphasis). Is it really the case that a theological metaphysic is so far from being a 'live option' for the twentieth century philosopher that it is not even worth pointing out, as I have sought to do in this paper, that it presents an alternative perhaps the only alternative - to the various forms of recta-ethical irrationalism? Or perhaps it is assumed that the appearance of an alternative here is specious: subjectivism rules, yet some people like to dress up their subjective value-choices in theological or metaphysical guise? Indeed, it seems that this is exactly what Nielsen (1963:298) thinks: -

19 'Like Glaucon and Adeimantus, the student wants to know why, as a solitary, flesh and blood individual, he should be moral. He feels that he should be moral, but is he somehow being duped? He wants a reason that will be a good and sufficient reason for being moral, quite apart from his feelings or attitudes about the matter. He does not want to be in the position of finally having to decide, albeit after reflection, what sort of a person to strive to be. It seems to me that the subjectivists are right in suggesting that this is just what he finally can't avoid doing, that he doesn't have and can't have the Mnd of objectivity he demands here, but we do need to recognize the logical and practical force of this point. Most rationalistic and theological ethical theories seem to me mythmaking devices to disguise this prima facie uncomfortable fact.' But this is all wrong! It is true that each of us has the final responsibility for making up his own mind, on the basis of the available evidence, what this world is like and what values should guide his action. And this decision, evidently enough, has to be taken under uncertainty. The combination of this uncertainty, and the importance we attach to the issue, produces discomfort (even anguish) - and we might long for a means of calculating out a justifiable decision on the basis of the evidence which would settle the matter for us and leave our minds at rest. Indeed, this longing might even cause us to deceive ourselves into believing that there is such a procedure. While these facts about our existential predicament may justify scepticism, certainly no version of subjectivism follows from them. Indeed, it is arguable that if it were true that there is no possibility of being in error about our evaluations (because they cannot be objectively either true or false), there would then be no reason for anxiety about what subjective choice of values we should make. (It is purely a matter of taste whether to pour the milk first then the tea, or pour the tea then add milk: anguish over this choice would be quite misplaced. But, if all choice of values is similarly 'just a matter of taste', there should similarly be no cause for anxious concern about how we are to decide~) It may be, then, that some choices of values are objectively better than others, even though no demonstration of this fact is even in principle possible. Only a satisfactory argument for the verificationist move could exclude this possibility. On certain views of what the world is like, there are facts about our true interests which make it rational to adopt the Christian ethic of love for neighbour. On certain other views of what the world is like there are (different) facts about our interests which make it rational to adopt a different normative ethic, or perhaps, a policy for action which we are not inclined to call an ethic at all. On certain yet other views of the world, it makes no sense to suppose that any one system of values is objectively more correct than any other. It would, of course, be somewhat strange - and this is the defect of the traditional 'moral' argument for God's existence - to have it as your sole reason for adopting the Christian metaphysic that this was the only way to retain a decent objective morality. But there is an objective question about what the world is like to be settled here - meta-ethical subjectivism (of Nielsen's fairly sophisticated variety) follows only if it is settled in one of the possible ways. It is quite fair for Nielsen to think that the theistic

20 view of the world is false - but it is not fair for him to suggest that adopting theism is merely a 'device for disguising' the absence of any objective fact of the matter with respect to the choice of a normative ethic. Theistic ethical egoism does present us with an objectivist normative ethic which, by grounding moral law upon the individual's ultimate self-interest, provides an answer to the 'Why should I be moral?' question. As I have argued, this theory cannot simply be dismissed out of hand on the grounds that it 'reduces morality to prudence', even if this kind of objection may succeed against secular versions of ethical egoism. While we may imagine s o m e versions of the theistic answer to the 'Why should I be moral?' question which do undermine morality - such as a crude reliance on a system of divinely administered rewards and punishments in which one does what is right to avoid punishment and/or to heap coals of fire on the other fellow's head - there are other versions of it which, while still defending the rationality of adherence to moral law in terms of 'enlightened' self-interest, have no tendency at all to reduce morality to intelligent competitive egoism. How, finally, does the contrast between morality and prudence look from the perspective of our preferred version of theistic ethical egoism? For, our discussion may have generated the impression that, somehow, morality is no longer essential. All we need is the fundamental practical principle: act so as to achieve what is, in fact, in your own true interests. This claim is at least not entirely false. But we may still, I think, propose a distinction between morality and prudence which is based on the unconditional status of moral obligations by contrast with the hypothetical obligations imposed by prudence. To be a moral principle, a rule for behaviour must have an u n c o n d i t i o n a l claim upon the individual agent's acceptance. Yet, as against Nielsen and the 'common sense subjectivists', I hold that there must be, in principle, good reason for the individual to accept any principle as a moral principle. I allow that it can be rational to accept a practical principle as unconditional only if the practical consequences of such acceptance work, on each occasion, to promote or conserve the true interests of the agent concerned. Now, this assertion seems inconsistent with the requirement that a genuinely moral principle should possess strict unconditionality. But there is a real inconsistency here only granted a common, but questionable, account of what that 'unconditionality' consists in - namely, that the law schould apply independently of all prudential considerations. For we are, in effect, justifying the practice of morality as the highest possible prudence. The unconditionality of moral law, however, can be accounted for differently. A practical principle applies conditionally, we may suggest, if it posits an end which it could be sometimes quite rational not to adopt. If, however, a rule prescribes means to an end which must always be adopted on pain of irrationality, then that rule is unconditional. Its force, like that of all practical rules, depends on the agent's actually intending to achieve the end; but its unconditionality rests on this end's being such that, to be rational, the agent should adopt it as a goal of each part of his intentional activity. Kant dubbed 'assertoric' those hypothetical imperatives which posit ends which all agents have as a matter of natural necessity.

21 On the present account, though all imperatives are hypothetical, some possess the required universality of moral law because they rest on ends which are rationally, rather than naturally, necessary. The distinction between prudence and 'high prudence' or morality is vindicated on this view: prudence studies how to achieve goals we may happen to have; morality prescribes how to attain those goals we must, just as rational agents, continue to have. Of course, it is far from obvious that there are any ends which we must always have on pain of irrationality. The assumed ingredients of human happiness, such as material wealth, sexual fulfilment, power and prestige, certainly do not have this status. Even if we choose a more 'enlightened' account of happiness - to enjoy one's work and love one's friends, for example - it is still far from evident that it would be straightforwardly irrational not to seek happiness so defined. Yet that quite anti-egotistical theistic version of ethical egoism which we have been examining does require that agents have ultimate interests which are not identical with any 'this worldly' interests, although no doubt they are to be understood by analogy with certain of them, (The highest human happiness is the model for heavenly bliss.) Thus, our Theistic Hero does secure a distinction which fits the traditional contrast between prudence and morality. The theist's position, no doubt, will strike those outside the tradition as a very strange one. In the face of massed evidence to the contrary, he maintains that we have ultimate interests which can be fulfilled only all at once in a suitable systematic harmony. The question whether this claim could be regarded as in any way justifiable belongs in the epistemology of religion. I have offered nothing at all in this paper to rebut the suggestion that this version of theism is unreasonable or even incoherent. But what I have done, by focussing on the need to deal with the 'Why should I be moral?' question, is to argue that, if this theistic defence of the objectivity of an acceptable morality should turn out to be mistaken, all we have left is a choice between various forms of meta-ethical irrationalism and a secular version of ethical egoism which would prescribe, at least on 'desert islands', actions which even most secularists would judge quite immoral. The combination of what is intuitively the right result in the desert island cases, with a strong-minded metaethical objectivism, seems obtainable only within a theistic or similar metaphysic.

REFERENCES Black, M. (1982). Why should I be rational? Dfalectica 36 (2/3), 148-t68. Nielsen, K. (1963). Why should I be moral? Estratto Revista Methodos 15 (59/60), 275-306.