A.

Ethical Theories
Ethics is the branch of philosophy that examines the differences between right and
wrong. Morality is behavior in accordance with custom or tradition. Morality usually reflects
personal or religious beliefs. Ethical beliefs influence behavior.
What is the relationship between ethics and the law?
The field of ethics is rooted in the legal system. Ethical opinions reflect individual values
concerning how one should behave. Laws reflect social and political values and deal with
actions rather than intention.
What are the differences between teleology and deontology?
Teleology is the ethical theory stating that the value of a situation is determined by its
consequences. The teleological theory, also known as the “consequentialist” theory, was
advocated by the philosopher John Stuart Mill. One principle of teleology is the principle of
utility, which states that an act must result in the greatest amount of good for the greatest
number of people involved in a situation.
Deontology is the ethical theory that considers the intrinsic significance of the act itself,
or the motive of the person doing the act, as the criterion for determination of good. The
deontological theory, also known as “formalism,” was advocated by the philosopher Immanuel
Kant. Kant established the concept of the categorical imperative, which states that one should
act only if the action is based on a principle that is universal, or in a way that everyone would
act in a similar situation.

1. Deontology
Many other thinkers have argued that humanity’s moral code doesn’t come from some
supernatural force. 18th century German philosopher Immanuel Kant, for one, thought religion
and morality were a terrible pairing, and if anything, the two should be kept apart.
Instead, Kant argued, to determine what’s right, you must use reason and a sense of
consideration for other people.
Kant took morality seriously, and he thought we should, too – all of us – regardless of
our religious beliefs, or lack thereof. Because, he knew that if we look to religion for our
morality, we’re not all going to get the same answer. But he thought morality was a constant, in
an almost mathematical sense. Two plus two equals four, whether you’re a Christian, Buddhist,
or atheist. And for Kant, the same went for moral truths. But he made a distinction between the
things we ought to do morally, and the things we ought to do for other, non-moral reasons. He
pointed out that, most of the time, whether or not we ought to do something isn’t really a
moral choice – instead, it’s just contingent on our desires. Like, if your desire is to get money,
then you ought to get a job. If your desire is getting an A in class, then you ought to study. Kant
called these if-then statements hypothetical imperatives. They’re commands that you should
follow if you want something. But hypothetical imperatives are about prudence, rather than
morality. So, if you don’t want money, you can always choose not to work. And if you don’t care
about getting a good grade, studying becomes totally optional!
But Kant viewed morality not in terms of hypothetical imperatives, but through what he
called categorical imperatives. These are commands you must follow, regardless of your
desires. Categorical imperatives are our moral obligations, and Kant believed that they’re
derived from pure reason. He said it didn’t matter whether you want to be moral or not – the
moral law is binding on all of us. And he said you don’t need religion to determine what that
law is, because what’s right and wrong is totally knowable just by using your intellect.

So how do you figure out what’s moral? Kant said the categorical imperative can be
understood in terms of various formulations. Basically, different ways of phrasing or looking at
the same essential idea. And he came up with four formulations of the categorical imperative.
Let me tell you about the two most popular ones. The first formulation of the categorical
imperative is often known as the universalizability principle. And Kant phrased it this way:
“Act only according to that maxim which you can at the same time will
that it should become a universal law without contradiction.”
Let’s unpack what he was saying. A maxim is just a rule or principle of action. And a
universal law is something that must always be done in similar situations. So, as a Kantian,
before I act, I would ask myself, what’s the maxim of my action? In other words, what’s the
general rule that stands behind the particular action I’m considering? Let’s say you forgot your
wallet in your dorm this morning. You don’t have time to go get it between classes, and you’re
hungry. You notice that the student working the snack kiosk in the union is engrossed in a
conversation, and you could easily snag a banana and be on your way. You could easily swipe
that banana and be on your way. Is it ok, morally, for you to do this?
Well, the particular action you’re considering – taking a banana from a merchant without
paying for it – is stealing. And if you approve the maxim of stealing – which you’re doing,
whether you admit it or not – then what you’re doing is universalizing that action. You’re saying
that everyone should always steal. If you should be able to do it, then – everyone should be
able to do it. The thing is, this leads to a contradiction – and remember: Kant’s wording
specifically says that moral actions cannot bring about contradictions. The contradiction here
is: no one would say that everyone should steal all the time. Because, if everyone should
always steal, then you should steal the banana. And then I should steal it back from you, and
then you should steal it back from me, and it would never end, and no one would ever get to
eat any banana. Therefore, stealing isn’t universalizable. So, what Kant’s really saying is that it’s
not fair to make exceptions for yourself. You don’t really think stealing is ok, and by imagining
what it would be like to universalize it, that becomes clear.
Now, Kant’s view that moral rules apply to everyone equally sounds nice and fair. But it
can sometimes lead to some counterintuitive results. To see how this formulation can go awry.
Let’s say, one morning, Elvira and Tony are having breakfast. Then a stranger comes to the door
and asks where Tony is, so he can kill him. Obviously, Elvira’s impulse is to lie, and say that Tony
isn’t around right now to protect him from this would-be murderer.
But Kant says that she can’t lie – not ever, not even to save Tony’s life. Here’s his
reasoning: Suppose she’s at the front door, talking to the stranger. At the time, she thinks
Tony’s in the kitchen, where she left him. But it turns out he was curious about the caller, so he
followed her into the living room, and heard the stranger make his threats. Fearing for his life,
Tony slipped out the back door. Meanwhile Elvira, in her desire to save him, tells the stranger
that Tony isn’t there, even though she thinks he is. Based on her lie, the stranger leaves, and
runs into Tony as he rounds the corner heading away from the house and kills him. Had she told
the truth, the stranger might have headed into the kitchen looking for Tony, which would have
given Tony time to escape. But she didn’t. Now, by Kant’s reasoning, Elvira is responsible for
Tony’s death, because her lie caused it. Had she told the truth, only the murderer would have
been responsible for any deaths that might have occurred. Now, she could have refused to
answer the stranger altogether, or tried to talk him out of it. But the one thing she is never
permitted to do is violate the moral law, even if others are doing so, even for a really good
cause.
So, the first formulation of the categorical imperative is about the universality of our
actions. But the second formulation focuses on how we should treat other people. And it goes
this way:
“Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of
another, always as an end, and never as a mere means.”
Again, we have to define some terms here to figure out what this is all about. To use
something as a “mere means” is to use it only for your own benefit, with no thought to the
interests or benefit of the thing you’re using. Now, we use things as mere means all the time.
The use of a mug to hold coffee, like if it got a crack in it and started leaking, and if it would stop
the benefit of holding liquid in. It’s perfectly fine to use things as mere means – but not
humans.
This is because we are what Kant called ends-in-ourselves. We are not mere objects that exist
to be used by others. We’re our own ends. We’re rational and autonomous.
We have the ability to set our own goals, and work toward them. Coffee mugs exist for
coffee drinkers. Humans exist for themselves. So, to treat someone as an end-in-herself means
to recognize the humanity of the person you’re encountering, to realize that she has goals,
values, and interests of her own, and you must, morally, keep that in mind in your encounters
with her. Now, Kant pointed out that we do use people, all the time, and that’s ok. Because,
most of time, we use other people as a means for something, but not as a mere means.
We still recognize their humanity when we use them, and they agree to being used.
So, for example, you are using a teacher right now to get information about Kantian ethics.
Kant said that you and the teacher deserve to not be used as mere means, because of our
autonomy. Unlike other things in the world, we’re self-governed. We’re able to set our own
ends, to make our own free decisions based on our rational wills. We can set goals for ourselves
and take steps to realize those goals. This imbues us with an absolute moral worth, Kant said,
which means that we shouldn’t be manipulated, or manipulate other autonomous agents for
our own benefit. And this means that things like lying and deception are never okay. Because if
one is being deceived, he can’t make an autonomous decision about how to act, because the
decision is based on false information.
For instance, A might agree to loan B money so he can buy books for school, but A
wouldn’t agree to loan B money so that he can get a new Xbox. So, when B lie to A about what
he’ll be doing with the money, B, robs A the ability to autonomously decide to help B.
B treated A as a mere means to accomplish his goals, with no thought to A’s own goals and
interests. And that’s a violation of Kant’s second categorical imperative.
Kant argued that proper, rational application of the categorical imperative will lead us to moral
truth that is fixed and applicable to all moral agents. No God required.

2. Teleology
a. Utilitarianism
 Kantianism is all about sticking to the moral rulebook. There are never any exceptions,
or any excuses, for violating moral rules. But there are other ways of looking at ethics. Like,
instead of focusing on the intent behind the behavior, what if attention is focused to the
consequences? One moral theory that does this is utilitarianism. It focuses on the results, or
consequences, of our actions, and treats intentions as irrelevant. Good consequences equal
good actions, in this view. So, what’s a good consequence? Modern utilitarianism was founded
in the 18th century by British philosophers Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill.
But the theory has philosophical ancestors in ancient Greek thinkers such as Epicurus.
All of them agreed that actions should be measured in terms of the happiness, or pleasure, that
they produce. After all, they argued, happiness is the end – it’s what one does everything else
for. Think about it like this: many things that one does, you do for the sake of something else.
One study to get a good grade. One work to get money. But why does one want good grades, or
money? There are different answers we could give – like maybe one is seeking affirmation for
his intelligence, or the approval of one’s parents, or a degree that will give a career one want.
But why does one want that career? Why does one want approval? One can keep asking
questions, but ultimately answer will bottom out in, “I want what I want because I think it will
make me happy.” That’s what we all want – it’s one of the few things everyone has in common.
And utilitarians believe that’s what should drive our morality. Like Kant, utilitarians agree that a
moral theory should apply equally to everyone. But they thought the way to do that was to
ground it in something that’s intuitive. And there’s really nothing more basic than the primal
desire to seek pleasure and avoid pain.
So, it’s often said that utilitarianism is a hedonistic moral theory – this means the good is
equal to the pleasant, and ought, morally, to pursue pleasure and happiness, and work to avoid
pain. But utilitarianism is not what you’d call an egoistic theory. Egoism says that everyone
ought, morally, to pursue their own good.
In contrast to that, utilitarianism is other-regarding. It says we should pursue pleasure or
happiness – not just for ourselves, but for as many sentient beings as possible. To put it
formally: “we should act always so as to produce the greatest good for the greatest number.”
This is known as the principle of utility.
No one will argue with a philosophy that tells them to seek pleasure. But, sometimes
doing what provides the most pleasure to the most people can mean that you must take one
for the team. It can mean sacrificing your pleasure, in order to produce more good overall. Like
when it’s your birthday and your family say you can choose any restaurant you want. The thing
that would make you happiest is Thai food, but you know that that would make the rest of your
family miserable. So, when you choose Chinese – which is nobody’s favorite, but everybody can
make do – then you’ve thought like a utilitarian. You’ve chosen the action that would produce
the most overall happiness for the group, even though it produced less happiness for you than
other alternatives would have. The problem is, for the most part, we’re all our own biggest
fans. We each come pre-loaded with a bias in favor of our own interests. This isn’t necessarily a
bad thing – caring about yourself is a good way to promote survival. But where morality is
concerned, utilitarians argue, as special as you are, you’re no more special than anybody else.
So, your interests count, but no more than anyone else’s.
Now, you might say that you agree with that. We all like to think of ourselves as being
generous and selfless. But, even though I’m sure you are a totally nice person – you have to
admit that things seem way more important – weightier, higher-stakes – when they apply to
you, rather than to some stranger. So, utilitarians suggest that we make our moral decisions
from the position of a benevolent, disinterested spectator. Rather than thinking about what I
should do, they suggest that I consider what I would think if I were advising a group of strangers
about what they should do. That way, I have a disposition of good will, but I’m not emotionally
invested. And I’m a spectator, rather than a participant. This approach is far more likely to yield
a fair and unbiased judgment about what’s really best for the group.
20th century British philosopher Bernard Williams offered this thought experiment.
Jim is on a botanical expedition in South America when he happens upon a group of 20
indigenous people, and a group of soldiers. The whole group of indigenous people is about to
be executed for protesting their oppressive regime. For some reason, the leader of the soldiers
offers Jim the chance to shoot one of the prisoners, since he’s a guest in their land. He says that
if Jim shoots one of the prisoners, he’ll let the other 19 go. But if Jim refuses, then the soldiers
will shoot all 20 protesters. What should Jim do? More importantly, what would you do?
Williams actually presents this case as a critique of utilitarianism. The theory clearly demands
that Jim shoot one man so that 19 will be saved. But, Williams argues, no moral theory ought to
demand the taking of an innocent life. Thinking like a Kantian, Williams argues that it’s not Jim’s
fault that the head soldier is a total dirt bag, and Jim shouldn’t have to get literal blood on his
hands to try and rectify the situation. So, although it sounds pretty simple, utilitarianism is a
really demanding moral theory. It says, we live in a world where sometimes people do terrible
things. And, if we’re the ones who happen to be there, and we can do something to make
things better, we must. Even if that means getting our hands dirty. And if I sit by and watch
something bad happen when I could have prevented it, my hands are dirty anyway. So, Jim
shouldn’t think about it as killing one man. That man was dead already, because they were all
about to be killed. Instead, Jim should think of his decision as doing what it takes to save 19.
Now, if you decide you want to follow utilitarian moral theory, you have options.
Specifically, two of them. When Bentham and Mill first posed their moral theory, it was in a
form now known as Act Utilitarianism, sometimes called classical utilitarianism. And it says that,
in any given situation, you should choose the action that produces the greatest good for the
greatest number. Period. But sometimes, the act that will produce the greatest good for the
greatest number can seem just wrong. For instance, suppose a surgeon has five patients, all
waiting for transplants. One needs a heart, another a lung. Two are waiting for kidneys and the
last needs a liver. The doctor is pretty sure that these patients will all die before their names
come up on the transplant list. And he just so happens to have a neighbor who has no family.
Total recluse. Not even a very nice guy. The doctor knows that no one would miss this guy if he
were to disappear. And by some miracle, the neighbor is a match for all five of the transplant
patients. So, it seems like, even though this would be a bad day for the neighbor, an act-
utilitarian should kill the neighbor and give his organs to the five patients. It’s the greatest good
for the greatest number. Yes, one innocent person dies, but five innocent people are saved.
This might seem harsh, but remember that pain is pain, regardless of who’s experiencing it.
So, the death of the neighbor would be no worse than the death of any of those patients dying
on the transplant list. In fact, it’s five times less bad than all five of their deaths. So thought
experiments like this led some utilitarians to come up with another framework for their theory.
This one is called Rule Utilitarianism.
 This version of the theory says that we ought to live by rules that, in general, are likely
to lead to the greatest good for the greatest number. So, yes, there are going to be situations
where killing an innocent person will lead to the greatest good for the greatest number. But,
rule utilitarians want us to think long-term, and on a larger scale. And overall, a whole society
where innocent people are taken off the streets to be harvested for their organs will have a lot
less utility than one where you don’t have to live in constant fear of that happening to you. So,
rule utilitarianism allows us to refrain from acts that might maximize utility in the short run, and
instead follow rules that will maximize utility for the majority of the time. As an owner of
human organs, this approach might make sense to you.

3. Virtue Ethics
Imagine a person who always knows what to say. Who can diffuse a tense situation,
deliver tough news gracefully, is confident without being arrogant, brave but not reckless,
generous but never extravagant. This is the type of person that everybody wants to be
around, and to be like. Someone who seems to have mastered the art of being a person.
This may sound like an impossible feat, but Aristotle believed that, while rare, these people
do exist. And they are what we all should aspire to be: virtuous. And there's a whole moral
theory based on this idea of virtue. But unlike most of the moral theories, virtue theory
doesn’t spend a lot of time telling you what to do. There’s no categorical imperative or
principle of utility. Instead, virtue theory is all about character. Rather than saying, “follow
these rules so that you can be a good person,” Aristotle and other virtue theorists
reasoned that, if we can just focus on being good people, the right actions will follow,
effortlessly.
Become a good person, and you will do good things. No rulebook needed. So, why should
you be a virtuous person? Because: eudaimonia.
Virtue theory reflects the ancient assumption that humans have a fixed nature – an
essence – and that the way we flourish is by adhering to that nature. Aristotle described
this in terms of what he called proper functioning. Everything has a function, and a thing is
good to the extent that it fulfills its function, and bad to the extent that it doesn’t. This is
easy to see in objects created by humans. A function of a knife is to cut, so a dull knife is a
bad knife. And a function of a flower is to grow and reproduce, so a flower that doesn’t do
that is just bad at being a flower. And the same goes for humans – we’re animals – so all
the stuff that would indicate proper functioning for an animal holds true for us as well –
we need to grow and be healthy and fertile. But we’re also “the rational animal,” and a
social animal, so our function also involves using reason and getting along with our pack.
Now you might notice that some of this sounds like parts of natural law theory – Aquinas'
theory that God made us with the tools we need to know what’s Good. Well, Aristotle had
a strong influence on Thomas Aquinas, so part of Aristotle’s thoughts on virtue ended up in
natural law theory. But for Aristotle, this isn’t about God’s plan, it’s just about nature.
Aristotle argued that nature has built into us the desire to be virtuous, in the same way
that acorns are built with the drive to become oak trees.
But what exactly does it mean to be virtuous? Aristotle said that having virtue just
means doing the right thing, at the right time, in the right way, in the right amount, toward
the right people. Which sort of sounds like Aristotle is saying exactly nothing. But
according to Aristotle, there's no need to be specific, because if you’re virtuous, you know
what to do. All the time. You know how to handle yourself and how to get along with
others. You have good judgment, you can read a room, and you know what's right and
when. Aristotle understood virtue as a set of robust character traits that, once developed,
will lead to predictably good behavior. You can think of virtue as the midpoint between
two extremes, which Aristotle called vices. Virtue is the just-right amount – the sweet spot
between the extreme of excess and the extreme of deficiency. And this sweet spot is
known as the Golden Mean. So let’s take a look at some particular virtues, starting with
courage. What is courage? Example walking home from a movie, you see a person being
mugged. What is the courageous action for you to take? Your impulse might be to say that
a courageous person would run over there and stop the mugging, because courag e means
putting yourself in harm's way for a good cause, right?
Well, no. A virtuous person – in the Aristotelian sense – would first take stock of the
situation. If you size up the mugger and have a good reason to believe that you could
safely intervene, then that's probably the courageous choice. But if you assess the
situation and recognize that intervention is likely to mean that both you and the victim will
be in danger, the courageous choice is not to intervene, but to call for help instead.
According to Aristotle, courage is the midpoint between the extremes of cowardice and
recklessness. Cowardice is a deficiency of courage, while recklessness is an excess of
courage – and both are bad. Aristotle said that you definitely can have too much of a good
thing. So, being courageous doesn’t mean rushing headlong into danger. A courageous
person will assess the situation, they’ll know their own abilities, and they’ll take action that
is right in the particular situation. Part of having courage, he argued, is being able to
recognize when, rather than stepping in, you need to find an authority who can handle a
situation that's too big for you to tackle alone. Basically, courage is finding the right way to
act. And a lot of the time – but not all of the time – that means doing a thing that you
know you’re capable of, even if doing it scares the pants off of you. Aristotle thought all
virtue works like this. The right action is always a midpoint between extremes.
So, there’s no all-or-nothing in this theory – even honesty. In this view, honesty is
the perfect midpoint between brutal honesty and failing to say things that need to be said.
Like, no one needs to be told that they have a big zit on their face – they already know. The
virtue of honesty means knowing what needs to be put out there, and what you should
keep quiet about. And it also means knowing how to deliver hard truths gracefully. How to
break bad news gently, or to offer criticism in a way that’s constructive, rather than soul -
crushing. The virtue of generosity works the same way. It avoids the obvious vice of
stinginess, but also doesn’t give too much. It’s not generous to give drugs to an addict, or
to buy a round of drinks for everyone in the bar when you need that money for rent. The
just right amount of generosity means giving when you have it, to those who need it. It can
mean having the disposition to give just for the heck of it, but it also means realizing when
you can’t, or shouldn’t give. So now you can see why Aristotle’s definition of virtue was
totally vague – where that Golden Mean is depends on the situation. But, if you have to
figure out what virtue is in every situation, how can you possibly ever learn to be virtuous?
Aristotle thought there was a lot that you could learn from books, but how to be a good
person was not one of them. He said virtue is a skill, a way of living, and that’s something
that can really only be learned through experience. Virtue is a kind of knowledge that he
called practical wisdom. You might think of it as kind of like street smarts. And the thing
about street smarts is that you gotta learn them on the street. But the good news is, you
don’t have to do it alone. Aristotle said your character is developed through habituation. If
you do a virtuous thing over and over again, eventually it will become part of your
character. But the way you know what the right thing to do is in the first place, is by
finding someone who already knows, and emulating them. These people who already
possess virtue are moral exemplars, and according to this theory, we are built with the
ability to recognize them, and the desire to emulate them. So you learn virtue by watching
it, and then doing it. In the beginning, it'll be hard, and maybe it’ll feel fake, because you’re
just copying someone who's better than you at being a good person. But over time, these
actions will become an ingrained part of your character. And eventually, it becomes that
robust trait that Aristotle was talking about. It'll just manifest every time you need it.
That's when you know you have virtue, fully realized. It becomes effortless. OK but: Why?
What's your motivation? What if you have no desire to be the guy who always says the
right thing, or the lady who always finds the courage when it's needed?
Virtue theory says that you should become virtuous because, if you are, then you can
attain the pinnacle of humanity. It allows you to achieve what's known as eudaimonia. This
is a cool Greek word that doesn’t have a simple English translation. You might say it means
“a life well lived.” It’s sometimes translated as “human flourishing.” And a life of
eudaimonia is a life of striving. It’s a life of pushing yourself to your limits, and finding
success. A eudaimonistic life will be full of the happiness that comes from ach ieving
something really difficult, rather than just having it handed to you. But choosing to live a
eudaimonistic life means that you’re never done improving, you’re never to a point where
you can just coast. You’re constantly setting new goals, and working to develop new
muscles. Choosing to live life in this way also means you'll face disappointments, and
failures. Eudaimonia doesn’t mean a life of cupcakes and rainbows. It means the sweet
pleasure of sinking into bed at the end of an absolutely exhausting day. It’s the satisfaction
of knowing you’ve accomplished a lot, and that you’ve pushed yourself to be the very best
person you could be. This is morality, for Aristotle. It’s being the best you can personally
be, honing your strengths while working on your weaknesses. And, for Aristotle, the kind of
person who lives like this, is the kind of person who will do good things. Today we learned
about virtue theory.

4. Divine Command Ethics

The book of Deuteronomy, chapter 22, verse 11, says that people must refrain from
wearing fabrics made of wool and linen mixed together. The First Epistle to Timothy, chapter 2,
verse 9, prohibits women from wearing braids or gold chains. And Leviticus lays out restrictions
against tattoos and gossip, among other things. For billions of people, the source of these edicts
– the Bible – is the answer to the question of where morality comes from. In a sense, that’s
what the Bible is for. If your worldview tells you that that God is the creator of everything, it’s
reasonable to believe that he’d also create a divine rulebook – a sort of owner’s manual for
human morality. And no matter who you think wrote that manual, many people feel that, in
order for morality to really be binding – for it to be something we all have to adhere to – it can
ONLY originate with God. This is the oldest and most widely held ethical theory in the world.
Philosophers call it Divine Command Theory: the belief that what’s moral, and what’s immoral
is commanded by the divine, whether it’s the “big G” Judeo-Christian God, or some other deity,
or group of gods. People have been going to the gods to figure out how to behave since the
start of recorded history – and for good reason. Just one benefit of the divine command theory
is its simplicity. How do I know what to do? Easy. Go ask God. Check the rulebook. It also solves
the grounding problem that we discussed last time. Every ethical system needs some kind of
foundation, and with the Divine Command Theory, it’s God. Period. But, as you can tell from
those verses I just mentioned, there are a whole lot of things that most of us think are totally
fine, but are actually, expressly forbidden by certain rulebooks – in this case, the Bible. And that
raises a few questions. For example, many observant Jews follow the rule about not wearing
wool mixed with linen. But Christians don’t – most of them probably don’t even know the rule
exists. And yet they consider other rules from the Old Testament – like the Ten Commandments
– to still be binding. So, why? For that matter, why does First Timothy prohibit women from
having braids, but not men? And if tattoos, smack-talk, and gold chains are forbidden, then,
technically speaking, is all of modern culture a violation of God’s word? Divine Command
Theory addresses many of our biggest questions about right and wrong, which is why it’s the
ethical theory of choice for much of the world. But it also presents a true dilemma.
Over the millennia, there have been plenty of objections to the idea that morality comes
from God. One of the most devastating critiques – and one that philosophers still grapple with
today – came from Plato. He wrote an entire book about his problems with divine command
theory, a dialogue called the Euthyphro. The dialogue, like most of Plato’s works, stars his real-
life teacher, Socrates, and Socrates’ main interlocutor-of-the-day, named Euthyphro. The
dialogue is set outside the Athenian courthouse, as the two men sit, awaiting their respective
trials. Socrates is preparing to defend himself against the charges that will ultimately lead to his
death. Among other things, he was accused of corrupting the youth of Athens and not having
the right kinds of beliefs about the gods. Meanwhile, Euthyphro is getting ready to bring
murder charges against his very own father! Socrates is shocked to hear that Euthyphro is
prosecuting his dad, and this gets the two into a spirited conversation about morality, and how
we know what’s moral and what’s not. Euthyphro is a divine command theorist, and he is
certain that prosecuting his own father is the right thing to do, because he believes the gods
have commanded it. But, Socrates isn’t so sure. And he asks a question that many believe still
hasn’t been adequately answered. It’s now known as The Euthyphro Problem.
The question Socrates asks can be framed something like this: Are right actions right because
God commands them? Or are right actions commanded by God because they are right? This
might not sound like much of a distinction at first, but these two scenarios are actually quite
different. In fact, many feel that, with this, Socrates has presented us with a true dilemma. A
dilemma is a situation in which you’re forced to choose between two options, both of which
lead to unpleasant results. Philosophers have actually likened a dilemma to holding an angry
bull by the horns – so the two unpleasant options are known as horns. If you choose the first
horn of Socrates’ dilemma, then you’re accepting the proposition that right acts are right
because God commands them. And this means that you’re accepting that God’s command
alone is simply what makes something right. So, in this view, God makes goodness. And by
extension, this suggests that anything God commands is right. And maybe you’re OK with that,
because you believe that God only commands good things, like honoring your parents and not
stealing or lying or killing. But, if you know your Bible, you’ll remember that God does
command killing when he feels like it. For example, when he commanded Abraham to kill his
own son. And some thinkers are bothered by the thought that morality could – at any moment
– become totally different, depending on what God feels like commanding that day. All it would
take is a word from God, and we could be suddenly be living in some sort of ethical Bizarro
World, where things that we currently think are horrible and cruel would instantly be
considered good and righteous.
Here’s the set-up: You’re going about your day, minding your own business, when suddenly
God shows up. Or at least, he claims to be God. And he sure seems like God to you. And he tells
you that he’s changed his mind about morality. The 10 commandments are out, he says – or
rather, they’ve been reversed. You are now commanded to kill, steal, commit adultery, and so
forth. God says he understands that this is confusing, but he assures you that he knows best,
and this has been part of his plan all along. He was just waiting for humanity to be ready for it.
So he instructs you to go forth and begin carrying out his commands. To do otherwise would be
to sin. So, how do you process this information? Do you assume there must be something
wrong with your brain? Or that something’s gone wrong with God? Or do you obey? This
scenario is just one problem that comes with accepting the first horn of Socrates’ dilemma.
It makes God’s commands – and the morality that stems from them – arbitrary.
If God determines the rightness and wrongness of everything, just by saying so, then the entire
concept of goodness and value becomes vacuous. Because, it means that saying “God
commands what is good,” is really just saying, “God commands what he commands.” The idea
of what’s “good” doesn’t really mean anything anymore.
So, what about the second horn of the dilemma? Does it make sense to say that God
commands things because they’re good? Maybe this doesn’t seem like a problem, but it means
that God isn’t omnipotent. Because there’s at least one thing – value – that doesn’t stem from
God. Instead, someone or something else has created it, and God just uses it. So if you’re
committed to the belief that God created literally everything – not just the physical world –
then you’re going to have a hard time accepting this horn. And then there’s another problem:
This view also means that something outside of God in some sense binds him and his
commands. If there’s some standard of goodness that God has to stick to when making
commandments, then that means there must be things that God can’t command. And if the
ethical rules of the universe come from some source other than God, then why can’t we just go
straight to that source, too, and figure out morality for ourselves, the same way God did? Once
you go down this road, you soon find that God and his religious texts must be superfluous –
little more than moral notes, a shortcut to understanding the original source of knowledge. So
maybe now you’re seeing why the Euthyphro Problem has been around for thousands of years.
Whichever horn you choose, it presents serious problems for the divine command theorist.
Either God is bound by a standard outside of himself, or God’s goodness doesn’t really mean
anything. The Euthyphro Problem has caused plenty of ethicists, including theistic ones, to
reject divine command theory altogether. But the theory has other problems, too. Like, how do
we know what God commands? This takes us back to the Bible verses I mentioned earlier.
There are a lot of very explicit instructions – like about fabrics and hair braids and gold chains –
that most Bible-reading theists don’t consider binding. So how do we know which commands
are binding, and which ones God retracted somewhere along the way? Do we get to decide?
And if we do, how are those instructions still commandments? Wouldn’t they be more like
recommendations? I don’t know about you, but the Ten Recommendations just doesn’t have
the same ring to it. A good moral theory is one that will generate answers to questions like
these, and divine command theory seems to fall short in that regard.