Plato and Moral Philosophy

There's an interesting sentence in Robinson and Groves' book on Plato, which I've been reading. Commenting on Euthypro's confidence that he has behaved morally because he has obeyed religious edicts, Plato asserts that true moral knowledge can only be achieved through philosophical thinking and debate. He has a point, in that people sometimes commit immoral acts in the name of religion (blowing up innocent people comes to mind). By the same token, moral acts can be religiously unorthodox. For example, the actions of the Good Samaritan in Jesus' parable (Luke 10) were obviously moral in that he showed compassion to a man who had been "set upon by thieves" and left for dead. Jesus' point was that ritual cleanliness, which made the priest walk by on the other side of the road, is no substitute for compassion. The moral deed was impious.

Back to Plato: the authors conclusion is "Only when people turn away from the dogmatism and irrationality of religion can true moral philosophy begin."

Now, that may very well be true when the religion you are talking about is that of the ancient Greeks. At the time of Plato, the pantheon was made up of a bunch of immoral, capricious louts who did, basically, whatever they wanted without much regard for moral law. The gods were to be appeased (and avoided), not emulated. It's probably true to say that more sophisticated Greeks took this religion with a very large dose of salt, even if they didn't say so publically. (After all, Socrates was tried and put to death for blasphemy). However, the context of ancient Greek mythology and folk religion is scarcely the same as that of Christianity. There is a consistency to biblical morality that is not found among the broody mob on Mount Olympus. And if there is a development of interpretation in some areas, even this can be put down to the dawning of the light upon the faithful, rather than change in what God calls "good." You simply cannot label all religious moral teaching as equal. You cannot tar all faiths with the same brush. It's irresponsible to do so, it's deliberately misleading, and it's very poor scholarship.

What's the alternative - secular ethics? Morality that is not informed by religious tenets, such as the Ten Commandments, doesn't have a good track record, either. Some of Plato's own ideas about good government, for example, would be considered immoral today, especially his theories about different classes of people being entitled to different degrees of liberty. Some of his ideas sound like Stalinism, and Stalin certainly was not motivated by religion! It's also worth remembering that Plato had time to think philosophically because the society in which he lived required slavery. Plato seemed to think that there was an objective moral good that could only be discovered by philosophy. That idea would be ridiculed by secularists today. Nowadays, ethics are almost always regarded as situational, except by those who have a reference point beyond specific circumstances.

Christians have such a reference point. It's called the Bible. I don't think we need to apologize for believing in moral absolutes. Christianity may, during its history, have been responsible for some shameful acts (though not as many as some would have you believe). Those acts have, however, been committed in violation of revealed moral law, not as a result of the perversion of morality by religious dogmatism.

What if the conclusion was: Only when people turn away from the dogmatism and irrationality of secular humanism can true moral philosophy begin. Wouldn't that, too, be unnecessarily offensive, given that there are many forms of secularism? So why is it acceptable to make sweeping generalisations about religion? Possibly because when you convince yourself that biblical morality is outmoded and untenable, you are left with no morality really worthy of the name, and that is what you wanted all along?

The Road

A man and his son travel a long-abandoned Road to an uncertain destination, in search of a salvation that is, at the same time, both remembered and the object of their desires, both past and future. They journey through a nightmare, apocalyptic landscape, the result of a blinding flash, and half-forgotten low concussions in the night.

Like Christian, in Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the travelers find the road to be rife with danger. Death lurks around every corner, watches from a distance, stalks them like prey. In a time beyond mutual annihilation, where only a few survive, where society has collapsed into anarchy, and where the only sustenance is to be scavenged from the ruins of the past, the man and his son travel a Road that is absolutely without hope.

Cormac McCarthy's The Road is a simple story, at times lyrical, almost poetic in tone, but harsh and graphic in content. McCarthy, searching for foundational truth in a world that increasingly values style over substance, scours the earth and returns to the primal void. Civilization is gone, and with it the restraints that make us able to co-exist. It remains to be seen whether, in this stark vision, anything of value remains.

Never named, the man and his son descend by foot from the mountainous north country, fearing the approaching winter. They follow the remains of the Road, down through the barren countryside where nothing lives, where every memory is painful, and even the snow is ashen. Along the Road they encounter men-become-animals, cannibals who feed upon their own. Death, and the detritus of a civilization destroyed by nuclear war, accompanies their every step. Even the landscape is devoid of life. Nothing grows. The shore of the sullen, brooding sea is lined with the bones of a million fish. The earth is dead. Those who, somehow escaped the holocaust shall surely not survive. God is not in His heaven; all is not right with the world.


Towards the end of this grim tale a nameless woman embraces the boy. She talks to him of God. Yet when the boy tries to talk to God, he finds himself speaking to his father, now dead. The woman tells him that God cannot be dead because their breath is the breath of God. But on a Road without hope, where every painful breath spreads a mist of blood, can one really speak of God?

On the Road the man and his son, "each the others world entire," are sustained by love. That is a noble vision, but it is not enough. There is no grand narrative behind the tale. There is no destination towards which the Road leads. It leads nowhere. Time and truth have lost all meaning. Philosophy and theology, always uneasy bedfellows, lie together, abandoned in a ruined library. Nothing is of value that cannot be eaten. Man has descended to his most basic instincts - food, shelter, fire. Woman has taken her own life in despair. Survival trumps civilization. Godless and friendless, without a future worth striving to attain, the last human beings slouch, angry yet resigned, towards oblivion.

Meanwhile, in a much older story, Christian travels a road that has a destination, an End.

Christian knows where he began, and why he became a pilgrim, and he trusts that the path he takes will lead him home. At his destination, having endured trials and temptations along the way, and having escaped from perils that threatened to destroy him, Christian finds the peace for which he longed - the blessing of peace with God. For him, the pilgrimage of the Christian life is a journey with purpose, and every step is filled with hope.


Both stories assess the human condition. Both find value in sacrificial love. But one story ends with shattered lungs and a dirty blanket as a shroud; the other story finds meaning in an empty cross and a risen Savior. Christ, the goal of all our journeying, is the embodiment of our hope. In a world grown gray, devoid of meaning, He is The Road: the Way, the Truth, the Life.

A Song from "The Pilgrim's Progress"

"Confessed that they were strangers
and pilgrims on the earth."
~ Hebrews 11:13 ~

ho would true valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather.
There's no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent,
To be a pilgrim.


Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He'll with a giant fight,
But he will have a right
To be a pilgrim.


Hobgoblin, nor foul fiend,
Can daunt his spirit:
He knows, he at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He'll fear not what men say,
He'll labour night and day
To be a pilgrim.

John Bunyan

Transparency and Greed

I've been following a developing argument between the English Football Association, which oversees all aspects of the national game, and the Premier League, which administers the breakaway league of the top twenty clubs. Until about 20 years ago English football ('soccer' to the colonials) had four divisions with one governing body - the Football League. Then, the wealthiest clubs decided to form a league of their own, in which they would be able to negotiate television revenue separately from the lower leagues. There would still be relegation from the Premiership to the old second division (now called the 'Championship'), and successful lower teams could still win promotion to the higher eschelons.

In some respects the Premier League has been a run away success. It is now the most successful league in the world: its attendance figures have increased; its income has sky-rocketted; games are now shown around the world; players from every continent dream of playing for one of the top teams, earning more in a week than most people do in a year.

From my perspective, the Premier League has allowed the development of the team I have supported since I was a child. Growing up, I would go to watch Blackburn Rovers, along with five or six thousand other hardy souls.

The club had a storied past, having been founder members of the Football League in 1875. They had won many trophies, but not for years. The league title had not been theirs since before the First World War; the FA Cup had not been decked in Blackburn's blue and white since 1928. Then, Jack Walker, a retired businessman from Blackburn who had sold his metal company to British Steel for a bucketful of money, decided to invest in his hometown team. Almost overnight, quality players and coaches began to appear. The ground was updated. It was no longer possible, for example, to watch the rats playing underneath the stands (this had been a welcome diversion when the standard of football was dire). The team began to win. They won promotion to the inaugural season of the Premier League. Three years later they were champions. It was almost beyond belief. And if, since then, their fortunes have wavered a little, their accomplishments have still far out-stripped the wildest dreams of a North country boy, following his local team.

However, there is a downside to the Premier League. It has come to be dominated by four teams , leaving the other sixteen to battle for lesser honors. Money is now the driving force. Most teams are owned by foreign investors. Some of them are fabulously wealthy. Chelsea are owner by a Russian billionaire; two Americans own Liverpool; Manchester United is owned by the Glazer family, which also owns the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Manchester City was, until very recently, the property of the former Prime Minister of Thailand, Thaksin Shinawatra, until, facing corruption charges, he skipped bail in his native country and his assets were frozen. The club was on the brink of insolvency until a group of arabs from Dubai came in and began throwing money around like there was no tomorrow. Blackburn is one of the few clubs still owned by a family trust. Their indebtedness is tiny compared to the likes of Manchester United, which owes over $1,300 million. As a whole, the Premier League clubs owe about $6 billion. Some have borrowed against future television income in order to pay their huge wage bills.

Just this week, FA chairman Lord Triesman expressed his concerns about the situation. The current global economic climate poses "a terrible danger." "Transparency lies in an unmarked grave," said Lord Triesman, somewhat poetically. Apparently, three clubs have been contacted by their banks about the level of their debt. One team, West Ham United, is preparing to sell players. It is owned by an Icelandic businessman who is linked to the banks in that country which have recently failed. No wonder there is concern for the future. The most popular league in the most popular sport in the world is being run by outsiders who seem to be concerned about profit and not much else. Some have poured millions into their adopted teams; others are holding the purse-strings tightly, causing friction in boardrooms and a lack of confidence on the pitch.

FIFA president Sepp Blatter said, recently, that buying a football club has become as easy as buying a replica shirt. Teams have become investments for the fabulously rich. But when they lose interest, or when their losses become unmanageable, they simply walk away. "More and more clubs are in trouble," said Lord Triesman, "with a number of owners leaving abruptly." Famous teams are in danger of folding because of the greed of players, agents, clubs, and owners.

Without mentioning any names, Lord Triesman said that the Premier League's fit and proper persons test needed an urgent review. What he meant was that some of those who are buying clubs would be more suited to racketeering out of a back-street billiard hall. "If there is a prima facie case of someone's human rights record being regarded internationally as being very serious, it's reasonable to question whether that person should be running a football club," he said. "Nobody has real confidence in what they cannot see."

Apart from mixing metaphors (how can one see what is supposed to be transparent?) Triesman has a point. Greed and corruption at the highest level are in danger of destroying "the beautiful game." If the financial crisis worsens, as well it might, it is difficult to see how some of the clubs can survive, at least in their current form." Talks of a salary cap are too little, too late.

Lessons from a Christian perspective? I suppose there are two. First, there is a reason why greed is regarded as one of the deadliest of sins. It destroys. Football players are not worth $200 million; neither should they be paid $200,000 per week (admittedly, these numbers apply only to the very best). When stadiums are populated by blue-collar workers who are lucky to to earning the equivalent of $60,000 per year, the amount of money being paid to prima-donnas kicking footballs is obscene. And those who have bought their way into the business are often no better. Seeking to capitalize on the worldwide marketability of a team like Manchester United, while running up mind-boggling debt is sheer lunacy. It will end in tears.

I have to say also, though, that Lord Triesman is profoundly wrong in one respect. It is not true that "nobody has real confidence in what they cannot see." Frankly, I have a lot more confidence in a God who keeps His promises, than in slippery characters who say one thing and mean another. After all, isn't faith "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1)?

As the current financial crisis deepens we need to make sure that our confidence is in things that will last forever - like the promises of our covenant God.

The Smell of Sawdust

I'm coming to appreciate the helpful and urbane writings of Richard Mouw, President of Fuller Seminary. I met Richard Mouw at the General Assembly in 2006. Since then I've read several of his books. Last week I picked up "The Smell of Sawdust," which bears the subtitle 'What Evangelicals Can Learn from Their Fundamentalist Heritage.' This well-written little book, with many autobiographical details, pays tribute to the Fundamentalism in which Mouw was raised.
During the Fundamentalist/Modernist controversy of the early decades of the twentieth century, those who held to a traditional, orthodox form of Protestant Christianity rallied around five fundamentals:
- the Virgin Birth of Jesus;
- His full divinity;
- the blood sacrifice of His atoning work;
- the bodily resurrection of Jesus;
- the hope of His Second Coming.
As a Reformed evangelical, Mouw holds firmly to these beliefs. He also looks back, wistfully, to the pietism that produced such intense personal devotion. He remembers, with affection, the smell of the sawdust trail, the excitement of the tent meeting where evangelists preached, with absolute conviction, for decisions for Christ. Mouw also acknowledges the fairness of some of the criticisms commonly leveled against revivalist Fundamentalism - that it was anti-intellectual, otherworldly, and separatistic in spirit. Nevertheless, Mouw also asserts the value of a call to personal conviction. If Fundamentalism laid too much emphasis upon the self and not enough upon social responsibility, too much upon emotion and not enough upon the intellect, then at least some Christians today are guilty of exactly the opposite.
Mouw wends his way through many of the subjects on which traditional Fundamentalists and Fuller-type evangelicals tend to disagree. He deals with Roman Catholicism, Dispensationalism, Evangelism, Israel, and political involvement. For almost all, Mouw has both a telling anecdote and a quotation from a hymn. He has a very relaxed, non-threatening, engaging style. He could be passing the time of day with you, perhaps sitting in a rocker on a porch, cradling a cup of coffee. He does his level best to present every position in the best possible light, even when he disagrees. He tries to understand why Christians disagree. For example, the chapter on Catholicism explains the tension between an emphasis upon conversion and an emphasis upon the enduring community of the church. Mouw's irenic spirit certainly gives an excellent illustration of how we may enter into respectful, constructive dialog with those with whom we disagree. He is not threatened by argument; neither is he ashamed of the convictions that are dear to him.
Towards the end of the book, Mouw admits that what he really longs for, in his recollection of his Fundamentalist upbringing, is the recovery of a second naivete. He is not interested in attempting to recover the first naivete, which is ignorant of the questions. Rather, he wants to develop a second naivete - a simple faith that sees, beyond the questions, an uncomplicated relationship with the God who calls us to be His own. This faith is not afraid to stand up to Bill Maher's anti-religious ranting and to answer, not with the cultic obscurantism of Fundamentalism, or the thinly-veiled nihilism of Protestant liberalism, but with confidence in the revelation of God in Jesus Christ.
Richard Mouw is a Presbyterian. His book reminds me of the urgent task that Presbyterian evangelicals must embrace. It is our responsibility to state and reclaim the essential tenets that lie at the heart of the Reformed faith, not in order that we might slip back into Billy Sunday Fundamentalism, but so that we might be able to express, in clear and compelling ways, those simple yet profound truths that make us who we are.