Does the universe have a purpose? Do human lives matter? If so, what is the meaning of my life? These questions go to the heart of traditional philosophical thought. As generations of philosophy students in our universities have discovered, they are not usually the kind of questions favoured by contemporary academic philosophy. Students who turn to philosophy, as taught in British universities, to find out the meaning of life, become quickly disillusioned. Against this background in philosophy, therefore, a major book devoted to the question of purpose in the universe is to be greatly welcomed. For too long, philosophers seem to have been afraid to turn to the big questions of life, but have instead become mired in technicalities of interest only to their colleagues.
The title of the book promises more than it delivers. The subtitle is a warning. It tells us that the object of the book is to argue for ‘Ananthropocentric Purposivism’. In other words, as the ugly neologism suggests, we are in for a complex journey loaded with obscure terms, and taking us to a very strange destination. When one unpacks the word ‘ananthropocentric’ it is apparent that Professor Tim Mulgan is not interested in the place of humans in the scheme of things. He argues for a belief in a God, who is the source of cosmic purpose, but was certainly not concerned with the fate of human beings as a whole, or for the plight of individuals. Mulgan is swayed by the problem of suffering, and cannot see how a God who cared for us could allow it. He says (96) that ‘the evils of this world show that concern for human being beings cannot be God's reason to create it’. This is of course an atheist argument, but Mulgan embraces it while still wanting to appeal to the notion of a perfect God, who has created the world.
Mulgan in fact offers a persuasive argument as to why a theist view is preferable. He points out (106) striking features of our universe, such as that, for instance, it is mathematical, governed by elegant simple mathematical laws. He points out that it is not only intelligible in that at least some of its inhabitants can understand its laws, but it is certainly being understood. He does not believe that science can explain these conditions of its own success. He points also to the alleged fine tuning of features of the universe to boost his case for a cosmic purpose.
This all begins to make way for traditional theistic explanation of why there is something rather than nothing. It is however a feature of such theism that it assumes, perhaps without any explicit justification, that human beings must play a central role in the story. Mulgan wants to go in a different direction, by denying that human beings are special, let alone that they are cared for by God. In this, he makes a radical departure from Christianity, and indeed from the concerns of any revealed religion. Indeed he admits (404), as is implicit throughout the book, that his brand of purposivism ‘rejects all revelation’. Like much else in the book however this is quickly stated rather than argued for, and the term ‘revelation’ does not even appear in the index.
God, however, does feature prominently throughout the book as Creator, and the source of cosmic values, which may or may not be of relevance to human interests. Yet without revelation, it is unclear what precisely can be known of such a God. We are told that God is perfect, but it is also unclear how we can know this, or what is meant by it, if such a Being is totally unconcerned with human beings and their suffering. In a universe with a purpose there ought presumably somehow to be an explanation for this. Mulgan admits that he has borrowed traditional theism's conception of a unique, personal Creator. He goes on to observe curiously (392) that another possibility is a ‘collaborating group of creators’.
He is much taken with the problem of religious diversity. Again, it is mentioned, and used in argument, but the problem itself is never fully followed through. However he says (271) that this problem is ‘more striking than evil’. He holds this because he thinks that ‘it means that God's gifts are distributed not on the basis of any human merit but entirely arbitrarily’. He then says very firmly that ‘this is not how morally perfect, benevolent being would behave’. We must wonder how Mulgan knows this, since the main point of much of what he says is just how little we can know about such things. Indeed towards the end of the book he says (399) that a theme of this book is ‘how little we can currently understand the cosmic purpose and its connection to value’.
Nowhere does Mulgan mention the venerable doctrine of deism, that there is a God as the source of things, but that such a Being may be unconcerned with the fate of human beings. There are different varieties of the doctrine, but all unite in rejecting any revelation, and extending human reason. Mulgan's views do not seem so far distant from such a position. He does not clarify its relevance, although it is one that has a considerable philosophical pedigree. One big problem, apparent in its eighteenth-century manifestations, is that once we assume that God is possibly unconcerned with human affairs, and does not grant any special revelation, it is unclear whether we can obtain any knowledge of the deity at all. Should we even care whether such a Being exists? Mulgan, perhaps for the sake of argument, assumes a Creator who is personal but how do we even know that? When God is unconcerned with human affairs, the point, and content, of any religious belief seems obscure. Mulgan's refusal to acknowledge any revelation leads to an impasse. A God, uninvolved with humanity, of whom we know nothing, seems remote indeed. The obvious question is why we should even bother about such a possibility. One is reminded of how in a very different context, and in a reference to sensations, Wittgenstein said (Philosophical Investigations, 304) that ‘a nothing would serve just as well as a something about which nothing could be said’. This has always been the problem for deism, which in the eighteenth century tended to collapse into atheism. Human beings want to know how to live. Mulligan devotes much of his thought to the ethical implications of this position, but it remains to be seen how such a vacuous metaphysical position can underpin any morality.
Mulgan admits (15) that he begins ‘with substantive ethical commitments, rather than a commitment to some metaphysical worldview’. This seems to put the cart before the horse, particularly as he also claims to be operating ‘within the utilitarian tradition’, the subject of other books he has written. The connection between the rather intellectual cosmic values, such as the comprehensibility of the universe, to such a morality is opaque. Mulgan himself says (384) that ‘if morality responds to cosmic values that lie far beyond our ken, then we have no reason to expect reliable moral knowledge’. He also advocates a moral freedom (400) ‘where agents feel permitted to choose among a range of competing values, lifestyles, or experiments in living’. He seems attracted to mysticism, which he believes (130) ‘can give insight to both cosmic purpose and objective value’. Yet because he takes religious diversity so seriously, and sees it as a fatal objection to conventional theism, it is unclear how this can be coupled with any reliance on knowledge from the multiplicity of competing mystical ‘doxastic practices’. If they are all directed at something ultimately inaccessible, that object of belief again ultimately drops out as irrelevant.
The basic structure of the book, depends on the attempt to find a middle way, AP, between what he terms BT and atheism. AP stands for his ‘Ananthropocentric Purposivism’ (purpose without concern for humans). and BT for ‘benevolent theism’, the traditional view of a God who cares for humans and may indeed have been revealed in the Incarnation. This quest for a middle path is fraught with difficulty, and the continuing question is why anyone would want to believe in such a remote, uncaring God. Surely atheism must be the more rational alternative.
Mulgan's choice of initials, AP and BT, is significant. In what is a very lengthy and dense book, he loves giving initials to every conceivable position. One is constantly confronting such sentences as the start of one section, which boldly informs us (112) that ‘HFA, CFA and FTA seem quite distinct’. Such proliferation of initials is not just irritating, but makes the argument difficult to follow. Mulgan may think that it gives precision to his argument, but that is a forlorn hope. Another feature, which makes the book longer than it ought to be, is his habit to refer forward, and also back, to various arguments. We are constantly being told for instance what he will later argue in some subsequent chapter, and then we are told such things (113) as ‘we first encountered TOE in section 3.3.2’. A typical sentence reads (129): ‘As I argued in section 4:3, AP can recognise the significance of I and U.’ The constant reference to future argument, coupled with a recapitulation of past points, makes this a hard book to wade through.
Even so, the book can sometimes reach sweeping conclusions very quickly. Mulgan's utilitarianism and his concern for suffering leads him to suggest that BT has to be revised. He says (283) that ‘an adequate theodicy must include an afterlife for all sentient animals’. Further, again following utilitarianism, he comes up (290) with the idea that to avoid the notion of undeserved evil, any theism has to embrace some form of pre-existence. To suit his own ethical prejudices, he arbitrarily demands the traditional theism should take on metaphysical commitments that it usually, at least in its Christian manifestations, has vigorously rejected. He says (290) that BT ‘requires a cycle of rebirth (or its equivalent) for both animals and humans’. All this goes against Christian ideas about the intrinsic, and special, dignity of human beings. Mulgan may wish to go this way because of his utilitarianism, but as he himself remarks (374) utilitarianism has usually been linked to atheist meta-ethical positions.
Another issue, with wide ramifications, is the possibility of extra-terrestrial life. He sees his own position as demanding the search for such life. He considers that if there are different rational beings in the universe (329) ‘and especially if these include beings who are intellectually or morally superior to us, then AP is much more plausible than BT’. He believes that such beings could even be a prime source of knowledge about cosmic values. That observation alone illustrates how remote such values may be from human concerns.
There is clearly much that is controversial and provocative in this book, although it also contains important insights. Its argument can be summed up in the assertion (32) that ‘while it is about something, the universe is not about us’. The book comprises over four hundred pages of closely packed, intricate and often repetitive argument. It touches on a wide range of subjects, sometimes rather cursorily. Although some may find it worthwhile to do so, it remains to be seen how many readers have the patience to follow Mulgan's tortuous reasoning through to its end.
