STR Ambassador
July 6th 2004, 06:34 PM
Arguments can self-destruct in more than one way. In addition to "formal" suicide, there are at least two other ways arguments defeat themselves. Here they are.
Arguments that Commit Suicide -
Part Two
by Greg Koukl
In the last posting, I discussed how to deal with arguments that are formally self-refuting using a tactic I call "suicide." Statements like, "There is no truth" (Is that a true statement?) and "You should ignore everyone's advice on that issue" (Should I ignore this advice of yours?) are obviously sunk before they get out of the harbor, being sabotaged from within.
There is a great value for the Christian who knows how to recognize and exploit self-refuting arguments. He doesn't need to expend energy assaulting a view that's bent on destroying itself. Self-refuting views die at their own hand, saving the Christian the trouble.
Such arguments take a couple of different forms. In addition to the "formal" suicide I discussed last time, there are two more ways an objection or point of view can destroy itself. "Infanticide" and "sibling rivalry" apply to views that are not directly contradictory (as in the examples above), but commit suicide nevertheless.
Variation One: "Infanticide"
Think for a moment about how this simple-minded father closed a letter to his son in college: "Son, if you didn't get this letter, please let me know and I'll send another. I made a copy."
This makes us chuckle for a simple reason. The son would have to receive the letter in order to ask for a copy, but then he wouldn't need it. If he never got the original, he wouldn't know to ask for a replacement.
This kind of problem is at the heart of infanticide.
Some objections are dependent upon prior notions that must be in place for the objection or statement even to be voiced. Sometimes, though, the "parent" concepts are hostile to the "child" concepts they purport to spawn. When this happens there is an irreconcilable contradiction, and the "parent" destroys the "child." That's why I call this variation "infanticide" suicide.
During a debate on post-modernism at Chapman University I made an observation that employed this tactic. My opponent, Professor Marv Meyer, was already at a disadvantage by arguing against the resolve: Objective truth can be known. He had to argue he knows nothing can be known, an example of formal suicide.
But Dr. Meyer's view was compromised in still another way. It was also a victim of infanticide. Here's how.
To show up at a debate and appeal for any point of view a debater tacitly affirms a couple of important things. He believes there is a true view and a false view, and he is there to represent the accurate one. He takes for granted certain truths of logic he will employ to get the best of his opponent. He seeks to persuade the audience that he is correct in his view.
All these things are in place before any disputation can begin. If a debate requires these specific truths (parent concepts) in order to advance toward it's conclusion, it is self-defeating to use the debate to try to prove such truths don't exist (the child concept). This is infanticide.
Dr. Meyer was sawing off the branch upon which he was perched, and I pointed that out. I told the audience that merely by showing up the professor affirmed the resolve I was defending. His mere presence was enough to concede the debate even if I offered no additional arguments of my own.
If a claim can't even be made unless the parent concept on which it depends is true, yet the precise claim entails that the parent concept is false, then the statement commits infanticide. The parent notion destroys the child that is being birthed from it.
The Problem of Evil
Every objection to the existence of God based on the presence of evil is an example of this version of self-refutation.
The problem of evil is a serious one that deserves an answer, but it's a problem only a theist can raise, not an atheist. When an atheist voices concern, he gets caught in a dilemma.
The key questions for the atheist are: What do you mean by evil? What is it? How would you characterize it? His first impulse will be to give examples of evil--murder, rape, torture, etc. But that's not the question. How does he justify using the term "evil" to describe those behaviors? He must have a sense of what evil is before he can point to these examples of it.
Upon reflection, it seems that evil is a word used to describe a departure from the way things ought to be. Things should be one way ("good"), but in many cases they are another ("evil"). The words "ought" and "should" signal us that a standard has been violated.
C.S. Lewis pointed out that a portrait is a good or bad likeness depending on how it compares with the "perfect" original. Augustine characterized evil as the privation of good. Just as a shadow is the absence of light, evil is the absence of goodness. It's a departure from "the way things ought to be," the perfect standard of good.
The atheist must answer the question: What standard of moral perfection has been violated when someone does something evil? If there is no standard, there is no departure. Where is the transcendent standard of objective, absolute good that makes the notion of evil intelligible? What--or Who--defines how things "ought" to be? It seems that moral law requires a moral Lawgiver.
God's existence (the "parent" concept) seems necessary to provide the very moral standard needed to give the word "evil" its meaning. There can only be a problem of evil if God exists. Evil, then, cannot be used to promote the "child" concept, atheism.
The problem of evil commits infanticide when raised by an atheist. The sequence goes something like this:
1) God does not exist. Without God as moral Lawmaker, there is no objective, universal standard of moral goodness. Consequently, there are no violations of morality. There are no departures from "the way things ought to be." Conclusion: Evil does not exist.
2) But evil exists. We know that because some things are not "the way they ought to be." They depart from a moral standard of "good," violating an objective moral law. All moral laws are effects, the result of a lawmaker who establishes the standard. Universal, absolute laws require a universal, absolute Lawmaker. Conclusion: God exists.
As you can see, these can't both be true at the same time. The notions that evil exists and God does not exist are contradictory; the view commits suicide. Either God exists, making evil possible, or God doesn't exist, and moral terms are nonsense. That's the dilemma.
Scientific Suicide
The view that science alone is the rational way to know truth also commits infanticide. Philosopher J.P. Moreland characterizes the view this way:
Everything outside of science is a matter of mere belief and subjective opinion, of which rational assessment is impossible. Science, exclusively and ideally, is our model of intellectual excellence.
The word "scientism" describes the view that science is the only reliable method to give us truth about the world. Here's the problem with scientism.
Think of truth like a box. Everything we discover to be true is put into the box, our storehouse of knowledge. Before anything can go into the box, though, it must be tested. Science provides the test. To qualify as real knowledge and be put into the box, it must survive the scrutiny of science.
But science can't operate in a knowledge vacuum. Some things must be in the box first, before science can begin its task of analysis. Certain truths must be known before science can begin testing for other truths. Here are a few of them.
First, it must be true that an external, material universe exists and can be known by the human intellect. Second, the laws of reason and logical inference must be in place. Third, one must be reasonably certain of the reliability of induction. Fourth, the senses must be trusted to give us accurate information about the universe. Science also depends on values like "Be objective," or "Report results truthfully."
All these truths must be in the box before science can begin its task. However, none can be established by the methods of science itself. These are truths discovered in other ways. Therefore, science cannot be the sole or even principal arbiter of truth. Philosophy is actually prior to science when it comes to knowledge.
Since the notion of scientism (the child) is inconsistent with the presuppositions that make science possible (the parent), scientism as a comprehensive view of knowledge commits infanticide.
Variation Two: "Sibling Rivalry"
Sometimes objections come in pairs that are logically inconsistent and therefore oppose each other. I call this variation "sibling rivalry" because they are like fighting children. Pointing out the conflict cuts your task in half and sometimes silences both objections.
I encountered a clear example of sibling rivalry after an airing of "The Quarrel," a film that explored the problem of God and the Holocaust. Director David Brandes had asked me to help moderate a discussion with the audience about the moral issues raised by the film.
From one side of the auditorium a Jewish woman offered that maybe God allowed the Holocaust as a punishment for Israel's wayward drift into secularism. Some Jewish thinkers have raised this possibility in light of the promised curses of Deuteronomy 28. The reflection prompted a sarcastic, "Well, that's a real loving God," from the other side of the room.
I called attention to what appeared to be a contradiction suggested by the two comments. Those who are quick to object that God isn't doing enough about evil in the world ("A good God wouldn't let that happen") are often equally quick to complain when God puts His foot down ("A loving God would never send anyone to hell"). If God appears indifferent to wickedness, His goodness is challenged. Yet if He acts to punish sin, His love is in question. These objections compete with each other. They are siblings in rivalry. One or the other needs to be surrendered. Both can't be held simultaneously.
Ghandi in Heaven
When I was in India, Christian apologist Prakesh Yesudian told me of a conversation he had with a Hindu about Ghandi, who is much revered in India. Notice how Prakesh employed the sibling rivalry tactic.
"Is Gandhi in heaven?" the Hindu asked. "Heaven would be a very poor place without Ghandi in it."
"Well, sir," Prakesh answered, "you must at least believe in heaven then. And apparently you have done some thinking about what would qualify someone for heaven. Tell me, what kind of people go to heaven?"
"Good people go to heaven," he responded.
"But this idea of what is a good person is very unclear to me. What is good?"
In typical Hindu fashion he replied, "Good and bad are relative. There is no clear definition."
"If that is true, sir, that goodness is relative and can't be defined, how is it you assume Ghandi is good and should be in heaven?"
Either Ghandi fulfills some external standard of goodness, thus qualifying him for heaven, or goodness is relative and therefore a meaningless term when applied to Ghandi. But both can't be true at the same time.
Kavitha
While in Madras I had the opportunity to discuss spiritual things with a Hindu college student named Kavitha. As I talked about Christianity, she raised the standard objection. "If God is as you say," she asked, bewildered, "how could He allow such suffering, especially for the children?" With this she gestured with a sweep of her hand as if to take in the collective anguish of Madras, which was great.
The first thing I pointed out was that God hadn't done this to India. Hinduism had. Ideas have consequences, and the suffering in Madras was a direct consequence of the things that Hindus believed.
I then went on to explain that it wouldn't always be this way. A day would come when all evil would be destroyed, and Jesus Himself would wipe away every bitter tear.
"How could that be?" she objected. "Evil and good exist as dual poles. If you have no evil, it's impossible to have good. Each must balance the other out."
I noticed immediately that Kavitha's objections were rivals. "Let me repeat back to you what you just told me," I said, "and you tell me what you think of it." She nodded. "You ask why there are innocent children starving in the streets. I answer that good and evil are in polarity. Innocent children starve in the streets of Madras so that children in other parts of the world may be happy and well. The one balances the other out."
When the point sunk in she was forced to smile. "Touché!" was her only reply.
Relativism
Sibling rivalry is the type of suicide relativists commit when they raise the problem of evil. They promote two rival concepts at the same time: Morality is purely subjective, but objective evil exists.
The entire objection to God's existence based on evil hinges on the observation that evil exists objectively. Evil must be "out there" in a sense as a genuine feature of the world. But relativism holds that the word "evil" represents nothing more than personal preference.
Imagine how silly this conversation would sound:
"I can't believe in God."
"Why not?"
"Brussels sprouts."
"Brussels sprouts? What do Brussels sprouts have to do with anything?"
"Did you ever taste those things? They're awful."
"I agree, but what does distaste for Brussels sprouts have to do with God's existence?"
"I can't believe in a God that would create something that tastes so awful to me."
If relativism were true, talk of evil as an objection to God's existence would be nonsense. The complaint means nothing more than, "If God were really good, He wouldn't allow things I don't like."
C.S. Lewis summed it up this way:
Of course, I could have given up my idea of justice by saying it was nothing but a private idea of my own. But if I did that, then my argument against God collapsed too--for the argument depended on saying that the world was really unjust, not simply that it did not happen to please my private fancies.
Once again there's a sibling rivalry. The objections can't both be held simultaneously because they compete with each other. G.K. Chesterton saw the problem over half a century ago:
All denunciation implies a moral doctrine of some kind and the modern revolutionist doubts not only the institution he denounces, but the doctrine by which he denounces it....As a politician he will cry out that war is a waste of life, and then as a philosopher that all life is a waste of time. A Russian pessimist will denounce a policeman for killing a peasant, and then prove by the highest philosophical principles that the peasant ought to have killed himself. A man denounces marriage as a lie and then denounces aristocratic profligates for treating it as a lie....[He] goes first to a political meeting, where he complains that savages are treated as if they were beasts. Then he takes his hat and umbrella and goes on to a scientific meeting where he proves that they practically are beasts....In his book on politics he attacks men for trampling on morality, and in his book on ethics he attacks morality for trampling on men.
Notice the difference between this type of suicide with the problem of evil and the "infanticide" mentioned earlier. In the first objection, God's existence was necessary in order for any conversation about morality to be coherent. The notion of morality (with its corresponding concept of evil) rests upon the prior foundation of God's existence. Thus, evil could never be used to refute the existence of God, because without God the objection would have no meaning.
In sibling rivalry, however, we have two incompatible contentions that rest side by side. The first is that moral judgments are mere subjective preferences and true evil doesn't exist. The second is that God is responsible for allowing actual wickedness. When someone holds these two views at the same time, there is an irreconcilable conflict--a sibling rivalry. One or the other has to go.
Remember that arguments can self-destruct for a variety of different reasons. Some are self-refuting in a fairly straight-forward way. For others, the contradiction lies deeper. Some views rely on parent concepts that devour their children. Other times the conflict arises when two opposing objections are at odds with each other.
In either case, the hard work is already done for you. When your opponent's argument shows a tendency to fall on its own sword, step aside and let it.
Stand to Reason - Training Christian ambassadors in the areas of knowledge, wisdom, and character - www.str.org
Notice – The ministries featured in this section are guests of this site and very often not active members of debate forums. Additionally, this area is frequented and highlighted for guests who also very often are not acclimated to debate. As such, the rules of conduct here will be more strict than in the general forum. This will be something within the discretion of the Moderators, but we simply ask that you conduct yourselves in a manner considerate of the fact that these ministries are our invited guests. You can always feel free to start a related thread in general forum without such extra restrictions. Thank you.
Arguments that Commit Suicide -
Part Two
by Greg Koukl
In the last posting, I discussed how to deal with arguments that are formally self-refuting using a tactic I call "suicide." Statements like, "There is no truth" (Is that a true statement?) and "You should ignore everyone's advice on that issue" (Should I ignore this advice of yours?) are obviously sunk before they get out of the harbor, being sabotaged from within.
There is a great value for the Christian who knows how to recognize and exploit self-refuting arguments. He doesn't need to expend energy assaulting a view that's bent on destroying itself. Self-refuting views die at their own hand, saving the Christian the trouble.
Such arguments take a couple of different forms. In addition to the "formal" suicide I discussed last time, there are two more ways an objection or point of view can destroy itself. "Infanticide" and "sibling rivalry" apply to views that are not directly contradictory (as in the examples above), but commit suicide nevertheless.
Variation One: "Infanticide"
Think for a moment about how this simple-minded father closed a letter to his son in college: "Son, if you didn't get this letter, please let me know and I'll send another. I made a copy."
This makes us chuckle for a simple reason. The son would have to receive the letter in order to ask for a copy, but then he wouldn't need it. If he never got the original, he wouldn't know to ask for a replacement.
This kind of problem is at the heart of infanticide.
Some objections are dependent upon prior notions that must be in place for the objection or statement even to be voiced. Sometimes, though, the "parent" concepts are hostile to the "child" concepts they purport to spawn. When this happens there is an irreconcilable contradiction, and the "parent" destroys the "child." That's why I call this variation "infanticide" suicide.
During a debate on post-modernism at Chapman University I made an observation that employed this tactic. My opponent, Professor Marv Meyer, was already at a disadvantage by arguing against the resolve: Objective truth can be known. He had to argue he knows nothing can be known, an example of formal suicide.
But Dr. Meyer's view was compromised in still another way. It was also a victim of infanticide. Here's how.
To show up at a debate and appeal for any point of view a debater tacitly affirms a couple of important things. He believes there is a true view and a false view, and he is there to represent the accurate one. He takes for granted certain truths of logic he will employ to get the best of his opponent. He seeks to persuade the audience that he is correct in his view.
All these things are in place before any disputation can begin. If a debate requires these specific truths (parent concepts) in order to advance toward it's conclusion, it is self-defeating to use the debate to try to prove such truths don't exist (the child concept). This is infanticide.
Dr. Meyer was sawing off the branch upon which he was perched, and I pointed that out. I told the audience that merely by showing up the professor affirmed the resolve I was defending. His mere presence was enough to concede the debate even if I offered no additional arguments of my own.
If a claim can't even be made unless the parent concept on which it depends is true, yet the precise claim entails that the parent concept is false, then the statement commits infanticide. The parent notion destroys the child that is being birthed from it.
The Problem of Evil
Every objection to the existence of God based on the presence of evil is an example of this version of self-refutation.
The problem of evil is a serious one that deserves an answer, but it's a problem only a theist can raise, not an atheist. When an atheist voices concern, he gets caught in a dilemma.
The key questions for the atheist are: What do you mean by evil? What is it? How would you characterize it? His first impulse will be to give examples of evil--murder, rape, torture, etc. But that's not the question. How does he justify using the term "evil" to describe those behaviors? He must have a sense of what evil is before he can point to these examples of it.
Upon reflection, it seems that evil is a word used to describe a departure from the way things ought to be. Things should be one way ("good"), but in many cases they are another ("evil"). The words "ought" and "should" signal us that a standard has been violated.
C.S. Lewis pointed out that a portrait is a good or bad likeness depending on how it compares with the "perfect" original. Augustine characterized evil as the privation of good. Just as a shadow is the absence of light, evil is the absence of goodness. It's a departure from "the way things ought to be," the perfect standard of good.
The atheist must answer the question: What standard of moral perfection has been violated when someone does something evil? If there is no standard, there is no departure. Where is the transcendent standard of objective, absolute good that makes the notion of evil intelligible? What--or Who--defines how things "ought" to be? It seems that moral law requires a moral Lawgiver.
God's existence (the "parent" concept) seems necessary to provide the very moral standard needed to give the word "evil" its meaning. There can only be a problem of evil if God exists. Evil, then, cannot be used to promote the "child" concept, atheism.
The problem of evil commits infanticide when raised by an atheist. The sequence goes something like this:
1) God does not exist. Without God as moral Lawmaker, there is no objective, universal standard of moral goodness. Consequently, there are no violations of morality. There are no departures from "the way things ought to be." Conclusion: Evil does not exist.
2) But evil exists. We know that because some things are not "the way they ought to be." They depart from a moral standard of "good," violating an objective moral law. All moral laws are effects, the result of a lawmaker who establishes the standard. Universal, absolute laws require a universal, absolute Lawmaker. Conclusion: God exists.
As you can see, these can't both be true at the same time. The notions that evil exists and God does not exist are contradictory; the view commits suicide. Either God exists, making evil possible, or God doesn't exist, and moral terms are nonsense. That's the dilemma.
Scientific Suicide
The view that science alone is the rational way to know truth also commits infanticide. Philosopher J.P. Moreland characterizes the view this way:
Everything outside of science is a matter of mere belief and subjective opinion, of which rational assessment is impossible. Science, exclusively and ideally, is our model of intellectual excellence.
The word "scientism" describes the view that science is the only reliable method to give us truth about the world. Here's the problem with scientism.
Think of truth like a box. Everything we discover to be true is put into the box, our storehouse of knowledge. Before anything can go into the box, though, it must be tested. Science provides the test. To qualify as real knowledge and be put into the box, it must survive the scrutiny of science.
But science can't operate in a knowledge vacuum. Some things must be in the box first, before science can begin its task of analysis. Certain truths must be known before science can begin testing for other truths. Here are a few of them.
First, it must be true that an external, material universe exists and can be known by the human intellect. Second, the laws of reason and logical inference must be in place. Third, one must be reasonably certain of the reliability of induction. Fourth, the senses must be trusted to give us accurate information about the universe. Science also depends on values like "Be objective," or "Report results truthfully."
All these truths must be in the box before science can begin its task. However, none can be established by the methods of science itself. These are truths discovered in other ways. Therefore, science cannot be the sole or even principal arbiter of truth. Philosophy is actually prior to science when it comes to knowledge.
Since the notion of scientism (the child) is inconsistent with the presuppositions that make science possible (the parent), scientism as a comprehensive view of knowledge commits infanticide.
Variation Two: "Sibling Rivalry"
Sometimes objections come in pairs that are logically inconsistent and therefore oppose each other. I call this variation "sibling rivalry" because they are like fighting children. Pointing out the conflict cuts your task in half and sometimes silences both objections.
I encountered a clear example of sibling rivalry after an airing of "The Quarrel," a film that explored the problem of God and the Holocaust. Director David Brandes had asked me to help moderate a discussion with the audience about the moral issues raised by the film.
From one side of the auditorium a Jewish woman offered that maybe God allowed the Holocaust as a punishment for Israel's wayward drift into secularism. Some Jewish thinkers have raised this possibility in light of the promised curses of Deuteronomy 28. The reflection prompted a sarcastic, "Well, that's a real loving God," from the other side of the room.
I called attention to what appeared to be a contradiction suggested by the two comments. Those who are quick to object that God isn't doing enough about evil in the world ("A good God wouldn't let that happen") are often equally quick to complain when God puts His foot down ("A loving God would never send anyone to hell"). If God appears indifferent to wickedness, His goodness is challenged. Yet if He acts to punish sin, His love is in question. These objections compete with each other. They are siblings in rivalry. One or the other needs to be surrendered. Both can't be held simultaneously.
Ghandi in Heaven
When I was in India, Christian apologist Prakesh Yesudian told me of a conversation he had with a Hindu about Ghandi, who is much revered in India. Notice how Prakesh employed the sibling rivalry tactic.
"Is Gandhi in heaven?" the Hindu asked. "Heaven would be a very poor place without Ghandi in it."
"Well, sir," Prakesh answered, "you must at least believe in heaven then. And apparently you have done some thinking about what would qualify someone for heaven. Tell me, what kind of people go to heaven?"
"Good people go to heaven," he responded.
"But this idea of what is a good person is very unclear to me. What is good?"
In typical Hindu fashion he replied, "Good and bad are relative. There is no clear definition."
"If that is true, sir, that goodness is relative and can't be defined, how is it you assume Ghandi is good and should be in heaven?"
Either Ghandi fulfills some external standard of goodness, thus qualifying him for heaven, or goodness is relative and therefore a meaningless term when applied to Ghandi. But both can't be true at the same time.
Kavitha
While in Madras I had the opportunity to discuss spiritual things with a Hindu college student named Kavitha. As I talked about Christianity, she raised the standard objection. "If God is as you say," she asked, bewildered, "how could He allow such suffering, especially for the children?" With this she gestured with a sweep of her hand as if to take in the collective anguish of Madras, which was great.
The first thing I pointed out was that God hadn't done this to India. Hinduism had. Ideas have consequences, and the suffering in Madras was a direct consequence of the things that Hindus believed.
I then went on to explain that it wouldn't always be this way. A day would come when all evil would be destroyed, and Jesus Himself would wipe away every bitter tear.
"How could that be?" she objected. "Evil and good exist as dual poles. If you have no evil, it's impossible to have good. Each must balance the other out."
I noticed immediately that Kavitha's objections were rivals. "Let me repeat back to you what you just told me," I said, "and you tell me what you think of it." She nodded. "You ask why there are innocent children starving in the streets. I answer that good and evil are in polarity. Innocent children starve in the streets of Madras so that children in other parts of the world may be happy and well. The one balances the other out."
When the point sunk in she was forced to smile. "Touché!" was her only reply.
Relativism
Sibling rivalry is the type of suicide relativists commit when they raise the problem of evil. They promote two rival concepts at the same time: Morality is purely subjective, but objective evil exists.
The entire objection to God's existence based on evil hinges on the observation that evil exists objectively. Evil must be "out there" in a sense as a genuine feature of the world. But relativism holds that the word "evil" represents nothing more than personal preference.
Imagine how silly this conversation would sound:
"I can't believe in God."
"Why not?"
"Brussels sprouts."
"Brussels sprouts? What do Brussels sprouts have to do with anything?"
"Did you ever taste those things? They're awful."
"I agree, but what does distaste for Brussels sprouts have to do with God's existence?"
"I can't believe in a God that would create something that tastes so awful to me."
If relativism were true, talk of evil as an objection to God's existence would be nonsense. The complaint means nothing more than, "If God were really good, He wouldn't allow things I don't like."
C.S. Lewis summed it up this way:
Of course, I could have given up my idea of justice by saying it was nothing but a private idea of my own. But if I did that, then my argument against God collapsed too--for the argument depended on saying that the world was really unjust, not simply that it did not happen to please my private fancies.
Once again there's a sibling rivalry. The objections can't both be held simultaneously because they compete with each other. G.K. Chesterton saw the problem over half a century ago:
All denunciation implies a moral doctrine of some kind and the modern revolutionist doubts not only the institution he denounces, but the doctrine by which he denounces it....As a politician he will cry out that war is a waste of life, and then as a philosopher that all life is a waste of time. A Russian pessimist will denounce a policeman for killing a peasant, and then prove by the highest philosophical principles that the peasant ought to have killed himself. A man denounces marriage as a lie and then denounces aristocratic profligates for treating it as a lie....[He] goes first to a political meeting, where he complains that savages are treated as if they were beasts. Then he takes his hat and umbrella and goes on to a scientific meeting where he proves that they practically are beasts....In his book on politics he attacks men for trampling on morality, and in his book on ethics he attacks morality for trampling on men.
Notice the difference between this type of suicide with the problem of evil and the "infanticide" mentioned earlier. In the first objection, God's existence was necessary in order for any conversation about morality to be coherent. The notion of morality (with its corresponding concept of evil) rests upon the prior foundation of God's existence. Thus, evil could never be used to refute the existence of God, because without God the objection would have no meaning.
In sibling rivalry, however, we have two incompatible contentions that rest side by side. The first is that moral judgments are mere subjective preferences and true evil doesn't exist. The second is that God is responsible for allowing actual wickedness. When someone holds these two views at the same time, there is an irreconcilable conflict--a sibling rivalry. One or the other has to go.
Remember that arguments can self-destruct for a variety of different reasons. Some are self-refuting in a fairly straight-forward way. For others, the contradiction lies deeper. Some views rely on parent concepts that devour their children. Other times the conflict arises when two opposing objections are at odds with each other.
In either case, the hard work is already done for you. When your opponent's argument shows a tendency to fall on its own sword, step aside and let it.
Stand to Reason - Training Christian ambassadors in the areas of knowledge, wisdom, and character - www.str.org
Notice – The ministries featured in this section are guests of this site and very often not active members of debate forums. Additionally, this area is frequented and highlighted for guests who also very often are not acclimated to debate. As such, the rules of conduct here will be more strict than in the general forum. This will be something within the discretion of the Moderators, but we simply ask that you conduct yourselves in a manner considerate of the fact that these ministries are our invited guests. You can always feel free to start a related thread in general forum without such extra restrictions. Thank you.