Rob Lovering

In this chapter, I critique nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of RDU in which the concept of pleasure plays a significant role. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. As nonconsequentialist, they are arguments in which a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. And as arguments in which the concept of pleasure plays a significant role, they are arguments wherein a claim about the immorality of RDU is derived from a claim regarding the value—or, in some cases, disvalue—of pleasure or ways of acquiring it. (By “pleasure,” I have in mind both attitudinal pleasure [a propositional attitude of a certain sort, that of enjoying or being pleased about something] and sensory pleasure [a pleasurable feeling or sensation].)

In this chapter, I critique nonreligious other-regarding consequentialist arguments for the immorality of RDU. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. As consequentialist, they are arguments in which a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. And as other-regarding, they are arguments wherein a claim about the immorality of RDU is derived from a claim about the consequences of RDU for someone or something other than the user herself.

In this chapter, I offer two direct arguments—one consequentialist, the other nonconsequentialist—for the ultima facie moral permissibility of RDU. As consequentialist, the former argument is one in which a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. And as nonconsequentialist, the latter argument is one in which a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. (I will discuss what I mean by “direct argument” and “ultima facie” shortly.)

In this chapter, I critique nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of RDU in which the concept of degradation plays a significant role. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. As nonconsequentialist, they are arguments in which a claim about the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. And as arguments in which the concept of degradation plays a significant role, they are arguments wherein a claim about the immorality of RDU is derived from a claim about how RDU degrades the user in one way or another.

As discussed in Chap. 2, one of the reasons that I have for critiquing arguments for the immorality of RDU—religious or nonreligious, consequentialist or nonconsequentialist—is that such is required for the successful defense of a certain premise (P5 and P6, respectively) of the Prudential Goods Argument and the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument, according to which RDU is devoid of outweighing immoral-making properties. With this in mind, in this chapter and the four that follow it, I critique a total of twenty-four arguments for the immorality of RDU, beginning here with nonreligious self-regarding consequentialist arguments. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. As consequentialist, they are arguments in which a claim regarding the immorality of RDU is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. And as self-regarding, they are arguments wherein a claim about the immorality of RDU is derived from a claim about the consequence(s) of RDU for just the user herself.

The fundamental question of this book is: What does philosophy have to say about a specific kind of substance-induced mind-altering experience, namely that which is drug induced? Since, in the context of drug use, the word “psychoactive” is often substituted for “mind altering,” this question may be restated thus: What does philosophy have to say about drug-induced psychoactive experiences? Because philosophy, qua field of study, is comprised of numerous subfields (e.g., metaphysics, epistemology, and value theory), which, in turn, are themselves comprised of numerous subfield-specific issues, this question may be stated much more specifically in terms of the latter.

In this chapter, I offer two direct arguments—one consequentialist, the other nonconsequentialist—for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution. One is a consequentialist argument and, as such, an argument wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility of prostitution is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. The other is a nonconsequentialist argument and, as such, an argument wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever.

In this chapter, I critique seven nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. And as nonconsequentialist, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever.

Is getting high immoral? In this book, Rob Lovering defends the claim that it is not. More specifically, he argues that recreational drug use (of which getting high is a token) is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral. In other words, he contends that recreational drug use is neither immoral in and of itself nor generally immoral due to an immoral-making factor with which it may be contingently linked [e.g., harm]. Lovering does so by offering two arguments for recreational drug use’s ultima facie (all things considered) moral permissibility and critiquing twenty-four arguments for its immorality. Meant to be a companion to Lovering's A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), which was written for a general audience, this book is written for an academic—specifically, philosophical—audience and explores recreational drug use in a deeper, more philosophically and empirically rigorous way.

In this chapter, Rob Lovering defends the legalization of recreational drug use by way of two types of argument: direct and indirect. His direct arguments for the legalization of recreational drug use—what he calls the “Prudential Goods Argument” and the “Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument”—involve providing reasons for accepting the view that recreational drug use ought to be legal. And his indirect argument for the legalization of recreational drug use—what he calls the “No Good Reason Argument”—involves providing reasons for rejecting the view (and arguments thereof) that recreational drug use ought to be illegal. Since each of the two direct arguments contains a premise 11 Introduction whose successful defense requires delving into reasons for thinking that recreational drug use ought to be illegal and, with them, the No Good Reason Argument, he spends a little more time developing and discussing the latter argument than he does either of the former arguments.

In this chapter, Rob Lovering provides some possible answers to the question of whether God—understood as an omniscient, omnipotent, omnibenevolent, spiritual, personal deity who created the universe—knows what it’s like to undergo a positive, psychoactive, drug-induced experience; or, as he puts it for short, whether God knows what it’s like to get high. For either God knows what it’s like to get high or he does not and, in any case, interesting metaphysical, epistemological, and value theoretical questions arise. Lovering concludes that, collectively, the possible answers he provides to the question of whether God knows what it’s like to get high generate an intriguing (and paradoxical) conclusion: It is hard to see how God could know what it’s like to get high, but it is also hard to see how he could not know what it’s like to get high.

In this Handbook, philosophers from around the world address the metaphysics, epistemology, and value of psychoactive (mind-altering) drug use. In so doing, they attempt to answer questions such as: What does the fact of drug-induced mind-altering experiences tell us about natures of the mind, free will, and God? What does it tell us about what, and how, we can know? Are drug-induced mind-altering experiences valuable, morally, aesthetically, or otherwise? Is the acquisition of drug-induced mind-altering experiences ever immoral? Should the acquisition of drug-induced mind-altering experiences ever be legally prohibited? The Handbook gives an overview of the current research, and sets the stage for future directions in philosophical thought relating to psychoactive drug use.

Stephen Maitzen has recently argued that ordinary morality implies atheism. In the following, I argue that the soundness of Maitzen's argument depends on a principle that is implausible, what I call the recipient's Benefit Principle: All else being equal, if an act a produces a net benefit for the individual on the receiving end of a, then one cannot have a moral obligation to prevent a. Specifically, the recipient's Benefit Principle must be true if premise of Maitzen's argument is to be true. But, RBP is likely false, as it generates counterintuitive implications as well as conflicts with another principle both plausible and seemingly adopted by most of us, what I call the Preventing Immorality Principle: All else being equal, if an act A is seriously immoral, then one has a moral obligation to prevent A.

In this paper, I present a case study on a recent attempt at implementing what I refer to as the “Pro-lifer’s Asymmetrical Punishment View” (PAPV), the view that people should be legally punished for performing abortions whereas women should not be so punished for procuring abortions. While doing so, I argue that the endeavor, which took place in the state of Alabama, is incoherent relative to the conjunction of its purported underlying moral rationale and the Alabama criminal code. I then present what I take to be possible explanations for, practical implications of, and solutions to the attempt and its incoherence. Given that other endeavors to implement PAPV are currently in the works and are so with similar underlying moral rationales and within similar criminal codes, what I present and argue here is not limited to Alabama’s attempt at doing so.

Is prostitution immoral? In this book, Rob Lovering argues that it is not. Offering a careful and thorough critique of the many―twenty, to be exact―arguments for prostitution's immorality, Lovering leaves no claim unchallenged. Drawing on the relevant literature along with his own creative thinking, Lovering offers a clear and reasoned moral defense of the world's oldest profession. Lovering demonstrates convincingly, on both consequentialist and nonconsequentialist grounds, that there is nothing immoral about prostitution between consenting adults. The legal implications of this view are also brought to bear on the current discourse surrounding this controversial topic.

Some people (e.g., Drs. Paul and Susan Lim) and, with them, organizations (e.g., the National Embryo Donation Center) believe that, morally speaking, the death of a frozen human embryo is a very bad thing. With such people and organizations in mind, the question to be addressed here is as follows: if one believes that the death of a frozen embryo is a very bad thing, ought, morally speaking, one prevent the death of at least one frozen embryo via embryo adoption? By way of a three‐premise argument, one of which is a moral principle first introduced by Peter Singer, my answer to this question is: at least some of those who believe this ought to. (Just who the “some” are is identified in the paper.) If this is correct, then, for said people, preventing the death of a frozen embryo via embryo adoption is not a morally neutral matter; it is, instead, a morally laden one. Specifically, their intentional refusal to prevent the death of a frozen embryo via embryo adoption is, at a minimum, morally criticizable and, arguably, morally forbidden. Either way, it is, to one extent or another, a moral failing.

When it comes to explaining someone’s puzzling, objectionable, or otherwise problematic behavior, one type of explanation occasionally employed in the service of doing so is as follows: “That’s just so-and-so being so-and-so.” But what, exactly, do explanations of the type “That’s just so-and-so being so-and-so” mean? More specifically, in what way, if any, is it meaningful or informative to say such things? And what is the precise function of such explanations of someone’s behavior? Is it merely to present what one takes to be the underlying causes of the behavior, or something beyond that? In what follows, I lay out a few possibilities—basic possibilities, to be precise, given philosophy’s keen interest in fundamentals—with respect to the various meanings, functions, and moral implications of explanations of the type “That’s just so-and-so being so-and-so.” While doing so, I apply these basic possibilities to three tokens of this kind of explanation: “That’s just Manny being Manny” (in reference to Manny Ramirez, the former professional baseball player), “That’s just Charlie being Charlie” (in reference to Charlie Rose, the former television host), and “That’s just Trump being Trump” (in reference to Donald Trump, the current President of the United States).

W. K. Clifford famously argued that it is “wrong always, everywhere and for anyone, to believe anything upon insufficient evidence.” Though the spirit of this claim resonates with me, the letter does not. To wit, I am inclined to think that it is not morally wrong for, say, an elderly woman on her death bed to believe privately that she is going to heaven even if she does so on insufficient evidence—indeed, and lest there be any confusion, even if the woman herself deems the evidence for her so believing to be insufficient. After all, her believing so does not appear to endanger, harm, or violate the rights of anyone, nor does it make the world a worse place in a significant, if any, way. That Clifford might have put too fine a point on the matter, however, does not entail that there are no conditions under which it is wrong to believe something upon insufficient evidence. In this paper, I argue that, in cases where believing a proposition (read: believing a proposition to be true) will affect others, it is prima facie wrong to have propositional faith—for present purposes, to believe the proposition despite deeming the evidence for one’s believing to be insufficient—before one has attempted to believe the proposition by proportioning one’s belief to the evidence.

According to the theory of intrinsic value and moral standing known as the “substance view,” all human beings have intrinsic value, full moral standing and, with these, a right to life. The substance view has been defended by numerous contemporary philosophers who use the theory to argue that the standard human fetus has a right to life and, ultimately, that abortion is prima facie seriously wrong. In this paper, I identify three important errors committed by some of these philosophers in their defense of the theory---what I refer to as the “extratheoretical-proposition error,” “quantitative-differences error,” and “non-normative-answer error”---and conclude that these errors render their defense inadequate.

Many debates in the philosophy of religion, particularly arguments for and against the existence of God, depend on a claim or set of claims about what God—qua sovereign, omnipotent, omniscient, and perfectly good being— would do , either directly or indirectly, in particular cases or in general. Accordingly, before these debates can be resolved we must first settle the more fundamental issue of whether we can know, or at least have justified belief about, what God would do. In this paper, I lay out the possible positions on the issue of whether we can know what God would do, positions I refer to as Broad Skeptical Theism, Broad Epistemic Theism, and Narrow Skeptical Theism. I then examine the implications of each of these views and argue that each presents serious problems for theism.

In my articles ‘The Substance View: A Critique’ and ‘The Substance View: A Critique,’ I raise objections to the substance view, a theory of intrinsic value and moral standing defended by a number of contemporary moral philosophers, including Robert P. George, Patrick Lee, Christopher Tollefsen, and Francis Beckwith. In part one of my critique of the substance view, I raise reductio-style objections to the substance view's conclusion that the standard human fetus has the same intrinsic value and moral standing as the standard adult human being, among other human beings. In part two, I raise objections to some of the premises invoked in support of that conclusion. Here, in part three, I raise objections to Henrik Friberg-Fernros's attempt to rebut some of the aforementioned objections.