An argument for reincarnation

Here’s a fun argument:

1. We are responsible for something.

2. To be responsible for anything that is not a choice, we have to have been responsible for choosing it.

3. To be responsible for anything that is choice, we have to be responsible for the features of our character by which we made the choice.

4. So, if we are responsible for something, we have made an infinite sequence of choices.

5. So, we have made an infinite sequence of choices.

6. We have not made an infinite sequence of choices in any one life.

7. So, we have had an infinite sequence of lives.

Famously, Galen Strawson makes the 2–4 part of this argument, and concludes that since we have not made an infinite sequence of choices, we are not responsible for anything. But I think it is more reasonable to believe in reincarnation (or some other way of having had infinitely many choices—say, a supertask) than to disbelieve in responsibility.

That said, I don’t think we should take the above as providing significant evidence for reincarnation. For even if we had made an infinite number of choices, I don’t think that would get us out of the point Strawson is making. There would still be a sense in which we wouldn’t be responsible “for the regress”. This observation has applications beyond free will: an infinite regress of causes doesn’t explain the universe.

My own preferred way out of Strawson’s argument does not involve infinite regresses, but simply denying premise (3). Premise (3) is plausible when our character determines the choice, but less so when it does not. Take a paradigm example of someone freely and indeterministically making a choice with conflicting desires and reasons for different options. Then imagine that they were brainwashed into having these very desires and reasons. That doesn’t affect the freedom with which they choose on the basis of those desires and reasons.

Molinism and prophecy

Suppose Bob offers a cookie to Alice who is free to accept or reject it. God would like to manifest his omniscience to Alice by announcing to her whether she will accept or reject the cookie. To that end, God uses his middle knowledge to consider the following conditionals:

1. Were God to announce that Alice will accept, Alice would accept.

2. Were God to announce that Alice will reject, Alice would reject.

God then follows the following algorithm:

1. If (i) is true and regardless of (ii), God announces that Alice will accept.

2. If (i) is false but (ii) is true, God announces that Alice will reject.

3. If both (i) and (ii) are false, God refrains from making an announcement.

But there is a problem. Both (i) and (ii) seem to be necessary truths! For God cannot lie and cannot be mistaken. Thus, following the algorithm, God will always announce that Alice will accept, and indeed she will. Hence God can with certainty get Alice to freely accept the cookie—which seems wrong! So there is something wrong with Molinism.

However, I wonder whether the Molinist has to say that (i) and (ii) both have to be true. Granted, their necessity follows from the following plausible rule for subjunctive conditionals:

4. Necessarily: If p is possible, and p entails q, then were p to hold, q would hold,

assuming that the antecedents of (i) and (ii) are possible and given S5. (And one can avoid S5 by assuming that necessarily the antecedents of (i) and (ii) are possible, and that the entailment between God announcing something and its being true is not only necessary but necessarily necessary.)

But perhaps (4) is not as obviously true as it seems. Consider a case where free will is not involved. There is a perfectly reliable sound-activated light. God is debating whether to announce “There will be no miracle and yet the light will not turn on.” It seems that it would be reasonable for God to reason that were he to make that announcement, the light would turn on (since it’s perfectly reliable, it would take a miracle for it not to), and hence the announcement would be false. Yet God’s making the announcement is possible (there is no problem about God making the announcement in a world where the lightbulb is broken).

So perhaps the Molinist can say that there can be subjunctive conditionals of free that are true even though the antecedent entails the negation of the consequent. If so, then (i) and (ii) could still be contingent.

I am still dubious of a logic of subjunctives where the subjunctive can violate an entailment. But perhaps it’s not as bad as I once thought it (compare this old paper of mine).

Molinism and correlations

Assume Molinism.

Suppose T is a set of character traits that makes one be equipoised between freely taking and refusing a $5000 bribe for a city contract. Let C₁, C₂, ... be distinct and highly specific possible circumstances of Curley being offered such a bribe, differing in morally unimportant ways that are not very relevant to Curley’s character. Perhaps he is offered the bribe in an Italian restaurant, or in a Thai restaurant, or while walking in the park. Perhaps the bribe is being offered by a man or by a woman. Maybe it’s in the morning or the evening. Etc.

Consider the counterfactual of free will:

• Q_i: Were Curley to have T and be offered a $5000 bribe for a city contract in C_i, he would accept the bribe.

Intuitively, P(Q_i) ≈ 1/2 for any i. Let’s accept that intuition. But now here is an interesting question: What kinds of statistical correlation is there between Q₁, Q₂, ...?

The intuition behind van Inwagen’s re-run thought experiment says that if Curley were offered a sequence of exactly similar bribes, with memory erased in between, then Curley’s acceptance/rejection decisions would behave like an independent sequence of random variables. That intuition suggests that Q₁, Q₂, ... are also statistically independent.

On the other hand, one might have the conflicting intuition that Q_i and Q_j are more correlated when the circumstances C_i and C_j are more similar.

On the third hand, one might think that although each of Q_i has probability around 1/2, the probabilities of conjunctions of the Q_i are undefined, and hence it makes no sense to talk about their correlations.

These seem to me to be the three most plausible views on the correlation question. Call these the Independence, Similarity, and Undefined views.

On Molinism plus Independence, God has a vast amount of providential power. He is nearly certain to be able to get Curley (or any other free agent) to freely do anything he wants, simply by choosing minor and unimportant features of circumstances. Given independence, it is extremely unlikely that all the Q_i have the same truth value. Thus, God can just choose the circumstances to get the truth value he wants—to get Curley to accept or to get Curley to reject the bribe. In particular, on Independence, free will does not do much to help the theist.

On the Similarity view, there are some more serious constraints of God’s providential power. However, I think there is another problem with the Similarity view. On Similarity, there is presumably some complicated function from the degree of similarity between circumstances to the degree of correlation (say, measured by covariance) between the truth values of the corresponding counterfactuals. Where does this function come from? Normally correlations between events are explained by laws of nature. But counterfactuals of free will are prior to laws of nature. I suppose the correlation function would have to be something necessary. But it does seem mysterious.

I think that if I were a Molinist, I would find the Undefined view somewhat appealing. The version of it that seems most plausible would be that P(Q_iQ_j) is not defined as a number, but can be represented as the interval [max(0,P(Q_i)+P(Q_j)−1),min(P(Q_i),P(Q_j))]. But I still find it a bit odd that P(Q_i) and P(Q_j) are defined but P(Q_iQ_j) is not. Nonetheless, this seems possible.

Yet another argument against Molinism

Assume Molinism. Let maximal transworld depravity be the claim that for any circumstances C in which an agent x would be freely choosing between options A₁, A₂, ..., the agent would choose an option than which they could not choose a worse. If Molinism is true, maximal transworld depravity seems possible.

Suppose God finds there to be maximal transworld depravity, and consequently chooses not to create anything. Nonetheless, wouldn’t it be a very bad thing that maximal transworld depravity holds? After all, it prevents God from having all sorts of great possibilities. But how could there be anything bad in a world where only God exists?

So, we have an argument against Molinism. If Molinism is true, it is possible that God alone exists and yet reality has something very bad about it.

Why does God create those he knows will reject him?

Question: Suppose Alice goes to hell, having conclusively rejected God’s grace. Given that God knew that Alice will reject his grace, why did this knowledge not lead him to refrain from creating Alice?

Answer: It is impossible that the following two claims are true:

1. God refrains from creating Alice.

2. God knows that Alice will reject his grace.

For 1 entails:

3. Alice won’t exist

while 2 entails:

4. Alice will reject God’s grace

which in turn entails:

5. Alice will exist.

(Of course, if Molinism is true, one can ask a very similar question to the one I started with. But Molinism is false.)

More on infinite chances at salvation

Yesterday, I offered a Toy Model of how God could give infinite chances to someone and they could still reject him. The crucial assumption of the model was that it might take multiple good choices to dig oneself out of the moral hole that one’s wickedness got one into.

But one can also have a model without that assumption. Suppose that every day I make a choice for or against God. If I choose for God, I am saved and God makes me virtuous. If I choose against God, I become habituated into a bit more vice. How much more? Well, we can measure a person’s virtue by how likely they are to choose for God. So let’s suppose that there is some number β strictly between 0 and 1 such that each time I choose against God, my goodness—as measured by the probability of my next choice being for God—is multiplied by β. We can think of β as a kind of wicked habituation constant.

What is the probability that I will always reject God? Suppose my initial level of goodness is α. Then the probability that I will reject God on day 1 is 1 − α. If I do that, then on day 2 my level of goodness will be αβ, and the probability that I will reject God will be 1 − αβ. And if I do that, then on day 3 my level of goodness will be αβ², and the probability that I will reject God will be 1 − αβ². So the probability that I will always reject God is:

• P(R_∞) = (1−α)(1−βα)(1−β²α)....

Easy mathematical fact: as long as α < 1 (i.e., I am not maximally good on day 1) and β < 1 (the bad choice does decrease my goodness), P(R_∞) is bigger than zero. In other words, on this model, I have infinite chances, and each choice has the possibility of resulting in my complete redemption, and yet I have a non-zero probability of choosing badly for eternity.

Let’s make up some conservative numbers. Suppose the infinite chances regimen starts with death, and that β = 0.99: one gets 1% worse each time one chooses against God—and that’s 1% of my previous level of goodness, rather than an absolute 1%. Presumably people die with various levels of goodness between 0 and 1. Suppose one in a thousand people dies with a goodness level α ≤ 0.1. Now if one has goodness level α = 0.1 when one starts the infinite chances regimen at death, and β = 0.99, it turns out (or so Mathematica calculates QPochhammer[.1,.99]) that the probability of damnation is about 0.000035. So with 8 billion people, there would be 8 million dying with goodness level at most 0.1, and so we might well expect at least 8, 000, 000 × 0.000035 = 280 of them to be damned even if they got the infinite chances regimen. So on this toy model, we would expect some people now alive to be damned.

Now it seems plausible that it is compatible with God’s goodness that he would allow one in a thousand people to die with a goodness level of 0.1, and that he would allow a character deterioration of at least 1% per posthumous choice against God—this would give people a real ability to affect their character, while yet being very generous with redemptiveness. In other words, even on an infinite chances model, it is compatible with God’s goodness that hundreds of people be forever separated from God. But if hundreds of people damned is compatible with God’s goodness on an infinite chances model, why wouldn’t hundreds of people damned also be compatible with God’s goodness apart from an infinite chances model, as long as it was also a model where God is very generous in redemptiveness and gives people a real ability to affect their character?

A variant of Molinism

The biggest problem with Molinism is the grounding problem: there is nothing in reality wherein the subjunctive conditionals of free will (“middle truths”) could be grounded. As Reuben perceptively noted in a recent comment, the problem is especially big if God is simple, as then the middle truths can’t even be grounded in God.

Anyway, it seems to me that there might be some benefit to Molinists to think about what one might call Individually Grounded Weak Molinism (IGWM). On IGWM, there are no middle truths about the free actions of non-actual persons, but there are middle truths about the free actions of actual persons, which are grounded in properties of these very persons. Thus, “when” (in the explanatory and not temporal sense) God is deciding whether to create Curley, there is no fact of the matter whether Curley would accept a $5000 bribe in circumstances C. But “as soon as” Curley is actual (on eternalism, this will be the case even before Curley temporally exists—maybe as soon as God decides to create Curley), there will be a fact of the matter whether he would accept that bribe in C.

On IGWM, there is an “ontological home” for the middle truths. Moreover, IGWM ameliorates another problem for standard Molinism: the problem of evil. On standard Molinism, God presumably has a vast amount of knowledge that he can use in optimizing the world. E.g., God knows that Adam and Eve would sin, but there is a vast number of couples almost exactly like Adam and Eve, and it seems very unlikely that they would all have sinned in Adam and Eve’s circumstances, so why didn’t God create them? But on IGWM, God only knows that Adam and Eve would sin in the Garden of Even once he decides to create them. One might objet that are presumably a vast number of gardens almost like Eden that God could put Adam and Eve in, and on IGWM God middle-knows how they would behave in each garden, and it would seem surprising if Adam and Eve would have sinned in all of them. Not so. For it might be that there are close correlations between middle-truths about how Eve (say) would act in circumstance C₁ and how she would act in C₂ if C₁ and C₂ are very similar.

But IGWM still has enough bite to yield some of the advantages of Molinism. First, we have the biblical cases. Granted, these could be interpreted in a non-Molinist way, but a Molinist way seems particularly neat. For instance, in the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, God tells the rich man that his brothers wouldn’t repent even if someone came back from the dead to talk to them. On IGWM, this conditional makes sense, and is grounded in the rich man’s brothers. (Granted, this is a parable, so it’s not a prooftext for Molinism.) Second, we still have the nice story about how God can work in our lives and achieve his gracious goals without undercutting our freedom: God knows what we would choose in which circumstances, and can control the circumstances we are in. Third, the Molinist account of efficacious grace works on IGWM with no changes. Fourth, and this is the immediate motivation for my post, my Molinist defense of hell works just fine on this story.

IGWM does not solve all the problems with Molinism. The Adams circularity argument continues to be problematic. Suppose I freely choose A in circumstances C, and God put me in C because he middle knew that I would freely choose A in C. It’s surely note a coincidence that both (a) I freely choose A in C and (b) I would freely choose A in C. There needs to be some kind of explanatory connection between (a) and (b). If (b) is explanatorily prior to (a), then it seems that the middle facts about me explain my actions, and that seems to undercut my freedom. But if (a) is explanatorily prior to (b), then we have a circularity. For (b) is prior to C, and C is prior to (a).

And there may be a way in which the freedom worry about Molinism feels bigger on IGWM. If it’s a property of me that I would freely choose A in C, rather than just being an ungrounded truth, then it looks a bit more like that property constrains me and takes away my freedom.

A nuanced compatibilism and the problem of heavenly freedom

The problem of heavenly freedom is the apparent tension between these two claims:

1. The blessed in heaven are free

2. The blessed in heaven cannot sin.

One solution is compatibilism, but as Pawl and Timpe note, this undercuts the Free Will Defense.

But there is another move. One can be a compatibilist and say that while one can have freedom without the ability to do otherwise, nonetheless freedom with the ability to do otherwise is better. If one accepts this version of compatibilism, one can affirm (1) and (2) while yet offering a Free Will Defense.

This, however, leads to an obvious riposte: If freedom with the ability to do otherwise is better, why don’t we have that kind of freedom in heaven? Isn’t heaven supposed to be the best state for us?

One can, however, add another nuance. There are some activities that it is good to have done at some point, but repetition significantly diminishes the value. It is of some value to have read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. To re-read it, not so much. Or for a religious example, think of the Hajj. Suppose freedom with the ability to do otherwise is like that. Perhaps, then, it is valuable to have made the choice for God with the ability to do otherwise. But a repeat of that choice is of rather lesser value. So much lesser, that if on earth one has made the choice for God with the ability to do otherwise, in heaven the value of doing so again is outweighed by the value of making guaranteed righteous choices.

This is not too different from Pawl and Timpe’s preferred solution of allowing for derivative freedom in heaven. But there may be an advantage to the above solution. Pawl and Timpe’s solution doesn’t solve the problem of infants who go to heaven without being able to make a free choice in this life—they don’t seem to have derivative freedom. (One of my undergraduate students has ably pressed this problem.) The nuanced compatibilism I have suggested can help with that: the infants in heaven genuinely have freedom. Granted, their death has denied them one of the goods proper to earthly life—the good of choosing righteousness with the ability to do otherwise. But that they have lost something by their untimely death is indeed rather intuitive.

We might ask: But why wouldn’t God then give them a chance to make a decision with ability to choose otherwise after death? Wouldn’t that be better? In one respect, it would indeed be better: in the respect of choosing with the freedom to choose otherwise. But in another respect, it would be less good: in the respect of having the risk of choosing wrongly. These are incommensurable considerations, and God can reasonably follow either one.

Granted, this move weakens the force of the Free Will Defense. We can no longer say that it’s better all things considered for God to give us the kind of freedom that allows us to reject him. For while that’s a better kind of freedom, it comes with an incommensurable cost—the risk that we will reject him. However, we can still say that God can rightly choose to follow either of the incommensurable considerations. In our case, he has opted to give us the better freedom despite the risk; in the case where he has taken some infants to himself, he opted for the guarantee of freedom being rightly used.

I don’t endorse the above solution. But I think it’s possible.

Predictability and epistemic utility

You’re thinking whether to become an assembly-line worker or an artist. Then you reflect on the value of knowledge. And you become a factory worker, on the grounds that if you become an assembly-line worker, you will know what you’ll be doing every working day of your future, but if you’re an artist, your activities will be unpredictable.

Some remarks. First, there is something perverse about using the value of knowledge in this way. The normal way to pursue the value of knowledge is to find out things that are independent of your pursuit. But here you are pursuing knowledge by making there be less to know about the world (or your world). Yet, paradoxically, it sure seems like the line of thought above makes sense.

Second, the my initial story depends on Molinism being false. For if there are comprehensive subjective conditionals of free will, then by becoming an artist you get to know the conditionals about what you would do in the various artistic situations you’re in. But on the assembly line story, you don’t get to know these. So the Molinist doesn’t have the paradox. I suppose that’s a bit of evidence for Molinism.

An argument against the Thomistic primary/secondary causation account of strong providence

Most people agree that one cannot have circularity in the order of explanation when one keeps the type of explanation fixed. Some like me think one cannot have circularity in the order of explanation at all. I argued for this thesis in my previous post today. Now I want to draw an interesting application.

On one influential (and I think exegetically correct, pace Eleonore Stump) reading of Aquinas, God decides what our free choices will be. Our free choices cannot be determined by created causes, but they are determined by God. This is because God’s causation is primary causation which is of a different sort from the secondary causation which is creaturely causation. God can primarily cause you to freely secondarily cause something, and this is how providence and free will interact. Often the analogy between an author and a character is given: the author decides what the character will freely do and this does not infringe on the character’s freedom.

But now observe this (which was brought home to me by a paper of one of our grad students). On this picture, God will presumably sometimes providentially make earlier actions happen because of later ones. Thus, God may want you to perform some heroic self-sacrifice in ten years. So, right now God prepares you for this by having you freely engage in small self-sacrifices now. In the “because” corresponding to the explanatory order of providence and primary causation, we thus have:

1. You engage in small self-sacrifices because you will engage in a great self-sacrifice.

However, divine primary causation does not undercut secondary causation, and we have the standard Aristotelian story of habituation at the level of secondary causation in light of which we have:

2. You will engage in a great self-sacrifice because you are engaging in small self-sacrifices.

These explanations form a heterotypic explanatory loop (i.e., we have explanations of two different sorts in opposite directions). But if I am right that no explanatory loop is possible, the above story is not possible. However, there is nothing to rule out the above story if the above Thomistic account of primary and secondary causation’s role in providence is correct. Hence, I think we should reject that account.

Three fixity principles

In debates about free will and foreknowledge as well as about compatibility and incompatibilism, fixity-of-history theses come up. Here is such a thesis:

1. If a decision is causally or logically necessitated by the history behind the decision, then one could not have decided otherwise.

But now we have a crucial question as to what is meant by “the history behind the decision”. There are at least two takes on this. On the temporal version, the history behind the decision is the sum total of what happened temporally prior to the decision. On the causal version, the history is the sum total of what happend causally prior to the decision.

This is not just a nitpicking question. Linda Zagzebski for instance nicely shows that if we go for the causal-history version of (1), then the main argument for the incompatibility of free will and foreknowledge does not get off the ground assuming God’s forebelief is not causally prior to the action. On the other hand, if we go the temporal-history version, then we have a prima facie argument for such incompatibility (though I think it’s blockable).

I am pretty confident that we should go for the causal-history version, and this has to do with the fact that the temporal-history version is not strong enough to capture our fixity intuitions. Suppose that we live in a world with simultaneous causation—say, a Newtonian world with rigid objects such that if you push object A and A pushes B, then B begins to move at exactly the same time as you start pushing (rather than with a delay caused by then need for a compression wave traveling through nonrigid materials at less than the speed of light). Then we could imagine cases where someone’s decision is causally necessitated by something outside the agent that is simultaneous with the decision. Such causal necessitation would just much make it true that one could not have decided otherwise as would causal necessitation by something in the past.

Furthermore, if backwards causation is possible, then a neurosurgeon in the future who used a backwards-causing machine to determine your decision would clearly prevent you from deciding otherwise, even though the neurosurgeon’s action was not in the temporal history. We may not believe backwards causation is possible, but it is clear that if it were possible, then deterministic backwards causation would be just as threatening for free decisions as deterministic forwards causation. This shows that causal determination is indeed a threat.

Of course, my above argument only shows that if we need to choose between the causal and temporal history versions of (1), we should definitely go for the causal one. But perhaps we don’t need to choose. We could accept both versions. But if we think we accept both versions, I think what we really should accept is an even stronger principle, where “history” is causal-cum-temporal (cct). On that stronger principle, event A counts as in the cct history of event E provided that it is either temporally or causally prior to E. The resulting fixity principle is pretty strong principle, but also a bit gerrymandered. And I think accepting this principle not that plausible, because the much simpler causal version captures our intuitions about all the ordinary cases (not involving God, or backwards or simultaneous causation), since in all ordinary cases causal and temporal history coincide, and we should not go for a more complex principle without pretty good reason.

Causal histories and freedom

Linda Zagzebski proposes the plausible principle that one is able to ϕ only if ϕing is compatible with one’s causal history relevant to ϕing.

Suppose Alice is considering whether to rob a bank. While she is doing so, God loudly announces to her nearby friend Bob that Alice will not rob the bank. God’s announcement is in Swahili, which Bob knows and Alice used to know in childhood but completely forgot. But the sound of the language her loving parents spoke to her as a child leads to Alice putting more emphasis on virtue in her deliberation, and she freely decides not to rob the bank.

Since God cannot lie, and since God’s announcement is a part of Alice’s causal history in her deliberation, Alice’s robbing the bank is incompatible with causal history and by Zagzebski’s principle, Alice cannot rob the bank. Yet it is unclear how God’s announcement removes her freedom to rob. After all, had God announced in Swahili that Alice will have breakfast, that would have influenced her deliberation in the same way, and yet obviously she would still have been free to rob the bank. But since Alice doesn’t know Swahili, the content seems causally irrelevant.

I think there are two ways out of this. First, we might cut events very finely. There is (a) God’s saying something or other in Swahili and there is (b) God’s saying in Swahili that Alice will not rob the bank. To determine the causal history, we pare away from the events all that’s causally irrelevant, and so we include (a) but not (b) in the causal history.

Alternately, we might say this. Whether or not Alice knows Swahili, her decision is affected by the detailed facts about the sounds in God’s announcement. Indeed, by essentiality of origins, her deliberation is a numerically different process because of the difference of sounds. And now we can say that God cannot make the announcement, because doing so would result in a circularity in the explanatory order: God would be making the announcement because Alice is not going to rob and Alice is not going to rob because God is making the announcement because she is not going to rob. So it is not so much that the announcement takes away God’s freedom, but that God cannot produce explanatory circularities.

It’s worth noting that Molinism does not seem to help. Sure, the subjunctive conditional of free will

1. Were God to announce in Swahili that Alice won’t rob, Alice wouldn’t rob

is true. But it is necessarily true independently of Molinism!

From three or four problems of omniscience down to one

The three most influential problems of omniscience are:

1. Boethius’ problem of foreknowledge: What is known is necessarily so, and thus if God knows what you will do, you will necessarily do it.

2. Pike’s problem of foreknowledge: If you can act otherwise, you can thereby make it be that either God didn’t exist or that God wasn’t omniscient or that God had believed otherwise than God actually did, and you just can’t do that.

3. The simplicity and knowledge of contingents problem: If the world had been different, God’s beliefs would have been different, which implies that God’s beliefs are accidents of God, contrary to divine simplicity.

Of these, (1) is fully solved by Boethius/Aquinas by distinguishing between necessity of consequence and necessity of consequent. The problem in (1) is just a simple matter of a fallacy of modal scope ambiguity. It’s a non-problem.

I now want to argue that the most widely accepted solution to (3) also solves (2).

This solution, likely already known to Aquinas, is that God’s belief in contingent facts is partly extrinsically constituted by creatures, and all the contingency is on the created side. For instance, God’s belief that there are zebras is grounded in essential facts about God that do not vary between possible worlds and the actual existence of zebras, which only obtains in some possible worlds.

Suppose we apply this solution to (3). Then God’s belief that you will ϕ at t is partly grounded in your ϕing at t and partly in essential facts about God. At this point it is obvious that:

4. If you were not to ϕ at t, God wouldn’t have believed you would ϕ at t.

For the contingent part of the grounds of God’s believing that you would ϕ at t is your actually ϕing at t, so when you take that away, God’s belief goes away. And if instead you ψ at t, your action thereby constitutes the contingent part of the grounds of God’s believing that you would ψ at t, and so:

5. If you were to ψ at t, God would have believe you would ψ at t.

If God’s past belief is partly constituted by our actions, it is no surprise that there is counterfactual dependence between our actions and God’s past belief. In other words, the classical theist who accepts divine simplicity has a way out of Pike’s argument that is motivated completely independently of considerations of time and freedom, namely by embracing counterfactuals like (4) and (5) that Pike considers absurd.

Of course the extrinsic constitution of divine beliefs is somewhat hard to swallow, notwithstanding excellent work by people like W. Matthews Grant to make it more plausible (I myself have swallowed it). But once we do that, problem (2) is gone, and problem (1) was never there as it was based on a fallacy.

There is a fourth problem, a more recondite one, which is about the incompatibility between God’s knowledge of what time is objectively present (assuming the A-theory of time) and divine immutability. Probably the most extensive pressing of this problem is in Richard Gale’s On the Nature and Existence of God. But Aquinas (according to the very plausible interpretation by Miriam Pritschet in an excellent paper I heard yesterday at the ACPA) responds to the fourth problem precisely by using the extrinsic constitution of God’s knowledge of continent facts (indeed this is why I said that the solution to the simplicity problem was likely known to Aquinas). So even that fourth problem reduces to the third—or just doesn’t get off the ground if the B-theory of time is true.

Freedom: a problem for presentism and growing block

A number of people have told me that they have the intuition that a four-dimensional picture of reality like that in the B-theory undercuts free will.

I want to suggest that there is one way in which it is a presentist picture of temporal reality that undercuts free will. (A similar argument applies to growing block, but curiously enough not to shrinking block.)

Assume that open future views are false: there are always determinate facts about contingent future events. (If your reason for thinking that four-dimensional theories undercut free will is because you are an open futurist, then you won’t be impressed by what I say.) Suppose it is a fact that tomorrow morning I will have oatmeal for breakfast. On presentism, this fact can only be grounded in what is present, since on presentism, what is present is all there is. Maybe it’s grounded in the present existence of a future-tensed fact or maybe it’s grounded in my having a future-tensed property of being such that I will eat oatmeal in nine hours. But in any case, things right now are already such as to ground and guarantee that I will have oatmeal for breakfast. Moreover, this was already true five minutes ago—five minutes ago, things were also already such as to ground and guarantee that I will have oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow. This sure feels like it should undercut free will! It seems pretty intuitive that freedom isn’t compatible with there existing grounds that guarantee the action prior to the choice.

On the other hand, on a four-dimensional view while it is a fact that I will eat oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow, the grounds of this fact are not located in the present—and were never located in the past. Rather, the grounds of this fact are where they should be—at tomorrow morning. How things are on the present slice of reality, or on past slices, does not determine (assuming indeterminism) what I will have for breakfast tomorrow. That’s left for tomorrow.

The neatest way out for the presentist is to deny with Merricks that contingent truths about the future and past have any grounds. But that’s also costly.

After writing the above, I came across this related paper by Hunt. No time to revise right now to see what similarities or differences there are.

A Stoic thesis

Combine these two rather Stoic theses:

1. No one can make the fully virtuous person worse off

2. Doing what is morally wrong always makes you worse off

and you get:

3. No one can make the fully virtuous person do what is morally wrong.

It is going to be crucial to this post that (3) includes cases of inculpably doing what is morally wrong. I myself think (1) is false, say for the that Aristotle cites, namely that severe pain makes even the virtous worse off. But nonetheless I want to defend (3).

It may be possible to first destroy a virtuous person’s virtue, and then get them to do what is morally wrong. Hitting someone on the head or brainwashing them can severely damage the psyche in a way that can remove the rational habits that constitute virtue. I do not count this a counterexample to (3), because in this case when the victim performs the wrong action, they have previously lost their virtue.

One might try to rule out the case of head injury and brainwashing by restricting (3) to culpable wrongs, but I don’t want to do that. I want to defend (3) in the case of inculpable wrongs, too.

A consequence of (3) is a fairly strong source incompatibilism about our action. Not only is it that neural manipulation cannot make you perform a free action, but it cannot make you perform an action. This fits well with dualism, but does not require it, because it might be that brain states that constitute acts of will have to have functional characteristics incompatible with outside control.

As a final clarification, I understand “making” as reliable, but not necessarily 100% reliable. Someone with significant free will cannot be 100% reliably made to do wrong, even if they are not virtuous. But at the same time, while a fully virtuous person cannot be reliably tempted away from right action, they might still have significant free will and be able to do wrong, so a temptation might unreliably get them to do wrong. Furthermore, I am thinking of “making” on something like a specific occasion. Thus, perhaps, if you tempt a virtuous person a million times, while restoring their brain to the pre-temptation state between temptations, by the law of large numbers you can expect them to fail at least once.

Let’s think about (3) some more.

Threats aren’t going to reliably get the fully virtuous person do the wrong thing. Sometimes, it is reasonable to bow to a threat. If someone holds a gun to your head and tells you to cover the side of your neighbor’s house with a giant smiley face graffiti, it’s reasonable to go along with it. But morality is reasonable, and where it is reasonable to bow to a threat, doing so is not only not culpable but simply not wrong. Indeed, it would typically be a failure of respect for human life to refuse to paint the graffiti when one’s life is threatened. In cases, however, where it is unreasonable to knuckle under, the fully virtuous person will reliably withstand the threat.

Physical control of another’s body or brain isn’t going to produce morally wrong action, because it doesn’t produce action at all. It is not wrong to kill someone by being pushed off a cliff on top of them, because it’s not an action to fall off a cliff. Similarly, if someone implants a remote control for one’s muscles, even if in the brain, then the resulting muscle spasms are not actions, and hence are not morally wrong actions.

Cases of omissions are interesting. It is easy to make someone fail to do what they promised, say by imprisoning them. If one thinks that such a failure counts as an inculpable wrongdoing, and if (3) is supposed to apply to omissions as well, then we have a counterexample. I do want (3) to apply to omissions. But I think that all that’s morally required by a promise is a reasonable amount of effort—where what counts as reasonable depends on the case. If you promise to come to a party but are in the hospital after a serious accident, it’s not morally required—indeed, it’s morally forbidden—that you rip the IV out of your arm and drag yourself on hands knees to the party. Indeed, (3) is a part of my reason for thinking that promises only require reasonable effort, so this is the first example where I have (3) giving us evidence for a substantive moral thesis. I think something similar is true in the case of commands, legislation and the like. You can’t ask for more than reasonable effort! Asking for more adds insult to injury. The parents whose children starve because the parents were unjustly imprisoned have not done wrong in failing to feed them.

Cases of ignorance are also interesting. If Alice is serving wine to her guests and Bob pours poison in the wine whe she isn’t looking, some might say that Alice has done wrong in poisoning her guests. Certainly, actual-result act utilitarianism implies this. But so much the worse for actual-result act utilitarianism. It is much better to say that Alice has done no wrong, as long as it was reasonable for her to have no suspicion of Bob. Cases of ignorance of through-and-through moral facts, on the other hand, are arguably incompatible with full virtue.

Where I think (3) becomes most interesting is in cases where we have a normative power over what is right or wrong for another to do. Using our normative powers, we can make someone who would otherwise have done wrong not be doing wrong. There is a story of a hasid whose house is being robbed, and when the thief is carrying his property away, the hasid yells: “I renounce my property rights.” In doing so, the hasid releases the thief from the duties of restitution, and makes it be the case that the thief is not sinning by continuing to carry the goods away.

Are there cases where we can use our normative powers to reliably make someone do wrong? Definitely. You can know that someone under your authority will very likely refuse to follow a certain command, and you can nonetheless issue the command. But this is obviously a case of someone who is lacking full virtue.

I think the best bet for using our normative powers to reliably make someone perfectly virtuous do wrong is when our exercise of normative powers creates a duty but does so in a way that the perfectly virtuous person does not know about. For instance, one might command the fully virtuous person in circumstances where they will likely not hear the command. Or one might pass legislation that they won’t know about. There are two ways to defend (3) in these cases. The first is to have a communication condition on commands and legislation—they are only morally binding when person subject to them either is informed about them or ought to be informed about them. The second is to say that all that’s morally required is that one make a reasonable effort to obey commands and laws in general, not that one make a reasonable effort to obey each specific command or law (since if one doesn’t know about a command or law, one doesn’t need to make a reasonable effort to obey it). I somewhat prefer the first option of a communication condition—the vicious lawbreaker does wrong in disobeying a specific law, and not just law in general (though according to James 2:10, they are also doing wrong in disobeying law in general).

In any case, I think (3) puts some significant constraints on the shape of moral obligation and the nature of action, but these constraints seem defensible. Though maybe I am failing to notice some better counterexample.

Divine willing

A correspondent asked me how a simple God can choose. I've thought much about this, never quite happy with what I have to say. I am still not happy (nor is it surprising if "how God functions" is beyond us!) but the following helps me a little.

Suppose I am choosing between making a brownie or a smoothie, and end up making a smoothie. Then there are four stages with each stage causing the next:

1. Deliberation between brownie and smoothie (and any other options).

2. An internal intention for a smoothie.

3. Physical movements.

4. Output: smoothie!

At Stage 1, I am still open between brownie and smoothie. Starting with Stage 2, I am internally set on the smoothie, and at that point I become morally responsible for setting myself on the smoothie.

Now one great thing about God’s power is that God doesn’t need means: he can produce effects directly.

In particular, God will omit stage 3: he doesn’t need moving limbs (nor anything else beyond himself) to produce the smoothie in the way that I need them.

Now suppose we apply perfect being theology to God. It’s a perfection of power not to need means. But stage 3 is not the only means in the above story: stage 2 is also a means. If God really doesn’t need means, then stage 2 will also be omitted in God, and we will have the two (non-temporal) stage production:

1. Deliberation between brownie and smoothie (and infinitely many other options).

2. Output: smoothie!

In particular, nowhere in this account is there an internal intention. It’s not needed: God acts directly on the external world.

We might ask: How does God know that he intends to create a smoothie? I think it’s by direct observation of the output, stage B in the divine case. (And God’s knowledge of contingencies is extrinsically grounded in the contingencies.)

If that sounds wrong, let’s ask how we know what we intend. Sometimes we know what we intend by introspection: by observing the internal intention of stage 2. But not always. Sometimes stage 2 is not conscious—we deliberate, we presumably form an internal intention but we are not directly aware of it, and then we act. When we deliberate whether to do something minor like whether to lift the left or the right hand, sometimes the first thing we are aware of is not an internal intention or specific act of will, but the movement of the hand itself. Thus, even in us, knowledge of our intentions is sometimes read off from stage 3.

Moreover, in some cases, for us, stage 3 is not distinct from stage 4. For we have bodies that we move, and sometimes—as in the hand-lift case—the output is the same as the physical movements. In some such cases, then direct knowledge of the merges stages 3 and 4 is how we know our own intention. There may even be rare cases where stage 3 and stage 4 are distinct, but in our consciousness, the knowledge of stage 4 comes first. Suppose I am deliberating whether to press the space-bar or the enter key in response to the computer saying “Press any key”. I choose to press the space-bar. It may well be that in the order of consciousness, I first feel the impact of my finger on the keyboard, then I discern the subtler kinesthetic sensation of my finger having moved through the air, and then only then do I realize what key I intended to press. I don’t know if this is how it happens—it’s too fast to be confident of phenomenology—but it seems like an intelligible possibility.

In any case, there is nothing absurd about knowing an intention by direct observation of the output.

While writing the above, it occurred to me that perhaps we shouldn’t be all that confident that we always have a stage 2. In the cases where our knowledge of what we intend comes from knowledge of stage 3 or 4, and we do not have direct conscious access to an internal act of intention, the internal act of intention is a mere theoretical posit. Perhaps that theoretical posit is correct, but perhaps it is not. If it is not, then one can intend a specific output without having an internal specified act of intention.

Open Theism and divine promises

Open Theist Christians tend to think that there are some things God knows about the future, and these include the content of God’s promises to us. God’s promises are always fulfilled.

But it seems that the content of many of God’s promises depends on free choices. For imagine that all the recipients of God’s promise freely choose to release God from the promise; then God would be free not to follow the promise, it appears, and so he could freely choose not to act in according to the promise. Thus there seems to be a sequence of creaturely and divine free choices on which the content of the promise does not come about.

This argument may not work for all of God’s promises. Some of God’s promises are covenants, and it may be that covenants are a type of agreement in which neither party can release the other. There may be other unreleasable promises: perhaps when x promises to punish y, that’s a promise y cannot release x from. But do we have reason to think that God makes no “simple promises”, promises other than covenants and promises of punishment?

I do not think this is a definitive argument against open theism. The open theist can bite the bullet and say that God doesn’t always know he will fulfill his promises. But it is interesting to see that on open theism, God’s knowledge of the future is even more limited than we might have initially thought.

A really bad moral dilemma

Here would be a really bad kind of moral dilemma:

• It is certain that unless you murder one innocent person now, you will freely become a mass murderer, but if you do murder that innocent person, you will freely repent of it later and live an exemplary life.

If compatibilism is true, such dilemmas are possible—the world could be so set up that these unfortunate free choices are inevitable. If compatibilism is false, such dilemmas are impossible, absent Molinism.

We might have a strong intuition that such dilemmas are impossible. If so, maybe that gives us another reason to reject compatibilism and Molinism.

Moral conversion and Hume on freedom

According to Hume, for one to be responsible for an action, the action must flow from one’s character. But the actions that we praise people for the most include cases where someone breaks free from a corrupt character and changes for the good. These cases are not merely cases of slight responsibility, but are central cases of responsibility.

A Humean can, of course, say that there was some hidden determining cause in the convert’s character that triggered the action—perhaps some inconsistency in the corruption. But given determinism, why should we think that this hidden determining cause was indeed in the agent’s character, rather than being some cause outside of the character—some glitch in the brain, say? That the hidden determining cause was in the character is an empirical thesis for which we have very little evidence. So on the Humean view, we ought to be quite skeptical that the person who radically changes from bad to good is praiseworthy. We definitely should not take such cases to be among paradigm cases of praiseworthiness.

Culpability incompatibilism

Here are three plausible theses:

1. You’re only culpable for a morally wrong choice determined by a relevantly abnormal mental state if you are culpable for that mental state.

2. A mental state that determines a morally wrong choice is relevantly abnormal.

3. You are not culpable for anything that is prior to the first choice you are culpable for.

Given these theses and some technical assumptions, it follows that:

4. If determinism holds, you are not culpable for any morally wrong choice.

For suppose that you are blameworthy for some choice and determinism holds. Let t₁ be the time of the first choice you are culpable for. Choices flow from mental states, and if determinism holds, these mental states determine the choice. So there is a time t₀ at which you have a mental state that determines your culpable choice at t₁. That mental state is abnormal by (2). Hence by (1) you must be culpable for it given that it determines a wrong choice. But this contradicts (3).

The intuition behind (1) is that abnormal mental states remove responsibility, unless either the abnormality is not relevant to the choice, or one has responsibility for the mental state. This is something even a compatibilist should find plausible.

Moreover, the responsibility for the mental state has to have the same valence as the responsibility for the choice: to be culpable for the choice, you must be culpable for the abnormal state; to be praiseworthy for the choice, you must be praiseworthy for the abnormal state. (Imagine this case. To save your friends from a horrific fate, you had to swallow a potion which had a side-effect of making you a kleptomaniac. You are then responsible for your kleptomania, but in a praiseworthy way: you sacrificed your sanity to save your friends. But now the thefts that come from the kleptomania you are not blameworthy for.)

Premise (2) is compatible with there being normal mental states that determine morally good choices, as well as with there being normal mental states that non-deterministically cause morally wrong choices (e.g., a desire for self-preservation can non-deterministically cause an act of cowardice).

What I find interesting about this argument is that it doesn’t have any obvious analogue for praiseworthiness. The conclusion of the argument is a thesis we might call culpability incompatibilism.

The combination of culpability incompatibilism with praiseworthiness compatibilism (the doctrine that praiseworthiness is compatible with determinism) has some attractiveness. Leibniz cites with approval St Augustine’s idea that the best kind of freedom is choosing the best action for the best reasons. Culpability incompatibilist who are praiseworthiness compatibilists can endorse that thesis. Moreover, they can endorse the idea that God is praiseworthy despite being logically incapable of doing wrong. Interestingly, though, praiseworthiness compatibilism makes it difficult to run free will based defenses for the problem of evil.