Natural Law and the epistemology of permissions

It is hard to know that something is permissible, because an action is permissible provided that no moral consideration is decisive against it. Thus, it seems, to know that an action is permissible requires surveying the infinite set of all possible moral considerations and checking that none of them rules out the action.

But natural law ethics provides a handy shortcut:

1. Actions characteristic of a kind of being are permissible in relevantly normal circumstances.

Principle (1), for instance, makes it difficult to defend strong versions of antinatalism or of ethical vegetarianism by conferring a default permission status on reproduction and the eating of meat, since we are organisms (and hence characteristically reproduce in appropriate circumstances) and omnivores (and hence have a characteristic diet that includes meat).

The natural permission principle shifts the discussion from the question whether a given action type, characteristic of us humans, is generally permissible, to the question whether the circumstances at hand are relevantly normal. Thus, (1) still leaves open the possibility of an antinatalism that holds that things are so abnormally bad that it’s wrong to reproduce, or an ethical vegetarianism on which global conditions require us to forego meat.

Subscribing to principle (1) also explains the incredulous stare I see on students’ faces when I explain Andrea Dworkin’s view that heterosexual intercourse is always wrong.

Inequality

I am not a sociopolitical philosopher and probably this post will just show my ignorance.

Here is a line of thought I used to find plausible.

Inequality is clearly not intrinsically bad: if it were, it would be worth making those who are best off be less well off even if nobody else were made better off, and that is absurd. Of course, inequality is well-known to contribute to subjective unhappiness, but if inequality is not intrinsically bad, then that contribution seems to be just a function of the vice of envy. So we don’t need to worry about inequality as such. Of course we need to worry about people not having sufficient resources to flourish, but that worry is independent of worries about inequality.

On this line of thought, we have two options:

1. Inequality is intrinsically bad.

2. We don’t need to worry about inequality except insofar as it contributes to other bad things (like subjective unhappiness, social unrest, etc.).

But today I realized there is a third option. There need be nothing intrinsically bad in a positive cancer test result, but it is diagnostic of a very bad thing, so we need to worry about it. The same could be true of inequality:

3. We should worry about inequality because it is diagnostic of other bad things.

Specifically, it could be that significant inequality is a sign of a poor distribution of resources. For instance, a thousand dollars can make an enormous difference to the flourishing of someone below the poverty line but makes no noticeable difference to the flourishing of a billionaire. Thus, significant inequality could be evidence that we could significantly improve the flourishing of one while only insignificantly decreasing the flourishing of another, say by taking a thousand dollars from the richest individual and giving it to a randomly selected person below the poverty line. And thus we would have reason to worry about inequality even if inequality in and of itself wasn’t bad.

Of course, whether in fact significant inequality is evidence of a poor distribution of resources is an empirical question for the economists to figure out. My naive thought above that things would be better if a thousand dollars were moved from a rich person to a poor person assumes that nobody else would be affected. But that is, of course, not empirically clear. Such a transfer could, for instance, lead to the rich person correspondingly decreasing their charitable contributions to a local soup kitchen, or might sufficiently increase the chance of the rich person moving to a location with lower taxes to make the expected value of the transfer be negative, or might decrease incentives to hard work that produces greater benefits to society. Or not.

I am not qualified to judge the empirical question. But at least I’ve learned something from the above line of thought. While the view that inequality is intrinsically bad does seem philosophically mistaken, it is possible to be very worried about inequality without subscribing to this mistaken view.

The probability of the universe popping into existence

Consider the hypothesis that contingent reality popped into existence uncaused.

Now, either popping into existence uncaused is astronomically unlikely or not astronomically unlikely.

If it is astronomically unlikely, then we have a very strong Bayesian argument for theism. For then P(contingent reality | no God) is astronomically small while P(contingent reality | God) is at least moderately high.

If uncaused popping into existence is not astronomically unlikely, then there are two main options. The first option is that there is no meaningful probability of such an event. In that case, there is no meaningful probability of Maxwell’s Demon popping into existence for no cause at all in one’s lab. But if Maxwell’s Demon were to pop into existence in one’s lab, then one wouldn’t expect to get the predicted observations. Thus, if there is no meaningful probability of things popping into existence for no cause at all, then there is no meaningful probability of our scientific predictions, and science falls apart. That’s not acceptable.

The other option is that there is a probability, and it’s not astronomically small. But then at every moment of time, it is not astronomically unlikely that an object would causelessly pop into existence. Since there are astronomically many moments of time during a second (perhaps infinitely many, but at least equal to the number of Planck times in a second, i.e., of the order of 10⁴³), it seems we should expect to see lots of objects pop into existence causelessly. And we don’t observe that.

There is lots of technical detail to fix in this argument.

Yet another theory of ineffability

There is a long-standing tradition of trying to explain (!) the attribute of divine ineffability. Theories that are metaphysical in flavor rule the roost:

1. The only true assertions we can make about God are negative. (Eastern tradition)

2. The only true assertions we can make about God are analogical. (Aquinas)

3. The only true assertions we can make about God are non-fundamental. (Jacobs)

I want to add one more theory to the mix, one that can either be stand-alone or a complement to (1)–(3). This one is more epistemological:

4. The only assertions we can make about God are misleading.

One can illustrate the misleadingness of true, and even literally true, statements by examples.

• “Alice did not treat minorities as badly as Hitler” (when Alice was in fact an exemplary promoter of social justice).

• “Bob is somewhere in this building” (when he is standing right behind you).

• “I saw Carl in a car on I-35 this morning” (but the car was being towed by a truck).

• “Davita passed some of her exams” (when she passed all of them).

• “On a good day, Roger Bannister could run an 8 minute mile.”

Note that while (1)–(3) are limited to true statements, (4) does not have this restriction. After all, all false statements are misleading.

For concrete theological examples, think of how the doctrine of the Trinity shows that the doctrine of the unity of God is misleading, or the doctrine of the Incarnation shows that the doctrine of the transcendence of God is misleading. In a similar same way, when the doctrines of the Trinity and Incarnation are taught apart from the doctrines of unity and transcendence, they are misleading. But by (4) something more pessimistic is true: even when we teach Trinity and unity (or Incarnation and transcendence) together, we still mislead. I suspect that in heaven we will learn something that changes our understanding of unity and Trinity at least as much as the doctrine of the Trinity changed our understanding of unity.

Alvin Plantinga gives this counterexample to the thesis that we cannot say anything literally true of God: “God is not a bicycle.” If (4) is true, even this statement is misleading. In what way? Well, maybe it leads us to forget the intimate link between all reality and God: that all the reality in a bicycle is a participation in God.

Note that if (4) is true, then it is misleading. But that’s not a refutation.

One could also restrict (4) if one wanted to. For instance, one could restrict (4) to non-negative statements, or to non-analogical ones, or to non-fundamental ones.

I don’t know if (4) is true.

All truths are explanatory

Let p be a true proposition. Then p explains the disjunction of p with any falsehood. Thus, all truths are explanatory.

An argument that there are no non-explanatory facts

A stronger naturalism says:

1. Every fact is natural.

A seemingly weaker naturalism only says:

2. Every explanatory fact is natural.

But now I will give an argument that (2) implies (1). I am suspicious of the argument but it is hard to put my finger on why it’s wrong. The argument proceeds by arguing for:

3. Every fact is explanatory.

(Here, I take “explanatory” to go with partial, not necessarily complete, explanation.)

Here is the argument. Suppose, for a reductio, that there is a non-explanatory fact F. Now, some philosophers believe that there are non-explanatory facts. Suppose Alice is such a philosopher. Since (by assumption) there are non-explanatory facts, Alice correctly believes there are non-explanatory facts. But the obtaining of F partially explains why Alice is correct in her belief that there are non-explanatory facts. Thus, F is explanatory, which is a contradiction. Hence, there are no non-explanatory facts.

Explanation, grounding and divine simplicity

Here is a plausible principle:

1. If p is partly grounded in q, then p does not explain q.

But the best account of divine simplicity commits one to:

2. That God willed horses to exist is partly grounded in there existing horses.

(For, that God willed horses is a contingent fact. By divine simplicity any contingent fact about God must be partly grounded in realities outside of God. And the only plausible candidate for the reality outside of God here is the fact that there exist horses.)

Therefore:

3. That God willed horses to exist does not explain why there are horses.

This seems very counterintuitive, sufficiently counterintuitive to provide an argument against divine simplicity, or against (1).

But I think one should just accept (3). For even apart from considerations of divine simplicity, it is plausible that God’s will is so strongly efficacious that his willing something just is his making it be so:

4. God’s willing horses to exist just is God’s causing horses to exist.

But in general, even apart from the divine case, x causing y is partly grounded in both x and y, and hence is partly grounded in y. Thus:

5. God’s causing horses to exist is partly grounded in horses existing.

It seems to follow (there are tough issues involving the hyperintensionality of grounding) that:

6. God’s willing horses to exist is partly grounded in horses existing.

In fact, once we understand that God’s (consequently) willing and God’s causing are the same thing, then the paradox in (3) is just very much like:

7. My causing a boomerang to exist does not explain why the boomerang exists.

But we have good reason to accept (7). For when I made a boomerang some years back, that I caused a boomerang to exist was partly grounding in a boomerang existing. (A boomerang might not have eventuated from what I was doing. Instead, I might have been left with a broken piece of wood.) But then by (1), I have to accept (7).

What is unfortunate for me is that for a long time, in print and in speech, I’ve been happy to accept claims like:

8. My causing a boomerang to exist explains why the boomerang exists.

9. God’s willing horses to exist explains why horses exist.

I still find it difficult to deny (8) and (9).

Maybe I should deny (1) instead. But I don’t want to. I am strongly committed to there not being any circles of explanation, even ones involving different kinds of explanation (say, causal and grounding).

Maybe I can save the intuitions behind (8) by saying:

10. My actuating my causal power of boomerang production explains why the boomerang exists.

(Note that my actuating that causal power does not entail a boomerang exists. A causal power can be actuated unsuccessfully.)

And maybe I can save the intuitions behind (9) with:

11. God’s desiring that horses exist explains why horses exist.

(God’s desiring something doesn’t entail that thing’s existing, since God desires every good, and some goods are incompatible with one another.)

Two kinds of occasionalism

Suppose a burner is turned on, a pot is heated, and the water in the pot is boiled. On occasionalism, the heating of the pot is caused only by God, and the same is true for the boiling of the water.

But there are two ways of understanding this:

1. God causes the water to boil because the pot is being heated. God causes the pot to be heated because the burner is on. God causes the burner to be on because….

2. God causes the water to boil just because God causes the pot to be heated. God causes the pot to be heated just because God causes the burner to be turned on. God causes the burner to be on just because God causes…

On type 1 occasionalism, God reacts to events in the world, and one has real but non-causal explanatory connections in the world: the water boils because the burner is on. On type 2 occasionalism, there are no real explanatory connections between events in the world: they are all just the effects of God’s plan. Leibniz has type 2 occasionalism in intermonadic causation. And that’s a problem.

I am not saying that type 1 occasionalism has no problems. But at least it makes for real explanatory connections between events in the world, even if these are not causal.

Loving our neighbor as ourselves

Suppose that, as some theories of motivation hold, that all our actions are done in pursuit of our flourishing. But the Scriptures tell us that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. Therefore, all our actions should also be done in pursuit of our neighbor’s flourishing. This seems an unreasonably high standard.

There are three ways out:

1. Deny that all our actions are done in pursuit of our flourishing.

2. Deny the love ethic of the Old and New Testaments.

3. Argue that the standard is not unreasonably high.

For me, (2) is not an option. I do think (1) is a serious option for independent reasons.

But I also think (3) is a very promising approach. Reasons to think that the requirement that we be pursuing our neighbor’s flourishing in all our actions is excessive are apt also to be reasons to think that Paul’s requirement that we “pray constantly” (1 Thes. 5:17) is excessive as well. But if all our actions are done in pursuit of our neighbor’s flourishing, and if we see our neighbor as in the image of God, then all our actions might be a kind of prayer, thereby fulfilling Paul’s difficult injunction. And, conversely, if we are praying always, aren’t we going to be always pursuing our neighbor’s flourishing?

We get something something similarly onerous to the requirement to pursue our neighbor’s flourishing in Kantian ethics: the requirement always to treat rational beings as ends.

One family of difficult cases, both for the flourishing requirement and the Kantian one, lies in everyday businesslike interactions. To use an example of Parfit, you’re buying coffee. It seems that all that is relevant about the barista is that they are supplying coffee. How can you not treat them as a mere means? How can you be pursuing their flourishing? Well, a useful reflection is that we flourish in large part by promoting the wellbeing of others. The barista’s professional activity is a part of their flourishing as a social animal. In courteously buying coffee, one is doing one’s part in an interaction that constitutes a part of that flourishing. Of course, it would be very odd, and likely to lead to pride (“Look at how great I am: I am enabling his flourishing”), if one were to be explicitly thinking about this each time one buys coffee. But courteously making opportunities for others to exercise their professional skills can be a habitual background intention in one’s actions. Similarly, when I when I bite into a delicious sandwich, my intention to get some enjoyment is not something that I need to think about, but it structures the activity (e.g., it explains why I don’t at the same time pinch myself hard).

A different kind of difficult case is given by activity which adversely impacts the flourishing of others. Morality sometimes requires such actions. Less well qualified applicants need to be turned down and trolleys need to be redirected towards more sparsely occupied tracks. Here I think three things can be done to abide by the flourishing requirement. The first is that one not intend a bad effect on flourishing. One doesn’t turn down the less well qualified applicants in order to negatively impact their flourishing. The second is that while declining the applicants or redirecting the trolley, one should be taking their flourishing into account, by thinking about any creative ways to decrease the negative impact on flourishing. Even if no creative ways are found (but isn’t prayer always an option?), the action is chosen as part of a pursuit of the flourishing of those who are harmed by it—but not of course as part of the pursuit of only their flourishing. The third is that there is a kind of harm to one if one is benefited immorally. To a morally sensitive person, it feels bad to get a job that another applicant is was better qualified for, and it would surely feel awful to have five people die because the trolley operator refused to redirect the trolley away from them for one’s sake. These feelings reflect reality. No human is an island, and when our flourishing is at the expense of those who deserve flourishing more, that is bad for us—even if we don’t know about it. It may not be on balance bad for us, but still it is a bad thing. And so the person who turns down the less qualified candidate or redirects the trolley prevents this bad thing from happening, and this is a positive impact on flourishing.

The infinite disvalue strategy for modeling deontological constraints

An standard way to handle deontological constraints is to simply specify an infinite disvalue for breaking the constraints. Thus, you shouldn’t kill an innocent person to save ten innocents, because the disvalue of your murdering the one is infinitely greater than the finite value of the lives of the ten.

A standard response to this is to imagine cases where one deontological violation prevents multiple similar deontological violations. That cannot be handled by disvalue, since the multiple violations should have greater cumulative disvalue than the single violation. However, such cases may seem contrived.

But I just realized recently that they need not be contrived. In fact, the standard strategic bombing of civilian targets cases may be like that. These cases—which were probably exemplified by the bombings of Hiroshima, Nagasaki and Dresden—are usually described as cases where it is expected (or at least hoped) that the deaths of the innocents will persuade the enemy to surrender and stop a greater number of deaths.

However, in cases—like the World War II cases—where one is fighting an unjust aggressor, killings performed by the enemy (whether the victims are civilians or military personnel) are typically murders. Thus such cases may very well be cases where a smaller number of murders—committed by means of bombing—by one’s side prevents a greater number of murders committed by the other side. Thus, we have historical cases, or at least cases very close to historical cases, where a smaller number of immoral acts is thought to prevent a greater number of immoral acts of the same kind. And hence we have uncontrived cases where the disvalue strategy for modeling deontological constraints fails.

Molinism and Thomism and control over others

1. It is not possible for a creature to exercise complete control over another person’s (non-derivatively) free action.

2. If Molinism is true, it is possible for a creature to exercise complete control over another person’s (non-derivatively) free action.

3. So, Molinism is false.

For, if Molinism is true, there will be a possible situation where God reveals to Alice that if she were to make a request of Bob while wearing blue gloves, Bob would acquiesce to the request, but if she were to make the request while wearing red gloves, Bob would turn down the request. In such a case, by controlling which gloves she wears, Alice could exercise complete control over whether Bob acquiesces to the request.

Interestingly the same argument works against Thomism. For on Thomism, God can use primary causation to determine Bob to freely acquiesce in the request and God can use primary causation to determine Bob to freely refuse the request. God could then promise Alice that he would hear her prayers as to whether Bob agrees or refuses, and then with her prayers, Alice would have complete control over Bob's decision.

The argument doesn't work against mere foreknowledge views, open theist views or compatibilist views. On mere foreknowledge and open theism, the analogue of (2) is false, while on compatibilism, (1) is not plausible.

[Thesis:] April Fool's Philosophy Post Generator

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The thesis that [thesis] has not received much of a defense[literature type]. But here is an argument for it:

1. This argument is valid.

2. Therefore, [thesis].

Let's see why this argument is not only valid but sound.

First, let’s see that it’s valid. Suppose for a reductio that it is invalid. But whether an argument is valid or not cannot be a contingent matter. Thus if, the argument is invalid, it is necessarily invalid. But if it is necessarily invalid, then necessarily its first premise is false (since the premise says that the argument is valid). But any argument which has a necessarily false premise is automatically valid. (An argument is valid if and only if it is impossible for the premises to be true and the conclusion false. This is trivially satisfied if it is impossible for a premise to be true.) But that would contradict the assumption that it’s invalid. So, the argument must be valid.

But if the argument (1)–(2) is valid, it’s also automatically sound. For a valid argument is sound provided its premises are true. But the only premise of the argument is (1), the statement that the argument is valid. If the argument is valid, then that premise is true, and so the argument is sound.

But the conclusion of a sound argument is true. Therefore, [thesis].

A requirement on the intention in every action

I take intentions to specify the success conditions for an action. An action is successful precisely to the extent that it satisfies the intentions. I am drawn to the following rather strong requirement on the permissible intentions for an action:

1. If it was metaphysically possible for one’s intentions to be satisfied by a wrong action, one acted wrongly.

For instance, suppose I eat a sausage and I don’t care at all what species of animal it comes from. Then I have done wrong, because my intention would have been satisfied even if it turned out to be from a human. This is true even if what I ate was, in fact, pork (I am assuming that it is permissible to eat pigs). For my action of eating the pork was performed under a description equivalent to “intentionally eating pork, human flesh, or any other kind of meat.” A bad description to act under.

Of course, normally, we don’t explicitly state to ourselves all the things going into the intention: there are standing background intentions, such as that the sausage be made of meats it is permissible to eat. We can probe what the intention was by asking whether our action would have been successful under hypothetical conditions. For permissibility, it needs to be the case that had the sausage turned out to be human flesh, I would have been correct to say: “I was trying to do something else.”

One way to fulfill (1) is simply to have a uniform standing intention in one’s actions that is logically incompatible with any impermissible action. For instance, one could have a standing intention in one’s actions for the actions to be properly expressive of one’s love of God—or just for them to be permissible.

Moving from world to world

If the A-theory of time is true, then it is (metaphysically) possible that the year 2010 have the objective property P of presentness and it is also possible that the year 2019 have P. For it is true that 2019 has P, and what is true is possible. But by the same token in 2010 it was true that 2010 has P, and so it was possible that 2010 have P. And what is metaphysically possible does not change. So even now it is possible that 2010 have P.

But a proposition is possible if and only if it is true at some possible world. Thus, if the A-theory of time true, there are possible world where 2010 has P and possible worlds where 2019 has P, and in 2010 we lived in one of the worlds where 2010 has P, while now in 2019 we instead live in a world where 2019 has P.

Consequently, given the A-theory of time, what world we inhabit continually changes.

This seems counterintuive. For now it looks like caring about what will happen is caring about what happens in some merely possible world.

Culpability for irrational action when you are culpable for the irrationality

It is widely thought that:

1. If you act wrongly in an irrational state, but you are responsible for being in the irrational state, then the irrationality does not take away your culpability for the wrongful action.

But consider these two cases.

Case 1: Suppose that you now program an unstoppable robot to punch me in the face ten years from now. The law sentences you to a jail sentence justly suited to what you have done. Then, ten years later, the robot punches me in the face.

Comments: You clearly should not get another jail sentence for that. You’ve already been punished for all that you did, namely programming the robot.

Case 2: The same as Case 1, except now the unstoppable robot is programmed to brainwash you into punching me in the face. Ten years later, the robot brainwashes you, and you punch me in the face.

Comments: I think it is almost as clear as in Case 1 that you should not get another jail sentence. It shouldn’t make any difference to your culpability whether the robot punches me directly, as in Case 1, or brainwashes you (or someone else) to punch me.

This judgment seems to contradict (1). For in Case 2, you act out of an irrational state but are responsible for that irrational state.

I think we need to clarify things. We talk of culpability for actions and culpability for the effects of actions. Thus, if Alice freely punches Bob in the face, we can say that she culpable both for punching Bob and for the effect, say, Bob’s broken nose. But when we say that Alice is culpable for Bob’s broken nose, I think this should be taken as shorthand for: Alice is culpable for freely punching Bob in the face in a way that resulted in a broken nose. In other words, culpability for the effects of actions is culpability for an action qua resulting in the effects.

In Case 1, you have effect-culpability for the robot punching me, and action-culpability for programming the robot. Talking of the effect-culpability for my being punched is shorthand for saying that you are action-culpable for programming the robot so that it would punch me.

In Case 2, we should say a very similar thing. You have effect-culpability for your< punching me, and action-culpability for programming the robot to brainwash you to do that. You do not have action-culpability for your punching me, because your culpability for punching me is really just your culpability for programming the robot to cause you to punch me.

Principle (1) is right as regarding effect-culpability but wrong as regarding action-culpability.