General Philosophy
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The thesis that there could have been a mind without a body postulates that there exists a metaphysical possibility for our mind to be an entity that exists independently of our body. The thesis is inextricably linked to the Cartesian concept of substance dualism, which is the argument that our minds are an immaterial, non-physical substance, separate from our body, a material, physical substance. The basic substance dualism argument is outlined as such:
My mind is a substance.
My mind is not identical to a physical substance.
Therefore, my mind is a non-physical substance.
In this essay, I will argue against the thesis that there could have been a mind without a body. I will do this through looking at various objections to the premises, and by showing that these objections are (thus far) irreconcilable, I will falsify the two premises, and consequently, the substance dualism argument.
First, a clear conception of ‘mind’ and ‘body’ should be established. The mind refers to a person’s consciousness, thoughts, emotions, experiences, and other cognitive processes possessed by a person including but not limited to memory, reasoning, perception, introspection, decision-making, and problem-solving. The body, on the other hand, refers to the physical structure of a person and the biological mechanisms and processes that allow a person to survive and perform various functions, consisting of our body cells, which make up the various tissues, organs, and systems in our body, including but not limited to the nervous system which is arguably the physical component of our body that our ‘mind’, or mental functioning, is tied to.
Premise (1) of the substance dualism argument claims our minds are a ‘substance’: a substance is something that does not depend on anything else for its existence. As we may deduce, premise (1) suggests that our mind does not depend on a physical substance, i.e. our brain, for its existence.
Premise (2) claims that our mind is not ‘identical to’ a physical substance, in which ‘identical’ more specifically refers to numerical identity instead of qualitative identity. More specifically, an entity A is ‘numerically identical’ to another entity B if and only if A and B are one and the same thing, whereas A is ‘qualitatively identical’ to B if and only if A and B are exactly alike. As we may deduce, premise (2) suggests that our mind is not ‘numerically identical’, or one and the same thing as our brain, which is essentially part of our body.
If the conclusion (3) is true, it follows that there could have been a mind without a body, since our body is a physical substance, and a non-physical substance would be able to exist without the physical substance of our body in virtue of the very definition of ‘substance’. However, whether the conclusion is true is contingent upon the truthfulness of the two premises.
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I will first examine the justification for premise (2), and attempt to find invalidities or inconsistencies in such a justification. Premise (2) is substantiated by the conceivability argument put forth by Descartes, which is outlined as such:
I can conceive of my mind existing without any physical thing existing.
If I can conceive of something, then it is possible.
So it’s possible for my mind to exist without any physical thing existing.
If it’s possible for my mind to exist without something, then my mind is not identical to that thing.
Therefore, my mind is not (identical to) a physical thing.
In the conceivability argument, something is ‘conceivable’ if it is able to be mentally grasped, imagined or understood. As Descartes puts forth in his argument, as he is able to imagine a logical, coherent scenario in which our mind exists without a physical thing existing, he implies that this follows it is a metaphysically possible scenario. The ‘metaphysical possibility’ of something as stated here holds true if and only if there is a possible world in which it is true, where the parameters and conditions of such a possible world are maximally and specifically defined − facilitating the contemplation of scenarios beyond conceptual or empirical possibility.
A considerable objection to this argument, however, is that this argument equates metaphysical possibility with epistemic possibility, for which the condition is that something is epistemically possible if and only if it cannot be ruled out a priori by a cognitively ideal agent, i.e. it is logically consistent and in absence of contradiction. See premise (2) of the conceivability argument: if an idea is conceivable, there are no logical contradictions in the idea, and so it cannot be ruled out a priori by a cognitively ideal agent, making such an idea epistemically possible. We cannot justify, quite yet, that conceivability necessitates the existence of a possible world in which something is true, so metaphysical possibility cannot be deduced from premise (2). As premise (3) follows from premise (2), the notion of possibility in premise (3) presumes epistemic possibility as well.
Now see premise (4): as previously postulated in explaining premise (2) of the basic substance dualism argument, the notion of identity refers to numerical identity. So far we have established that there is a logically consistent conception of a mind existing without a body, which ensues epistemic possibility (we still have not yet established metaphysical possibility). Descartes then suggests here that if it is possible for our mind to exist without our body, our mind is not one and the same thing as our body. Here, the notion of possibility no longer refers to epistemic possibility, but a metaphysical possibility of a world in which our mind exists without our body, and in this possible world our mind is not identical to our body. Yet note that the interpretations of possibility are inconsistent throughout the argument: premise (2) and (3) interprets possibility as epistemic possibility, but premise (4) interprets possibility as metaphysical possibility. With inconsistent interpretations of a key recurring term across premises (epistemic possibility is neither a sufficient nor necessary condition for metaphysical possibility), the conceivability argument fails, and so premise (2) of the substance dualism argument lacks valid, infallible substantiation.
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Returning to the substance dualism argument, I now then examine the validity of premise (1). Recall our previously established definition of a substance: something that does not depend on anything else for its existence. Now recall what our previously established conception of our ‘mind’ is: our consciousness, thoughts, emotions, experiences, and cognitive processes. The physicalist argument is that the constituents of our mind are formed through our body’s interaction with the external world; our sensory experience of the world makes up our thoughts and emotions, which in turn contributes to our identity and consciousness. Our mental processes can be explained by the physical process of neurons firing in our brain, and our experience of the world through our nervous system, suggesting the external world and the sensations we experience are inseparable from our subjective consciousness, and so our experience of the world.
There are various replies to the physicalist argument. One may reject physicalism by proving that not everything supervenes on the physical. Australian philosopher Frank Jackson puts forth the Knowledge Argument − the argument that not all facts are physical facts − to disprove physicalism. He starts by establishing a hypothetical scenario in which a brilliant scientist (whom he names Mary) is ‘for whatever reason, forced to investigate the world from a black-and-white room via a black-and-white television monitor’. Mary acquires all the physical information possible about vision, for instance, the wavelength combinations that stimulate the retina when we look at physical objects like ripe tomatoes or the sky, and uses terms like ‘red’, ‘blue’, etc. to describe colors, albeit merely seeing them as different shades of gray on her screen. When Mary is released from her black-and-white room, or when her television monitor is replaced with a color television monitor, Jackson claims that she learns something new. The knowledge argument may be outlined as such:
Mary knows all the physical facts.
Mary learns something new when she leaves the room.
Therefore, not all facts are physical facts.
However, we may reject premise (2) by claiming that Mary does not learn something new, but in fact merely learns an old fact in a new way. For instance, she has already learnt the reflectance properties of objects and the effects of light on the brain by research, but now she relearns the same knowledge in a new way − by experience. Physicalism is thus still yet to be disproved.
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Now suppose we are able to somehow successfully reconcile the epistemic-metaphysical possibility dilemma and reject physicalism, thus accepting the substance dualism argument that our mind is an immaterial substance and body a material substance. This view is still problematic: we often have intentions, which are formed in the mind, to carry out actions, which are performed by our body − in other words, our mind can cause actions in our body. If our mind causally affects the body, there must be a linking mechanism between the immaterial and the material; but would such a linking mechanism be mental or physical − and if neither, what would it look like? This objection is famously raised by Elisabeth of Bohemia in her Correspondence with Descartes, known as the Pairing Problem: ‘Given that the soul of a human being is only a thinking substance, how can it affect the bodily spirits, in order to bring about voluntary actions? … I would find it easier to concede matter and extension to the soul than to concede that an immaterial thing could move and be moved by a body.’
One may reply to this objection by saying a linking mechanism might not be necessary. Using the Humean definition of causality, a cause is defined as ‘an object precedent and contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the former are plac’d in like relations of precedency and contiguity to those objects, that resemble the latter’ − in other words, the existence of the intention formed in our mind tightly precedes the action performed by our body in a spatially and temporally contiguous manner; and such a cause-effect relation occurs in a state of constant conjunction such that there is a strong correlation between the two events, intention and action. In other words, because our mental intention correlates with our physical action, and closely precedes the action temporally, our intention can cause the physical action without a so-called ‘linking mechanism’ of any particular substance.
This view remains problematic. Still, by the Humean definition of causation, cause and effect need to be ‘spatially and temporally’ contiguous. Yet an immaterial substance could not exist in physical space because it is, after all, a non-physical substance. So suppose if two people carry out the same intention at the exact same time to move their hand, for instance − by this definition of causation, person A’s intention of moving their hand is temporally contiguous to person B’s action of moving their hand. Spatially, neither’s intentions are located in any particular physical location since mental matter is non-physical; so does it then follow that person A’s intention caused person B’s movement? The spatial problem is not resolved, and so this way of defining causation does not quite yet reconcile the pairing problem.
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A less conventional view to resolve this problem that may not be necessarily in agreement with the substance dualism argument, but is still congruent with the thesis that there could be a mind without a body, is another view of substance monism (one that is the polar opposite of physicalism): (subjective) idealism, which is the view that reality is merely a mental construct, constructed by our mere thoughts and perceptions. Substance monism is advantageous over substance dualism as it eliminates the problem of interaction between two separate substances. This view is accredited to the writings of George Berkeley, who posits the idea that the world consists only of the minds of humans and of God.
Berkeley’s idealist argument may be outlined as such:
One cannot think or perceive something without thinking or perceiving it.
Therefore, things cannot exist without being thought or perceived.
The argument seems plausible as the premise (1) seems to be true under all interpretations, i.e. it is a tautology. However, a problem arises as Berkeley draws a non-tautological conclusion (2) from a tautological premise (1), which is logically invalid. So the subjective idealist argument seems not to be a solid argument either.
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So far we have looked at the two premises of the substance dualism argument: (1) our mind is a substance, and (2) our mind is not identical to a physical substance, both of which, if valid, support the conclusion that (3) our mind is a non-physical substance. We have rejected premise (2) by looking at the Conceivability Argument which attempts to prove that our mind is not identical to a physical thing, and finding an inconsistency in the proof in its definition of possibility. We then rejected premise (1) by looking at the physicalist argument which proves that our mind and its constituents all supervene on the physical, and find that we are yet unable to disprove physicalism as the Knowledge Argument is not yet sufficient to refute the physicalist argument. Finally we attempt to establish that, hypothetically, we are able to reconcile both the Conceivability Argument and the Knowledge Argument, and both our premises are true: we then run into the Pairing Problem, which posits the problem that a causal link should exist between the physical and non-physical of which its substance or nature is yet unknown. We try to resolve this issue by using the Humean definition of causation, but run into the problem of a lack of spatial contiguity because non-physical substances have no spatial location. We look at an alternative to substance dualism that still aligns with our thesis − Berkeley’s subjective idealism, which would eliminate the need of an intermediary linking mechanism − but find that as the argument is supported by a tautological premise. All in all, we have successfully rejected both substance dualism and idealism, while proving that we are (thus yet) unable to successfully reject physicalism, thus rejecting the thesis that there could have been a mind without a body, at least that we are unable to prove there could have been. This implies that the relationship between our mind and body is, for as far as we know, merely physical, that our mental events are caused by physical events: our sensory perception of the physical world (through sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch) is facilitated by our brain and nervous system; our thoughts, emotions, and cognitive processes a reaction to our sensory perception of the physical world facilitated by the firing of neurons in our brain; and ultimately, our consciousness and sense of self a congregation of our sensory perception and mental processes, all of which could be attributed to physical processes.
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The thesis of the essay that if our actions are not determined by prior states of affairs, they are determined by chance, and if our actions are determined by chance, they are not up to us, which consequently implies that our actions are not free, is a crucial argument in the free will-determinism debate. Free will is the ability to act according to one’s own discretion or volition, independent of the constraint of necessity or fate, and determinism is the view that the state of the universe and the laws of nature at a time t1 jointly necessitate the state of the universe at time t2. The free will-determinism debate looks at whether we in fact have free will, i.e. we are able to take control of, or possess responsibility for our actions, according to the libertarian view; or if our actions are predetermined by the prior state of affairs, according to the determinist view.
Both libertarian and determinist views are incompatibilist views, meaning they suggest that free will and determinism are not compatible with one another; accepting the verity of free will means denying the verity of determinism, and vice versa. However, some responses to the debate follow the compatibilist view, which reconciles free will with determinism. The compatibilist view postulates that even if our actions are determined by factors beyond our own control, we are still able to act ‘freely’ given that our actions align with our desires and motivations.
The thesis can pose as an objection to the compatibilist (and libertarian) view, known as ‘the challenge from chance’, or the ‘luck argument’. The argument may be succinctly outlined as follows:
If our actions are not determined by prior states of affairs, our actions are influenced by chance or indeterministic events.
If our actions are influenced by chance or indeterministic events, our actions are not fully in our control either.
We can act freely only if our actions are fully within our control.
Our actions are not fully in our control whether or not our actions are determined by prior states of affairs.
Therefore we cannot act freely.
This essay will argue against the luck argument. I will do this through (1) presenting the luck argument, (2) addressing counterclaims to the luck argument, and (3) proving that such objections are reconcilable, thus falsifying the luck argument.
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I will first lay out the luck argument in further detail, and explain what it entails and its implications. The luck argument presupposes that either our actions are determined by the physical state of the world (i.e. the laws of nature), or determined by chance (i.e. by random events).
The former part of the argument, that our actions are determined by the physical state of the world, follows the framework of determinism − to recall, the state of the universe and the laws of nature at a time t1 jointly necessitate the state of the universe at time t2.
Various explanations of the determinist framework have been laid out. Hume’s account of causation notes that ‘every natural effect is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause that no other effect [...] could possibly have resulted from it’ and that ‘the degree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness [...]’1 − that is, everything is determined by the laws of nature to a precise and exact degree, such that ‘only one continuation of the state of things at a given moment is consistent with the laws of nature’ [2] and no other alternative future is.
18th-century French scholar Pierre-Simon Laplace puts forth a hypothetical ‘intellect which at a certain moment would know all forces that set nature in motion, and all positions of all items of which nature is composed’ [3] − this intellect is known as Laplace’s Demon. He posits that if Laplace’s Demon were to submit all his knowledge about the forces of nature in the universe to analysis, he would be able to, in essence, ‘predict the future’ by calculating how the laws of nature were to influence the state of the universe at each next point in time, and from such, ‘for such an intellect nothing would be uncertain and the future just like the past would be present before its eyes’.
Steward posits that human activity follows the same principles of nature: that ‘most human motion is produced by events that occur in the brain and central nervous system’ [4], and albeit the complexity of human brain processes, we can think of them as ‘just places where extremely complicated chemical reactions take place and electrical impulses occur − leading eventually to the bodily movements which constitute our speech and actions’. According to this view, ‘if we only knew enough about which chemicals in which concentrations, and which neurons have fired in which patterns in a given person’s brain, perhaps we’d be able in principle to predict what that person would do next’. Steward proposes that such qualities of a person’s activity imposes the constraint on a person to act in a simple given way, by ‘its nature and the circumstances in which it finds itself’. Our personality, capacities, morality, are determined by genetic factors and/or the external environment − any action where such aspects of a person are at play in determining the outcome, are determined by prior states of affairs and thus be in alignment with the determinist framework.
This is not to say that the luck argument holds a deterministic view, however − as we will see in the latter half of the argument, the luck argument holds that not all actions are predetermined − according to it, some are determined by chance.
The latter half of the argument, that our actions are determined by chance, looks at instances where a person’s choices are not contingent upon their powers, capacities, states of mind, moral character, or like qualities. The luck argument postulates that in these instances where it is not the prior state of affairs that affects our choices, it only occurs that our actions are, then, determined by chance, or a complete randomness. An instance of such a case would be when one encounters a fork in the road: it seems that the choice to take the left path or right path is not determined by any previous factors, independent of prior states of affairs. From such, it may seem as though one is free to choose either path, yet ‘the difference seems to be just a matter of luck’ [5], if no other factor comes into play. His choice of either left or right is a completely random choice. Steward argues that since this is a choice made out of randomness, the decision-making process could not have possibly been up to the person, rendering his action one that is not free. Since he ‘had no (concrete) influence’ over the action, it would be difficult to attribute to him a sense of moral responsibility over what he did either.
The luck argument, by showing that we cannot act freely regardless of whether our actions are predetermined or not, attempts to reject libertarianism or free will. If the luck argument is true, it implies that free will is false, thus falsifying libertarian and compatibilist accounts as they both posit the existence of free will.
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I will now present an evaluation of the luck argument. There are various aspects of the argument that require further scrutiny: (1) its success at refuting the compatibilist account; (2) its implications on the moral responsibility of our actions.
The luck argument’s success at refutal of the compatibilist account is subject to debate. The compatibilist view of free will merely posits the idea of free will as that the origin of our actions is in alignment with our desires and motivations − as long as we are able to act according to our desires, we are able to act freely, even if these actions are influenced by luck or by any prior predispositions. This view rejects premise (3) of the luck argument, suggesting we can act freely even if our actions are not fully within our control. This view may be known as the ‘Desire View’, which posits that an actor S’s doing of an action X is free if and only if it was caused by a desire to do X. This compatibilist view is in alignment with, and is substantiated by Hume’s account of liberty: ‘a power of acting or not acting, according to the determinations of the will; that is, if we chuse to remain at rest, we may; if we chuse to move, we also may’ [6]. Hume, a compatibilist, in reconciling free will with determinism, states that liberty ‘cannot surely mean that actions have so little connexion with motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference by which we can conclude the existence of the other’ − acknowledging that necessity and uniformity are ‘plain and acknowledged matters of fact’, while undermining its role in subverting the notion of free will, as the idea of determinism can coexist with the idea of free will as merely acting according to our own desire.
One may object to the Desire View of compatibilism by providing limiting cases for which one acts according to their desire but does not act freely. For instance, a drug addict acts according to their desire to take drugs, but intuitively she does not act freely as her action is driven or compelled by addiction. One may reconcile this objection by reformulating the Desire View: one such reformulation is the ‘Higher-Order Desire View’ − S’s doing X is free if and only if it was caused by a desire S desires to have. This may still be objectionable on the basis that there may be a ‘willing addict’ whom is content with their situation, and desires to be a drug addict because she enjoys taking drugs, for instance − one may argue that it still intuitively follows that her actions are compelled by addiction and are thus not free. However, we may respond to this by proposing that our understanding of the property of ‘desirability’ can be refined, such that something only counts as a desire on conditions such as having rational capacity for decision-making, or the absence of coercion or external influence (such as how drugs can influence our sense of control over ourselves), etc. In other words, we may rule out the willing addict’s case by saying that the willing addict’s situation is not one she ‘genuinely’ desires in the long run, because she is still under some sort of influence.
Secondly, if we assume the luck argument to be true, we run into problems with moral responsibility. The luck argument presupposes that no actions we do are free as no actions are genuinely ‘up to us’ − if no actions are free, we could not have done otherwise than we have actually did because the action we have done is either predisposed by prior states of affairs, or the quality of randomness or luck. The ‘principle of alternative possibilities’, as put forth by Frankfurt, states that ‘a person is morally responsible for what he has done only if he could have done otherwise’ [7]. If the luck argument holds true, this principle of alternative possibilities might presuppose that we cannot be held morally responsible for any action. This may make it difficult for us to assign blame or praise based on moral judgements.
From this, objections to the luck argument may arise by putting forth the idea that we may still be held morally responsible to some extent for our actions. Frankfurt puts forth that coercion does not excuse moral responsibility, by looking at a hypothetical case of a man Jones whom is threatened with a very harsh penalty (element of coercion) into doing something he had originally intended to do (element of moral responsibility), and carries out his action. Although it is unbeknownst to us whether he was wholly unaffected by the threat, wholly stampeded by the threat, or acted according to his own rationales, ‘he did what he did just as if the threat had not been made at all [... providing] a counterexample to the doctrine that coercion excuses’ [8]. This counterexample is however a rather ambiguous one, as one can argue Jones was not coerced if it were his intention to begin with to act the way he did. However, this can be reconciled by shifting the attention from the ‘freedom to do otherwise’ to the ‘freedom from being otherwise’, as Wolf introduces. The concept of ‘freedom to do otherwise’ means that agents need to be able to choose to act differently in a given situation − to be able to avoid acting wrongly − in order to be morally responsible for their actions. However, Wolf postulates that while this view is commonly held, it is the ‘freedom of being otherwise’, the being able to align with the deeply held convictions, values and desires of our true selves − what Wolf calls ‘the True and the Good’ [9] − that gives us true freedom, and is what is truly relevant in the determination of moral responsibility. Wolf contends that it is possible for people to possess the ‘freedom from being otherwise’, even when they do not possess the ‘freedom to do otherwise’ − in other words, one may still act freely and be morally responsible for their actions insofar as they are in alignment with their deeply-held personal values, even if they face external constraints or limitations.
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So far we have presented the luck argument by explaining how prior physical states of affairs determine our actions and cause us to be unable to act freely through outlining the determinist framework, then following this with the explanation of how at instances where we are not influenced by prior states of affairs, we are instead affected by the factor of randomness, of which we still do not have a role of determination over. We then look at the compatibilist account, particularly the Desire View, and find that while the notion of desirability is complex to determine, if parameters for desirability are well-defined enough, compatibilism can sufficiently counterargue against the luck argument. Afterwards, we look at the idea of moral responsibility and how it is undermined by the luck argument, and reconcile this idea by reinstating the significance of moral responsibility even in spite of the physical and chance constraints one faces. Both objections posit that our actions are free even when facing external constraints, insofar as we desire what we act upon, or it aligns with our inner values. With these two reconcilable objections to the luck argument in place, we then prove that we can still act freely and be morally responsible for our actions even if our actions are predisposed by prior states of affairs or the element of chance, thus disagreeing with our thesis.
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(Note: there is a lack of focus on natural evil in this essay; instead it focuses excessively on evil in general. With that in mind the essay will be general-evil focused despite what the question demands.)
The question of whether the existence of natural evil is compatible with the existence of God is commonly known as the Problem of Evil, which postulates that the existence of God, an omniscient, omnipotent and omnibenevolent being, cannot coexist with the evil that exists in this world. The argument for this, the Argument from Evil, is outlined as follows:
If God exists, then he is omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent.
There is evil in the world.
If there is evil in the world and God exists, then either God is not omniscient, or he is not omnipotent, or he is not omnibenevolent.
Therefore, God does not exist.
In this essay, I argue for the compatibility of natural evil with God. I will do this by first presenting the Argument from Evil, then evaluate two theodicies that would potentially serve as valid objections to premise (3) of the argument, namely the ‘higher virtues theodicy’ and ‘free will theodicy’. I will then look at two other non-theodical objections, namely the ‘no best world’ response and ‘sceptical theist’ response. I finally attempt to challenge premise (1) of the argument by examining the theories supporting it. By proving that there exists possibilities for premise (1) and (3) to be rejected, I ultimately prove that we are able to render the existence of natural evil compatible with the existence of God, refuting the Argument from Evil.
The Argument from Evil is founded upon the idea of an ‘omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent’ God: omnipotence refers to the property of being ‘all-powerful’, with unlimited power to do anything, while omniscience refers to the property of being ‘all-knowing’, possessing all the knowledge about the universe, and omnibenevolence refers to the property of being ‘all-loving’, or infinitely good. This is the basis of premise (1), for which the substantiations for this view will be further examined at later points in the essay.
The existence of ‘evil’ in this world is, indubitably, an ‘untouchable fact’. The main manifestations of ‘evil’ in our world may be categorized into ‘moral evil’ and ‘natural evil’. Moral evil refers to any intentionally harmful or destructive behaviors that violate the principles of ethics, inflict suffering upon others, are carried out with malicious intent, etc. such as murder, intentional harm, theft or deception. Natural evil, on the other hand, refers to pain and suffering inflicted by forces that are out of human control − natural forces and events, such as natural disasters, diseases, accidents, etc. Both of these types of evil exist in our world without a doubt, so premise (2) is irrefutable.
Assuming God is an ‘omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent’ being, He would have had the power, knowledge and (perfectly) good intention to create a world that is perfect, good, virtuous, and absent of evil. Yet we know this is not the case, as premise (2) has strongly presented. This idea forms the basis of premise (3), which presents the incompatibility of God and evil. And as the existence of evil is irrefutable, the argument comes to the conclusion (4) refusing the existence of God.
We may first take a closer look at premise (3), and attempt to challenge the notion that God’s omnipotence, omnibenevolence and omniscience is incompatible with evil. We may do this through putting forth two theodicies − arguments that attempt to show that our world is the ‘best’ of all possible worlds, and that a world without the existence of evil is a ‘metaphysically impossible’ state of affairs, which not even an omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent being can manifest.
The first theodicy − the ‘higher virtues’ theodicy − posits that the existence of evil is necessary ****for the development of certain moral virtues, such as sympathy, compassion, courage, and temperance. Suffering and pain helps us develop resilience, providing us with the ability to not only empathize with other sufferers, but also courage to overcome more obstacles, as well as a higher level of self-awareness which fosters our growth into better people. A world in which agents possess such virtues is better than one in which there is no evil.
This view, however, is problematic in various ways. First, one may argue that an omnipotent God could have just created agents with the ‘higher virtues’ innately endowed, instead of having to put them through suffering to obtain such virtues. There are various replies to this objection: one may reply by stating that some virtues cannot exist without the contrary, for instance the existence of sympathy without suffering, or temperance without temptation. One may state that such states of affairs are contradictions or metaphysical impossibilities, which cannot be made true even by God. One may also reply that a world in which we acquire such ‘higher virtues’ through struggle is a better world than one in which our virtues were innately endowed, such that a world with evil is a ‘best possible world’.
Yet the view remains problematic. An agent who had acquired virtue would, supposedly, use their virtuous traits to ‘reduce the amount of evil in the world’; but if virtue is acquired through evil, it no longer seems so virtuous that we try to reduce the amount of evil in the world, as this prevents people from acquiring virtues the ‘correct way’, posing a contradiction.
There also seems to be a surplus of evil to what is required: the bad of the evil itself does not seem sufficiently justifiable by the good of having acquired virtue. For instance, consider a tribe of people who are innately virtuous without having developed these traits by evil. It seems inappropriate, even preposterous, for one to kill half of them to help the rest redevelop these virtues in the ‘correct’ way.
Additionally, the distribution of ‘evil’ across the human population is significantly uneven, and often the evil experienced by agents are disproportionate to the virtue they supposedly gain under this theodicy. There are people who commit evil deeds but never experience a proportionate amount of suffering, and thus never develop good virtues ‘through evil’ as the theodicy is so adamant upon. On the opposite hand, there are people who possess such virtues already, and still undergo more suffering than people who do not possess these virtues. Regardless of how these people acquired their virtues, it seems unreasonable that there are many cases in which the virtuous suffer more than the non-virtuous. On these grounds, we are not able to reconcile the higher virtues theodicy.
The second theodicy − the ‘free will’ theodicy − posits that evil is a necessary consequence of free will; and that a world in which agents have free will is better, all things considered, than one in which there is no evil.
One may object that God’s omnipotence could have allowed him to create agents that always freely choose to do good and avoid evil. However, one may reply that this would have rendered our choices and actions determined, and true free will is incompatible with determinism. This reply is not entirely infallible: there are arguments to be made for compatibilism, and even if free will is incompatible with determinism, God could still have created a world with free agents and no evil − for instance, a heaven-like world in absence of evil, where humans presumably still have free will. It follows that God could have just ‘created heaven’ without the evil-ridden material world.
Another objection to the free will theodicy, similar to that of the objection to the higher virtues theodicy, is that the good of free will is insufficient to outweigh the bad of the existence of evil. For instance, if a murder were about to happen and one could easily have prevented it, but they did not on the grounds that this would interfere with the murderer’s free will, a case like this seems unjustified as the bad of having murdered someone significantly outweighs the ‘good’ of the murderer being able to freely act on his wishes to murder someone.
A third objection to the free will theodicy is that it fails to explain the existence of natural evils. To recall: natural evils are sufferings inflicted upon humans that humans do not have control over, such as natural disasters, diseases, illnesses, disabilities or accidents. Some may attribute the existence of natural evil to the biblical narrative of the Fall of Humanity, where Adam and Eve’s disobedience of God’s command condemned them and all their descendants to suffering, pain and mortality. But it seems wrong that the wrongdoings of Adam and Eve inflicted punishment on individuals unrelated to their wrongdoing − also, that the severity of punishment (existence of massacres, genocides, war crimes, plagues, lethal diseases for generations to come) excessively outweighs the wrongdoing of eating a forbidden fruit. So it seems we are not able to reconcile the free will theodicy either.
So far we have only looked at theodicies as objections to the premise. However it is possible that there is no ‘best possible world’ as a theodicy posits, and only an infinite series of better worlds exists. Granted this possibility, we cannot object to the existence of God on the basis that our world could have been ‘better’. Yet this still does not sufficiently explain the existence of evil: it only truly explains why God created a world that is not maximally ‘good’, and a non-optimal world can still be absent of evil. The ‘imperfection’ of our world seems not to be a sufficient ground for grave wrongdoings and atrocities. The ‘no best world’ response does not sufficiently explain the existence of evil.
The ‘skeptical theist’ response, however, seems to be the most effective objection to the Problem of Evil. It posits that just because we are unable to come up with any reasons why God would allow evil to exist does not necessitate that there are no such reasons. We could be in the best possible world, we are just unable to explain how so.
The evidential argument from evil may object to the skeptical theist by merely positing that the likelihood of there being any good reason for the existence of evil is very low, so that the likelihood of God’s existence is also very low. The argument may be laid out as follows:
For much of the evil in the world, we cannot perceive any reasons why it should exist.
Hence it is very likely that there are no such reasons.
If there are no reasons for the evil in the world, God does not exist.
Therefore it is very likely that God does not exist.
Premise (2) may be disputed on the grounds that extreme low likelihood is not sufficient to guarantee the nonexistence of reasons for evil, and hence the nonexistence of God. Although it may seem ‘very likely’, the odds are not zero. Premise (1) may be disputed on the grounds that our inability to perceive reasons for the existence of evil in the world can be explained through analogizing our relationship with God to a child’s relationship with his parents. Parents may often deprive children of things they want, inflict force, suffering and punishment on their child, in virtue of discipline and nurturing the child’s character, which is necessary for their wellbeing. Although the child may view such acts of deprivation as futile, they merely do not understand; we shall not conclude, on such grounds, that reasons for the suffering do not exist. Perhaps our epistemic position with respect to God’s reasons are then analogous to the child’s epistemic position with respect to his parent’s reasons. While this is unknowable within the confines of human knowledge and understanding, we are at least able to say that there exists a possibility for evil to be reconciled with God’s good intention and omnibenevolence.
Having looked at the substantiation for premise (3) I now then look at premise (1). There are various arguments supporting the omnipotence, omniscience, and omnibenevolence of God: the Cosmological Argument and the Moral Argument being two of the most prominent and substantial arguments.
The cosmological argument posits that the creation of the universe must arise from a cause, and such a cause must possess omnipotence, omnibenevolence, and omnibenevolence. The argument may be outlined as follows:
Everything that begins to exist has a cause.
The universe began to exist.
Therefore, the universe has a cause.
Proponents of the cosmological argument may argue that the cause of the universe must possess omnipotence because it has the power to create the entire universe, omniscience because it knew and intended to bring the universe into existence, and omnibenevolence because it intentionally brought about the existence of a universe that contains sentient beings capable of experiencing goodness. However, this can be objected as the cause of the universe might be a natural one − e.g. the Big Bang Theory − which need not possess the higher qualities of a deity.
An alternative argument, the moral argument, posits that the existence of moral values and duties implies the existence of a moral lawgiver who possesses perfect goodness. The argument may be outlined as follows:
Objective moral values and duties exist.
The existence of objective moral values and duties requires a moral lawgiver.
Therefore, a moral lawgiver (God) exists.
Proponents of the moral argument argue that the attributes of omnipotence, omnipresence, and omnibenevolence vested in God are necessary to establish and uphold objective moral values. However, this can be simply objected by the possibility that moral values are subjective or culturally constructed, or that moral values can be explained without invoking a divine source. The moral argument seems to fail to prove God’s omnipotence, omniscience and omnibenevolence as well. Given we cannot prove it, it is possible for premise (1) to be false.
So far we have examined the Problem of Evil by first evaluating the bases for the premises of The Problem from Evil, then attempting to find objections for the argument. We come across the ‘higher virtues’ and ‘free will’ theodicy, which we are unable to reconcile on the grounds that there is an exorbitant surplus of evil to the amount needed to develop higher virtues, and preserve free will, respectively. We then attempt to look at the possibility that our world is not a ‘best possible world’, and find that that still does not explain the existence of evil. We then examine the skeptical theist response, which seems most plausible − but upon further reflection, we are neither able to disprove nor prove God has an ulterior motive; however, we can at least say that it is possible for such an intangible ulterior motive to exist. Finally we look at whether God is actually omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent: after examining the cosmological argument and moral argument, we fail to establish proof for God’s omnipotence, omniscience and omnibenevolence.
If God is not omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent, then it perfectly explains the existence of evil, and natural evil is then compatible with the existence of God. If he is, then we need to look at whether there is a good reason for evil to exist, and we cannot determine whether a good reason for evil exists − it is possible, but we cannot determine it.
We conclude that we cannot determine whether God is omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent, nor whether a good reason for evil exists within the confines of human understanding; however, we can say that it is possible that God is not omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent, and that it is possible for an omnibenevolent ulterior motive for evil to exist. On both of these grounds, we can prove it is possible for God and evil to coexist.
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Analyses of knowledge are attempts at formulating conditions for which something can be classified as knowledge. For such analyses to be considered good analyses of knowledge, they should entail a list of conditions that are individually necessary and jointly sufficient for someone’s knowing that something is the case. The thesis analysis of knowledge, ‘S knows that p if and only if S has a justified belief that p which is appropriately causally connected to the fact that p', is a revised version of the causal account of knowledge in which highlights the importance of an ‘appropriate causal connection’ between an agent S and some piece of information p in order for S to know that p. This revised causal account of knowledge, which I will call the appropriate causal connection account (simplified as ACC account), can be outlined as follows:
S knows that p if and only if:
S is justified in knowing that p;
S believes that p;
S’s belief is causally connected in an appropriate way to the facts in virtue of which p is true.
In this essay, I will first demonstrate that the ACC account can be broken down into various subcomponents, which are various accounts of knowledge in themselves that provide individually necessary conditions but are not jointly sufficient on their own − these accounts of knowledge include the JTB account, and a revised causal account which I will call the causal connection account (simplified as CC account). I will show that synthesis of the above accounts, upon revision of the CC account, lends to the development of the ACC account, and by showing the qualities of each account, as well as the defects rectified by the synthesis and revision of these accounts, I show that the ACC account is a meritable analysis of knowledge. I then assess counterexamples to the ACC account, including the counterfactual account, and analyze whether the ACC account meets the joint sufficiency condition of a good analysis of knowledge. I ultimately conclude that the ACC account is a good account of knowledge, however with its share of nuances that require further deliberation.
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Recall the ACC account: 'S knows that p if and only if S has a justified belief that p which is appropriately causally connected to the fact that p.' We should be able to extrapolate three key subcomponents of this ACC account, each of which constitutes a simpler, less developed ‘predecessorial’ account of knowledge:
‘... justified belief that p … the fact that p’: p must be a justified true belief.
‘... causally connected …’: There must be a causal link between S’s belief of p and the fact of p itself.
‘... appropriately causally connected…’: The causal link must be appropriate.
I will look at subcomponent (a), which can be encompassed by the JTB account of knowledge, which posits that all knowledge must be ‘justified true beliefs’. This account is often seen as a foundational one that underpins most accounts of knowledge, and is outlined as follows:
S knows that p if and only if:
S believes that p;
p is true;
S is justified in believing that p.
The first condition, the belief condition, puts forth that if one knows something to be true, they must believe it − one cannot claim to know something is true and not believe it, rendering this condition individually necessary for knowledge.
The second condition, the truth condition, puts forth that if one knows something to be true, that something should, in essence, be true; one cannot ‘know’ something that is false, rendering the truth condition individually necessary for knowledge.
The third condition, the justification condition, puts forth that if one knows something to be true, they must have good justification in believing so. One must be able to recognize that it is correct by some justification, including but not limited to a logically sound line of reasoning, reliable sources of information, and/or an absence of counterclaims. If a belief is true just by luck, it does not seem appropriate that one ‘knows’ that their belief is true, rendering the justification condition individually necessary for knowledge.
We may test whether these conditions are in fact necessary by looking at counterexamples. Some may argue that the belief condition need not be necessary: for instance, one may ‘know’, without a doubt, that a loved one has died in a tragic event, but refuse to believe it, holding on to hope in order to keep living. This can be easily refuted by the fact that they do, in fact, believe it: they just like to pretend it is false as a means of consolation.
Some may argue that the truth condition need not be necessary: for instance, people knew that stress caused ulcers before Australian doctors in the early 80s proved that ulcers are actually caused by bacterial infection. Once again this can be easily refuted by the fact that if ulcers are not actually caused by stress, people indeed did not know that stress caused ulcers − they merely thought they knew so. Knowledge can be falsifiable − in fact its falsifiability is compatible with, or even in virtue of, the truth condition; and as soon as we find that something is no longer true, it no longer counts as knowledge.
Some may argue that the justification condition need not be necessary: for instance, if one possessed the information that Vienna is the capital of Austria through an unreliable informant, we may still consider that they know the capital of Austria is Vienna, so long as they firmly believed it. We can once again argue against this by saying that different types of knowledge require different amounts of justification: simple, matter-of-fact information, such as capital cities, the quality of the earth being round, the freezing temperature of water, etc. would not need very substantial justification, whereas other types of information, such as knowing the innocence of a defendant in a court case, would require significant, robust justification. We are therefore able to establish the individual necessity of all three conditions.
We now look at whether the JTB conditions are jointly sufficient for S to know that p. The Gettier case of Jones and Smith famously disproves that such is the case. Gettier poses a scenario where Jones and Smith are candidates for a job, and Smith has strong evidence for the following proposition:
Jones is the man who will get the job, and Jones has ten coins in his pocket.
He subsequently deduces from (d) the following conclusion:
The man who will get the job has ten coins in his pocket.
It turns out that Smith is the man who will get the job, and he also has ten coins in his pocket, unbeknownst to him. Given this, we can attempt to evaluate whether Smith knows (b) according to the JTB account:
(e) is true: Smith, the man who will get the job, has ten coins in his pocket.
Smith clearly believes that (e): he deduced it himself.
Smith is justified in believing that (e): he has ‘strong evidence for the proposition’ (d), which, if true, would make (e), a logically valid conclusion from (d), true.
Yet it seems as though intuitively, Smith still does not know (e) − the three conditions seem to not be jointly sufficient. (We can point out that, perhaps, Smith is not actually justified in believing that (e) − if the evidence leads to a wrong conclusion, perhaps then it is not ‘strong’ enough − but one can refute this by saying that strong evidence can still lead to a wrong conclusion, since strength of evidence does not necessarily equate to perfection.) The error lies in the facts causing Smith’s belief: what caused Smith to believe (e) is the fact that Jones has ten coins in his pocket; but what makes (e) true is that fact that Smith has ten coins in his pocket.
This gap in joint sufficiency can be attempted to be reconciled by the causal account of knowledge, which attempts to render the justification condition more robust − this account may be outlined as follows:
S knows that p if and only if:
S believes that p;
p is true;
S’s belief is caused by the facts in virtue of which p is true.
In making this amendment we come one step closer to the ACC account of knowledge. By this account, Smith rightfully does not know (e) as his belief is not caused by the facts in virtue of which (e) is true: that he has ten coins in his pocket and he himself will get the job. This would seem to resolve the Gettier case.
We may run into the problem that the causal condition implies that the causal connection must precede the belief − as a result, according to the causal account, knowledge of future events would be problematic because the causal connection between the belief and the future event would not have occurred yet, and we would thus have no knowledge of the future.
We may solve this problem by defining causal connections in a more widely-encompassing manner, which may allow for a causal connection between X and Y if either X caused Y, Y caused X, or some other event caused them both. The future would then be causally connected to the belief by virtue of some other factor causing both the future event and the belief. For instance, we may plan an party set to happen two weeks later, and so we will have the belief that there will be a party happening two weeks later. The belief that there will be a party happening two weeks later is causally connected to the actual event of the party, as they are both caused by the act of planning the party, and therefore we will be able to have some knowledge of the future by this definition of the causal account of knowledge.
This revised causal account of knowledge is the CC account (correspondent to subcomponent (b) of the ACC account) which integrates this revised definition of a causal connection by making the following amendment to condition (3) of the causal claim:
S’s belief is causally connected to the facts in virtue of which p is true.
Yet even with this new definition of causal chains, we may still run into a problem of causal chains being strangely interlinked. Consider this example: A fire has just been lit to roast some meat. The fire has not sent up any smoke yet, but the smell of the meat has attracted a cloud of insects. From a distance, an observer sees the dark swarm above the horizon and mistakes it for smoke. ‘There’s a fire burning at that spot,’ the distant observer says. Intuitively, the observer does not know there is a fire burning at that spot because what has led him to his belief is a perceived ‘cloud of smoke’ that is actually a swarm of insects, instead of an actual cloud of smoke caused by the fire. Both the belief and the smoke-like cloud of insects were caused by the fire being lit to roast some meat, making them ‘causally connected’ by the revised definition. Yet they are not connected in a sensible manner. Therefore we revise condition (3) of the causal claim again, and arrive at subcomponent (c) of the ACC account of knowledge:
S’s belief is causally connected in an appropriate way to the facts in virtue of which p is true.
So far we have examined each subcomponent of the ACC account. We are able to show that the belief, truth and justification conditions are (so far) individually necessary but not jointly sufficient conditions for knowledge, which is partly reconciled with introducing a causal link. We are able to reconcile problematic counterexamples with the causal link by expanding our definition of causal connections, and introducing the quality of appropriateness, rendering the ACC account a conceivably good analysis of knowledge.
The joint sufficiency of the ACC account is, however, subject to various objections. A famous objection is that of Goldman, who raises the counterexample of Henry, a man driving in the countryside who enters a district ‘full of papier-mâché facsimiles of barns...They are so cleverly constructed that travelers invariably mistake them for barns’. As it happens, ‘Henry has not encountered any facsimiles; the object he sees is a genuine barn’, Goldman posits. Intuitively Henry does not actually know that the object he sees is a genuine barn, because it had only been by chance that he had not encountered a facsimile barn, and if he were to encounter one he would have come to the same conclusion based on the same reasoning: that the object he sees possesses the façade of a barn. Yet he fulfills the ACC account: that the object he sees possesses the façade of a barn seems to be an appropriate reason for his belief, such that it should have an appropriate causal connection with the fact that it is a genuine barn. The issue arises that it is only by chance that a justified belief is true − ‘an accident of bad luck is canceled out by an accident of good luck’. The ACC account seems to fail to account for the element of luck, which, some (particularly proponents of the counterfactual account) may argue, renders its conditions jointly insufficient for knowledge.
We may attempt to reconcile this objection in various ways. Firstly, we may say that there has to be some (albeit VERY minor) discrepancy between a facsimile barn and a genuine barn that one can be able to distinguish, and so if he should give the barn a closer look − if he chooses to exercise further scrutiny − he should be able to see that it is a genuine one and not a facsimile. There has to be some way in telling them apart, which gives rise to non-identical causal links. Secondly, we may also say that the scenario in which he encounters (a) facsimile barn(s) is not relevant to the scenario in which he is in (he has thus far encountered only genuine barns). Thirdly, the counterfactual account does not take away from the fact that he made a perfectly appropriate causal connection: he saw a barn, recognized it as a barn, which is convincingly reasonable rationale for us to postulate that now he knows there is a barn.
A less counterfactual-centric line of discussion about the ACC account’s strength as an analysis of knowledge is that its notion of ‘appropriate’ is hard to define clearly. We can try to define ‘appropriate’: I would attempt to do so by attributing ‘appropriateness’ of the causal connection to qualities such as accuracy and reliability of the causal process, i.e. accuracy of the agent’s perception, reliability of information sources, or validity of the reasoning process. ‘Appropriateness’ is yet still very much open to interpretation, and offering a universal definition with nuanced precision is virtually impossible.
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All in all, while the ACC account is a more developed account of knowledge than the JTB account, causal account, and CC account of knowledge, it faces its fair share of difficulties as well: (1) it is not able to account for the possibility of a justified belief to be true based on sheer luck; (2) it is not able to establish a universal definition for what constitutes an ‘appropriate’ causal connection. We are (mostly) able to reconcile both difficulties such that the ACC account’s conditions are (barely) jointly sufficient, but more nuanced discussion may be needed to cement their joint-sufficiency status. Ultimately, I conclude that the ACC account is a good account of knowledge, with perhaps a need for further development and deliberation.
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The problem of induction questions the reliability of the inductive method as a process of inference. The problem of induction arises from the comparison between deductive and inductive inference: deductive inference, or what Hume may refer to as ‘relations of ideas’, refers to the process of ‘learning something by considering a general set of facts and thinking about how something specific relates to them’, while inductive inferences, or what Hume may refer to as ‘matters of fact’, are non-deductive inferences to ‘instances of which we have had no experience [from] those of which we have had experience’.
The below may be an example of deductive reasoning:
All ravens are black.
Bertie is a raven.
Therefore Bertie is black.
The below may be an example of inductive reasoning.
Every raven we’ve encountered so far is black.
Therefore, all ravens are black.
Deductive reasoning, as proposed by the problem of induction, is evidently truth-preserving: one cannot competently deduce something false from something true. In an argument that follows a deductive line of reasoning, if the premises are all true, the conclusion must be true. On the other hand, inductive inferences are not necessarily truth-preserving: take the above example of inductive reasoning − there may be the existence of albino ravens, yet inductive reasoning would not take this into account in virtue of the observers not having encountered one yet.
This is the problem of induction: induction does not seem rationally justified, yet we nevertheless seem to make inductive inferences all the time, and induction seems to lie at the heart of the scientific method. To solve the problem of induction is to justify our use of induction.
Philosophers have attempted to do so by appealing to the laws of nature. This can be understood as a necessitarian solution to the problem of induction, which, in simple terms, states that we can justify induction by proposing that it is simply a law of nature that explains why all observed Fs are Gs, or, for instance, that all ravens are black.
I will argue that we cannot solve the problem of induction by merely appealing to the existence of the laws of nature, i.e. by adopting the necessitarian solution. I will first lay out the problem of induction and necessitarian solution in further detail. I will then challenge the necessitarian solution by examining its presupposition of best explanation and rule circularity, as well as looking at the ‘new riddle of induction’. I ultimately resort to a more simplistic justification of induction, the pragmatist solution, which accepts that induction is not epistemically reliable but is pragmatically useful, and find that while it may potentially resolve the problem of induction, it does not quite appeal to the laws of nature.
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I will first attempt to further elaborate upon the problem of induction as well as the law-of-nature justification. Following an inductive line of reasoning hinges largely upon a regularity that has been observed in the universe up until this current point in time. However, we have no way of certainly knowing that this regularity observed in the universe may continue in the future, and if it does not, this may lead to chaos or unpredictable events, a condition Helen Beebee refers to as ‘inductive vertigo’.
Beebee proposes that the ‘cure’ for this inductive vertigo is to appeal to ‘consult a necessitarian of some sort’, who holds that ‘there is something in the world that makes it regular: something that constrains how things can happen in such a way that they are guaranteed not to fall apart’. David Armstrong’s view involving two-stage induction is one such necessitarian view, which involves the following two stages of the inductive process:
Infer from the fact that all observed Fs have been Gs that it is a law of nature that all Fs are Gs, on the grounds that this is the best explanation of why all observed Fs have been Gs.
Deduce from the fact that it is a law of nature that all Fs are Gs that all unobserved Fs are Gs.
Stage (1) invokes an inference to the best explanation (IBE): it makes the assumption that it being a ‘law of nature’ that all Fs are Gs is the best possible, or most plausible explanation for why all observed Fs have been Gs. As stage (2) is purely deductive, the validity of its line of reasoning need not be a cause of concern. Therefore, Armstrong’s view is very much dependent on the assumption that IBE is justified.
Armstrong’s view posits that to bridge the connection between it merely being observed so far that all Fs are Gs and it actually being the case that all Fs are in fact Gs, it must be a ‘law of nature’ for all Fs to be Gs; and for such a law of nature to hold, there needs to be ‘a second-order universal N (‘N’ for necessity) that relates the first-order universals F and G. (Armstrong writes this ‘N(F,G): F-ness necessitates G-ness.)’ The existence of this necessary connection between F and G, in addition to there (supposedly) being no other candidate explanation available, can be considered a justification for the ‘law-of-nature’ explanation being the ‘best explanation’ for the regularity of the universe.
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It is important to note that this justification presupposes that the best explanation of why all observed Fs have been Gs is that it is a law of nature that all Fs are Gs; yet we are not necessarily so clear that it is in fact the best explanation. We may further challenge the best-explanation presupposition by looking at the factor of timelessness.
If all that we are trying to explain is merely the fact that the observed Fs have been Gs is important, we may appeal to alternative explanations that are surely just as good a candidate explanation as Armstrong’s. Armstrong’s proposed explanation of the laws of nature naturally presupposes the timeless connection between F and G, laid out as follows (‘T’ for ‘timeless’):
(T) F and G are timelessly (eternally) necessarily connected.
However, one may consider the following alternative explanation (‘SF’ for ‘so far’), which seems just as good an explanation as (T):
(SF) F and G have been necessarily connected so far.
Both hypotheses, in trying to explain the observation of Fs being Gs so far, are no better than the other − rendering the IBE solution to the problem of induction unsuccessful. That it is a timeless law of nature for why Fs and Gs are connected is not necessarily the best explanation for why Fs are Gs. Beebee posits that ‘[i]ndeed, it fails precisely because it presupposes an illicit inductive step’.
This leads to another issue with the problem of induction: it uses circular reasoning, basically meaning it contains a logical fallacy wherein the conclusion of an inductive argument is assumed or presupposed in one of the premises. In other words, the argument assumes what it is trying to prove, creating a circular or self-referential reasoning pattern. As Hume argues, ‘all our experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition, that the future will be conformable to the past. To endeavor, therefore, the proof of this last supposition by probable [i.e. inductive] arguments…must be evidently going in a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very point in question.’
We can understand this circular reasoning with a simple inductive example. Consider the following inductive argument:
The sun has risen every day in the past.
Therefore, the sun will rise tomorrow.
The conclusion (2) assumes that the future will be like the past, which is the very point in question. The argument relies on the assumption that past regularities will continue into the future, but that assumption is itself what needs to be justified. It is circular because the conclusion depends on the assumption that is being used to support the conclusion.
Hume's critique of induction is based on this circularity. He argues that attempts to justify the assumption of the uniformity of nature through inductive reasoning ultimately fail because they assume what they are trying to prove. According to Hume, induction is grounded in our psychological habits and expectations rather than in sound logical reasoning.
One may argue, however, that we may make a distinction between the type of circularity used in induction, which may in turn affect whether such circularity is in fact justifiable. There are two primary types of circular reasoning: premise-circularity and rule-circularity.
An inference is premise circular if and only if, to know that one of the premises is true, one needs to know already that the conclusion is true.
An inference is rule circular if and only if, to know that the rule of inference being used is correct, one needs to know already that the conclusion is true.
The inference from ‘Induction has worked until now’ to ‘Induction is justified’ is rule circular, but it is not premise circular, as the line of reasoning from the premise to conclusion uses induction as a rule of inference, which relies on the conclusion being true, i.e. that we are justified in using induction as a process of inference.
Premise circularity is clearly fallacious: presuming the conclusion is true when attempting to prove the premises supporting the conclusion is true would be obviously problematic. Rule circularity, however, is arguably more nuanced, since in many instances in which we make an inference we may implicitly rely on rules of inference that are not among our premises but usually do not render it problematic for us to do so.
In Lewis Carroll’s ‘What the Tortoise Said to Achilles’, his philosophical tale in which a tortoise converses with Achilles after a race challenges whether rule circularity is indeed problematic at all, by demonstrating that if we try to include rules of inference among our premises, we will end up in an infinite regress, and therefore it may just be easier to rely on rules of inference implicitly even if it means it had not been corroborated by the argument itself.
The conversation goes as follows: The tortoise puts forth an argument in which some Z follows logically from some A and B. However, he states that there might be someone who accepts A and B as true but not Z. In order for Achilles to logically force the tortoise to accept Z as true, Achilles must ask the tortoise to accept the ‘Hypothetical’ (C), where if A and B are true, Z must be true. The tortoise is willing to accept C as long as Achilles has written it down. Now Achilles asks the tortoise if he accepts Z given that if A and B and C are true, Z must be true. The tortoise is only willing to accept this condition, another ‘Hypothetical’ (D) which he will accept once it has been written down. This repeats nearly infinitely, hence by this tale we are able to demonstrate that relying on written rules of inference, independent of any implicitly assumed rules whatsoever, is a near impossible task that, if carried out, would lead to an infinite regress. Perhaps then we are justified in making inductive inferences, so long as induction is in fact reliable, even if we cannot justify induction in a non-rule-circular way.
However, proponents of counter-induction may use the exact same reasoning to justify counter-induction. The counter-inductive argument goes as follows:
All observed Fs have been Gs.
Therefore all non-observed Fs are not Gs.
The premise (1) seems just as justified in supporting the counter-inductive conclusion (2) as it is supporting the law-of-nature conclusion. The fact that all observed Fs have been Gs up until now, that this has held for such a long time, seems a good reason to think that an irregularity is more likely to happen in the future. However counter-induction seems intuitively less justified than induction, but can be justified in a rule-circular way similar to that of induction. It seems as though rule circularity remains problematic to the law-of-nature justification.
Now suppose some inductive inferences are justified by the laws of nature. We may still run into a ‘new riddle of induction’ in which we are unable to decide which inductive inferences are justified. This arises from the issue where sometimes it appears the sufficient criteria for justifying induction varies among inductive arguments, and not only have we failed to establish a universal set of criteria for inductive validity, we can barely determine inductive validity on a case-by-case basis. This problem has been raised by John Stuart Mill as well, who writes: ‘Why is a single instance, in some cases, sufficient for a complete induction, while in others myriads of concurring instances, without a single exception known or presumed, go such a little way towards establishing an universal proposition?’ Take the two following inductive arguments:
Argument (A):
The driver of the bus is facing northward.
Therefore, everyone on the bus is facing northward.
Argument (B):
The driver was born in 1968.
Therefore, everyone on the bus was born in 1968.
It is clear that argument (A) takes an inductive process that is far more justifiable compared to argument (B). With the exception of, perhaps, backward-facing streets, or someone turning their head to the back of the car, it seems reasonable to deduce from the direction the driver is facing the direction the people on the bus are facing. However, argument (B) seems clearly unreasonable albeit following a seemingly very similar structure to (A).
I propose that the law-of-nature argument is in fact able to simply reconcile this problem. What distinguishes argument (A) and argument (B) is the presence of a logically sensible necessary connection between the properties mentioned in the argument. The property of facing the same direction is explained by the necessary connection in which buses are vehicles which (granted the lack of exceptions) make everyone face the same direction, but there does not exist such a connection between the property of being born in the same year and being on the same bus.
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So far we have looked at Armstrong’s view on the laws of nature, and examined it on the bases of a challenge from timelessness, a challenge from rule circularity, and a challenge from varying criteria for justification. The laws-of-nature justification survives the third challenge, but does not survive the first and second challenge as we are unable to guarantee the laws of nature are to timelessly hold, and in attempting to justify that the laws of nature do in fact timelessly hold, we utilize the inductive line of reasoning which presupposes that very conclusion in essence. All in all, appealing to laws of nature appeals to the idea of universal regularities and consequently renders the problem of induction more tangible, but is met with unresolved challenges to its underlying assumptions.
We can also try to justify our use of induction by adopting the pragmatist solution, which accepts that induction is not epistemically justified but is practically justified. This is an approach Reichenbach seems to accept: ‘[w]e do not perform...an inductive inference with the pretension of obtaining a true statement. What we obtain is a wager; and it is the best wager we can lay.’ This view is similar to Hume’s view as well, where he views our use of induction as based on ‘custom’ or ‘habit’ rather than reason, i.e. that we might as well use induction as we have grown accustomed to observing regularities in nature and assuming that they will continue. It seems like a contradiction to accept the use of an epistemically unjustified reasoning, but as long as we do not claim certainty over our knowledge about matters of fact or the future based on induction and render ourselves wary of the uncertainty it brings, we are justified in bringing ourselves to use induction in making hypotheses about the future, but not absolute claims of knowledge.
