Christopher Martin on Aquinas' Fifth Way

Christopher Martin provides an interpretation of the fifth way which I find rather plausible. He contends that “unconscious teleology is always relative to a system, is always a case of a part being for the sake of the whole” (1997, 200). Furthermore, he argues that if A is for the sake of B, and B is for the sake of C, but C is for nothing whatsoever, then A and B are also (in reality, initial appearances notwithstanding) for nothing whatsoever. As Martin puts it:

If l put my file on the floor, and then a book on top of it, and then my word-processor on top of the book, and then a flower-vase on top of the word-processor, and then put a stick in the flower vase, and then carefully wrap a small scrap of ribbon around the stick, a question arises of what the devil I'm up to; more scientifically, what is the point of all that? [...] If the last step of tying the ribbon, or the system as a whole, fails to have a point, one is surely entitled to say that the apparent point of each previous stage is wholly illusory. (Ibid., 196-197)

The fifth way then goes as follows: every instance of unconscious teleology is system-relative; the world is the all-encompassing system which includes all unconscious teleology. If the unconscious parts of the world are to have teleology, the world itself must have teleology (see Martin’s point above). “If the world has a point, if it is for anything, this cannot be a case of unconscious teleology, since unconscious teleology is always relative to a system, is always a case of a part being for the sake of the whole. There is, by definition, no greater whole of which the world forms a part. [...] Therefore the teleology of the world must be conscious: the point of the world must be conferred on it by some mind. ‘Therefore there is some being with understanding which directs all things to their end, and this, we say, is God.’” (ibid., 200). I think this is pretty convincing.

Why Would God Make Physical Beings?

One objection to theistic arguments from design is that it seems as though God could have achieved most (if not all) of the goods of creating finite beings without bothering to make a physical world, complete with finely-tuned constants, life-permitting laws, and so on. As Neil Manson puts the objection:

The problem here for proponents of the fine-tuning argument is that, if God does exist, then clearly it is possible for there to be a non-physical intelligence. After all, God is supposed to be just such an intelligence. Why think God would prefer to create other intelligent, conscious beings by creating a life-permitting physical universe? God had other, seemingly much more efficient and sensible, options. For example, God could make Berkeley right. So even if they grant that God has a preference function over possible creations, fine-tuning sceptics are going to need to hear a lot more before they agree that that function favours the creation of a life-permitting physical universe – and favours it enough to make the fine-tuning argument persuasive. (2020, 315-316)

It seems that Thomists have available a potential response to this objection. Aquinas argues that only a material being can change its will over time: an immaterial entity (such as an angel) can only make one choice, fixing its will either for good or for ill. If this view of things is true, then we seem to have a good explanation for why God would want to make embodied beings: only they could experience repeated free moral choice, and all of the goods which come along with it (e.g. moral development, soul-building, deliberation, and so on).

Here are some other reasons why God might want to make physical beings. Firstly, the goods of sensory pleasure (including beautiful sights and sounds, gustatory pleasure, and so on) seem to require the existence of bodies. (Perhaps God could simply give disembodied minds the requisite pleasurable mental states without requiring any actual physical experiences. But there seems to be something off-putting about that; it smacks rather too much of a divine experience machine.) Secondly, one might argue that the unique aesthetic value of material beings would give God good reason to create them. (This is distinct from the just-discussed point about pleasure; beings can have objective aesthetic value even if nobody is around to derive sensory pleasure from the sight of them.) Thirdly, one could appeal to the point (made here) about God wanting to make a great variety of beings: it seems plausible that material beings can image the divine goodness in ways that no purely immaterial being could.

The Prior Probabilities of Theism and Naturalism

According to (what I think is) the right theory of intrinsic probability, there are three primary criteria which determine the prior of any given hypothesis:

1. Modesty: How little a hypothesis says about the world. 
• Example: "There is a living thing in my room" is a more modest claim than "there is a human being in my room," which in turn is more modest than "Richard Swinburne is in my room." More modest theories have more possible ways of being true: "There is a living thing in my room" could be true in any number of ways, "There is a human being in my room" in fewer ways, "Richard Swinburne is in my room" in only one way. Thus, more modest theories get a higher prior probability.
2. Coherence: How well the parts of a theory fit together, raising (or at least not lowering) one another's conditional probabilities.
• Example: "All Asian ravens are black and all non-Asian ravens are black" is a more coherent hypothesis than "All Asian ravens are black and all non-Asian ravens are white." (This is Draper's example.) Finding out that all Asian ravens are black increases the conditional probability that all of the non-Asian ravens are black, and vice versa. However, finding out that all Asian ravens are black reduces the conditional probability that all of the non-Asian ravens are white, and vice versa. So the parts of the first hypothesis raise one another's probability, while the parts of the second theory reduce one another's probability.
3. Brute limitations: Theories with arbitrary, inexplicable limitations should receive a lower prior than theories which lacks such limitations.
• Example: Consider two possible worlds, n and m. World n consists of a single particle moving at a constant finite velocity, while world m consists of a single particle moving at a constant infinite velocity. These two worlds seem to be equally modest and coherent: they both posit a single substance, behaving in a simple, uniform manner. Yet world m seems (to me at least) to be more intrinsically probable than world n. Why is this? The answer, I think, is that world n contains a brute limitation: why is the particle moving at the particular finite velocity that it is? Why not slightly faster, or slightly slower? World m, by contrast, has no such arbitrary limits. As such, it has a higher intrinsic probability.

(Note that this theory is largely a combination of Draper 2016 and Poston 2020.) It seems that if these three criteria are correct, then theism will always have an advantage over naturalism in terms of prior probability. The reason is this: the naturalist has to choose between coherence and a lack of brute limitations, whereas the theist can have both. Consider: if naturalism is true, then either every possible universe exists (i.e. there is something like a Lewisian multiverse), or else not. If not (i.e. if only one or some possible universes are realized), then the naturalist's theory will suffer from serious brute limitations. Why are these particular laws and physical structures instantiated, instead of all the other conceivable laws and physical structures which there could have been? Alternatively, if there is a Lewisian multiverse, then the naturalist's theory will avoid arbitrary limits, but only at the cost of an extreme lack of coherence (the Lewisian multiverse is just about the least uniform way that reality could conceivably be).

The upshot is that the naturalist faces an inevitable trade-off between coherence and a lack of brute limitations. The theist, however, faces no such difficulty: theism is both a highly coherent hypothesis (it posits a being with all possible perfections, which is a very uniform array of properties), and it is largely lacking in brute limitations (since God's properties are infinite). If all of this is correct, then it seems as though theism should get a relatively high prior as compared to naturalism.

Why Would God Make a Complex Universe?

While perusing Alexander Pruss' blog, I came across a post in which he offers this quote from Aquinas:

Hence we must say that the distinction and multitude of things come from the intention of the first agent, who is God. For He brought things into being in order that His goodness might be communicated to creatures, and be represented by them; and because His goodness could not be adequately represented by one creature alone, He produced many and diverse creatures, that what was wanting to one in the representation of the divine goodness might be supplied by another. For goodness, which in God is simple and uniform, in creatures is manifold and divided and hence the whole universe together participates the divine goodness more perfectly, and represents it better than any single creature whatever. (ST 1.47.1)

It occurs to me that this line of thinking could be used to support Swinburne's inductive cosmological argument, which goes like so: let "h" be theism, "e" be the existence of our universe, and "k" be our background knowledge (which in this case will consist only of logically-necessary truths). Since the physical universe is extremely complex, it is a priori very improbable that it should exist. However, Swinburne claims that God would have very good reason to produce such a universe, since he would be motivated to create embodied rational creatures, and such creatures would need a universe to live in. So P(e|h&k) is relatively high, while P(e|~h&k) is very low. Hence, P(h|e&k) > P(h|k).

Aquinas' aforementioned reasoning can, it seems to me, be used to substantially strengthen this argument. It does so by explaining why God would want to make a complex universe (such as we observe) rather than a very simple one, suited simply to the purpose of playing host to embodied rational agents. If all goodness involves participation in God (which it does), then (as Aquinas notes) the particular perfections of each individual type of creature can model the divine goodness in unique ways. This plausibly gives God good reason to make a varied and complex universe. This in turn raises P(e|h&k), thus strengthening the argument.

Christophe de Ray's Conceptual Cosmological Argument

Introduction

This argument is due entirely to Christophe de Ray, and is presented in his excellent paper "Existence exists, and it is God" (2022). This post is effectively a summary of the argument as I understand it, and is written largely as a way to help me organize my own thoughts on the matter. I highly encourage all who read this to check out de Ray's original paper.

Summary of the Argument

The argument may be summarized as follows:

1. All particular things exist in virtue of their having or sharing in something, which we call Existence.
2. Existence could not enable particular things to exist unless it itself exists.
3. Therefore, Existence exists.
4. If Existence exists, then it is a supremely excellent being.
5. Therefore, Existence is a supremely excellent being.

(1) is motivated by the typical arguments for existence as a first-order property (e.g. the inability of the Frege-Russell view to properly analyze singular existence statements). (2) seems self-evident, while (3) follows logically.

Motivating (4): "If Existence exists, then it is a supremely excellent being"

(4) is the most substantive premise, and obviously stands most in need of defense. The idea here is that we need to give some account of how Existence itself is able to exist. After all, if all particular things receive their being from Existence, then how can Existence itself exist? Surely it cannot bestow being on itself, for this would require that Existence be ontologically prior to itself (which is surely incoherent). Hence, it seems that we must say that Existence itself exists in a different way from how other things exist: while all other things exist in virtue of their standing in a certain "sharing" relation to Existence, Existence itself is a paradigm existent, the existence of which consists in its self-identity. De Ray proposes the following account of existence:

Paradigm Theory (PT): x exists if and only if either x is identical to the paradigm existent, namely Existence, or x bears the ‘sharing’ relation to Existence.

In order to make sense of this account, de Ray proposes an analogy. There are two ways in which something might satisfy the predicate "is a The Starry Night painting": one way is to be a copy or imitation of the original van Gogh painting, while another way is simply to be the original van Gogh painting. The copies satisfy the predicate in virtue of their standing in the "being a copy" relation to the original painting; however, the original van Gogh satisfies the predicate simply of virtue of its self-identity. Similarly, while all other things exist in virtue of their standing in the "sharing" relation to Existence, Existence itself exists in virtue of its self-identity.

So, Existence is a paradigm existent. But what kind of thing would a paradigm existent be? Plausibly, to be a paradigm F is to be a "perfectly good or true instance of F. [...] Obviously, no particular F could be better or more truly F than the paradigm F, since if it [was], then it would be the paradigm. For example, it is impossible for any painting to be a better or truer The Starry Night painting than van Gogh’s original" (de Ray 2022, 6). "

This analysis implies that there can be better or worse ways of existing, with the paradigm existent being a perfect instance of existence. "This accords with our intuition that while both humans and oysters are real, the existence of the former is superior to that of the latter, in virtue of some of the attributes that humans have and that oysters lack, such as self-awareness, creativity, the ability to form relationships, etc. [...] But if the paradigm existent is a perfect instance of existence, and thus exists in a perfect way, then it follows that Existence must possess all the excellence that it is possible for a being to possess. This must surely include consciousness, intelligence, rationality, and indeed maximal power, knowledge and moral goodness, to name only some. Whatever the exact nature of such a being, it is surely appropriate to call it a supremely excellent being" (ibid., 6-7). Hence, (4) is true, while (5) follows logically from (1)-(4).

A Potential Objection (and its Resolution)

Are there any objections to all of this? Here is one: before an object can instantiate a property, it must first exist. But on this account, objects exist in virtue of their standing in a certain relation, i.e. that of imitating the paradigm existent. "It could therefore be objected that our account is incoherent, because imitation can never be prior to the existence of the imitator" (ibid., 12).

De Ray argues that this difficulty is best resolved by considering more carefully what it means for a particular thing to imitate the paradigm existent. Consider again the van Gogh case: what it is for a copy of The Starry Night to stand in the imitation relation to the original painting is simply for it to be modelled on the original, i.e. for it to be created in a certain way by a creative agent. It does not have to exist before it can be a copy of the The Starry Night; rather, it just is a copy of The Starry Night for as long as it exists, in virtue of its having been made in a certain way.

Returning to the case of existence, if we think of the imitation relation as a kind of creation, "the objection at hand vanishes, because it is clear that the existence of a created thing is not ontologically prior to its being created. It would be strange indeed to argue that ordinary existents are created by the paradigm because they exist, and far more plausible to say that they exist in virtue of being created" (ibid., 12).

It is also useful to note that while in the van Gogh case the creation is done by a "third party" (i.e. the painter), who is distinct from the paradigm case (i.e. van Gogh's painting) and the created imitations, in the case of existence there can be no third-party, since everything other than the paradigm existent is an ordinary existent. Any creative agent other than the paradigm existent itself "would thus need to create [itself] to resemble the paradigm existent, which is absurd. Thus, it is the paradigm itself that would need to do the creating, modelling ordinary existents after itself" (ibid., 12). We thus have the result that Existence is a supremely perfect being, which is responsible for creating all other things. "And this," as Aquinas put it, "everyone understands to be God."

Dispositionalism and Contingent Existence

[Note: Most of this post consists of fairly obvious observations about the consequences of modal dispositionalism; I just wanted to have this train of thought in writing somewhere.]

Critics of the cosmological argument will sometimes claim that while no contingent thing exists in all possible worlds, it might still be the case that all possible worlds contain at least one contingent thing. William Rowe provides the following analogy:

We know that although no horse in a given horse race necessarily will be the winner, it is, nevertheless, necessary that some horse in the race will be the winner. (1975, 164)

It turns out that dispositionalists cannot plausibly appeal to this possibility as a way of avoiding a necessary being. Here's why: either causal history is infinite, or it is not. If it is not, then the dispositionalist has very good reason to affirm the existence of a (set of) necessary being(s); see e.g. Vance (2014), Vetter (2015), and Kimpton-Nye (2021). So the dispositionalist who wishes to avoid a necessary being should assume that causal history is infinite. But, as it turns out, this strategy will not work either.

Let S be the plurality of all actually-existing contingent concrete things. (If nothing is necessary, then S will include all actually-existing concrete things.) Suppose that the cosmological arguer asks for an explanation of why the beings in S exist, and the critic gives the aforementioned reply that it is necessary for some contingent things to exist. But note that on a naturalistic dispositionalism, "every possible world contains some natural thing that actually exists... necessarily, every world contains some stretch of our actual natural past" (Leftow 2017, 326). This means that the critic's reply commits them to claiming that it is necessary for at least some of the beings in S to exist.

Is this reply at all plausible? I think not; after all, every being in S is contingent, and so fails to exist in some possible world. But it seems obvious that if x could fail to exist, and if y could fail to exist, then both x and y could jointly fail to exist; otherwise, we would have to suppose that x's nonexistence somehow forces y to exist, which seems implausible. As Vetter puts it, "the possibility, for each contingent object, that it does not exist, together with what we might call a principle of independence—that the non-existence of contingent objects can never force other contingent object into existence—yields the global possibility that none of the actual contingent objects exist" (2015, 275).

A further problem is that while the critic might claim that it is necessary for some of the beings in S to exist, there can be no particular beings in S which exist necessarily. This should be obvious merely from the fact that, as stipulated, S is the plurality of all actual contingent things; however, the point becomes more interesting when put in terms of branching causal histories. Recall that, as Leftow points out, the theory under consideration entails that "every world contains some stretch of our actual natural past" (2017, 326), which, given an infinite past-eternal universe, "would be an infinite stretch" (ibid., 326). However, this would not be the same stretch of our actual past; rather, different possible worlds would share different stretches of the actual past. To make the problem clearer: if causal history is infinite, then for any causal node n, there is an earlier node n-1. But this entails that there is no single node n which is part of the shared history of all possible worlds. Hence, the aforementioned critic of the cosmological argument must claim that it is a necessary truth that all possible worlds share a stretch of causal history with the actual world, but not any particular stretch. This does not seem like a very good explanation of the entire causal series. 

It is also worth noting that the naturalist dispositionalist is committed to claiming that "there could not have been other natural laws... [nor] could there have been a different total amount of mass-energy" (Leftow 2017, 325). Their view will also threaten modal collapse, since "If [this] theory is true and determinism is true, the actual world is the only possible world: there are no chancy causes, so there are no branches off the tree of actual history" (ibid., 326). Thus, on this view "we should take modal Spinozism precisely as seriously as we take determinism" (ibid., 326).

The upshot is that the dispositionalist must either admit that there is a (set of) necessary being(s), or else claim that it is a necessary truth that some actually-existing contingent things exist. Given that this latter claim seems extremely unlikely (if not flat-out nonsensical), entailing as it does many implausible consequences, it appears that the dispositionalist has strong reason to accept the existence of a (set of) necessary being(s).

My paper "Two challenges for 'no-norms' theism" has been published

As the title says. The paper has been published Open Access, so there will be no paywall to deal with. Links to the paper are included below.

Journal site: Link

PhilPapers Archive with PDF: Link

Michael Huemer and the Eternality of the Past

Michael Huemer is an interesting guy. I don't have hard data on this, but I'm fairly confident that he's the only philosopher working today who simultaneously advocates veganism, anarcho-capitalism, agnosticism, and substance dualism. As such, it was not terribly surprising to find that he also believes in reincarnation, having defended the idea in a (very interesting) 2019 paper in Nous. The gist of Huemer's argument is as follows:

If you were to live at most once in the history of the universe, we cannot justify assigning any probability greater than zero, initially, to your living at the present time, given an infinite number of past centuries in which you could have been born instead. The best explanation for your otherwise surprising present existence is that you are repeatable, so that your living at an earlier time would not have prevented you from living now – in which case, your present life also will not prevent you from living any number of future lives.

Now, it occurs to me that this argument could be used, not only to argue for reincarnation, but also to argue against the eternality of the past. Indeed, one might think that it is a somewhat stronger argument for the latter, seeing as most people will find reincarnation extraordinarily counter-intuitive, whereas the idea that the universe had a beginning is vastly less so. This is especially true seeing as many philosophers have a view of personal identity on which reincarnation is metaphysically impossible, whereas almost nobody is committed to any theses requiring the eternality of the past. As such, when confronted with an argument which says that either the past is finite, or reincarnation is actual, it is plausible that most philosophers will opt for the former.

Reading Peter Atkins (and Other Ways to Waste an Afternoon)

A few years back, renowned chemist Peter Atkins wrote a couple of rather silly books, in which he tried to give an account of how the universe could arise from absolutely nothing. The essence of his proposal is that "the incipience of the universe was an event in which absolutely nothing (not even spacetime) turned into a more interesting form of nothing, where opposites became distinguished." He explains as follows:

Take electric charge. There are obviously positive and negative electric charge (for instance, of protons and electrons, respectively), but the total charge of the universe is zero. [...] More contentiously, I think it possible to argue that there is no energy in the universe (with mass being another manifestation of energy, through  E = mc2). Yes, there are positive and negative contributions to the total energy, but I suspect that the total is zero, just like the total charge.

The argument, then, is that there was once a state of absolute nothingness, an "absence of being" (Conjuring the Universe, p. 18), which then "split" or "separated" into opposites (i.e. positive and negative charge, energy, and so on).

By my lights, there are at least four serious problems with this proposal.

Firstly, there seem to be some aspects of the physical universe which cannot, even in principle, be explained on Atkins' model. To take one example, the existence of spacetime itself makes little sense if we view creation as a separation of opposites. After all, we don't have "space and anti-space," or "time and anti-time"; there is just spacetime, existing without an opposite. And there are other explanatory failures here; for instance, with regards to the fundamental physical constants, Atkins admits that "No one yet has a clue about why they have their current, and for us serendipitous, values" (CTU, p. 154). Certainly his own muddled proposal does nothing whatsoever the illuminate the matter.

Secondly, Atkins seems to be misunderstanding the fundamental question here, which is primarily ontological in nature. An illustration will help to make this point: in his book On Being, Atkins argues that if the total energy in the universe (TEU) sums to zero (which he thinks it probably does), then this would mean that "What we see around us is actually nothing" (p. 17). But even if Atkins is correct about the TEU (which is by-no-means certain; see here and here), his metaphysical claim is obviously false. To understand why, think of two particles, one of dark matter, and one of common matter. 

These particles are, Atkins says, manifestations of negative and positive energy, respectively; one is the "cancellation" (his word) of the other. But of course, dark matter and common matter both exist; they both have a positive ontological status, that is to say, being. When you have these two particles side-by-side, you do not suddenly have zero particles; you have two particles, one positive, and one negative. A particle of dark matter and a particle of common matter may well "cancel each other out" in some sense, but surely they do not add up to non-being; rather, we know that dark matter and common matter exist alongside one another, even entering into causal relations via gravitation. And of course, such things as particles, positive or negative, would not have been present in "Nothing." As such, Atkins' account is utterly worthless when it comes to addressing (or even simplifying) the foundational question of how being can emerge from non-being.

Thirdly, Atkins seems to equivocate on the nature of "Nothing." For instance, when he speaks of "Nothing" as having been "split," one is immediately urged to ask whether or not "Nothing" is splitable; that is, whether it has the potential to be split. If so, then it has properties, in which case it is not nothing, but rather a very nebulously-defined something. If, instead, we agree that "Nothing" really is devoid of properties, then we must ask how it can be "split" or "separated." We see this confusion throughout Atkins' books; for instance, in On Being he writes that "Nothing has no properties" (p. 12), while in Conjuring the Universe he states that "Our current something has simply inherited the properties of its parent Nothing" (p. 38).

Fourthly, I suspect Atkins' account may simply be incoherent. For take the central idea of his proposal: that Nothing, the "absence of being" (CTU, p. 18), was somehow "separated" into distinct forms of being. When stripped of its pseudo-scientific veneer, it seems rather obvious that this is just a bad conjuring trick. It is not a serious hypothesis about the origins of the universe; it is a category error, of the sort which loses points on a freshman philosophy paper, being dressed up and sold as science, and deriving its credibility solely from the fact that it is the work of an author who once produced worthwhile textbooks on physical chemistry.

It is always depressing when a formerly productive mind turns its attention to the production of vacuous drivel; even still, perhaps the rest of us can derive some amusement from their folly.

Dore on Rowe on the Cosmological Argument

I recently came across an old paper by Clement Dore, entitled "Rowe on the Cosmological Argument" (1983). In it, Dore objects attempts to uphold Hume's objection to the PSR, by critiquing Rowe's defense of the principle. He writes:

[In] order to support the cosmological argument, PSR must be interpreted this way: "For any infinite set, S, each of whose members can be explained by another member, the question 'Why are there any members of S?.' can (only) be truly answered by referring to a cause which is not itself a member of S." But how much credibility has PSR, thus interpreted? Consider the question, "Why are there any things which are at least as large as a quark?" Rowe's claim that PSR (as presently interpreted) may be plausible appears to commit him to the thesis that the following may be plausible: "If there is a finite number of members of the set of things which are at least as large as a quark (call it S'), then S' is like my philosophy of religion class, in that we do not need to infer an irreducibly distinct cause of its having members. However, if S' has an infinite number of members, then it is subject to a causal explanation which does not reduce to the individual explanations of the individual members, namely, the following one: The individual members of S' exist because there is something smaller than a quark which is their ultimate cause." 

But of course, Dore argues, it is absurd to suppose that there must be something smaller than a quark which is the ultimate cause of the set S'. And since PSR (allegedly) commits one to such a claim, it seems that PSR must be rejected.

I found this line of argument noteworthy, if only because of how absurdly weak it seems. Firstly, because the cosmological argument doesn't require one to assume any infinite set of objects; the argument from contingency (for example) works identically well whether the totality of all contingent things is finite or infinite.

But there's another issue with Dore's line of reasoning. For assuming that S' has infinitely many members, it seems that we may still avoid his claim of absurdity with relative ease. Example: suppose that the universe had a beginning in time, with an initial state and physical laws that were/are metaphysically necessary (this is the view taken by, among others, Graham Oppy). In that case, S' would be explained by the initial state of the universe, in tandem with the laws of nature that necessarily follow from it. This claim hardly seems absurd, and it is hard to believe that it should lead one to abandon PSR.

Alternatively, suppose that the universe has existed for eternity, and that its existence is metaphysically necessary. In that case, we have a number of options. For instance, S' might be metaphysically necessary (e.g. if the universe is necessary and past eternal, and S' includes everything in the universe, it follows that S' is metaphysically necessary). Alternatively, S' might be explained by the laws of nature in tandem with the most fundamental physical entities, and these things might be metaphysically necessary. Or else, if nothing in the physical universe is necessary, then S' would need to be explained by something outside of the universe, in which case the cosmological argument is sound. None of these options seem so absurd as the merit the rejection of PSR.

[Note: Dore might consider the last result (i.e. the cosmological argument being sound) to be absurd; however, this would hardly constitute a genuine reply to that argument. For then Dore would be arguing as follows: "The PSR as required by the cosmological argument is absurd, because if it were true, it would entail the success of the cosmological argument." This might be sufficient grounds for rejecting PSR, but it will certainly not convince anyone who regards the cosmological argument as sound.]

Richard Carrier Doesn't Understand [Insert Concept Here]

Richard Carrier (an atheist blogger suffering from the world's most ironic god complex) thinks he has an argument to the effect that "[if] there was once absolutely nothing... it necessarily follows that there is an infinite multiverse." How does he get there, you might wonder? Well, like this:

[If] nothing exists, then by definition no rules exist limiting what will happen to it; if no rules exist limiting what it will happen to it, it is equally likely it will become one of infinitely many arrays of things (including remaining nothing, which is just one of infinitely many other things no rule exists to prevent happening); if we select at random from the infinitely many arrays of things it can become (including the array that is an empty set, i.e. continuing to be nothing), the probability is infinitesimally near 100% the array chosen at random will be a vast multiverse whose probability of including a universe like ours is infinitesimally near 100%. Because there are infinitely more ways to get one of those at random, than to get, for example, the one single outcome of remaining nothing. There is no way to avoid this. Unless you insert some law, power, rule, or force that would stop it, or change the outcome to something not decided at random. But once you do that, you are no longer talking about nothing. You have added something. Which you have no reason to add. Other than your human desire that it be there. Which is not a compelling argument for it being there.

Now, perhaps it's just me, but I must admit that this passage made me scratch my head. This is because Carrier consistently identifies himself as a "neo-Aristotelian." But as Robert Koons (UT Austin), William Simpson (Cambridge), and Nicholas Teh (Notre Dame) point out, it is a defining feature of neo-Aristotelian metaphysics that "[it] embraces what is commonly called a causal powers ontology, in which both active and passive powers are regarded as fundamental features of particular things in the world that bring about change by some kind of natural necessity" (Neo-Aristotelian Perspectives on Contemporary Science, Routledge, p. 1). But this idea wrecks havoc with Carrier's argument. Allow me to explain.

Metaphysicians agree that "powers and dispositions are properties of things" (The Atlas of Reality: A Comprehensive Guide to Metaphysics, Wiley-Blackwell, p. 106). Furthermore, Aristotelian accounts of modality hold that "a proposition is possible if there is some actually existing thing that has the power to bring about the truth of that proposition" (ibid, p. 348). In other words, a neo-Aristotelian metaphysic is one characterized (in part) by the claim that all possibilities and potentialities are grounded in the properties of actually existing things. More specifically, they are grounded in the powers of concrete objects, here defined as "objects [which] can change other concrete objects, and are able to undergo change themselves" (ibid, p. 321).

But here arises the difficulty. For Carrier wishes to claim that an infinite multiverse can emerge from a "nothing-state," defined as a state of affairs in which "nothing whatever exists except anything whose non-existence is logically impossible." But presumably, this means that the "nothing-state" includes no concrete objects (if it did, one would think it could not qualify as a "nothing-state"). So Carrier is forced into something of a dilemma, with only two possible outcomes:

1. The "nothing-state" does possess causal powers, in which case it has properties, in which case it is not nothing, but rather a concrete object. A very vague and nebulously-defined concrete object, true, but a concrete object nonetheless.
2. The "nothing-state" does not possess causal powers, in which case any self-respecting neo-Aristotelian will simply reject the claim that it could give rise to an infinite multiverse, on the grounds that such a thing is metaphysically impossible (i.e. no concrete objects = no causal powers = no potentialities = no infinite multiverse).

And of course, neither disjunct is favorable to Carrier's argument.

[Incidentally, lest Carrier (or his fans) should feel tempted to deploy his favorite strategy (i.e. accusing all who oppose him of "science illiteracy"), it should be noted that William Simpson "was formerly a researcher at the Weizmann Institute of Science, and holds a doctorate in physics from the University of St. Andrews," while Nicholas Teh "held postdoctoral research fellowships at the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics, University of Cambridge and the Quantum Group at the Oxford University Comlab." Thus giving both of them infinitely more credibility on scientific matters than Richard Carrier, who has no formal training in physics (or any other scientific field), can rightfully dare to claim. And of course, many other eminent philosophers of science (such as Nancy Cartwright) take a similar neo-Aristotelian view.]

This leaves only one question: how in the hell did Carrier get this so badly wrong? Isn't he a neo-Aristotelian? In fact, upon closer inspection, it seems that Carrier rejects almost everything that characterizes neo-Aristotelian philosophy. For instance, in his "reply" to Edward Feser, he writes that "'essences' don’t exist. And we’ve long known they don’t exist." But this blatantly contradicts mainstream neo-Aristotelianism, which holds that "substances in nature belong to recurring natural kinds, each with its own intelligible nature or essence" (Neo-Aristotelian Perspectives on Contemporary Science, Routledge, p. 2).

So what exactly is going on here? Well, wouldn't you know it, it turns out that Richard Carrier has managed to convince himself that he (and basically only he) understands Aristotle better than the entire philosophical community put together! Case in point:

Most Neo-Aristotelianism today (like much of what Ross Inman is talking about) is crank theistic claptrap. Like Medieval Aristotelianism, it gets practically everything wrong about what Aristotle even thought or taught.

Oh, well that settles it then! Never mind the fact that Ross Inman has a PhD in philosophy from Trinity College Dublin, whereas Carrier has zero formal training in philosophy. Never mind the fact that Inman has published a book with Routledge, not to mention articles and book chapters in the American Philosophical Quarterly, Philosophical Studies, and Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Religion, whereas Carrier has no philosophical CV to speak of (and distorts his publishing credentials to boot). The great and powerful Richard Carrier has spoken, and really, what more proof do you need?

This is all rather silly, of course. Carrier has repeatedly shown himself to be incompetent, first in his own field of ancient history (exhibit A, exhibit B, exbibit C, etc.), then in the use of his favorite hobby-horse, Bayes' theorem (exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C, etc.); as such, it's worth asking why anyone would even begin to take him seriously on matters of philosophy, especially when there are so many respectable atheist philosophers of religion out there (such as Graham Oppy, J.L. Schellenberg, Paul Draper, and so on). But I'm afraid that mystery is rather above my paygrade.

The Contents of a Foundational Mind (Or: A Weird Objection I Found on the Internet)

I recently came across somebody who argued that the foundation of reality could not be a mind, because if it were, then this mind would have no referent beyond its own existence (no "intrinsic content," as they put it). This would (supposedly) prevent the foundational mind from proceeding beyond its initial state. 

I must say, this strikes me as obviously wrong. After all, if God exists, and is omniscient, then He presumably has perfect modal knowledge; that is to say, even before the moment of creation, God knew all possible worlds that He could actualize. How might God know/have known this? Well, one potential answer is that modality is grounded in divine power. This would allow God to have perfect modal knowledge simply by knowing Himself, and specifically, His own power to actualize various states of affairs.

Indeed, classical theism has traditionally held that God's knowledge is rooted in His knowledge of Himself. For instance, here's what Aquinas has to say on the matter:

Inasmuch as He knows His own essence perfectly, He knows it according to every mode in which it can be known. Now it can be known not only as it is in itself, but as it can be participated in by creatures according to some degree of likeness. But every creature has its own proper species, according to which it participates in some degree in likeness to the divine essence. So far, therefore, as God knows His essence as capable of such imitation by any creature, He knows it as the particular type and idea of that creature; and in like manner as regards other creatures. So it is clear that God understands many particular types of things and these are many ideas. (ST I.15.2)

And of course, one does not need to be a Thomist to accept my initial point (i.e. that God could have perfect modal knowledge simply by knowing His own power).

Richard Carrier's Argument from Specified Complexity

Noted pseudo-philosopher Richard Carrier has an argument which, he thinks, demonstrates that "we should think the supernatural is impossible." Specifically, he wants to claim that "God's mind appears to be logically impossible." His line of reasoning goes (more-or-less) as follows:

1. (Assume for contradiction) God's mind is simple and immaterial.
2. God's mind must be able to store and process information.
3. Information storage and processing require specified complexity.
4. Such complexity requires some material on which information can be stored and circuitry stamped.
5. God's mind is complex and material (from 2-4).
6. Contradiction (from 1 and 5). 

Unfortunately, Carrier seems to have gotten himself tripped up on the nature of God's knowledge. For he writes:

A god has to know things (store information), and think things (process information). But there is a difference between correct and incorrect information, present and absent information; between conflation and distinction. A god has to be able to distinguish one person’s face, from another; and correctly connect each face, with other information about the corresponding person, like that Joe’s face goes with Joe’s job in sales and wife of eleven years, and Mark’s face goes with Mark’s service in the military and husband of eleven years. That information could be connected up differently—wires crossed, and Joe’s face gets incorrectly linked to Mark’s husband, producing the false information that Joe has a husband, and so on. And notice how many different ways connections can be crossed up: the more information, the more different connections are possible. And most of them (in fact, all but one of them; out of effectively infinitely many) will be false.

However, as the physicist Aron Wall pointed out in response to a near-identical objection (ironically put forward by a couple of conservative Mormons), "This is only an issue if you assume that God's knowledge is, like ours, representational, that is, that it proceeds by means of making something like an image or duplicate of the object known, in some other physical system (in our case, the brain)." But of course, classical theism does not make such an assumption; rather, it has always held that God knows all things via direct awareness, simply by knowing Himself as creator and sustainer of all things (hint: this is part of what CTs mean when we say that God's knowledge, creative act, etc. are really all one thing). Thomas Aquinas provides a useful summary of this concept, when he writes:

Now, it is not repugnant to the simplicity of the divine mind that it understand many things; though it would be repugnant to its simplicity were His understanding to be formed by a plurality of images. [...] Inasmuch as He knows His own essence perfectly, He knows it according to every mode in which it can be known. Now it can be known not only as it is in itself, but as it can be participated in by creatures according to some degree of likeness.  But every creature has its own proper species, according to which it participates in some degree in likeness to the divine essence. So far, therefore, as God knows His essence as capable of such imitation by any creature, He knows it as the particular type and idea of that creature; and in like manner as regards other creatures. So it is clear that God understands many particular types of things and these are many ideas. (ST I.15.2)

The idea that God's knowledge does not consist in stored-up beliefs or mental images may also be found outside of the Thomistic tradition. For example, William Alston (1986), a critic of divine simplicity, was nevertheless a major proponent of the idea that God has no beliefs whatsoever, but rather knows all things via direct awareness. To quote:

A creature in our condition needs inner representations in order to be able to think about absent states of affairs, since the facts are rarely if ever directly present to our consciousness. But since God enjoys the highest form of knowledge He is never in that position, and so He has no need for inner representations that He can ‘carry around with him’ for use when the facts are absent. The facts are never absent from His awareness; thus it would be fatuous to attribute to Him any such mental map. When we have arrived at our destination we can fold the map away.

In a recent paper defending Alston's view, Saeedimehr (2021) discusses two non-propositional accounts of God's knowledge, each of which would seemingly allow us to avoid Carrier's argument. To quote:

Since God is absolutely simple, He (His essence) is identical with his knowledge. Therefore, God’s knowledge is totally simple and hence it is beyond any kind of complexity, including the complexity due to having a propositional structure.

Since Alston finds the principle of Divine simplicity quite problematic, he seeks another basis for the non-propositional position. He argues that as human beings, our propositional knowledge stems from two of our limitations: first we ‘cannot grasp any concrete whole in its full concreteness’, and second ‘we need to isolate separate propositions in order to relate them logically’ and then ‘extend our knowledge inferentially’. But since God is obviously beyond these limitations, His knowledge is not required to be propositional.

It would seem, then, that a non-propositional account of God's knowledge allows us to reject premise (2) of Carrier's argument; namely, that God's mind stores and processes information. God does not store information at all (or to quote Alston, "carry [it] around with Him"); rather, at any one moment He has an infallible intuitive grasp of all facts. Similarly, God does not need to "process information" (or to quote Alston, "isolate separate propositions in order to relate them logically"). We need to do that, because our cognition is fallible and limited; God, on the other hand, is far beyond such things.

One hopes that Carrier himself never gets wind of this post, lest I be subjected to his, uh... scholarly rigor.

Do Theistic Arguments Support the Simulation Hypothesis?

Richard Brown believes that "the traditional arguments for God’s existence provide better support for the simulation hypothesis than they do for the traditional God of Theism." He basis this view on the following argument:

1. The traditional a posteriori arguments (cosmological, teleological, etc.) point, if one accepts their conclusions, to a creator, but not to what kind of creator.
2. The traditional theistic God (all-powerful, all-knowing, and morally perfect) is one candidate for being the Creator.
3. The Simulators are another candidate.
4. The traditional arguments do not distinguish between (2) and (3).
5. The problem of evil (evidential) suggests that (2) is not the creator.
6. Therefore, the traditional arguments for God’s existence provide better support for the simulation hypothesis than they do for the traditional God of Theism.

I think the theist can challenge almost every premise here. Let's go through them in order

While premise (1) might apply to some arguments for God's existence (such as the fine-tuning argument), it seems obvious that it does not apply to many others, including some of the most popular in the current literature. For example, Rasmussen's contingency argument tells us that the creator must be a metaphysically necessary being, while his various stage-two arguments (if they succeed) tell us that it must be eternal, unlimited, unsurpassably powerful, and possessing a supreme nature. Similarly, the Pruss-Koons argument from basic natural facts seeks to establish the existence of a "supernatural being," that is to say, "a simple being that is unbounded and wholly infinite in intrinsic measure."

Premise (2) is uncontroversial (especially amongst theists), and so it seems like we can skip over that one.

Premise (3) seems to fail for the same reasons as premise (1); namely, the most popular theistic arguments today (such as the contingency argument) would seem to rule out a simulator. After all, a simulator would presumably be a natural being, rather than a supernatural one. We also have no reason to assume that they would be necessary, rather than contingent. In addition, stage-two contingency arguments (such as those made by Rasmussen) are specifically designed to solve the so-called "gap problem," by showing that the necessary being in question must have some or all of the traditional divine attributes.

Premise (4) fails for the same reasons as premises (1) and (3).

Premise (5) only works if one agrees that the problem of evil really does provide evidence against theism. However, even if one does agree with this, it seems like this premise still fails to support the simulation hypothesis. This is because, if my criticisms of premises (1) and (3) succeed, the traditional theistic arguments rule out the idea of a natural contingent being as the cause of our universe. 

The conclusion (6) stands and falls with the rest of the argument, so if (as I've argued) the rest of the argument fails, then so does (6).

I think Brown has also neglected an important point, namely that theistic arguments must be approached in tandem, rather than one-by-one. For example, assume that the argument from contingency is correct, and the existence of a necessary being has been established. Then when we consider the fine-tuning argument, we must take into account the fact that a necessary being exists. It would be deeply strange for there to be a necessary being which explains contingent reality, and also a fine-tuner who fixed the laws of nature. Therefore, any evidence that we have for design should be interpreted as evidence for design by the necessary being. But surely the traditional simulation hypothesis does not regard the simulating beings (whoever or whatever they are) as necessary. So Brown's argument would seem to fall flat yet again.

There is a potential way that one could escape this last argument: namely, one could hold that our world really is a simulation, but that reality as a whole was created by God. This view is not unheard of in the literature; David Kyle Johnson (2012) has argued that some theists might be committed to this view, while theists Barry Dainton (2020) and Dustin Crummett (2021) have both approached it as a potential theodicy. That being said, I don't personally endorse this view (nor am I one of those whom Johnson argues are committed to it), and I'm not sure how important it is for my above argument (since it is ultimately still a theistic view).

Privation and Divine Hiddenness

J.L. Schellenberg insists that the problem of divine hiddenness should be viewed, not as a subspecies of the problem of evil, but as a unique problem in its own right. He supports this view by saying that the hiddenness argument is discussing something which only theists would view as "evil," whereas atheists would not. To quote:

Although a theist may indeed keenly feel the value of (what she takes to be) an existing relationship with God and may be inclined to view anything contributing to its absence, even for a time, as a bad thing, and although in debate an atheist may be tempted to take advantage of this, such moves only mislead in the present context. The atheist would properly be quite content were we all to recognize simply that, given certain definitional facts about ‘love’, the situation of hiddenness is in conflict with the idea that a God of fullest love exists, as opposed to feeling that hiddenness represents something bad that a benevolent or morally perfect God would resist.

However, it seems that once we adopt a privation account of evil (or something similar, such as Pruss' misalignment view), this argument simply collapses. After all, it seems to be a key premise of the hiddenness argument that, if God exists, then a relationship with Him would be a good thing (otherwise the lack of it could not impugn His perfect goodness). But then, hiddenness is simply the lack of a good thing (i.e. a privation), which, by our definition, would make it an evil. Therefore, the problem of divine hiddenness simply is a form of the problem of evil.

One might try and counter this by saying that an atheist doesn't regard their lack of relationship with God as an evil; they don't believe that God exists, and as such, a relationship with Him cannot be a due good that they are lacking. However, the hiddenness argument seems to be saying that if God exists, then a relationship with Him would be a due good, which some people are nonresistantly lacking. It seems, then, that we may regard it as an attempted reductio of theism, which tries to show that there is a specific gratuitous evil which would have to obtain if God exists, yet which would also (allegedly) render God impossible.

TL;DR: On a privation view of evil, divine hiddenness may be regarded as a specific form of the problem of evil. What makes it unique is the fact that the evil it posits (i.e. the lack of a due relationship with God) is one which can only obtain if theism is true, since if God does not exist, one cannot be said to lack a due relationship with Him. The problem of divine hiddenness therefore provides an interesting twist on the POE. It also seems that a solution to the POE more generally would also serve to solve the problem of divine hiddenness.