Free will and the problem of evil
The great logician Chrysippus tackles both, and comes a bit short
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One of the standard “spiritual” exercises that constitute my personal philosophical practice is what the ancient Greeks called anagnosis, that is the reading and studying of ancient texts, to remind ourselves about the roots of our wisdom, such as it is.
In that context, for the last few weeks I’ve been reading a delightful gem known as Attic Nights, by the second century writer Aulus Gellius, a contemporary of Marcus Aurelius. It’s an example of hypomnema, a notebook where one jots down ideas that crossed one’s mind because of experiences, conversations, or readings. Marcus’s own Meditations is considered an example of hypomnema. In the case of Aulus’s book, the title comes from the fact that he started keeping this peculiar philosophical diary one cold night during a period he spent in Attica, the region of Greece where Athens is located.
At any rate, I recently read two short entries, numbered 1 and 2 in book VII of Attic Nights, that caught my attention. They are both about the Stoic Chrysippus of Soli, one of the major logicians of all time and the third scholarch of the original Stoa. Both entries concern Aulus’s notes about one particular book written by Chrysippus and now lost, except for fragments: On Providence. As it happens, I’ve written recently about the Stoic concept of Providence, within the context of my ongoing diatribe with so-called traditional Stoics who maintain—impossibly, in my opinion—that unless one believes exactly what the ancient Stoics believed one cannot therefore refer to oneself as a Stoic at all. So I figured it would be time well spent to meditate a bit on what a master like Chrysippus had to say about metaphysics.
Aulus focuses on two related issues discussed by Chrysippus: the problem of evil and the compatibility (in his mind) between moral responsibility and determinism. Let’s take a look in the same order in which Aulus treats them.
The problem of human evil
The first entry in book VII of Attic Nights begins by summarizing the problem of evil: those who wish to deny the notion of a providential universe argue that the very notion of Providence is antithetical to the existence of evil. Either there is a providential God who cares about us, in which case why would he set up a universe that contains evil, or there is evil but no providential God.
This, of course, is a problem that has plagued Christian thinkers since the historical beginnings of their religion, but Chrysippus’s book shows that the issue was alive and well at least three centuries before Jesus was born, and several centuries more before it became the focus of serious theological discussions within the Church.
Chrysippus distinguishes, as Christians do, between human and natural evil, tackling the human variety first. Here is the excerpt reported by Aulus:
“There is absolutely nothing more foolish than those men who think that good could exist, if there were at the same time no evil. For since good is the opposite of evil, it necessarily follows that both must exist in opposition to each other, supported as it were by mutual adverse forces; since as a matter of fact no opposite is conceivable without something to oppose it. For how could there be an idea of justice if there were no acts of injustice? Or what else is justice than the absence of injustice? How too can courage be understood except by contrast with cowardice? Or temperance except by contrast with intemperance? How also could there be wisdom, if folly did not exist as its opposite? Therefore, why do not the fools also wish that there may be truth, but no falsehood? For it is in the same way that good and evil exist, happiness and unhappiness, pain and pleasure. For, as Plato says, they are bound one to the other by their opposing extremes; if you take away one, you will have removed both.” (Attic Nights, VII.1)
The reference to Plato is interesting, because it pushes back the origin of this discussion by at least another century. Chrysippus may be correct that we wouldn’t have the concept of good without the symmetrical concept of evil. Just like, again maybe, we wouldn’t have the concept of courage without the opposite one of cowardice. But that by no means implies that it is impossible to build an actual world where there is no evil or no cowardice.
Consider some of Chrysippus’s own examples, beginning with justice vs injustice. The Stoics argued that the ideal human society would be made of sages, who would all, always, act justly. In such a society there would, therefore, be no such thing as injustice. And yet this didn’t stop Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism, from conceiving of its possibility.
Or take the truth / falsehood couplet. I can easily conceive a world where people don’t spread fake news and alternative facts, that is, where everyone would speak truthfully. Moreover, the Epicureans certainly did envision the existence of pleasure in the complete absence of pain, and indeed strove to achieve precisely such a state. So, pace Chrysippus the logician, there is no logical contradiction inherent in any of these scenarios. Which means the “why is there evil in a Providential universe?” objection does have force.
(To be fair to Chrysippus, though, at least he did not take the Christian root and blamed human beings for evil, which in Christian theology is allegedly a consequence of the “gift” God gave us of free will. But we’ll get to that topic in a few minutes.)
The problem of natural evil
Next, Chrysippus turns his attention to the issue of natural, i.e., not human-caused, evil. One way to think about this is to ask why a providential God would create a universe where there is disease. Curiously, Chrysippus here does not use the above strategy, though he could have. He might have said something along the lines of, well, we wouldn’t know what health is without disease. Is the fact that he doesn’t go that route perhaps indicative of the possibility that he realized such an argument isn’t too convincing after all? We will never know. Instead, here is what Chrysippus writes in On Providence:
“When [Nature] was creating and bringing forth many great things which were highly suitable and useful, there were also produced at the same time troubles closely connected with those good things that she was creating. … Exactly as, when nature fashioned men’s bodies, a higher reason and the actual usefulness of what she was creating demanded that the head be made of very delicate and small bones. But this greater usefulness of one part was attended with an external disadvantage; namely, that the head was but slightly protected and could be damaged by slight blows and shocks. In the same way diseases too and illness were created at the same time with health.” (Attic Nights, VII.1)
This is essentially the argument used by Plato in the Timaeus to explain away the natural imperfection of the world: the sub-god who created the universe, the Demiurge, had to work within the constraints of the sort of materials he had available, and the result is the sub-optimal world we see around us. This is not a bad response, actually, as it invokes a sophisticated modern concept found in both evolutionary biology and material science: that of constraints. An engineer, or natural selection, cannot create “perfect” artifacts or living organisms, because they have to work within specific constraints imposed both by the accessible materials and by the very laws of physics. The implication, however, is that the Stoic God (or the Demiurge, in Platonism [1]) was at the very least not all-powerful, otherwise he could, and presumably would, have done better.
(This, again, is better than the Christian response to the same problem, since the Christians do maintain that their God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and benevolent, and yet did willfully allow things like tsunamis and cancer to exist. As far as I can tell, there is no way out of this particular conundrum, and blaming human beings—the so-called “free will defense”—obviously doesn’t work.)
Determinism and free will
Let’s now get to the second point discussed by Chrysippus and summarized in section two of the seventh book of Attic Nights: the relationship between what we would nowadays call free will and physical determinism, the idea that everything happens as a result of cause and effect. In the same book that contains the above discussion, On Providence, Chrysippus writes:
“Fate is an orderly series, established by nature, of all events, following one another and joined together from eternity, and their unalterable interdependence.” (Attic Nights, VII.2)
Ah, say the critics, but if that is the case, then people are not responsible for their actions, and it is therefore unjust to mete out punishment when they do something wrong. I think the critics, again, have it exactly right, but let’s first hear Chrysippus’s response:
“Although it is a fact that all things are subject to an inevitable and fundamental law and are closely linked to fate, yet the peculiar properties of our minds are subject to fate only according to their individuality and quality. For if in the beginning they are fashioned by nature for health and usefulness, they will avoid with little opposition and little difficulty all that force with which fate threatens them from without. But if they are rough, ignorant, crude, and without any support from education, through their own perversity and voluntary impulse they plunge into continual faults and sin, even though the assault of some inconvenience due to fate be slight or non-existent. And that this very thing should happen in this way is due to that natural and inevitable connection of events which is called ‘fate.’ For it is in the nature of things, so to speak, fated and inevitable that evil characters should not be free from sins and faults.” (Attic Nights, VII.2)
It looks like Chrysippus is saying that human character is what allows us to respond, virtuously or viciously, to whatever Fate sends our way. Which is, of course, true. In drawing such distinction, Chrysippus is making use of his famous classification of causes at various levels: proximate vs ultimate, external vs internal. Our character is the result of internal, proximate causes, and so is not an exception to the Stoic deterministic view of the world.
The problem, however, is that our characters are, in turn, shaped by causes over which we also have no control, ranging from our genetic material to the early experiences in our life. That said, it is true, as modern Stoic writer Larry Backer pointed out, that our will has a peculiar ability that is not shared by any of our other characteristics: it can recursively apply to itself, thus engaging us in a virtuous (or vicious) feedback loop that further improves (or deteriorates) our character.
Chrysippus further elaborates on his ideas by introducing a famous metaphor:
“For instance, if you roll a cylindrical stone over a sloping, steep piece of ground, you do indeed furnish the beginning and cause of its rapid descent, yet soon it speeds onward, not because you make it do so, but because of its peculiar form and natural tendency to roll; just so the order, the law, and the inevitable quality of fate set in motion the various classes of things and the beginnings of causes, but the carrying out of our designs and thoughts, and even our actions, are regulated by each individual’s own will and the characteristics of his mind.” (Attic Nights, VII.2)
This famous analogy of the rolling cylinder is meant to make clear the difference between external and internal causes: Chrysippus pushing the cylinder is the external cause that gets things in motion, but the cylinder keeps rolling (for a while) because it is in the (internal) nature of cylinders to do so. If instead of a cylinder Chrysippus had pushed a cone, it would have rotated, not rolled.
This is all fine, but also still all perfectly deterministic: both the movement of the cylinder and our virtuous (or vicious) reactions to external circumstances are the result of (complex, non-linear, cross-interacting) causes and effects. I agree with Chrysippus that in an important sense our decisions are “ours,” because they stem from our internal decision making mechanisms, what Epictetus referred to as prohairesis (volition). But we are “responsible” for such decisions in a way analogous to how a very sophisticated, complex, non-linear, cross-interacting, feedback-inducing computer is responsible for its decisions. That is, we are causally responsible, but not morally so. Evolution made us into incredibly elaborate and efficient decision-making biological “machines,” [2] but it hasn’t made it possible for us to escape cause and effect. [3]
These issues are likely why Cicero, in his On Fate, ends up commenting:
“Chrysippus, in spite of all efforts and labour, is perplexed how to explain that everything is ruled by fate, but that we nevertheless have some control over our conduct.” (Attic Nights, VII.2)
Getting out of the mess
At this point it may be useful to introduce what I think is an important distinction, which is often not made in discussions of free will and determinism: the one between ontology and epistemology. Ontology, of course, is the branch of metaphysics that deals with what does or does not exist; epistemology, by contrast, is the branch of the theory of knowledge that has to do with how we know things. I think that part of the Chrysippan confusion to which Cicero is referring stems from blurring the distinction between ontology and epistemology.
Ontologically speaking, there is little doubt in my mind that we live in a (macroscopically) deterministic universe where everything happens by cause and effect. No miracles, no exceptions. This, of course, includes our inner decision-making mechanisms, i.e., our prohairesis.
Epistemically speaking, however, we have access to only a very limited part of the cosmic web of cause and effect, because we are not Laplace’s demon. So we have no choice (ah!) but to behave as if we had true free will. Our survival and flourishing depend on it.
The Stoics, at some level, understood this, which is why they were critical of the so-called “lazy argument.” Bear with me for a few more paragraphs, I promise it will be worth it.
The lazy argument is discussed in chapter 9 of Aristotle’s De Interpretatione, as well as in sections 28-29 of Cicero’s De Fato. Here is one of the most popular versions, in Origen’s Against Celsus, II.20:
“If it is fated that you will recover from this illness, then, regardless of whether you consult a doctor or you do not consult [a doctor] you will recover. But also: if it is fated that you won’t recover from this illness, then, regardless of whether you consult a doctor or you do not consult [a doctor] you won’t recover. But either it is fated that you will recover from this illness or it is fated that you won’t recover. Therefore it is futile to consult a doctor.”
You can appreciate why it is called the lazy argument: it basically says that, if fate / determinism is true, then it doesn’t matter what you do, things will go in a certain way regardless. It is a perfect example of the confusion between ontology (how things will actually go) and epistemology (what do we know and therefore do about things).
We know of Chrysippus’s response by way of Cicero’s De Fato. It goes something like this: You twat!, (I paraphrase here) if it is fated that you will recover from the illness, how do you think that’s going to happen? By itself? No, it will take steps on your part, such as going to the doctor and take the recommended medicines. Of course, if it is fated that you will die from the illness even such steps won’t save you. But you don’t know, so if you want a fighting chance of surviving you better get your ass off the bed and visit the doctor.
And that’s pretty much the picture of the free will debate at which I have arrived over decades thinking about it. Now, if you would excuse me, I will go back to reading Attic Nights. Why? Is it fated that I do so? I don’t know. But I know that I’m getting a lot of pleasure out of it, so I’ll just go on and do it.
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[1] To be clear: Plato’s concept of the Demiurge is not the same as the Stoic God. The latter was identical to the universe itself, as the Stoics were pantheists. But the same argument applies because the Stoic God / Universe is self-creating.
[2] I use the analogy between living organisms and machines very loosely, as I think it is otherwise misleading. I have explained the problems with that metaphor in one of my technical papers: https://philpapers.org/rec/PIGWMM.
[3] I’m aware that the concept of cause-effect plays no role in the world of quantum mechanics, and considering that seriously would double the length of this already long essay. But quantum mechanics itself is a deterministic theory, and moreover, it is useless, in practice, to describe the behavior of macroscopic objects such as human beings. So cause-effect, which is universally applied in all the sciences outside fundamental physics, remains the order of the day.
Maybe I don't really understand Chrysippus' statements, but...
I find the view that something good only exists because something bad exists disturbing. Yes, language is dualistic in order to be able to distinguish objects/facts. But you must not confuse the words(abstract) with the real object(concrete)or the map is not the territory
Otherwise you come to the conclusion that in order to promote good you can bring bad into the world and that nothing pure could exist and all "good actions" are pointless.
Reminds me a bit of the view of the balance of the force in the Star Wars films with the dual dark/light side. Why go to the trouble of fighting for the "light" side when it automatically becomes larger as soon as the power of the "dark" side grows, the whole thing then becomes absurd/pointless.
That is the problem when you don't look at the concrete facts/objects/facts of nature but only at the words/concepts and logic.
Any fantasy can be logical, but it doesn't have to be true or causally realistic in the physical world.
I think this is another point that the Epicureans always criticize when it comes to Platonic and partly Stoic ideas.
And if there are deterministic internal causalities then this again influences external determinism. Different decisions lead to different actions and causality in the "external" world.
Doesn't this mean that the whole house of the Stoic Logos, which determines everything as "good", falls apart?
The contradiction I encounter is: The Logos or nature has arranged everything perfectly except for people, almost all of whom are non-virtuous. Their non-virtuous actions, however, do not disturb nature's perfection.
How do the Stoics put this together?
In the Epicurean worldview, this contradiction does not arise and all aspects of nature are addressed (agency, necessity, chance, the Epicurean dichotomy of control ) (unfortunately not in detail, but we can piece together the details nowadays :) and the details bring the errors :) )
e.g. Letter to Menoeceus 133:
"...some things happen of necessity, others by chance, others through our own agency. For he sees that necessity destroys responsibility and that chance or fortune is inconstant; whereas our own actions are free, and it is to them that praise and blame naturally attach."
https://www.epicureanfriends.com/wcf/lexicon/index.php?entry/83-epicurus-letter-to-menoeceus/
I too am happy that I chose to read this, and that you chose to write it. I'm am glad too that you stated that there are causes and effects and that they are so complex and Interwoven that they cannot be fully separated and distinguished. It shoots a big hole in the cosmological argument for god. The universe cannot be a singular event with one ultimate cause. Now I can choose to drink a good red wine
Tonight Trollinger. Nothing evil in that.