John Kilcullen
From: Sincerity and Truth: Essays on Arnauld, Bayle and Toleration (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988)
The case for toleration as Bayle presents it seems closely tied to the proposition that if we do what we sincerely think right then we do a morally good act, even if that act is actually wrong. The prominence of this proposition in his book would have made it seem unpersuasive to some of the people most important to convince, namely those who followed "the principles of St Augustine". Arnauld, for example, rejects the Jesuits' thesis that an act cannot be morally bad unless we do it in the belief that it is wrong, for reasons that imply rejection of Bayle's thesis that an act must be morally good if we do it in the belief that it is right. In fact, neither proposition is needed as a premiss in Bayle's main argument for toleration, but the difference over this matter is a suitable starting-point for reflection on some of the features of Bayle's moral theory.Through these disagreements runs a common concern with desert or merit, with what ought to be praised, blamed, rewarded or punished: what is deserved or merited is either reward or punishment, and praise and blame are thought of as species of reward and punishment. This concern with desert, sometimes under the rubric of "moral responsibility" (thought of as liability to punishment), is in fact characteristic of most European moral theory until at least the end of the eighteenth century.[Note 1] In this tradition morality is often thought of as being like the law of a State, as being part of God's government of the universe. Moral judgement is an anticipation of God's judgement on the last day. God will then reward praiseworthy acts and punish blameworthy ones---not as an incentive or deterrent but retributively.[Note 2] (By "retributively" I mean just because it is deserved, without any other reason.) Our moral judgement meanwhile is the recognition that the act merits reward or punishment, or praise or blame thought of as kinds of reward and punishment. Arnauld opposes the idea of purely philosophical sin precisely to keep the link between moral judgement and God's distribution of eternal rewards and punishments.[Note 3]
Concern with merit leads to another preoccupation of many writers in this tradition, namely with what these days is often called "contra-causal" freedom,[Note 4] called in Bayle's time "liberty of indifference".[Note 5] This is the idea that my choices (some of them, at least) are free in the sense that at the very moment when I am choosing to do something I also have complete power to choose not to do it, no matter what the antecedent events and circumstances may be---in particular, no matter what my character and present impulses may be. Thus choice is not determined by the antecedents: I can choose either way. Such a conception of human freedom was unheard of, I believe, before Duns Scotus.[Note 6] But whoever originated it, during the fourteenth century it became, with some variations, the common doctrine of the Franciscans,[Note 7] and later of the Jesuits and of Catholics generally. Earlier moralists, such as Augustine, also thought that morality is concerned with voluntary action, and that deliberation is a choice between possible courses of action. But it did not occur to them to think that human action is not voluntary unless at the very moment of choice the agent has complete power to choose the opposite of what he is choosing: in their view a voluntary action is simply one that is done by choice.[Note 8]
Many modern philosophers have rejected the Scotist conception of the voluntary, but many have adopted it. Part of its attraction is that it seems to harmonize ideas of fairness with moral responsibility, understanding this as a matter of fitness for some sort of punishment or reward. One argument is that I cannot justly be blamed or punished except for my own act, and an act determined by antecedents not all in my power would not be my own act. Augustine and his followers reject this argument: the act is my own if I choose it, whether I could have chosen otherwise or not. Another argument is by analogy: just as I cannot justly be punished for what I physically cannot help, that is, for something that happens whether I want it to or not, so I cannot justly be punished for doing what I cannot help wanting to do. Augustine and his followers reject the analogy: "internal compulsion" is not morally on a par with external compulsion. According to Arnauld, God makes allowance for the effect of adverse external circumstances, but not for internal compulsions: the strength of an inclination to choose what is wrong makes the act more voluntary, and does not reduce the punishment deserved (see above, p. 000). Further, they argue, necessity of choice is no excuse when it is itself a punishment. According to Arnauld (see below, Appendix), since Adam's fall desert supposes only a "metaphysical" and not "effective" power of opposite choice. Before the fall Adam had effective liberty of indifference; our reduced freedom is a punishment for Adam's abuse of his full freedom.
Bayle rejects the theory of reduced freedom as punishment (see above, Essay II, sect. 4.2), but otherwise it is not easy to say just where he stands on these questions.[Note 9] In many places, usually in connection with the question whether freedom can be reconciled with God's foreknowledge,[Note 10] he describes the controversy between those who say that our will is "endowed with free choice (franc arbitre) properly so-called", and those who say that it is not, though we are free in another sense.[Note 11] (Notice that the term "free choice" has been appropriated by one of the parties, although the other also holds that human beings are free and that the will cannot be forced.) As members of the first party he mentions Jesuits, Molinists, Remonstrants or Arminians, and Socinians.[Note 12] Freedom of choice as they understand it is "liberty of indifference", the "proximate power not to act, and to choose even the contrary of what we choose",[Note 13] an ability to choose even when the motives on both sides are evenly balanced.[Note 14] According to them, we are "self-determining", "masters of our own acts of will".[Note 15] The other party consists of the various kind of Augustinians; he mentions Thomas Aquinas, the Dominicans, Calvin, the Calvinists of the Synod of Dort, Luther, the Jansenists. They hold that an act is free if it is "spontaneous"---or, more precisely, if it is not due to external constraint and is done with knowledge and deliberately, that is, out of conscious choice;[Note 16] and that freedom in this sense is not inconsistent with determination of our choice by God's grace, or by vice, or by some other cause.[Note 17]
It might be expected that Bayle, as a Calvinist, would adopt the second theory, but in fact he seems to adopt the first, that of the Jesuits and Arminians---that human beings have liberty of indifference. He does not think, however, that this theory can be established by philosophical argument. The testimony of consciousness is not enough, since occasionalism, or some theory of psycho-physical parallelism and physical determinism, or the Augustinian or Thomist theories of God's action upon human will, could all be reconciled with the phenomena of consciousness.[Note 18] Not psychological reflection but "morality and religion ought to be the resource of the hypothesis of Mr Jaquelot", that is, of the Arminian theory.[Note 19] But morality does not furnish a decisive argument,[Note 20] and neither does the practice of punishing wrongdoers for the sake of reformation and deterrence.[Note 21] What seems to prove that we have liberty of indifference is the religious revelation that God punishes retributively. "The revelation of a hell. . . is the only good proof of our liberty."[Note 22] Only those who postulate liberty of indifference can engage in praise, blame, reward and punishment (when it is retributive, at least) without inconsistency.[Note 23]
Assuming, then, that free choice in this sense is a presupposition of moral merit and demerit (understood as entitlement or liability to praise or blame, reward or punishment), and assuming that moral goodness and evil are the same as moral merit and demerit, and that the effect of external causes on what we believe and on the outcome of our attempts to perform an external act is morally like compulsion, Bayle argues (see above, Essay II, n. 64, and sect. 4.1) that being right and doing the right external acts are morally neither good nor evil: nothing is good or evil morally except the very act of free choice. Provided we choose to do what we sincerely believe is right, it does not matter whether we can actually do it, or whether it is actually right.[Note 24] Merit depends on the reason for the choice, on the reason as we see it; it is as if we freely choose to accept some particular reason, for the deeper reason that this reason seems to have a certain moral quality which we deem good; the deeper choice is the decision to value this quality, and the deepest choice is to love whatever we see as good. Merit arises from the intensity of this basic commitment to the good.[Note 25]
But is this basic commitment, and the intensity of it, freely chosen? An affirmative answer sets off an infinite regress, unless that choice is undetermined: and if it is, if it is made for no reason, and not out of love of goodness, why is it meritorious? Suppose then that the answer is negative. Suppose that the basic commitment is a matter of innate temperament, that each of us has a finite "given" amount of moral energy, strength of will or power of right choice, a certain degree of concern to do good (it need not be the same all the time, or the same from one person to the next, and it may be possible to use some of it to develop more). Then we would not deserve praise or reward for the strength of our commitment to the good, because there seems no reason why merit should depend on what is merely "given". That would not be fair, since it depends on an external cause, which might give different people different amounts: merit would then depend on luck. Desert can therefore depend on strength of commitment only in so far as that results from self-development. But then it is on a par with any other result of choice, and desert after all depends not on a basic commitment but on the particular choices, discounted to allow for differences in the original endowments of goodwill. Discounting would be no simple matter. If our endowment of moral energy is finite, then someone faced with many hard decisions coming close together will not be able to avoid bad choices altogether. Fairness would seem to require that, in assessing moral desert, allowance should be made not only for our different initial endowments of moral energy but also for the different degrees of rigour with which the world tests our goodwill---for differences in the sequence of problems and temptations and in their order and timing. Only God will know how to make all the allowances fairness requires. Human beings will have to give up assessing one another's moral merits, and their own.
These are paradoxical conclusions, which it would be better to avoid if we can. Against Bayle and others in this tradition, then, I will suggest that merely retributive punishment is wrong, that in relation to moral assessment praise and blame are not kinds of reward and punishment, that praiseworthiness and moral goodness are not identical, that morality does not presuppose liberty of indifference and that sincerity is not enough for moral goodness. Moral assessment is for some other purpose (when it has a purpose) than justifying reward or punishment.
The goodness of an action seems to have at least two aspects (of which Bayle focuses exclusively on the second). To be simply good an action must both (a) be morally right, and (b) be done for a morally good or right reason or motive. The action is (a) morally right if it is not contrary to any moral rule of duty, that is, if it is permissible. It need not be required as a duty; it is enough if it does not violate any duty. Duties are not so numerous and comprehensive as to leave no freedom; often we have a choice among possible courses of action none of which is a duty. Duties are of various kinds and can be violated in various ways (see above, Essay III, Introduction). What violates a deliberative principle (if such a principle lays down a duty) is not an outward act but some forbidden manner of deliberating; a duty of imperfect obligation is not violated by any single act or omission but by not doing enough over time; and so on. As for (b), that supposes that morality is not merely a set of rules which restrict what we can do to further our purposes whatever they are---as if morality said "Do what you like, as long as you don"t break any of the following rules"---but is concerned also with the evaluation of purposes and other reasons for action.[Note 26] Some reasons may be forbidden by moral principles, for example by principles of deliberation. Some reasons are merely permissible, while others are positively good, and some are better or best. A right (that is, permissible) act done for a merely permissible reason is morally good in the minimal sense that it is not evil; if the reason is positively good, and better than others, then the act is morally good, and better than others. It is not a duty always to act for the best.
The moral goodness of a person consists in having dispositions which prompt right acts and inhibit wrong ones, and prompt action for good reasons and inhibit action for bad reasons. There are many such dispositions. They include moral virtues, qualities of temperament and certain beliefs, at least beliefs in general terms about what is right and good.[Note 27] Some such dispositions are acquired voluntarily, by deliberate self-cultivation, but others are not: they are acquired accidentally, or are innate, or develop spontaneously. Bayle's mistake here is to say that only dispositions due to deliberate self-cultivation are morally good or evil (see above, Essay II, sect. 4.1). A disposition may be morally good or bad because of the actions it gives rise to, and not because of the actions that gave rise to it. In choosing friends, in considering whether some person is truly worthy of respect, in deciding whether someone can be relied on in certain ways, and in many other cases in which we make what I think can be called moral assessments, we are not concerned to know which of the dispositions which give rise to good actions were due to self-cultivation. And while in some cases self-cultivation may be prompted by a self-cultivated disposition, that cannot be true ad infinitum, and it seems unsatisfactory to say that the dispositions which give rise to the first cultivation of moral virtue are not to count as moral dispositions.
Conscientiousness is an important disposition, but it is a mistake to try to reduce the goodness of persons to conscientiousness. Conscientiousness or goodwill is the disposition to do what is morally good because of its goodness. If Christians do something because it seems the Christian thing to do, that shows their Christianity. But if they do the same act in the belief that it is morally good (perhaps because they believe that what Christianity suggests always is morally good), and do it precisely because they believe that it is good, and otherwise would not do it, then that shows both Christianity and concern for goodness as such---conscientiousness. The strategic importance of conscientiousness is that if we lack other qualities necessary to goodness this disposition may prompt effort to acquire what we lack. For example, if we happen to realize that some morally important general belief may be mistaken---perhaps the belief that what the Christian tradition recommends is always morally good---then concern to do what is good prompts inquiry. Inquiry does not necessarily lead to correct beliefs; given our existing beliefs and opportunities for checking them it may even lead us further astray. But under fortunate circumstances a concern to do what is good may lead to the correction of false beliefs about what is right and good. Similarly, if we notice some general defect in our character, or if changing circumstances call for some change of disposition (for example, if the present situation calls for more patience), then if we are concerned to do what is good we may try to acquire the appropriate disposition. Conscientiousness is both a determination to do what at present seems good and a source of growth, correction and adaptation to circumstances, and is thus a key virtue.[Note 28] But it is not the only virtue, and is not by itself enough to make a person good. A conscientious person with false beliefs or too little patience will sometimes do wrong, or do the right thing for a bad reason. If goodness consists in being the sort of person likely to do the right thing for the right reason, then conscientiousness is not enough to make a person good.
What if one of the two conditions of the goodness of an act (being right, and being done for a right reason) is met but not the other? Bayle would say that the act is good if and only if the second condition is met, and that to satisfy the second it is enough if the reason seems good (see above, p. 000). Arnauld would say that unless both conditions are truly met the act is evil: bonum ex integra causa, malum ex quocumque defectu (see above, Essay I, n. 181). I think we should reject both of these answers. To meet just one condition is not enough to make the act simply good, and failure in any one condition is not enough to make it simply bad. Suppose it is done for a good reason but is in fact wrong; and suppose the reason is good in the sense that, although what the act is meant to bring about is actually something pernicious, the agent sincerely believes that it is good. In such a case we ought to say that the act was done for what the agent sincerely but mistakenly believed to be a good purpose, but was in fact wrong. We should resist any demand for a single summary judgement, a "Yes or No" answer. If someone asks, "Well, was it good or not?" we must say "It was, in so far as it was done sincerely, and it was not, in so far as it was wrong and misdirected."
Similarly with the goodness of a person. Some conscientious people have erroneous beliefs, for example that Calvinists ought to be "dragooned" into the Catholic Church, or that Catholics should be left unemployed and poorly housed until they become Protestants. People with such beliefs are not simply good, and conscientious people are not simply bad. Again we must insist on the whole story, and say that they are conscientious people who hold certain false and pernicious beliefs. For some specific purpose we may need to sum up in a single "on balance" judgement, and then the purpose will suggest the weight to be given to the various virtues and defects (and for some purposes a very conscientious person labouring under an error may be worse than a somewhat unconscientious person under the same error). But summary judgements should not be made with no particular purpose in view; if the judgement is simply "for the record", it must mention the good and bad aspects of the act or person separately, without trying to reduce them to a single measure.[Note 29]
So much for the complexities of goodness. Are praiseworthiness and moral goodness the same, as Bayle assumes? The idea of goodness is complex, but perhaps that of praiseworthiness is too, and they might match. It might be thought that to say that the reason for an act is good is simply to say that it is a praiseworthy reason, that the goodness of the disposition to act for good reasons consists in its being praiseworthy, and so on. There does not seem to be any single strong reason for denying that goodness is praiseworthiness, but for several reasons it seems better to say that they are not the same. Some morally good acts are not praiseworthy or blameworthy but just good (those which merely fulfil a duty, without being difficult to perform). Those which are praiseworthy are not good precisely because they are praiseworthy; praiseworthiness presupposes goodness of some sort, so cannot constitute it. If we suppose that they are the same some some dubious conclusions follow. Praiseworthiness has some connection with difficulty, and on that supposition goodness will have too. A good act will merit praise (which on this hypothesis constitutes its goodness) if it is done despite difficulty; a bad act will deserve blame (which is its badness) if it would have been at least possible to do the right thing, and deserves more blame (and is worse) the easier right action would have been. If outward acts are morally indifferent, and only the act of choice can merit praise, then merit will come from the difficulty of making the right choice. But then good dispositions will diminish merit by making right choices easier, and vice will diminish blame by making them harder. Then people who develop good dispositions in one area of behaviour, to go on meriting, will need to transfer their efforts to some other area. Continuing progress in virtue achieved through struggle against bad inclinations merits praise, but if perfect virtue were ever attained merit would cease. The "Holy Will" Kant speaks of[Note 30] could not merit, and if goodness and praiseworthiness were the same could not do a morally good act. A good act would be better for being done by someone with evil inclinations: Peter Abelard, whose moral theory in some ways anticipates Bayle"s, seems to think that having bad inclinations is lucky because of the merit which that makes possible.[Note 31] These dubious conclusions are avoided if we deny that praiseworthiness is the same as goodness, though some of them could perhaps be avoided in other ways.
Praise and blame are not the only kinds of moral evaluation. Praise seems to be always for an action, or the result of action. Praise for a disposition assumes that the disposition is an achievement, the result of action. But respect (which is not the same as praise---and the expression of respect is not praise) is for good dispositions, without any assumption about how they were formed. If someone seems to have developed good dispositions without effort we may wonder whether he or she has the strategically important quality of conscientiousness, and the doubt may temper our respect, but otherwise it should make no difference: that someone's good qualities came easily is not itself a reason for diminished respect. In deciding whom to respect we judge according to our own lights, and there is no reason to try to do anything else. Sincerity[Note 32] or conscientiousness is a morally good disposition, so we should respect anyone who has it. But since it is not the only virtue, we may respect someone for conscientiousness but in other respects assess him unfavourably.
But it seems to me that retributive punishment cannot rightly be inflicted in this life or in the next. It is not right to inflict pain or other damage upon someone for no other reason than that he has done something wrong; and this is true whether we have freewill or not. That the person punished has done wrong is necessary, but not sufficient, to justify the punishment.[Note 33] As for reward, it seems obvious that to expect praise or reward for a morally good act would be the wrong attitude. Good action is not even "its own reward"; the notion of reward is simply inappropriate. To be morally good an act must be done for the right kind of reason. The wish to attain, or even to deserve, reward, and to avoid, or not to deserve, punishment are not reasons of the right kind. In other contexts (when teachers or superiors, for example, give praise and recognition as a reward, or give other rewards, to children or subordinates) praise, blame, reward and punishment have a place as incentives and disincentives not related to moral desert. If in some such context something has been held out beforehand as an incentive then those who qualify may be entitled to it as a matter of justice, which is a requirement of morality. But morality does not require reward for morally good acts as such. The doer of a morally good act cannot complain of injustice if there never is any recognition or reward for moral goodness.
Blaming may be explicit ("I blame you. . ."), but more often we blame without using the word: "That was wrong", "You did it to spite him", "It was cowardly", and so on. Let us call this "implicit" blame. It involves some sort of explicit moral assessment, but it is only by what it implies that it is blame. There are different kinds of moral assessments, corresponding to the various kinds and conditions of goodness distinguished earlier, so people are blamed for various sorts of things: for doing something wrong; for acting for some bad reason (for example, out of spite); for acting in a way that shows some bad disposition (for example, cowardice). A person is blamed "for" something (always for voluntary action, or for the result of such action, I think), in view of some morally significant aspect it has (that it is wrong, spiteful, cowardly); the action (rather than the person) is said to be "blameworthy".[Note 35]
It seems that any kind of unfavourable moral assessment can count as implicit blame, provided it is understood to be for a voluntary act or for something of which some voluntary act of the person blamed is a cause.[Note 36] If this proviso is not satisfied the moral assessment stands, but no longer counts as blame. Since we differ about what is voluntary, and about what causes what, and perhaps about what sort of causation is relevant, we may not all take the same utterance as implicit blame. If we think, for example, that some bad emotion or disposition a person displays is not due to voluntary action on his part, then we will not count as blame a remark attributing this emotion or disposition to him;[Note 37] but the remark still stands as an unfavourable moral assessment. If we think that no one ever voluntarily causes anything in the relevant sense (for example, if we think that blaming implies that the person is an absolutely originating cause,[Note 38] and that determinism is true), then we will think that no one can ever be blamed for anything. But that would be no reason to stop making the assessments that on the assumptions usually made count as implicit blame.
Blame may be an attitude of mind, or something expressed.[Note 39] Perhaps an attitude cannot have a purpose, and the expression of an attitude may have no purpose. But in so far as blaming has purpose, various purposes are possible, since we have various purposes in making and communicating moral assessments. One purpose is to understand, perhaps as a preliminary to something else. I may consider in my own mind what disposition you showed in some action ("Was that really as selfish as it seemed?"); I may talk to you about it, to check and improve my understanding---and you may take some of what I say as blame; I may discuss it with someone else---who may take what I say as blame of you, even if I do not use the word. Trying to understand, even when it involves unfavourable evaluation, may be part of friendship. A friend's character is of interest in itself, and we may wish to understand so that we can help. In other cases we may want to understand so as to know what to expect in future. Sometimes the purpose (especially when the assessment is addressed to the person blamed) is to bring about a change.
But blaming may not be concerned with dispositions and future behaviour. We may blame someone precisely for a particular action without caring whether it was in character, or out of character.[Note 40] Sometimes this is a spontaneous expression of resentment or indignation, without purpose. Sometimes its purpose is to get the offender or someone else to make up for what has been done. Let us call this "protest" or "complaint": it is explicit or implicit blame which is intended not to stigmatize, nor to modify the disposition which the act displayed, but to get some sort of compensation. Holborow has suggested that in blame there is an element of "holding something against someone" (the opposite of which is forgiveness), that we may decide not to hold a lapse against a person with an otherwise good record, and that "the record" is concerned not always with the person's general reputation but sometimes with the particular action, even if it is out of character.[Note 41] I think this is right, except that "holding against" and forgiving are elements not of blame generally, but specifically of complaint. When we think we have grounds for complaint we make a mental note of the fact that compensation is due, and keep a record of what has been done to pay the debt. We may forgive people whose behaviour is generally good without insisting upon compensation, since they do a lot of good anyway, or we may just cancel the debt. A prompt apology mollifies not because it settles the account but because it gives assurance that the offender is willing to settle it. The account is not a record of what blame and punishment is due, but of what the person blamed should make up for.
Responsibility by its etymology implies some obligation to make answer.[Note 42] To hold someone responsible is to require him to answer a complaint, either showing that it is not well founded (and, incidentally, that any blame implied is not deserved, that is, not well founded), or admitting that it is and undertaking to make up for what is complained of. If he is willing to answer then he accepts responsibility. If he acts so as to be able to answer satisfactorily, then he behaves responsibly. Accepting responsibility need not mean voluntarily accepting punishment; that may be appropriate in some cases, if it is required by commitment to some social arrangement established to guarantee that certain things will not be done: but accepting responsibility may mean simply answering, or making compensation, undoing the damage, or something else. On the other hand, being punished involuntarily is not accepting responsibility, nor even being held responsible: a person may be punished because he will not answer, or has no excuse, or will not make compensation. "Responsible" has at least one other sense. Just as blame is for voluntary acts or their result, so "responsible", when synonymous with "to blame", implies voluntary causation: the person responsible and to blame is the voluntary cause of something complained of. Similarly, we may say that an inanimate thing is (metaphorically) responsible if it is the (involuntary) cause. A person who has not voluntarily caused something, who is not in that sense responsible for it, and not to blame for it, may nevertheless be responsible for it in the former sense, that is, in the sense that he is obliged to answer for it: thus a minister may be responsible for the acts done by members of his department without his knowledge or consent. A person responsible in the second sense will be responsible also in the first.
The answer made by the responsible person may include excuses, which may be accepted. An excuse is intended to fend off an unfavourable assessment. Since there are various kinds of unfavourable assessments and various ways of replying, there are different sorts of excuses. The excuse of external force removes blame altogether (though perhaps not an obligation to make compensation): since blame implies that the person is relevantly the voluntary cause of the thing complained of, then an excuse that refutes that causal hypothesis removes the blame. Sometimes an excuse replaces one unfavourable assessment with another, less unfavourable or perhaps just different (there is no all-purpose scale of degrees of unfavourableness). "No, I don"t hate the human race, I'm just irritable on Monday mornings" substitutes one unfavourable assessment for another. If in excuse I suggest that my irritability is not a moral vice but a matter of unfortunate native temperament, I may not be blamed for it, since I am not the cause of it, but the judgement that I have such a temperament is still an unfavourable moral assessment. I may say that I have struggled heroically to correct my native irritability, but without success, since I am by nature exceptionally irritable. This may show that I am exceptionally conscientious, which is a good thing---but still the unfavourable assessment stands, that I am exceptionally irritable.
The excuse of diminished responsibility does not seem to mean that the choice was necessitated. In some cases perhaps there was really no choice at all (rather than a choice which was necessitated). Where there was a choice the point of the excuse seems to be to block certain inferences about the agent's character that might otherwise have been reasonable. A tantrum on the part of someone subject to violent fits of uncontrollable rage does not show the callous disregard for the interests of others that similar behaviour on the part of someone else might show in similar circumstances. Still, such a characteristic is a defect. If it is not caused by voluntary act then the excuse removes blame, but an unfavourable assessment remains.
Expression of blame is sometimes intended (in my opinion wrongly) as retribution, and sometimes as reformative or deterrent punishment, but blame is not essentially a species of punishment.[Note 43] Blame, and other communications of unfavourable assessment, may cause pain, and the pain may sometimes be a means intentionally used to effect change. But this is not always the intention. To say to someone that his behaviour was deceitful may cause him pain, and the purpose in saying it may be to get him to be more honest in future. But the critic may intend to achieve that purpose not by causing pain but by appealing to his general desire to be honest, or to his general conscientiousness, or (at the lowest) to his desire to be thought well of. The criticism pains him because he does have one of these desires. The pain may be not the end, nor a means, but only a side-effect. Similarly, unfavourable moral assessment causes a conscientious person pain even if there is no suggestion that he is "responsible" in the causal sense, that is, even when the assessment is not blame.
Moral responsibility, then, and moral assessment do not relate exclusively to reward and punishment, praise and blame, and a disposition which was not voluntarily acquired may be the object of some sorts of moral assessment, though not of blame. Actions, however, in contrast with dispositions, must be voluntary to be subject to any sort of moral assessment. Now we must consider the sense in which the actions subject to moral assessment are voluntary.
Though it is compatible with moral responsibility determinism of course may not be true. I do not know whether it is or not, but I am pretty sure that what is usually regarded as the alternative theory, that volitions are uncaused, is not true. There is, in fact, besides determinism and the theory of liberty of indifference, another possible position, which I will call the "motives" theory. Let us distinguish between the doctrine that each of my decisions is determined or caused by some motive or other reason,[Note 47] and the doctrine that my motives are determined by a chain of causes extending out of consciousness indefinitely into the past. I will call the former the "motives" theory and the latter the "chains" theory. I think the "motives" theory is correct, and compatible with the view that some actions are voluntary: an action done for a reason is a voluntary act. Now it seems likely that each reason (or other motive) is attached to a chain of causes. Reasons occur to us in various ways: some are brought home to us by another person (who is part cause); others arise out of perception (of which some external object is part cause); others occur spontaneously, coming into consciousness from we don"t know where, but perhaps as a result of some physical or psychological cause. What reasons occur and how strong they seem depends on background dispositions, such as character, mood and beliefs, which may be determined by various physical and social causes. It is thus very likely that chains of antecedent causes determine what reasons I see and how I see them. But whether absolutely every motive is so chained, and whether every chain extends back forever, or to a First Cause, and whether absolutely everything that happens is similarly chained---that is, whether determinism is true---I do not know. The "motives" theory, however, without help from any version of the "chains" theory, already implies rejection of the doctrine of liberty of indifference. A voluntary act is something we do because we have decided to do it, and although it is possible, and I think quite likely, that deciding is an act, not just a being moved by reasons,[Note 48] what we decide is determined by the reasons as we apprehend them, given our beliefs, moods and character. At a given moment, until some new thought occurs or some disposition changes, the decision cannot be other than it is.[Note 49]
As Mill pointed out, the thesis that our choices are all caused by motives does not mean that that we are merely passive, or that we must do what is fated no matter how hard we try to do something else.[Note 50] Even if whatever happens is predetermined, our choices and efforts are among the things predetermined, and are among the causes of what will happen.[Note 51] Further, we can deliberately act upon the dispositions which condition our future decisions.[Note 52] We can change our dispositions if we decide to do so---not simply by deciding, and usually not immediately, sometimes not at all, but sometimes by some course of voluntary action which in time causes some change. Of course the decision to try to change is determined. We decide to change only if we have a strong enough motive for doing so.
We are active also in deliberation. Deliberation is a succession of voluntary acts directed by a succession of minor decisions, or decisions "by default"[Note 53]: we decide to deliberate, decide how to deliberate, decide to give serious consideration to some aspect, decide when to stop deliberating. Some of the sub-decisions are themselves the outcome of a sub-deliberation, but since there cannot be a regress to infinity of deliberations about whether and how to deliberate, others must be spontaneous or "indeliberate". (By "indeliberate" I mean determined by some motive, such as a reason in the minimal sense, that is, a perception of some possible act as desirable, but not preceded by consideration of opposing reasons or other possibilities.) After a sub-deliberation, or impulsively, we may decide to consult someone, or to look something up, or to go somewhere and look or listen. Thus deliberation may involve (or be served by) physical activity. It also involves mental activity, to some extent under conscious direction (we can direct not only our bodies but also our minds): when we deliberate many thoughts come unbidden, but others come because we look for them. We can decide to think about some subject, to try to remember, to search for reasons, to attend to something more closely, to set irrelevant or improper considerations aside. Thus spontaneous thoughts and indeliberate decisions lead to physical or mental activities which give rise to more thoughts and decisions, while yet others occur spontaneously. The decisions and sub-decisions, spontaneous or deliberate, are all motivated,[Note 54] all in that sense determined by causes. Various causes (such as spontaneous thoughts) make me decide to do some things (such as search my memory, ask advice) which may bring to bear some other cause (for example, an adviser). That the process is determined by causes would be clear if deliberation were always like being buttonholed and given unasked advice by other people; the difference is that when we willingly seek advice and search our own minds, some of the causes of these actions are our own spontaneous thoughts.
The thought of doing something may spontaneously occur to me and I may without hesitation decide to do it. But another thought may occur to make me hesitate and deliberate---the thought, for example, that sudden decisions may lead to disaster, that I do not know enough, that I should not act in anger, that I could do something else instead. It may then occur to me to try to think of objections, to ask advice, to wait until the situation becomes clearer, to try to calm my anger (for example by reflecting on other possible interpretations of whatever angered me). Eventually the thought may occur that I have deliberated enough, or that the time has come when I must decide, or that further deliberation is not likely to discover any better reasons for choice than I have already.[Note 55] If when time runs out there still seems nothing to choose between the alternatives I may decide to choose arbitrarily. But arbitrary decision is not an exercise of liberty of indifference. My decision to decide now must have some motive, so must my decision to decide arbitrarily, so must my choice of decision method. It may occur to me to toss a penny: I may hesitate to do that, but then the thought occurs that this is as good a way as any; so I decide to stop deliberating about how to make the arbitrary choice I have decided is necessary. Or some rival method of deciding arbitrarily may occur to me: to do what I had first thought to do, before deliberating, or to do what I usually do, or to do something different for a change. If I think about it too much I may be unable to decide how to decide arbitrarily. But probably not forever: if I have come to the conclusion that I must decide arbitrarily, and that there is nothing to choose among several methods of deciding, then if I later find myself thinking "Let me toss a penny", then this time I have no reason for hesitating to do so. Perhaps Buridan's ass did die of starvation between two equally desirable bales of hay, but if he did he was an unlucky beast.[Note 56]
Thus deliberate choice is under our control, as the Scotists and Molinists claimed all choices are, but only as belief is, indirectly (see above, Essay IV, sect. 1), and indirect control is possible only because there are spontaneous thoughts and indeliberate choices to prompt and guide deliberation. Deliberating and inquiry are alike. The conduct of inquiry requires decisions, deliberate or indeliberate, and so does deliberation; inquirer and deliberator both take actions which put their minds under the influence of agents they think likely to improve their current beliefs or impending decisions; just as inquiry is guided by spontaneous beliefs, so is deliberation by spontaneous thoughts and indeliberate choices. Theoretical and practical thinking both originate in thoughts we do not choose to have, which may lead to voluntary action, physical or mental, which we expect to result in more thoughts---thoughts in this sense chosen, but not chosen in particular. What we eventually believe, or decide, is not in particular a matter of choice; it is whatever as a result of these voluntary activities comes to seem true, or right.
It seems, then, that both the fact of moral responsibility and the phenomena of voluntary decision-making are compatible with the "motives" theory, and indeed with thoroughgoing determinism (though I say again that while I think the "motives" theory is true I do not know whether determinism is). Perhaps we must all answer "Nothing" to Paul's question "What hast thou that thou didst not receive?" (1 Cor. 4:7), but we will be no less responsible---in the sense of "obliged to answer", and (when the action is bad and voluntary) also in the sense of "to blame": but we will not be entitled or liable to retributive reward or punishment. Bayle was therefore mistaken in thinking that our moral responsibility implies liability to retribution, and that this proves that we do have liberty of indifference.
Human beings are free, at least sometimes, in other senses. I may be physically free, free from physical constraint, so that I can do what I want to do. If I decide without being influenced by some serious threat, then I act "of my own free will": but this does not imply liberty of indifference. If I decide under threat I do not act of my own free will, but I am nevertheless responsible (obliged to answer) for what I do, though the threat may be a complete or partial excuse, warding off (some sort of) blame. As for internal constraints, the Augustinians were right, I think, not to regard them as simply equivalent to physical constraints.[Note 57] If someone lies because he is a coward and a liar, and for that reason just cannot help lying when cornered, that is no excuse.[Note 58] We do not need to know whether he developed this character in any sense voluntarily. (We might need to know if it were a question of inflicting retributive punishment; but if that is out of the question---if the question is, say, "Should we trust him?"---we do not need to know.) The freedom I am suggesting is enough to make a person subject to moral assessment is, then, not liberty of indifference, but the "spontaneity" of the Augustinians: if the act is done willingly, by a choice made by the agent (determined by the balance of reasons), then it is a responsible act, though given the person's background dispositions and the thoughts that have actually occurred to him he has no power to choose differently.
But even if we reject these various items of Bayle's moral theory---the preoccupation with retribution, the thesis that only the exercise of liberty of indifference has moral worth, the thesis that for goodness sincerity is enough---almost all he says about the rights of conscience and toleration will still stand. It was a mistake on his part to present his argument for toleration as if it depended in any way on whether the heretic persecutor commits a sin for which he will be condemned on judgement day. Essays III and IV are in effect restatements of Bayle's position independently of the items in question. In Essay IV I argue that we should affirm and (with whatever caution seems appropriate) act upon what seems true, even if we cannot prove it, and even if there are objections against it. This amounts to saying that we should follow conscience. As Bayle recognised, this does not mean that an act done in accordance with conscience cannot be wrong, that it cannot be criticised, that it cannot rightly be prevented, that the person doing it cannot be criticised (by anyone who knows the relevant circumstances) for negligence or other faults in inquiry. Where I differ with Bayle is in denying that whoever follows conscience necessarily does a good act.
In Essay III my starting point is like that of the classic social contract theories, a right to act on our own judgement of what it is morally permissible to do (see above, Essay III, sect. 1). This is a right in the minimal sense of a liberty; it means that we cannot be blamed for trying to do what we think right, though others might not be to blame if they tried to prevent us from doing it. This is equivalent to the right to follow conscience. What if conscience tells us that it is permissible, or even a duty, to prevent others from advocating or acting on their false beliefs? A reciprocity argument may provide a reason for renouncing the (at least apparent) natural liberty to obstruct other people in acting on their beliefs, and for committing oneself to the practice of toleration as a matter of principle. As I argued in Essay IV, action ought to be tempered by some estimate of the likelihood of being mistaken. The various sets of beliefs that have led to persecution and civil wars, such as Christianity or Marxism, are in my opinion not true (Marxist criticism of our society seems true enough, though not distinctive---but not its prescriptions and predictions); and it seems to me that those who do believe in such doctrines ought to acknowledge that they are quite likely to be mistaken. None of them seems certain enough to justify any very drastic repression of opposing ideas.[Note 59] But tolerance based on doubt is not the principled toleration advocated by Bayle and others; it is quite compatible with an occasional act of cautious repression or discrimination. And, as Bayle would point out, it is useless to call on persecutors to desist because their beliefs are uncertain. They feel certain, or may think they must pretend they do. To make them doubt we would have to lead them into the "ocean of controversies", which they may be quite determined (even as a matter of duty) not to enter. What is said in Essay IV, then, about the need to allow for the possibility of being wrong is not enough to establish the principles of toleration, or to moderate the violence of those who feel sure they are right.
The "reciprocity" argument, however, addresses doubter and believer alike, and leads (if it succeeds) to commitment to toleration as a matter of principle. The doubter will hardly doubt that wars of religion, and their modern equivalents, are a great evil, and believers can see that too, though they may think they see a great good to be achieved through all the evil. Argument is of no use unless the persecutors will listen long enough to take it in, but they will feel the force of the reciprocity argument sooner than they will come to doubt their whole system of beliefs. If they commit themselves to the principles of toleration they will still act according to their own lights, although the practical implications of the ensemble of their beliefs will have been modified by the commitment and their beliefs may also have been modified at some points. But to accept the reciprocity argument they need not abandon the substance of the religious or political creed that motivated persecution, or regard it as any less certain. Once there is peace there may be time to explore the ocean of controversies, and toleration may in time come to be reinforced by what may loosely be called scepticism---a sense that on contentious questions of religion, ethics and politics it is very difficult to be sure of being right.
Return to Home Page
Note 1. Even Kant thought that morally valuable acts must be rewarded, and argued that we must postulate God to guarantee that they will be. See Critique, pp. 638-41.
Note 2. I am using "retribution" to include reward as well as punishment.
Note 3. Arnauld and other Catholic Augustinians do not reject the idea of merit. Where they differ from the Pelagians is in holding that after Adam's sin all deserve punishment and can be saved only by unmerited grace. Once grace is given merit begins again: on the last day God will "crown his own gifts" by rewarding the meritorious acts grace has made possible (see Augustine, Ep. CXCIV.v.19 (PL, vol. 33, col. 880)).
Note 4. See Campbell, p. 117. For criticism of this term see van Inwagen, pp. 14-15.
Note 5. Arnauld criticised this term, and preferred the expression facultas ad opposita; Labrousse, Pierre Bayle, vol. 2, p. 396, note 38. This is an echo of Duns Scotus' term, potentia ad opposita, "power for opposites".
Note 6. "[A] manifest power for opposites accompanies this freedom. . . . For there is in it a power to will after not willing, or to will a succession of opposed acts. . . . But there is also another [power] without any succession which is not so manifest. Take a will created such as to have its existence only for a single instant, and which performs a particular volition in that instant. It would not perform this necessarily. . . . For a cause is not contingent only because it exists before the instant in which it causes and as pre-existent could cause or not cause. . . . There is thus a power of this cause for the opposite of that which it causes, without succession being involved" (Duns Scotus, in Hyman and Walsh, pp. 593-4). See Harris, vol. 2, pp. 283-300, 308-18, and Bonansea. Thomas Aquinas would have agreed that there is power to choose either way, but I think not that both powers are complete at the moment of choice: his conception of free will involves succession. According to St Thomas, no created good can be completely satisfactory, as there is always some limitation or drawback; consequently we can always find a reason on the other side if we look for it, and this is why we have free choice: see Summa, 1-2, q.10 a.2, and q.13 a.6. This does not mean that we do always look for reasons on both sides, or that we can choose against the balance of reasons as we perceive it.
Note 7. For the views of the Franciscan William of Ockham see Clark, especially pp. 132-49. As Scotus does, Ockham contrasts will with natural agency. "[A] natural cause, while it remains the same, always does the same. . . . [Whatever] it does at one time it does at another, unless there is some variation on the part of the patient, or of the agent, or some other impediment." But a contingent power "produces some effect, and, with nothing changed on its part nor on the part of anything else whatever, has it as much in its power not to produce as to produce, so that of its nature it is determined to neither". That the will acts contingently has three possible meanings. First, that "the will existing at a time before instant A, in which it causes, can freely and contingently cause or not cause in A: and this is true, if the will does thus preexist. Second, that in the very instant in which it causes it is true to say that it does not cause: and this is not possible, because of the contradiction that would follow, namely that it causes in A and does not cause in A. Third, it can mean that the will causes contingently in A because, freely, without any variation or change coming upon it or upon another cause, and without the cessation of another cause, it can cease from its act in another instant after A---so that in instant A this would be true: \OD\The will causes\CD\, and in another instant after A this would be true: \OD\The will does not cause\CD\" (my translations of texts quoted by Clark, in his nn. 45, 47 and 53; emphasis added). Cf. "Can we say, then, of the wilful wrongdoer that his wrong choice was \OD\free\CD\, in the sense that he might have chosen rightly, not merely if the antecedents of his volition, external and internal, had been different, but supposing these antecedents unchanged? This, I conceive, is the substantial issue raised in the Free Will controversy" (Sidgwick, p. 59, emphasis added).
Note 8. "[A]nyone who says that a stone sins when it is carried downwards by its own weight is, I will not say more senseless than the stone but, completely mad. But we charge the soul with sin when we show that it has abandoned the higher things and prefers to enjoy lower things. What need is there, therefore, to seek the origin of the movement whereby the will turns from the unchangeable to the changeable good? We acknowledge that it is a movement of the soul, that it is voluntary and therefore culpable" (Augustine, in Morgenbesser and Walsh, pp. 14-15, emphasis added).
Note 9. My source on this topic is Labrousse, Pierre Bayle, vol. 2, pp. 387ff.
Note 10. Molinists, Jansenists and Arminians were concerned to reconcile human freedom not so much with God's foreknowledge as with his grace; see above, Essay I, Introduction. For some of the ancient and medieval sources of the controversy about freedom and foreknowledge see Cicero, On Fate, Augustine, City of God, V.8-10, Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, V, Ockham, Predestination; see also Bayle, HCD, art. "Paulicians", rem. F, pp. 181-4.
Note 11. RQP, p. 781 b22-6.
Note 12. He does not mention the Franciscans, who had been the first to claim that we have potentia ad opposita.
Note 13. RQP, pp. 791 a33-5, 852 b43-4. "Proximate" power is what I have called "complete" power. I could light a fire if I had a match (since the kindling is all ready), but since I do not have one (though I could go and get it) the power is remote, not proximate.
Note 14. Ibid., p. 780 a40-6.
Note 15. Ibid., pp. 853 a9, 856 a34. Those who hold this theory envisage "an absolute empire established in the soul of man, independent of all the rest of the universe: objects may excite the passions, reason may advise a thousand things, the will may be disposed thereby to turn from one side, but nevertheless it retains a full authority over its determinations. . . . Human liberty is therefore something with no connection with general laws, it is detached from all the rest of the world" (EMT, p. 65 a36-55).
Note 16. RQP, pp. 662 a157, 791 a32-3, 852 b45-7.
Note 17. Ibid., p. 782 a61-b7.
Note 18. Ibid., pp. 785 b46-786 a25.
Note 19. Ibid., p. 786 a59-60.
Note 20. "Molinism has some advantage at the tribunal of morality. . . . Its main forces consist in the consequences which follow if man were always to act necessarily. It must be confessed that these consequences are indeed terrible, but a philosopher who was not a Christian would weaken them greatly, either because he would not admit what scripture teaches on the penalties for sin, or because he would delete from the list of sins many actions which Scripture includes. The patrons of philosophic sin, and those who maintain that to sin one must know actually that one is sinning [in a footnote he refers to Arnauld's Denunciation], would open for themselves the way to a notable reduction; but sound theology puts before them invincible obstacles---which would not be insurmountable to a pure philosopher. That is why he would more easily maintain the definition Luther and Calvin gave of human liberty [i.e. as "spontaneity"]" (RQP, p. 782b).
Note 21. "The punishments human law inflicts on malefactors do not suppose they have liberty of indifference: we would destroy disturbers of public peace as we destroy wild beasts even if we believed they had no free choice" (ibid.). On this last point see art. "Rorarius", rem. F: in some places they hang wolves or crucify lions to discourage the others; "They would then flog a pickpocket, even if they knew that he had no free will, provided that experience had taught them that by whipping certain people they restrain them from continuing certain actions" (HCD, p. 230).
Note 22. Quoted Labrousse, Pierre Bayle, vol. 2, p. 397. (But is this Bayle's own opinion? He is reporting the opinion of the author of a book he is reviewing). To postulate that we have liberty of indifference does nothing to solve the problem of evil: in fact, it aggravates it, since it has to be explained why God gave mankind such a dangerous gift (HCD, art. "Paulicians", pp. 177ff.).
Note 23. Cf. CPD, p. 402 a10-53. But his argument here may be ad hominem, and he does not restrict what he says to retribution.
Note 24. This line of thought, if taken further than Bayle himself took it, leads to some paradoxical conclusions (see above, Essay II, n. 109). Present choices may be determined or influenced by past choices (which may have led, for example, to ignorance or error, or to bad inclinations). If we regard the effects of past choices as a constraint on present choices similar to the influence of external causes, we may conclude that such conditioned choices should therefore be discounted. Thus all moral merit and demerit will belong to original, unconstrained choices, not conditioned by past choices, innate temperament or anything else.
Note 25. This would explain the connection between merit and difficulty: doing the right thing despite difficulties manifests strength of commitment. According to some scholastics there need not be any actual difficulty; there is merit if love of God is so strong that it would overcome difficulties and distractions if there were any. Cf: "Paley held. . . that our place hereafter would be determined. . . by the balance, not of our good and evil deeds, which depend upon opportunity and temptation, but. . . by the intensity and continuity of our will to do good; by the strength with which we have struggled to be virtuous" (Mill, "Sedgwick", p. 70).
Note 26. The goodness of ends sought is another goodness besides that of persons and actions and reasons for acting. The goodness of an end makes conduciveness to that end a good reason for doing something. "Good" is a term with a number of related meanings; see Aristotle, EN, I.6, 1096 b27-30.
Note 27. What distinguishes moral from other good dispositions is that the former are dispositions to do morally good actions. Thus intelligence is not a moral disposition but justice is. I cannot say what distinguishes norms of moral right and wrong from other norms, or what constitutes the goodness of morally good reasons, motives or ends. Assuming that we can somehow recognise moral norms and morally good reasons, I am trying to define the moral goodness of actions and persons.
Note 28. Govier, "Conscientiousness", takes conscientiousness as doing what we believe to be right, and argues that it is a virtue (if at all) only when the belief is correct. I take it as including a concern to make sure that what we believe to be right really is right, which is a virtue even when our current beliefs are wrong.
Note 29. Cf. Feinberg, pp. 15-16, 53-4. "The record" is our accumulation of impressions of the person's character. On another "record" see below, sect. 4.
Note 30. Groundwork, p. 107.
Note 31. Abelard, p. 13.
Note 32. "Sincerity" means purity or genuineness: that the person really does have some disposition (in the present context, conscientiousness), not overlaid by contrary qualities.
Note 33. Cf. Mill, "Hamilton", pp. 62-5. The Utilitarian view (which I share, without being a Utilitarian) is that punishment, like warfare, is itself an evil which can be justified only by reducing other evils. But evil cannot be inflicted just whenever that would do good. There are restrictions, themselves justified by their good effects. (This is a "rule utilitarian" theory---see my article "Utilitarianism and Virtue".) The restrictions may provide (for example) that no one is to be punished unless he has been convicted of doing something forbidden by certain rules, and convicted by some reliable procedure. Such restrictions have good effects by giving us all some protection against excessive and misdirected infliction of evil. The terminology of desert alludes especially to the restrictions (or to some of them): punishment is "deserved" only if they are satisfied---only if the person to be punished has been properly convicted of some forbidden act. Thus there are two conditions necessary for the moral justification of a particular infliction of punishment: it should do good, which is the point of punishment, and it should satisfy the restrictions upon infliction of evil that good may result. Retributivist theories overlook the first condition, and mistake the restrictions for the point.
Note 34. This is a topic about which much has been written. See Brandt, Beardsley, Kenner, Squires, Feinberg, Holborow, Henderson.
Note 35. See Henderson, p. 53. Hume says that praise and blame are always in view of the motive or disposition of which the act is a sign; see Raphael, vol. 2, pp. 24-5. Not always, I think. People are sometimes blamed on account of the wrongness of their action. Praise and blame due in view of different aspects is not commensurable; see Beardsley, "Worth", and cf. Feinberg, above, n. 29.
Note 36. Feinberg, pp. 187ff., Kenner.
Note 37. See R. M. Adams, Schlossberger, Holborow, pp. 91-2. Against a position like Bayle's (see R. M. Adams, pp. 11ff. and 19, and cf. above, Essay II, sect. 4.1), Adams maintains that people can be blamed for emotions and dispositions, even apart from blame for voluntary acts which caused them. People may be evaluated unfavourably for emotions and dispositions, but they are not blamed: the terms blame, sin, obligation and responsibility apply only to voluntary acts or omissions. (See Beardsley, "Blaming", p. 581.) Schlossberger says that we are responsible for emotions, since persons who experience certain emotions would be morally better if they did not. "Whether or not they are chosen, one's emotions express and partially embody one's values, one's moral outlook on the world" (p. 41). "[W]e are not really concerned, when making moral evaluations, with the causes of an agent's actions. We are concerned rather with the moral character of the agent" (p. 46). I agree that moral evaluation is, sometimes, of character, without being concerned with what caused it; but, since responsibility is for some voluntary act or omission, people are not responsible for emotions they have not in some way caused. Schlossberger uses the word in another sense: "When I say that A is morally responsible for x, I. . . mean that. . . any moral taint or lustre possessed by x applies as well to A" (p. 37).
Note 38. In fact blaming does not imply that the agent's choice is the absolutely originating cause, but merely that it is a cause, perhaps one link in a chain of causes reaching far back.
Note 39. See Beardsley, "Deserts".
Note 40. See Beardsley, "Blaming", p. 580, Henderson, pp. 50-2, Holborow, pp. 93-6.
Note 41. Holborow, pp. 88-9, 92-6.
Note 42. On responsibility see Feinberg, p. 188, Baier, pp. 58-68. Utilitarians often treat responsibility as being precisely liability to punishment, of which they regard blame as a form: "Responsibility means punishment. When we are said to have the feeling of being morally responsible for our actions, the idea of being punished for them is uppermost in the speaker's mind" (Mill, "Hamilton", p. 62). I reject this analysis.
Note 43. See Squires; cf. Beardsley, "Disapproval".
Note 44. See van Inwagen, chs. 3 and 5. By freewill he seems to mean liberty of indifference; see p. 8.
Note 45. Philosophers who have held that determinism and moral responsibility are compatible have sometimes, perhaps, seemed to say that we should still bestow what we pretend to mean as praise and blame, and other rewards and punishments, as long as this has a good effect. But since at least implicit blame does not presuppose liberty of indifference there need be no pretence.
Note 46. Broad (pp. 194-5) attributes this position to Sidgwick, and remarks that he can himself make no sense of the "could". In fact Sidgwick (p. 65-6) says something different: that while I am deliberating I find it impossible not to think that I can---I take it he means if I go deliberating long enough in the right way---choose rightly, no matter how strong the opposite impulse, and that its strength is not a reason for choosing wrongly. This is reminiscent of Mill (Logic, pp. 840-1), and is consistent with determinism.
Note 47. I am leaving open the possibility that some decisions are determined by motives that cannot be called reasons. On the other hand, I mean reason in a minimal sense: a perception of some possible action as desirable or undesirable. Perhaps all motives are reasons, in that sense. To see something as a good thing to do is a reason for deciding to do it, distinct from the decision to do it, but for something to seem true is not a reason for believing it distinct from the belief. Thus, while it may be true that every decision has a reason (if all motives are reasons), it is not true that there is a reason for every belief, if we believe some things simply "because" they seem true.
Note 48. Cf. the scholastic distinction between a velleity and an elicited act of will; Harris, vol. 2, p. 283.
Note 49. Van Inwagen argues that freewill (meaning, I think, liberty of indifference) is presupposed by deliberation, since if we deliberate we must believe we can choose either way (pp. 154ff.). When we begin to deliberate, and while we continue, we must believe this ("can choose" at least in the sense that we do not yet know what we will choose). But perhaps by the process of deliberation (including any last stage of adopting a method of deciding arbitrarily and carrying it out---e.g. tossing a penny) the final choice is determined, so that at the moment of decision it is no longer true (if it ever was) that more than one choice is open.
Note 50. Cf. Mill, Logic, pp. 934-6.
Note 51. Cf. Cicero, On Fate, xiii.29-30. It is therefore not true that "If determinism is true, no one has any choice about anything" (van Inwagen, p. 106).
Note 52. See Mill, Logic, pp. 840-1.
Note 53. See Bach.
Note 54. Scotus speaks as if the will can turn the intellect's attention in any direction; see Harris, vol. 2, pp. 289, 295. I think we can direct our attention to this or that only if something motivates us to do so.
Note 55. Reflection is sometimes not to decide what we should do but to get ourselves to decide to do what we know we should do (or, in some cases, what we know we should not do), by directing attention toward or away from reasons we expect to strengthen or weaken some inclination. This process is often mixed up with deliberation, but it may be separate.
Note 56. Bayle says that when the reasons on both sides are in equilibrium we can decide by lot; DHC, art. "Buridan", rem. C. But we may not see anything to choose between choice by lot and other methods of decision. J. S. Mill says that the ass might starve "if he remained all the time in a fixed attitude of deliberation; if he never for an instant ceased to balance one against another the rival attractions, and if they really were so exactly equal that no dwelling on them could detect any difference. But this is not the way in which things take place on our planet. From mere lassitude, if from no other cause, he would intermit the process, and cease thinking of the rival objects at all: until a moment arrived when he would be seeing or thinking of one only, and that fact, combined with the sensation of hunger, would determine him to a decision" ("Hamilton", p. 67). So if you get stuck, distract your mind from the problem, for example by getting absorbed in something interesting: unless you are unlucky, the memory of having realized previously that there is nothing to choose should stop you from being drawn into considering alternatives to what happens to be uppermost in your mind when you return to the problem. As a donkey-lover, I like to think that Buridan's ass had the wit to escape from his predicament by listening attentively to one of his master's early morning lectures on Aristotle, and then having breakfast suddenly.
Note 57. Though perhaps we should accept that some kinds of internal constraints cancel or diminish moral responsibility. Sidgwick (p. 65) and others have said that some internal compulsions (e.g. those of the alcoholic) excuse while others do not.
Note 58. Contrast: "If someone charges you with, say, lying, and if you can convince him that it was simply not within your power not to lie, then it would seem that you have done all that is necessary to absolve yourself of responsibility for lying" (van Inwagen, p. 161). Some ways of its being not within your power do not constitute an excuse.
Note 59. "To kill men: there
is required a bright-shining and clear light." "When all is done,
it is an over-valuing of one's conjectures, by them to cause a man
to be burned alive" (Montaigne, vol. 3, pp. 284, 286).
Return to Home Page