## 1. Fatalism, Bivalence, and Determinism



In the ancient world, a number of arguments were put forward that
proceed from the Principle of Bivalence, a basic principle in logic,
in order to establish fatalism--where "fatalism" is
the view that the future is inevitable and we are powerless to do
anything to shape it. Most prominently, these arguments are presented
in chapter 9 of *On Interpretation*, Aristotle's treatise
on semantics, and in Cicero's *On Fate*, which discusses
the "Lazy Argument". The "Master Argument", a
similar argument for the necessity of the future that was taken to
have fatalist implications, is both put forward and endorsed by
Diodorus Cronus (died c. 284 BCE). These arguments differ in their
details, but in broad strokes here is how they all proceed.
(Henceforward, "the fatalist argument" refers to this
general argument.)



The Principle of Bivalence (PB) states that every statement has
exactly one truth value: either true, or false. And because PB does
apply to every statement, it applies also to statements about what
will occur in the future. (The example Aristotle gives is "there
will be a sea battle tomorrow", while in *On Fate* Cicero
talks about "you will recover from this illness".) So for
any pair of contradictory statements about the future--such as
"you will recover from this illness" and "you will
not recover from this illness"--exactly one of them is
true, and has been true from eternity (*Fat.* 29, LS 55S; see the
 Bibliography for abbreviations used).
 But if it is true from eternity that an event will occur, then that
event is necessary (*Fat.* 21, LS 38G). Since PB applies to
every statement about what might occur in the future, every future
event is necessary. (This is why, in the context of contemporary
discussions of fatalist arguments that proceed from PB, PB is
sometimes referred to as "logical determinism".) However,
because there is no point in deliberating about what is necessary
(*Int.* 9 18b31-36), there is no point in deliberating about
anything in the future. As Aristotle puts it, if the fatalist argument
goes through, 



> 
> 
> there would be no need to deliberate or to take trouble (thinking that
> if we do this, this will happen, but if we do not it will not). For
> there is nothing to prevent someone's having said ten thousand
> years beforehand that this would be the case, and another's
> having denied it; so that whichever of the two was true to say then,
> will be the case of necessity. (*Int.* 9 18b31-36) 
> 
> 
> 



Aristotle makes it clear that it does not matter whether people
actually made such predictions; what matters is that one of the
uttered statements would have been true. Or as Cicero says, if it has
been *true* from eternity that you will recover from an
illness, then there would be no point in trying to bring about the recovery,
since it will happen no matter what you do (*Fat.* 28, LS
55S).



Why believe the argument's premise that, if a statement has been
true from eternity, then the event that it predicts is necessary? One
common reason is the immutability of the past, that we cannot now do
anything to change the past. This immutability is the reason the Stoic
Chrysippus gives (against Cleanthes, who preceded him as head of the
Stoa) for why the past is necessary (*Fat.* 14, LS 38E). And if
the past is necessary, it might seem to follow that I cannot now do
anything to change the past truth of statements about the future.
Aristotle thinks that the present is also necessary, saying
"What is, necessarily is, when it is; and what is not,
necessarily is not, when it is not" (*Int.*
19a23-5). After all, if I am presently bleeding from a wound,
while it might be possible for me either to bleed to death or not, and
I might do something to make it the case that I don't bleed to
death, I cannot do anything to change the fact that I am bleeding
right now. But then, the present truth of a statement about what will
result from my wound may also seem to make the outcome necessary, as
much as the past truth would.



In connection with this argument, "necessary" does not
mean metaphysically necessary, causally necessary, or logically
necessary. Instead, things that are necessary are inevitable or beyond
our power to affect. Aristotle gives mathematical truths, celestial
motions and the past as examples of things we do not bother
deliberating about. Aristotle, Epicurus, the academic skeptic
Carneades, and the Stoic Chrysippus all wish to reject the conclusion
of the fatalist argument, but they have different responses to the
argument based on their views about whether the Principle of Bivalence
is compatible with effective deliberation. After Aristotle, they
also consider whether causal determinism is compatible with effective
deliberation.


### 1.1 Aristotle and tomorrow's sea battle



Aristotle thinks that the conclusion of the fatalist argument is
false, because it is obvious that deliberation is *not* futile:
we often deliberate about what to do, act upon that deliberation, and
thereby bring things about that otherwise would not have occurred. And
more generally, there are many things that are not necessary before
they happen, but may either occur or not occur. Aristotle gives the
example of a cloak wearing out: before it wore out, it did not
*have* to wear out, as it was still possible that it be cut up
instead*.* (*Int.* 9 19a8-a22)



Unfortunately, *how* Aristotle rejects the conclusion is less
clear than *that* he rejects it, because *De
Interpretatione* 9 is an extremely compressed text (see Gaskin
1995 and chapter 6 of Van Rijen 1989 for details). But on the most
common and historically influential interpretation, Aristotle responds
to the argument by rejecting its premise, that the Principle of
Bivalence applies universally. Instead, it is true only for the most
part and does not apply to statements about the future that can
possibly be true or false, such as "there will be a sea battle
tomorrow" or "this cloak will be cut up".
Let's take the statement, "Over 100,000 people will die of
Covid-19 in the United States in 2020". Before 100,001 people
die, it is not inevitable that this will occur; instead, it depends on
what people do, and the statement is neither true nor false. Once
100,001 people die, then the statement changes truth value from
Neutral or Indeterminate to True, as well as becoming necessary for us
now, because we can no longer do anything about it.


### 1.2 Epicurus on the fatalist argument and determinism



In his response to the fatalist argument, Epicurus largely follows
Aristotle (at least as Aristotle is commonly interpreted). He agrees
with Aristotle that some things happen of necessity, and some by
chance, while others depend on us (*Ep. Men.* 133, *NE*
3.3 1112a30-32). And he also thinks that, if the Principle of
Bivalence applied to all statements, everything would be necessary,
and so he rejects it, saying that statements like "Philoctetes
will be wounded" are neither true nor false before Philoctetes
is wounded or not (*Fat.* 37, LS 20H). Unlike Aristotle
(*Int.* 9 19a30-33), Epicurus rejects not only PB, but also the
Law of Excluded Middle--the principle that every statement of the
form "p or not-p" is necessarily true. So Aristotle thinks
that the statement "either there will be a sea battle tomorrow,
or there will not be" is true, while Epicurus does not.
Rejecting the Law of Excluded Middle might seem strange--after
all, doesn't *p or not-p* exhaust all of logical space?
But Epicurus apparently thinks that for the disjunction as a whole to
be true, one of its disjuncts would have to be true, and he does not
want to admit this, because then (*per* the fatalist argument)
that disjunct would also be necessary (Cicero, *Academica*
2.97, LS 20I).



Causal determinism does not figure into the fatalist argument in
Aristotle's *De Interpretatione*, or in Diodorus
Cronus' Master Argument for the necessity of the future.
Instead, the arguments rely entirely on semantic and logical
considerations. Cicero's *On Fate*, however, introduces
the topics of the relationship of causal determinism to the principle
of bivalence, and of whether causal determinism has fatalistic
implications. In this treatise, Cicero presents the positions of
Epicurus, the Academic skeptic Carneades, and the Stoic
Chrysippus.



Epicurus and the Stoics believe that the principle of bivalence with
regard to statements about the future and causal determinism are
interentailing: that is, a statement about the future is true if and
only if there exists at that time sufficient causal conditions to
bring about the state of affairs described in the statement.
(Likewise, a statement will be false if and only if there exist
sufficient conditions to preclude the state of affairs described in
the statement, and neither true nor false if current conditions are
sufficient neither to bring about nor to preclude the state of affairs
described in the statement.) As the Stoics put it, 



> 
> 
> There cannot be things which are going to be true if they do not have
> causes of their future being. So things which are true must
> necessarily have causes. (*Fat.* 26, LS 70G) 
> 
> 
> 



Epicurus agrees (*Fat.* 19). On the other hand, if there is
"motion without a cause", i.e., events that are not
causally determined, then both Epicurus and the Stoics agree that not
every statement is either true or false (*Fat.* 20-1, LS 38G).
The future has not occurred yet, so nothing exists at present to make
a statement about the future true unless there presently exist
sufficient conditions to bring about the state of affairs predicted by
the statement.



Epicurus is a materialist in his metaphysics. For Epicurus, the two
entities that exist *per se* are bodies and the empty space
(the void) that they move in. The bodies that we see are aggregates of
atoms, which are minute, uncuttable bodies. Anything else that
exists--such as colors, time, or justice--depends for its
existence on the existence of bodies and void. And so, everything that
occurs depends ultimately on the motions of atoms through the void,
with atomic motions caused by things like the atoms' past
motions and their collisions and entanglements with other atoms.
Epicurus' predecessor Democritus, one of the original inventors
of atomism, thought that these were the only causes of atomic motion.
The Epicureans believe that Democritus' position would imply
that the future is predetermined in a way that would make action and
deliberation futile (Diogenes of Oinoanda, (inscription)
32.1.14--3.14, LS 20G), and Epicurus wants to avoid being 



> 
> 
> a slave to the 'fate' of the natural
> philosophers...which involves an inexorable necessity. (*Ep.
> Men.*134, LS 20A) 
> 
> 
> 



Since he thinks that both the logical principle of bivalence and
causal determinism have fatalistic implications, he rejects both
bivalence and causal determinism. In order to avoid fatalism, within
his materialism and atomism, Epicurus posits an indeterministic atomic
motion, the "swerve" (*Fat.* 22, LS 20E). As the
Epicurean poet Lucretius puts it, if atomic motion were caused only by
the weight of atoms and their collisions and entanglements, human
beings, as well as all other animals, would be subject to necessity
and unable to move themselves around as they please. But we obviously
can move ourselves around as we please, and so there is another cause
of atomic motion, an occasional minute swerve to the side that occurs
"at no fixed region of space or fixed time" and liberates
us from fate (*DRN* 2.251-93, LS 20F). Because determinism is
false, the future is still open, and statements like "you will
recover from an illness" are, at present, neither true nor
false.


### 1.3 Carneades on the fatalist argument and a voluntary motion of our minds



Carneades also wishes to rebut the fatalist argument and deny that
what will occur is
 inevitable.[1]
 Unlike Aristotle and Epicurus, however, he does not reject the
Principle of Bivalence, and he says that whenever you have a pair of
contradictory statements, such as "Tim O'Keefe will die
from cancer" and "Tim O'Keefe will not die from
cancer", one is true and the other false (*Fat.* 37, LS
20H). Instead of rejecting PB, he thinks the fatalist argument goes
wrong when it assumes that if it is true from eternity that an event
will occur, then that event is necessary. That is because both
Epicurus and Stoics are wrong to believe that the principle of
bivalence and causal determinism are interentailing. The truth of a
statement does not imply that there are "immutable eternal
causes" that *make* it true (*Fat.* 28, LS 70G).
Instead, it is simply the fact that things will turn out as the
statement says they will that makes it true.



An example to illustrate Carneades' position: let us imagine
that Tim O'Keefe develops cancer, but he seeks out treatment,
recovers, and ends up dying peacefully in his sleep of other causes at
the age of 100, in 2068. If somebody were to say, in 2020, "Tim
O'Keefe will not die of cancer", they said something true,
because, just as they said, Tim O'Keefe in fact did not die of
cancer. Their statement was not "neutral" when they made
it, and later *became* true; it was true all along. In order to
defend his position, Carneades appeals to the symmetry of the past and
future: 



> 
> 
> For just as we call "true" those past things of which it
> was at an earlier time true that they were being actualized, so we
> will call "true" those future things that of which it will
> later be true that they are being actualized. (*Fat.* 27, LS
> 70G) 
> 
> 
> 



Just as something's being true in the past does not depend on
its having certain effects *now*, something's being true
in the future does not depend on its having certain causes
*now*. If the statement "Tim O'Keefe was adopted in
1968" is now true, it is not true because he presently remembers
being told by his mother and father that they adopted him, or because
of any of the other present effects of his adoption. Instead, it is
true simply because he was, as a matter of fact, adopted in 1968.



To understand Carneades' position, we should distinguish between
the *truthmaker for a statement* and the *cause of an
event.* If I go to the doctor and recover from my cancer, the
*cause* of my recovering from the disease is the doctor's
treatment, and the cause of my going to the doctor is my decision to
do so. The *truthmaker* for the statement "Tim will
recover from his cancer" is my recovering from the cancer, but
the statement's eternal truth doesn't *cause* my
future recovery. Once we make this distinction, then we should see
that the principle of bivalence does not threaten our freedom.
According to Carneades, our own voluntary actions are one of the
causes of events. And these actions are under our control. The way
Carneades puts it is that the cause of our actions is a
"voluntary motion of the mind", a motion which has an
intrinsic nature of being in our power and of obeying us
(*Fat.* 24-5, LS 20E). There is a truth beforehand concerning
how I will act, e.g., that I will seek out treatment for my cancer.
But my action of seeking out treatment is nonetheless under my
control, and my seeking out the treatment is not necessary, as I have
the ability not to seek out the treatment. (Consider here
Carneades' analogy with the past: just because there is a truth
about how I did voluntarily act in the past, this does not imply that
my past actions were not under my control, or that it was necessary
that I act in the ways that I did.)



Carneades thinks that, while the fatalist argument from bivalence
fails, the fatalist argument can be successfully restated in terms of
causal determinism, since causal determinism is incompatible with our
actions truly being in our power (*Fat.* 31, LS 70G.) That is
because, for our actions to be in our power, we must have the ability
to make things turn out otherwise than they actually do turn out
(*Fat.* 45), and this ability is incompatible with all things
being predetermined by an interconnected chain of natural causes
(*Fat.* 31, LS 70G). According to Carneades, human actions have
a cause--the "voluntary motion of the mind"--but
the way in which we exercise this power and move ourselves is not
itself causally necessitated.



This is why Carneades denies that even the gods can foretell the
future. Carneades assumes that to know what is going to occur in the
future, you must know the present causes which will bring about that
future event. For instance, in order to know that a major earthquake
will occur in California a year hence, I would need to have
information about the present disposition of California's
various faults and the pressure they are exerting on one another,
along with the facts about things like how faults operate, which all
together will bring about the future quake. Not even Apollo, however,
can foretell events like Oedipus killing his father, even though it
has always been *true* that Oedipus would do so. That is
because such actions, before they occur, have no pre-existing causes
that would bring them about, that Apollo could inspect in order to
tell that they are going to occur (*Fat.* 32-33, LS 70G).


### 1.4 The Stoics on the fatalist argument and co-fated events



Epicurus believes that both the Principle of Bivalence and causal
determinism are false; the Stoics believe that both are true, and that
their truth does not render us powerless or make what will happen
inevitable. In fact, the Stoics think that every event is both
causally determined and fated. The Stoics believe that God is wise,
good, perfectly happy, and creator of the world (DL 7.147, LS
54A). But God is not an immaterial entity separate from the world who
created it *ex nihilo*--instead, god *is* the
world. and his mind pervades and organizes all things (Cicero, *On
the Nature of the Gods* 1.39, LS 54B; Alexander, *On
Mixture* 225, 1-2, LS 54H). Because God is good, he wishes to
benefit everything (Clement, *The teacher* 1.8.63 1-2, LS 60I).
So God's providential will is to make the world the best he can.
God is extremely powerful but not omnipotent, as he works within the
limits of what is physically possible, like a craftsman skillfully
building something with the materials at hand. The way God realizes
his providential will is through setting up the causal order of the
world to bring it about. Fate is an everlasting "ordering and
sequence of causes" which brings about every single thing that
has happened, is happening, and is going to happen. This is "not
the 'fate' of superstition, but that of physics"
(Cicero, *On Divination* 1.125-6, LS 55L). So for example, if
God has it as part of his providential plan that I will recover from
cancer, God will fate my recovery by building that future event into
the overall organization of the cosmos from its foundation, so that
the fated recovery will necessarily arise as the series of causes
unspools itself over time.



The Stoics believe that having everything that occurs fated in this
way is compatible with our deliberating and acting effectively. To see
this, consider the following example. Suppose that I am a Stoic, and I
contract cancer. As a Stoic, I realize that it has been true from
eternity and fated either that I will recover from the cancer, or that
I will not. But that does not render the outcome of my cancer
inevitable or make it pointless for me to seek treatment. The Stoic
Chrysippus says that certain outcomes are simple, while
others are conjoined. Simple outcomes are ones that will occur no
matter what I do. For instance, as a mortal being, that I will die is
inevitable; it will happen no matter what I
 do.[2]
 In the case of such simple outcomes, deliberation and action would be
pointless. However, other things are conjoined, where an outcome is
linked to its cause, which is necessary for it to occur. For instance,
if Oedipus is going to be born of Laius, that is conjoined with Laius
and Jocasta having intercourse. In the case of my fated recovery from
cancer, that fated recovery is conjoined to my action of seeking
treatment, and Chrysippus says that the two are
"co-fated": it is fated (and causally determined)
*both* that I will recover from the cancer *and* that I
will seek treatment; it is *through* my fated action of seeking
treatment that my fated recovery will occur (*Fat.* 30, LS
55S). Since my action of seeking treatment is causally efficacious in
bringing about its purpose, it isn't pointless. My action is
itself both causally determined and causally efficacious. Furthermore,
even if it's causally determined that I'll recover,
counterfactuals like "if I don't seek treatment, I will
die" can still be true. As Chrysippus puts it, even if
it's true (and causally determined) that somebody will wrestle,
it doesn't follow that they'll wrestle whether or not they
have an opponent, and even if it's true (and causally determined)
that somebody will recover from a disease, it doesn't follow
that they'll recover whether or not they call a doctor
(*Fat.* 30, LS 55S).



The Stoics say that actions like my seeking treatment for cancer,
which are brought about *by* fate *through* the animal,
are "in the power" of the animal, but they deny that we
are free to choose *between* opposite actions--seeking
treatment or not seeking treatment (Alexander, *On Fate* ch 13,
181,13-182,20, LS 62G). The Stoics believe Carneades is wrong to think
that we need such a power to choose between opposite actions in order
to stave off the fatalist argument and avoid its conclusion that the
future is inevitable and we are powerless to do anything to shape it.
Even if my action of seeking treatment is causally determined, and I
do not have the ability not to seek treatment, seeking treatment can
still lead to the cure of my cancer, a cure that would not have
happened if I had not sought treatment. Like Aristotle, who was not
willing to give up the idea that we effectively deliberate about our
actions, the Stoics posit that I can effectively and rationally
deliberate about what to do, even if the outcome of my deliberation
and the actions that result from it are both causally determined. If I
am in an unclear situation, considering the pros and cons of various
actions is rational and will likely lead to a better decision than
acting impulsively. Consider an example where I am offered a job, and
I think things through before deciding to accept it. I had to go
through the process of deliberation to reach that fated outcome;
it's no more true that I would have accepted the job whether or
not I deliberated about the offer than it is that I would have
recovered from cancer whether or not I sought treatment. So in the
original fatalist argument, the Stoics would reject the premise that
if it is true from eternity that an event will occur, then that event
is necessary, in the sense of inevitable or beyond our power to
effect, and they also reject Carneades' assertion that events
that have been causally determined from eternity are necessary in that
sense.



Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, and Chrysippus were each said to
compare the relationship of humans and fate to that of a dog tied to a
cart: 



> 
> 
> When a dog is tied to a cart, if it wants to follow it is pulled and
> follows, making its spontaneous act coincide with necessity, but if it
> does not want to follow it will be compelled in any case. So it is
> with men too: even if they do not want to, they will be compelled in
> any case to follow what is destined. (Hippolytus, *Refutation of
> all heresies* 1.21, LS 62A) 
> 
> 
> 



This analogy suggests that god has preordained certain outcomes that
will happen no matter what decisions people make, with our decisions
affecting only the *manner* in which this fated outcome occurs.
God will bypass and override any efforts to defy him. (Perhaps if I
irrationally decide not to seek treatment for my cancer, god
implements a contingency plan that ensures my fated recovery, albeit
in a way that involves far more trouble and pain for me.)



But at least as deployed by Chrysippus, the above interpretation of
the dog and cart analogy is probably incorrect. If certain outcomes
were fated to occur no matter what we were to decide or to do, that
would seem to make deliberation and action futile, whereas Chrysippus
wishes to assert that our actions do have an impact on what occurs,
with god bringing about the fated outcome through our fated action.
Instead, Chrysippus is probably making the more general point that it
is impossible to resist god's providential plan and the edicts
of fate, and that trying to do so is a bad idea. That is because
god's providential plan encompasses everything whatsoever that
occurs in the cosmos, which would include even vicious actions and
attempts to defy god (Plutarch, *On Stoic Self-Contradiction*
1050c-d, LS 54T). The Stoics also share the Greek ethical commonplace
that vice is a kind is psychic disharmony and disorder that causes
agitation and distress (Cicero, *Tusculan disputations* 4.29,
34-5, LS 61O). Furthermore, the wise person willingly submits themself
to god's will--they wish for things to happen as they do
happen, which is the same as wishing for them to happen as god wills them
to happen. Such submission brings happiness (Epictetus,
*Handbook* 8; Seneca, *On Benefits* 4.34.4). And so, a
vicious person who tries to defy the will of god fails in their plan, as
even their attempted defiance has been fated by god, but through their
foolish actions they do "succeed" in bringing about their
own misery, just like the dog being dragged along the path.


## 2. Voluntary Action, Moral Responsibility, and What is "Up to Us"



Ancient Greek philosophers considered when we are rightly held
accountable for our actions, and these discussions overlap
considerably with contemporary debates about free will and
determinism. But we should be cautious about framing these debates in terms of their views on free will and determinism.
First of all, there is no phrase in the ancient texts that should
obviously be translated as "free will". (The later
Epicurean Lucretius uses the Latin phrase *libera voluntas*,
which is often translated as "free will", but whether
*libera voluntas* is the same as "free will" is far
from obvious--see section
 2.4.1
 below.) Instead of talking about whether humans possess a faculty of
will, and what the conditions are for that will to be free, they talk
about when actions are voluntary, and what must obtain in order for
our actions or states of character to be "up to us"
(*eph' hemin*) or to "depend on us"
(*par' hemas*). Secondly, the ancient discussions do not
have at their center the question of whether causal determinism is
compatible with our having control over our actions--in
particular, whether it is compatible with the ability to do
otherwise--although they do raise this issue.


### 2.1 Aristotle on voluntary action



The first extended treatment of moral responsibility is
Aristotle's in *NE* 3.1-5. Voluntary actions, says
Aristotle, are subject to praise and blame, whereas involuntary ones
are excused (*NE* 3.1 1109b30-32). Voluntary actions are ones
with their origin in the agent themself, where they know the
particular circumstances of the action (*NE* 3.1 1111a23-24).
To say that the origin of an action is the agent simply means that the
cause or explanation of an action is the person's own beliefs,
desires, states of character, and other psychological states. If I
decide to poison my mother for the sake of getting my inheritance, the
action of putting cyanide into a mug of chamomile and almond tea can
be explained by my greed and callousness, by my resulting desire for
the inheritance and disregard for the welfare of my mother, and by my
belief that poisoning my mother would be an effective means to
obtaining the inheritance. On the other hand, forced actions are
involuntary--for instance, the movement of a sea voyager who is
blown astray by a wind or carried away by kidnappers. In such cases,
the person's movements have an external origin, and they
themself don't contribute anything to their movements.



Besides force, another excusing condition is non-culpable ignorance of
particular matters of fact regarding the circumstances of the action.
If my mother's joints are aching, and I bring her some Tylenol
capsules that, unbeknownst to me, have been laced with cyanide, I
should not be blamed for her death. Even though my action of bringing
the capsules has an "internal origin", I did not willingly
kill my mother--rather, it was inadvertent, and my action evinces
no malevolent desires or character flaws. (Nonetheless, says
Aristotle, I should regret what I have done and feel pain at it. If I
do not, then something is wrong with me, and so the action is not
entirely involuntary, but "non-voluntary" (*NE* 3.1
1110b18-24).) But not all ignorance excuses. For instance, if I
willingly get drunk, and therefore I don't notice a stop sign
and end up inadvertently harming somebody when I run the stop sign, I
am responsible for putting myself into the state of ignorance, and
hence responsible for my subsequent actions. Also, Aristotle believes
that ignorance of what is good and bad does not excuse a person. If I am
depraved enough, I might sincerely believe that I am doing nothing
wrong when I poison my mother, that I am simply being savvy and
appropriately ruthless in pursuing my self-interest. *That*
kind of ignorance, says Aristotle, is what makes people vicious, and
being a bad person isn't an excuse for acting badly (*NE*
3.1 110b28-1111a2). (As we shall see, Aristotle believes that people
are at least partly responsible for their own characters.)



Aristotle also discusses "mixed actions", ones that are
done knowingly but unwillingly. He gives the examples of a captain
tossing their cargo overboard to save their ship during a storm, and a
person doing something dishonorable at the order of a tyrant in order
to save the lives of their family. These are not the sorts of actions
they would normally perform, but they feel forced to do so under the
circumstances. Such actions, says Aristotle, *are* voluntary,
and the agent is responsible for them--after all, the origin of
the action was inside the agent, and they knew the particular
circumstances of their actions. However, when assessing actions, we
need to take those circumstances in account, so that actions that
normally would be wrong, like tossing cargo overboard, are sometimes
actually praiseworthy and reflect well on the agent.



Finally, Aristotle says that sometimes people do wrong actions
"under pressure which overstrains human nature and which no one
could withstand", and such actions are forgiven (*NE* 3.1
1110a23-25). Unfortunately, he does not give an example or explain why
such actions are pardoned. But a plausible example would be in the
novel *1984*, when Winston Smith betrays his lover Julia at the
point where O'Brien threatens to have his face chewed off by
rats, after months of torture in the bowels of the Ministry of Love.
While the betrayal does have an "internal origin" in
Smith's terror of the rats and his belief that betraying Julia
would spare him, almost any human being would have been broken under
the circumstances. Therefore, when we wish to explain why Smith
betrays Julia, it is not because of any character flaws or disordered
desires particular to Smith--instead, we say that no matter
whether a person was virtuous or vicious, they would have acted as
Smith did in such a situation, so Smith's betrayal doesn't reflect
badly on him.



When an action is voluntary and its origin is within us, it is up to
us either to perform the action or not (*NE* 3.1 1110a17-18),
so if it's up to us to perform some action which is noble, we
also have the ability not to act, which would be base (*NE* 3.5
1113b5-14). Since we have the ability to do otherwise in the case of
all voluntary actions, and it is only for voluntary actions that
people are rightly held responsible, Aristotle endorses the Principle
of Alternate Possibilities (PAP): a person is morally responsible for
what they have done only if they could have done otherwise.



Whether Aristotle's theory of what is voluntary is compatibilist
or incompatibilist with regard to causal determinism is highly
contested. But the question itself may be misguided, as Aristotle
never formulates the thesis of causal determinism or asks whether
determinism is compatible with people engaging in voluntary actions.
The best we can do is ask whether, given his other philosophical
commitments, Aristotle's conditions on voluntary action are best
understood as compatible with determinism, or incompatible with it.
Some contemporary philosophers believe that causal determinism is
incompatible with an agent genuinely being the source of his action,
as his action could be traced back to environmental, genetic, and
other factors outside of and prior to the agent. But Aristotle seems
not to be working with that strong a notion of sourcehood when he says
that the agent is the origin of his actions: he says that choice is
origin of action, while desire and practical reason are the origin of
choice (*NE* 6.2 1139a32-33). So Y can be the origin of Z,
while Y itself has an origin in X. Likewise, many philosophers believe
that PAP is incompatible with causal determinism, while others believe
that they are compatible. Aristotle himself is silent on the issue,
and he never produces an explication of what exactly he means when he
says an agent who acts voluntarily could have done otherwise. However,
he does think that virtue is a perfection of a person's
character, one that reliably produces virtuous actions. The virtuous
person has both correct beliefs about what to do, and correct desires,
so he would seem to have no motive to do anything other than the right
thing, and Aristotle does say that the virtuous person would never
voluntarily do anything vicious (*NE* 4.9 1128b25-30). So it
seems that, while the virtuous person who voluntarily performs a
virtuous action *could* have acted otherwise and done something
vicious, nonetheless there are sufficient conditions--ones that
include his own virtue--which preclude him from exercising this
ability. While opinions on the question are divided, perhaps the
safest thing to say is that Aristotle's theory is compatible
with compatibilism. (See Destree (2011) for an incompatibilist
interpretation of Aristotle based on 'sourcehood' and
Aristotle's acceptance of PAP, and Bobzien (2014) for
criticisms. Meyer (2011) gives an interpretation on which
Aristotle's theory of voluntary action and of character
formation is compatible with compatibilism.)


### 2.2 Aristotle on character formation



Although Aristotle says that voluntary actions are subject to praise
and blame, he does not simply identify morally responsible actions
with voluntary ones. Small children and animals can engage in
voluntary behavior, moving themselves around, using the information
they have about their environment, in order to get what they want.
What distinguishes adult humans from small children and other animals
is our possession of practical reason, which allows us to deliberate
about what to do in order to best achieve what we believe to be good
and then to make choices on the basis of that deliberation
(*NE* 3.2-4). Only creatures who can make these sorts of
deliberative choices are capable of virtue or vice, and only such
creatures are accountable for what they do.



Furthermore, our capacity for deliberative choice allows us to shape
our own characters, and Aristotle thinks that we need to be able to do
so in order to be responsible for the actions that flow from those
characters. In *NE* 3.5, Aristotle considers an argument
against our responsibility for our actions that proceeds from
psychological determinism. It goes as follows: let us suppose that a
careless person exceeds the speed limit because they did not notice
the sign posting the limit. Aristotle says that the law rightly
punishes such cases of ignorant wrongdoing, because the person is
responsible for his own negligent ignorance, just as in the case of
the ignorant drunkard. But, the objection goes, some people just are
careless; they're simply the sort of people who aren't
going to take care (*NE* 3.5 1114a3-4). So it's not up to
them not to be careless. More generally, people do what they do
because they believe it gets them what is good. But what seems good to
a person is not under their control; instead, it is determined by
their character (*NE* 3.5 1114a30-1114b12). If I choose to
poison my mother, it's because I believe that doing so will be
good for me. But I did not choose to believe that wealth is so
incredibly important for my well-being, and the interests of others
and considerations of justice so negligible, that getting lots of
money through undetected murder would be good for me. As Plato says in
his dialogue the *Timaeus*, nobody is willingly evil. Instead,
through some combination of poor natural endowments and poor
education, neither of which the evil person had under their control,
they become vicious. So they are not to blame for their vice; rather,
those who nurtured them are to blame (*Tim.* 86d-87a).



Aristotle agrees that what seems good to us is determined by our
character, and that we aim at what we believe is good. There are cases
of *akrasia*, or "weakness of will", where a
person's beliefs about what is good and their desires conflict,
and they do what they believe is bad in order to gratify their desires
(*NE* 7.3). But when a person's beliefs and desires are
in harmony--as in the case of a thoroughly virtuous or vicious
person--their actions will follow from their beliefs about and
desires for what seems to be good, plus their beliefs about what means
will achieve that apparent good. So in the case of the vicious and
willing murderer, while he may be *able* to refrain from
murder, he *will not* do so, given who he is. He will not
choose to go against what his beliefs and desires have set before him
as good. For Aristotle, choice is the final step of a process of
deliberation, in which we work through the possible means to achieve
our end, until we hit upon the one that we think will work best to get
us what we wish to achieve, whereupon we choose that means and act
(*NE* 3.3).



But Aristotle thinks that this does not absolve the vicious person of
responsibility for their actions, because they are responsible for
making themselves into the person they currently are through their
past actions. Virtue is a state of character developed through
practice in a way analogous to how we gain craft knowledge or other
practical skills: I become courageous by acting courageously, just as
a person becomes a good carpenter by practicing making cabinets or a
good basketball player by working on their free throws (*NE*
2.1). But vice is also developed through a person's repeated
actions; it's by cheating that a person makes themselves unjust
and by engaging in drinking bouts that they become dissolute drunkards
(*NE* 3.5 1114a4-7). Aristotle admits that some people are
incorrigibly bad, because they have firmly fixed bad characters, and
hence they cannot now control what appears good to them. But at one
time, they had the ability to change their character, and hence they
are responsible for what now seems good to them. Aristotle compares
such a person to an incurably sick person, who made themself ill
through their dissolute living and their refusal to listen to their
doctor's orders. The sick person is responsible for their
sickness, even though there is nothing they can do about it now; so
too with the thoroughly vicious person (*NE* 3.5
1114a12-22).



It might seem that Aristotle's response implies a vicious
regress. My present action is caused by my present character plus my
other psychological states, such as my beliefs. In order to be
responsible for this action, I must be responsible for the state of
character that in part causes it. Aristotle responds that my past
voluntary actions caused my present character, and so I am responsible
for it. But if I must be responsible for these actions in order to be
responsible for the character state that they cause, we ask in turn
whether I am responsible for the character states that caused these
actions, and so on and so forth, until we are drawn back to factors of
heredity and environment which I am not responsible for. In response
to this problem, some scholars have proposed that Aristotle believes that some
character-forming actions are not caused by my past states of
character (Kane (2014), who attributes such a view to Aristotle and
uses it as inspiration for his own view), or that he believes there
are some breaks or "fresh starts" in the causal process
leading to my present character, so that it cannot be drawn back to
past factors that were not in my power (Furley 1967; Bobzien 2000).
But it is difficult to see how positing causal breaks would help make
the process of character formation more under the control of a person,
and in any case, Aristotle apparently is not aware of this supposed
problem with his response. Instead, he seems to think that, as long as
we need to refer to a person's past actions in order to explain
how they came to be the sort of person they are, this suffices for
showing that they helped form their own character and it is was up to
them who they became.


### 2.3 Epicurus on reason, character formation, and what "depends on us"



Like Aristotle, Epicurus believes that our ability to shape the
development of our character is central to our being responsible for
our actions, and that we have this ability because of our reason.
Furthermore, the person who argues that our actions do not depend on
us refutes themself in the very act of arguing for their thesis.



The Epicureans think that all of our actions are explained by our desire
for pleasure, our aversion to pain, and our beliefs about how best to
obtain pleasure and avoid pain (*Ep. Men* 128, *Fin.*
1.23, 1.30 1.46). People engage in wrongdoing because they have
incorrect beliefs about what will bring them pleasure (*KD* 7,
10, *SV* 16, *Fin.* 1.32-33, 1.55). If a person wrongly
believes that pursuing great wealth will make them happy, then they
will pursue wealth. But this psychological hedonism does not render us
helpless, because our beliefs are under our control, and it is reason
which gives us this control over our beliefs. We can learn to
distinguish which of our desires are for things we really need, and
which desires cause us harm, and thereby reject the harmful desires
(*KD* 18-22, 29-30). Using our reason, we can overcome hate,
envy, contempt, and other emotions that might lead us to wrongdoing
(DL 10.117).



This reasons-responsiveness is what distinguishes us from other
animals and allows us to control our own development, while other
animals cannot. Other animals have in-born temperaments: for instance,
lions are naturally irascible because their minds contain many fire
atoms, while stags are timid because they have more wind atoms
(*DRN* 3.288-306). People also have natural temperaments: some
are easily moved to anger, while others are too fearful (*DRN*
3.307-318). But we can use our reason to expel any harmful
dispositions, so that only trivial traces of these temperaments
remain, and we are able to achieve a life worthy of the gods
(*DRN* 3.319-322).



In book 25 of his treatise *On Nature* (LS 20B-C), Epicurus
also asserts that how we develop depends on us, and then he tries to
show that it is self-refuting to maintain that all things occur of
necessity. Unfortunately, while this is an important text for
understanding Epicurus, it is also extremely unclear. Epicurus has a
contorted and jargon-ridden writing style, and the text as we have it
is full of gaps, because it is preserved on charred scrolls from an
Epicurean villa buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE. So
the summary of his arguments below, like any summary of this text, is
bound to be controversial, and it is considerably more clear than
Epicurus' own arguments.



Epicurus says some people have disordered congenital dispositions,
e.g., they are naturally hotheaded due to their atomic make-up. But
unlike wild animals, we blame a person who develops badly and remains
a hothead as an adult, because the way we actually develop depends on
us, and not on the nature of our atoms. We each have
"seeds", psychological potentials to develop one way or
the other, and which "seeds" develop depend on us and on
beliefs of our own making. Further evidence for our control over
ourselves, says Epicurus, is that we rebuke, oppose, and reform each
other as if the responsibility for what we do lies also "in
ourselves", not just in our congenital dispositions and in our
environment. If somebody argues against this thesis and maintains that
everything we do is necessitated, he refutes himself. That is because
in his action of engaging in debate, the person is assuming that he is
responsible for reasoning correctly and that his opponent is
responsible for talking nonsense.



At first blush, this self-refutation argument appears quite
unpromising, as Epicurus' opponent has an obvious reply: they
can maintain that the actions of the people engaging in the debate,
including their own, are necessitated, and nonetheless try to show
that their own position is better-supported and thereby convince their
opponent to change their mind. Epicurus, however, thinks that this
reply fails. We have a concept of what it means for something to be
necessitated, versus for something to depend on us. And the empirical
basis for these concepts is observing ourselves in action--in
particular, observing our actions of rebuking, opposing, and reforming
one another. We see that we can dissuade other people from an action,
e.g., I can talk to my friend and convince him not to give in to a
bully's demands and to stand up to him instead. We also see that
sometimes we decide to do things we don't feel like doing, e.g.,
I undergo painful dental work in order to avoid greater pain in the
future. From these observations, we form the distinction between
things that depend on us, versus ones that are necessitated, and we
show our understanding of this distinction in our actions, as we try
to dissuade one another from things that "depend on us",
while it would be pointless to do so for those that are necessitated.
According to Epicurus, if his opponent claims that all of our actions
are necessitated, and they do not challenge the empirical basis of our
distinction, they are merely "changing a name". To show
that our actions are necessitated in a substantial way, the opponent
would have to show how we are mistaken when we think that we can use
our reason to persuade one another to act differently, that we can
decide to undergo short-term pain for the sake of long-term gain, and
the like. But the action of trying to persuade somebody to change
their mind, by giving them reasons to think that their current
conviction is mistaken, is precisely the sort of thing that forms the
basis for the conceptions that Epicurus' opponent is trying to
challenge (see Castagnoli 2010: 145-159 for more on this
argument).


### 2.4 The role of the swerve in protecting our freedom



As noted above (in section 1.2), Epicurus introduces an
indeterministic atomic motion, the swerve, in order to protect human
freedom. It is not mentioned in any of the extant texts by Epicurus
himself, but a variety of later sources attribute the doctrine to him.
The two most extensive discussions we have of the swerve's role
in protecting human freedom are in Cicero's *On Fate*,
which describes how the swerve is needed in order to preserve the
openness of the future and avert the fatalistic implications of the
Principle of Bivalence, and in lines 251-293 of Book 2 of *On
the Nature of Things*, Lucretius' exposition of Epicurean
physics.



Lucretius argues that is evident that animals can and do act freely.
However, if atoms did not sometimes randomly swerve to the side,
animals would not be able to act freely. Therefore, atoms sometimes
randomly swerve to the side. In this argument, Lucretius moves from
something he thinks we can observe (that animals act freely), and on
its basis infers something that we cannot directly perceive (that
atoms swerve slightly to the side). Free actions are ones where the
body follows the mind's desires (*DRN* 2.268), and free
actions have an "internal source" in a literal sense for
Lucretius: they are produced by the animal's mind, which is a
bodily organ in its chest.



Lucretius spends most of his argument establishing the premise that
animals do, in fact, act freely, by giving two examples. Both examples
are supposed to show that animals have an internal capacity to
initiate motion, which distinguishes animal motion from the way in
which inanimate objects are simply moved around by external blows. The
first example is of race horses eager to burst from the starting
gates. Lucretius claims that we see a slight delay between the
external stimulus of the opening of the gates and the resultant motion
of the horses surging forward. This delay supposedly shows that there
exists motion initiated by the mind, in which case it takes some time
for the decision of the mind to stir together and move all of the
matter of the horse. The second example appeals to our own experience,
in cases such as being in a jostling crowd: we are not always
helplessly shoved around by these outside forces but are sometimes
able to fight against them to go where we wish, and we initiate this
motion ourselves.



Unfortunately, Lucretius is much less forthcoming in supporting or
elucidating his other premise. If there were not a swerve, and causal
determinism were true, why would animals be unable to act freely? And
how exactly is the swerve supposed to help preserve freedom? At the
start of his argument, Lucretius says that if there were not an atomic
swerve, to prevent all motion from being interlinked in an endless
chain of causation and thereby to annul the decrees of fate, we would
not have the ability to move ourselves around as we wished. And at the end
of his argument, Lucretius says that, in order for our actions not to
be subject to an "internal necessity", there must be an
atomic motion that is not necessitated, since nothing comes to be from
nothing (*DRN* 2.284-293). A number of answers to the above
questions have been advanced, but each of these interpretations
suffers from philosophical and textual problems. Below are some of these
answers.


#### 2.4.1 Free will and the ability to do otherwise



A common way of answering these questions is to say that free will is
incompatible with causal determinism because determinism precludes us
from having the ability to do otherwise than we do, and this ability
is needed to have free will (Purinton 1999). Human beings are
aggregates of atoms, and our decisions are caused by the motions of
the atoms that make up our minds. If the atoms that make us up moved
in accordance with deterministic laws--if we were subject to
"internal necessity"--then we would be unable to act
otherwise than how we do act. But because the atoms in our mind can
swerve, then it is possible for me to do otherwise than I do. There is
a range of possible outcomes for any action I take, depending on
whether, when, and how many atoms in my mind swerve. And so, I have
free will and can be rightly held responsible for my actions.



One problem with this interpretation is that Lucretius does not seem
concerned with moral responsibility or the ability to do otherwise.
The Latin phrase Lucretius uses for what allows us to "act
freely" is *libera voluntas*, which is often translated
as "free will". But *libera voluntas* is not
something particular to adult humans, who can be held morally
responsible for their actions. It is shared by all animals. And
*libera voluntas* is not described as an ability to do
otherwise, which allows animals to be accountable for what they do.
Instead, *libera voluntas* is effective agency; it allows
living creatures all over the earth to do what they *want* to
do and to advance wherever pleasure leads them (*DRN*
2.251-260). And in any case, inserting random atomic swerves into
one's mind is an unpromising basis for the production of free
and responsible actions; instead, it would seem to result in random
and blameless twitches. Let us imagine that after thinking things
over, I am getting ready to pick up the phone and accept a job offer,
but before I pick up the phone, a series of atomic swerves occur in my
mind, and I start singing Queen's "We Are the
Champions" instead. Is the singing a free and responsible
action? Or if I do pick up the phone and accept the job, does the
possibility that random atomic swerves might have caused me to sing
instead help preserve my free will? To the extent that random swerves
are involved in action, they seem to undercut our control over our
actions, rather than preserve it.


#### 2.4.2 Character development and internal necessity



Alternatively, it has been proposed that the Epicureans' concern
is with our control over character development, which Epicurus
discusses in *On Nature* book 25, not free will (Furley 1967;
Bobzien 2000). If determinism were true, how we develop would be
necessitated--our current character would be the inevitable
result of eternal chains of cause and effect, and traceable entirely
to external factors of environment and heredity beyond our control.
Lucretius is referring to this threat when he talks about the
"internal necessity" that the swerve saves us from by
breaking the chains of cause and effect. Once again, however,
Lucretius' concern when he describes the swerve does not seem to
be the ability of humans to shape their own character development, or
the way determinism may threaten it. And leaving that worry aside,
having the process of character development caused in part by random
atomic swerves seems no better than having it caused entirely by
deterministic atomic motions, as far as our control over it. What is
needed is not to falsify determinism, but to preserve our ability to
use our reason to change ourselves.


#### 2.4.3 The self and emergence



In *On Nature* 25, Epicurus says that how we develop depends on
us, and not on the nature of our atoms. Based on this assertion and
some other passages in *On Nature* 25, David Sedley (1983,
1988) argues that Epicurus believes that how we act is not determined by
the atoms that make up our minds. Instead, from complex atomic systems
like the atoms that makes up our minds, there emerges human reason,
our desires, and other psychological entities, which cannot be
identified with atomic states. All together, these entities make up
the person, or the self. According to Sedley, Epicurus thinks that the
self acquires causal powers that transcend the laws that bind atomic
motion and that can even "reach down" and cause changes to the
atoms that make up my mind, and thereby initiate actions. However, the
self would not be able to exercise this power if physical laws were
sufficient on their own to determine all atomic motions. As a minimal
indeterminacy at the atomic level, the swerve allows the self
"elbow room" where it can exercise its power to act one
way or the other *within* the laws of physics, but in a way
that is not *determined* by the laws of physics.



*On Nature* 25, however, is extremely unclear. The
better-preserved and clearer texts we have by the Epicureans that deal
with their philosophy of mind, such as *On the Nature of
Things* and *The Letter to Herodotus* (Epicurus'
summary of his physics) seem to support an identity theory of
mind--that the mind is just a bodily organ (like the brain, but
located in the chest), and that psychological states and events are
the same as atomic states and events. The passages cited to support an
"emergent self" do not obviously commit Epicurus to the
position, and they can be read in a way that is consistent with an
identity theory of mind. And even if Epicurus did believe in an
emergent self that acquires causal powers that transcend the powers of
the atoms, he would not need to posit the swerve. The "laws of
physics" simply sum up the effects of a number of causal factors
that determine how an atom will move, like its weight and its
collisions with other atoms. If there really were an emergent and transcendent self, that self would add another causal factor that could
move the atoms. There doesn't need to be an antecedent
indeterminacy to ensure that the atoms can be moved by the self. In
his solution to the fatalist "lazy argument" (see section
1.3), Carneades says something along these lines: once we have a
"voluntary motion of the mind" that obeys us, we do not
need a random swerve to help ensure our freedom.


#### 2.4.4 Bivalence and the swerve



Finally, the swerve may do nothing more than fulfill the function,
described above, that Cicero gives to it in *On
Fate*--because of the swerve, statements about what will
happen in the future are, at present, neither true nor false. And so,
what will happen is not inevitable, and our deliberations about what
to do and our actions are not futile (O'Keefe 2005). This fits
with Lucretius' description of how determinism threatens our
*libera voluntas*--if each motion were linked to a prior
motion from eternity, animals would not be able to do what they want
to do and to advance wherever pleasure leads them. So the swerve is
not directly involved in the production of free action, it simply
helps dispose of one threat to our freedom, the one spelled out by the
fatalist argument: if the Principle of Bivalence were true, and
applied to statements about the future, the future would be
necessitated, and we would be helpless.



However, the Epicureans need not have such concerns about the
Principle of Bivalence. If the Stoics are right, neither the Principle
of Bivalence nor causal determinism would rob us of freedom, since
action and deliberation can still be effective even if the Principle
of Bivalence holds and causal determinism is true. However, if one is
not convinced by the Stoics, then Carneades' position seems more
cogent than Epicurus'. To secure our ability to shape the
future, what matters is our ability to control our actions in a way
that is not causally predetermined--Carneades'
"voluntary motion of the mind"--whereas positing a
random atomic motion to falsify a logical principle is beside the
point. And if the swerve has no direct role either in the production
of action or the formation of our character, it is unclear what
Lucretius might be referring to when he says that the swerve saves us
from "internal necessity".



No matter which interpretation is correct, it looks like introducing
an atomic swerve to preserve our freedom was not a good idea.


### 2.5 The Stoics on what is "up to us", the principle of alternate possibilities, and punishment



The Stoics are materialists, and they believe that every action we
perform is causally determined by god as part of his divine plan. This
might seem to make us helpless puppets of god, puppets who cannot rightly be held responsible for what we do. The Stoics, however, develop
a theory of animal behavior generally and human action in particular
that tries to counter this suspicion. Like both Aristotle and
Epicurus, for the Stoics, the possession of reason is key to making humans responsible
for their actions.



According to the Stoics, inanimate objects like logs and stones are
moved around from the outside. Animals, however, move themselves
around. Animal motion has an internal source, the animal's own
mind, which is a material, bodily organ. The Stoics' distinction
between inanimate and animate motion is reminiscent of
Lucretius' distinction between the passive way inanimate objects
are moved around, compared to the active motion of animals, which have
*libera voluntas* and can move themselves around as they wish.
The Stoics, however, believe that animals moving themselves around is
compatible with the way in which animals move being causally
determined. Animals move themselves when an impression occurs which
arouses an impulse. For instance, a hungry dog may see a hunk of meat,
and this arouses an impulse to run up to the meat and eat it. The
impulse is triggered by the impression, but this is still a case of
the dog moving itself toward the meat, not merely being passively
pushed around by the impression.



In the case of rational animals, like humans, there is a crucial
additional step. We have 



> 
> 
> reason, which passes judgment on impressions, rejecting some of these
> and accepting others, in order that the animal may be guided
> accordingly. (Origen, *On principles* 3.1.2-3, LS 53A) 
> 
> 
> 



For instance, I may see a pulled-pork sandwich in front of me when I
am hungry. But instead of saying, "Mmmm, looks good", and
straightaway gobbling it down, I think "Eating meat produced by
factory farms would be wrong" and refrain. On the other hand,
Chrysippus believes that animals are made for the sake for human
beings--for instance, that appetizing pigs have no purpose other
than slaughter and that god created them as part of our cuisine
(Porphyry, *On Abstinence*, 3.20.1, 3, LS 54P). And so, given
his foolish and vicious views about the moral status of animals,
Chrysippus would gladly decide to chow down on a pulled-pork
sandwich.



Any action proper will include this step of assent to an impression
that leads to an impulse, and it is this additional step that
distinguishes human action from mere animal behavior. This does not
mean that actions require extended and self-conscious deliberation. If
you insult my hipster sideburns and I straightaway get angry and punch
you in the face, I have assented to the impression that you have
wronged me and it would be good to retaliate and cause you pain, even
though I haven't thought it over carefully.



To illustrate the Stoic doctrine of the internal source of animal
motion Chrysippus uses the analogy of a stone cylinder rolling down a
slope. The cylinder's rolling down the slope may require an
initial shove. But that initial shove only triggers the motion, and
the primary cause of the motion is the cylinder's own shape and
"rollability". Likewise, human action may require an
initial impression as its trigger, but how a person acts depends on
the person themself, on the sort of person they are and how they
respond to their impressions (Cicero, *Fat.* 39-43, LS
62C).



Assent is up to us and under our control, and assent is the cause
of our actions. Therefore, our actions are attributable to us, and we
are rightly held responsible for them. I do not control whether I am
healthy, although I can aim at maintaining my health. I do not
control whether other people hurl insults at me, but it is up to me
whether I react angrily when I am insulted. What we do is controlled
by our will and intellect, and the misdeeds of bad people can rightly
be attributed to their own vice (Gellius, *Noctes Atticae*,
7.2.6-13, LS 62D).



The Stoics reject the Principle of Alternate Possibilities (PAP). We
don't have 



> 
> 
> the freedom to choose between opposite actions ... [instead], it
> is what comes about *through* us that is up to us. (Alexander,
> *On fate* ch. 13, 181,13, LS 62G1) 
> 
> 
> 



Assent is up to us and under our control, and we are rightly
held responsible for what we do, even though we do not have the
ability to do otherwise than we do. If we accept PAP, then the actions
of the virtuous person will be praiseworthy only if they are capable
of acting in a way other than how they do act. But the truly virtuous
person is incapable of acting viciously, of doing anything wrong.
Imagine that I am a virtuous person, and that I have promised my young
daughter a piece of cake if she finishes her dinner. She finishes her
dinner and asks for the cake. There is only one action that I can and
will do in that particular situation: give her the cake as promised.
Let us suppose that there *was* some small chance that I would
not keep my promise--that I'd pretend to look for the cake
and not find it, and lie to her about its being missing, so that I
could have it for myself later. If I were capable of depriving my
daughter of her promised cake so that I could chow down on it later,
then I would not really be a virtuous person. There would have to be
something wrong with me. And so if we accept PAP, we would have to
accept the absurd result that we should not praise virtuous people for
acting virtuously, as they cannot do anything other than the virtuous
action in any situation. And so, we should reject PAP (Alexander,
*On fate* ch. 26, 196,24-197,3, LS 61M).



Aristotle would say that the virtuous person *will* not break
their promise to their daughter, but that they are *capable* of
doing so. The Stoics reject this response. Virtue is a reliable
disposition to do what one should. I am not *forced* to get the
cake for my daughter, but if I am truly a good person, I am incapable
of doing otherwise, because I cannot but want to get her the cake
(Seneca *On Benefits* 6.21.2-3). The Stoics conceive of virtue
as a kind as practical skill that allows a person to live well, and
the wise person will consistently exercise this skill, so that
everything they do they do well (Stobaeus *Eclogues*
2.66,14-67,4, LS 61G). So an "ability" to break my promise
to my daughter is something I do not want to have, as it would be a
defect, a form of folly, and a *disability*.



The Stoics believe that their doctrine that god causally determines
our every action is compatible with all of our ordinary moral
practices. They share with Aristotle the idea that virtue is a
perfection of our nature as rational and social animals, and they
believe that the proper action to perform is the one that can be given
a reasonable justification. (See the texts in Long and Sedley sections
59-61.) Let us suppose that causal determinism is true and that I
break my promise to my daughter and chow down on the cake. Even if
every action is causally determined by God, right reason still
commands right actions and prohibits wrong ones. We can still give the
reasons why breaking my promise to my daughter is irrational and
wrong, and why keeping my promise would be rational and right. So,
even though I was causally determined to break my promise, my doing so
was wrong. And if there are right and wrong actions, there are also
virtues and vices, character traits that dispose us to act rightly and
wrongly, respectively. So, in the example above, I am a vicious
person: I am the kind of person who will break his promise to his
daughter for the sake of filling his belly. But virtue is noble, and
thus commendable, whereas vice is shameful, and thus reprehensible.
And commendable things deserve honor, whereas reprehensible things
deserve censure and punishment. So I am a shameful, reprehensible
person, and I am rightly criticized for my action (Alexander, *On
Fate* ch. 35, 207, 5-21, LS 62J).



While the Stoics think that vicious people are responsible for what
they do, and that wrongdoing merits censure and punishment, they
reject retributive punishment, punishment that seeks to set back a
person's interests as fitting payback for the wrong they have
done. Like god, the virtuous person wishes to harm none and to benefit
all. We should regard ourselves as akin to all human beings, and we
should seek to benefit as many people as we can (Cicero *Fin.*
3.62-8, LS 57F). Punishment is a fitting response to wrongdoing, but
right punishment is *rehabilitative*, a loving correction of
the person punished (Alexander, *On fate* ch. 35, 207,5-21, LS
62J). The model here is akin to parental discipline. If my sons are
squabbling, and one of them angrily hits the other, I might send him
to time-out, deprive him of dessert, and ground him for a week. But I
do not do so because I want my son to suffer or I think he had it
coming to him. Instead, while my son might find the punishment
painful, I inflict the punishment because I think that the discipline
will be good for him, that it will help him realize that he has done something
wrong and that he needs to change himself. In their theory of
punishment, as in much of their ethical theory, the Stoics are
following the lead of Plato, who also rejects retributive punishment
in favor of rehabilitative punishment. (See in particular
*Protagoras* 323d-324d and *Gorgias* 472d-479e.) Plato,
however, rejects retribution in part because he believes that all
wrongdoing is due to ignorance of what is good. Hence, he thinks,
nobody does wrong willingly, and nobody is deserving of retributive
punishment.



According to the Stoics, both the virtuous, wise person and the
vicious fool are responsible for their actions, because the actions of
each of them are equally a result of their assent, which is under
their control. Nonetheless, in another sense, only the wise person is
truly free (DL 7.33). The later Stoic Epictetus often compares the
foolish person to a slave, under the yolk of vicious and damaging
desires (for instance, *Handbook* 14 and *Discourses*
2.2). Similarly, the Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius likens the fool to
a puppet who is jerked here and there by irrational impulses (for
instance, *Meditations* 2.2, 6.16). The fool is dominated by
desires and beliefs that are alien to his nature as a rational being,
because right reason commands all virtuous actions and forbids all
vicious actions. Only the wise person is free from these alienating
and disturbing desires and beliefs; only the wise person has mastered
himself and is in harmony with himself.


###  2.6 Alexander of Aphrodisias' incompatibilist Aristotelianism



Alexander of Aphrodisias is an adherent of Aristotle's
philosophy, best known for his extensive commentaries on
Aristotle's texts. In his treatise *On Fate*, Alexander
develops an Aristotelian theory on human freedom in reaction to the
Stoics' clearly determinist and compatibilist theory.
Alexander's theory is based on what Aristotle says, and he
claims simply to be presenting Aristotle's views. But
Alexander's treatment takes many elements of Aristotle, which on
their own can be read as either compatible with causal determinism or
incompatible with causal determinism, and develops them in
incompatibilist ways. Alexander thinks that causal determinism is
incompatible both with effective deliberation and with the sort of
control over our actions needed for moral responsibility.



The Stoics identify fate with the causal organization of the cosmos.
Every thing that occurs has a cause which is sufficient to produce
exactly that outcome. And given the totality of circumstances, it is
causally impossible for things not to turn out the particular way that
they do (Alexander, *On Fate* ch. 22). Alexander believes that
having things causally determined by fate in this way is incompatible
with some outcomes being contingent. On the Stoic position, if there
is going to be a sea battle tomorrow, the causal structure of the
cosmos guarantees that there will be a sea battle tomorrow and makes
it impossible that there not be a sea battle tomorrow (Alexander,
*On Fate* ch. 9). But deliberating about things that will
necessarily occur or necessarily not occur is pointless; it makes
sense to deliberate only about things that can either possibly occur
or not. Furthermore, if I deliberate about whether to instigate a sea
battle or not, it makes sense to do so only if I have the ability
either to instigate a sea battle or not to do so. I do not deliberate
whether or not to fly if I cannot fly, or if I *must* fly
(Alexander, *On Fate* ch. 11-12). So, effective deliberation
requires that a person have the ability to do otherwise than they do,
and Alexander thinks that such an ability is incompatible with causal
determinism.



Alexander also believes that the Stoic position implies that our
actions are not really "up to us", i.e., that we do not
have the sort of control over our actions which is required to be
rightly praised, blamed, rewarded, or punished for them. Alexander
thinks this because he subscribes to something like the principle that
"ought implies can", i.e., that a person can be morally
obligated to do something only if they have the ability to do it. This
is shown in our own case, when we feel regret and blame ourselves for
doing something because we think we were able not to choose to do the
evil thing we had done (Alexander, *On Fate* ch. 12,
180.29-31). And in the case of other people, too, we blame and punish
them on the assumption that they were able to refrain from wrongdoing.
If they had to do what they did, under the circumstances, they are
blameless. (Alexander thinks that it is inadequate to say that they
would have acted differently if circumstances had been different;
Alexander, *On Fate* ch. 16.)



Alexander turns Chrysippus' analogy of the cylinder rolling down
the slope against the Stoic position. Chrysippus says that, while an
initial shove is required to get the cylinder moving, whether and how
the cylinder rolls depends on its shape, and likewise, while an
initial impression is needed to get a person moving, how they respond
to the impression depends on the type of person they are, and thus
they are responsible for how they act. But, says Alexander, round
things must roll down a slope when shoved; it is not up to them
whether or not to roll. Instead, they are compelled to roll by a kind
of internal necessity. And if the Stoics are right, vicious people are
likewise compelled by their vicious natures, by a kind of internal
necessity, to do their evil deeds (Alexander, *On Fate* ch.
17).



Like Carneades, Alexander believes that his own doctrine of free
choice doesn't introduce motion without a cause. A person has
various motives they can act on: they may want to obtain this pleasure
or that one, or to get something that they believe is to their
advantage, or to do something because they think it's the right
thing to do. Nothing predetermines or necessitates what the person
will end up freely choosing to do: they might accept this job or that
one, given the competing considerations in favor of each, and they can
value the pleasure of cake over the importance of keeping their
promises, or vice-versa. But no matter what they end up choosing, they
are the cause of their own choices and of the actions that result from
them (Alexander, *On Fate* ch. 15).



But what about the thoroughly virtuous person? Alexander agrees with
the Stoics that virtuous people are psychologically incapable of doing
anything vicious. However, it does not follow that every action they
perform is causally necessitated. There is often a range of available
actions that are consistent with virtue, or some leeway in the
precise way in which they may do the action which virtue requires, and
it is up to them which of these options they choose (Alexander, *On
Fate* ch. 29). Alexander also follows Aristotle in thinking that
people are responsible for developing their character through their
own voluntary actions, in a way analogous to developing skills through
practice. This, thinks Alexander, distinguishes virtuous humans from
the gods. Humans are not by nature virtuous. Instead, they have to
develop their virtue, and they are capable of either becoming virtuous
or not. And so, we praise the person who develops the virtues, because
the type of person they became was up to them. But the gods
necessarily possess their goodness as a kind of natural gift, and they
are incapable of becoming bad. And so, because their goodness was not
up to them, we rightly honor the gods for their goodness, but we do not
praise them (Alexander, *On Fate* chs. 27, 32).


###  2.7 Plotinus on freedom and the good



Plotinus is a follower of Plato, and in his attempt to spell out
systematically the truths contained in Plato's dialogues, he
founded the philosophical movement nowadays called Neoplatonism. He
develops a distinctive position on human freedom, one that overlaps
considerably with the Stoics' position. However, because of his
deep metaphysical differences with the Stoics, he breaks with them on
the role of fate in producing human action.



For Plotinus, to say that something is "up to us" is to
say that we have power or mastery over it. He contrasts this mastery
with servitude or slavery. True power is the power to do what we wish,
in order to gain what we desire. So Plotinus thinks that a person who
acts under compulsion is not acting freely. He also agrees with
Aristotle that a person who acts in ignorance of the particulars of
his situation is not acting voluntarily: if I inadvertently poison my
mother with cyanide-laced Tylenol, I am not doing what I wished to do,
as I did not wish to poison my mother. But he disagrees with
Aristotle, and agrees with Plato, in thinking that ignorance of the
rightness or wrongness of what I propose to do excuses (*Enn.*
VI.8[39].1). Plotinus believes that all desire is desire for the good
(*Enn.* VI.8[39].7). If I poison my mother, I do so because I
believe that doing so is good for me. But if I'm wrong about
that, then when I kill her, I'm not really gaining what I
desire, because I wanted to get what was good for me. (It's for
these sorts of reasons that Plato, in *Gorgias* 466c-468e,
denies that a tyrant who is able to kill, torture, or imprison anybody
as he sees fit has great power. Power enables a person to get what
they desire, which is what is good for them, and the tyrant's
so-called "power" actually harms him.)



Following Plato in the *Republic*, Plotinus repeatedly asserts
that for the mind to be controlled by the appetites or passions is a
kind of slavery, because the mind is being controlled by something
outside of itself (*Enn.* VI.8[39].2, VI.8[39].3). Reason
should rule the person, and an action is free if it proceeds from
knowledge (*Enn.* VI.8[39].1, VI.8[39].6). So Plotinus joins
the Stoics in thinking that only the wise person is free.
"Freedom" in this sense is primarily an ethical ideal, not
a condition on moral responsibility.



Because freedom is a power to obtain what is truly good for yourself,
Plotinus also joins the Stoics in rejecting the principle that, in
order to be in control of what you do, you must have the ability to do
otherwise than you do. Let us imagine that my daughter has a serious
heart condition, and after researching the options to repair her
heart, I follow the correct course of action, both because I love her
and because I recognize that doing so is also good for me. If my
reason is in charge of what I do, and I know that what I am doing is
for the best, then I am incapable of not doing what I do. But it not
some lack of power or external obstacle that prevents me from
neglecting my daughter and doing what is worse. Instead, my action is
an expression of my knowledge and my will, and that is why I cannot do
otherwise (*Enn.* VI.8[39].10). Likewise, Plotinus thinks it
would be perverse to say that I am forced or compelled to help my
daughter, that my action is involuntary because it springs from some
sort of "internal necessity". Instead, an action is free
when it is directed towards a good that you recognize, and slavery
consists in being powerless to move towards your good. This is the
kind of freedom enjoyed by the divine intellect. Plotinus believes
that the Form of the Good, as described in places like book 6 of
Plato's *Republic*, is the transcendent source of
everything that exists. (Plotinus sometimes calls it the One, to
stress its simplicity.) The divine intellect fully understands and
eternally contemplates the Good, and it does so freely--for why
would it not do so? (*Enn.* VI.8[39].4)



Plotinus wants to allow the wise person untrammeled mastery, and so he
restricts the scope of their freedom to their reasoning and will, and
not, strictly speaking, to their actions. If I am wise, I have control
over my reasoning and the decisions I make on account of my reasoning.
But which actions I perform are not entirely up to me, but depend on
external circumstances beyond my control. If I am a brave person, I
will stand ready to risk my life in war for a noble cause, but such a
war may never arise. And of course, the effects of my actions are not
up to me--perhaps my daughter will die of her heart condition
despite my best efforts (*Enn.* VI.8[39].5). However, because
happiness consists in wisdom and virtue, the wise person's
inability to entirely control their actions or their actions'
effects does nothing to prevent them from having the sort of power
that matters--the power to obtain what is good. This aspect of
Plotinus' thought echoes the Roman Stoic Epictetus. In order to
be happy, says Epictetus, we must distinguish between what is up to us
and what is not, and the one thing that god has placed under our
control is the correct use of impressions i.e., to decide rightly what
to believe and what to do (Epictetus, *Discourses* 1.1.7-12, LS
62K). Because Epictetus thinks that freedom consists in our control
over an internal power of assent, Frede (2011) claims that the notion
of a "free will" first appears in Epictetus.



Despite the considerable overlap between Plotinus and the Stoics on
freedom, they differ significantly on fate. The Stoics think that
god's mind is a fiery breath. It is a material substance that
pervades the cosmos and causally determines every event that will
occur through its organization of the cosmos, which includes the
matter that makes up our own minds. The motions in the cosmos, then,
are the result of *both* the operations of matter *and*
of reason. Plotinus, on the other hand, distinguishes the causal
influences of matter and of mind. The One, the divine intellect, soul,
and our intellects are all immaterial, and bodies are the lowest form
of beings. For Plotinus, any purely materialistic metaphysics, such as
the Epicureans' scheme of atoms moving in the void, cannot
explain the operations of mind, which stands above matter
(*Enn.* III.1[3].3).



Plotinus criticizes the Stoics because, on their theory, humans and
their minds are parts of god, and god works his will through human
actions. Plotinus believes that, if this were true, our decisions
would be caused by something outside of ourselves and would not really
be our own--we would not be agents any more than our feet are,
when we use them to kick something. (The Stoics would reply that
humans both move themselves *and* are moved by god through
fate.) Furthermore, the Stoics' theory has the unacceptable
result of making god the cause of evil, when humans act wrongly
(*Enn.* III.1[3].4). Instead, says Plotinus, we should hold
that human minds are genuinely separate things, and that they are
self-movers, the cause of their own thoughts and decisions
(*Enn.* III.1[3].4, III.1[3].8, III.2[47].7). Here, Plotinus
again follows Plato, who in his creation-myth the *Timaeus*
asserts that human souls are distinct from the world-soul that
animates the cosmos (*Tim.* 41d).



For Plotinus, wrongdoing is involuntary, because it is always due to
ignorance, but the evil person is still its cause (*Enn.*
III.2[47].10). The wrongdoer is not culpable for what they do, but
they still suffer two sorts of punishments--although these
punishments might better be called "consequences". The
first penalty they pay for their wrongdoing is becoming evil, which is
bad for them (*Enn.* III.2[47].4; III.2[47].8; cf. Plato,
*Laws* 728b-c). Secondly, our behavior in this life will have
an impact on how we will fare in our future lives. Plotinus believes
in a cycle of reincarnation in which past wrongs lead to future
suffering (*Enn.* III.2[47].12). Furthermore, the choices a
person makes within this life will determine the sort of animal (or
plant) they are reincarnated as, with those who maintain the human
level becoming humans once again, whereas those dominated by passions
or appetites reincarnated as an appropriate sort of animal or plant
(*Enn.* III.4[15].2).



Plotinus develops his theory of reincarnation as a reading of
Plato's Myth of Er, which closes the *Republic*
(*Rep.* 614b-621d). In the Myth, disembodied souls between
cycles of reincarnation have a variety of lives to choose between.
Which life they choose is entirely up to them, and the gods are not to
blame. However, once they choose a particular life, they are bound by
necessity to that life and to the events within that life--for
instance, a greedy soul chooses the life of a tyrant without examining
it closely, only to realize after his choice that he is fated to eat
his children. On a literal reading, the myth seems to confine control
over what will happen within one's life to the choice one makes
prior to that life, as a disembodied soul. But Plotinus thinks that
the Myth is an allegory for how all of the soul's choices in
this life shape what will happen to it in the future (*Enn.*
III.4[15].3; III.4[15].5). It is better to be incarnated in some
bodies rather than others--it is better to be a human rather than
a wolf, and some humans have bodily temperaments more conducive to
goodness than others. Nonetheless, the body one is incarnated into
does not determine what one will do; it is up to the soul what it will
do given the opportunities available to it within that life
(*Enn.* III.4[15].5).