Presentism and Infinite History

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” While the world definitely had a beginning, there’s a question of whether we can prove this by reason alone (i.e., by philosophical arguments).

Defenders of the Kalaam cosmological argument often use an argument like this one, which is found in William Lane Craig’s book Reasonable Faith:

1) An actually infinite number of things cannot exist.

2) A beginningless series of events in time entails an actually infinite number of things.

3) Therefore, a beginningless series of events in time cannot exist.

I have a problem with the first premise, but that’s a topic for another time. Here I’d like to look at Craig’s second premise.

Is it true that a beginningless series of events entails an actually infinite number of things?

At first glance, the answer would seem to be yes, but the reality is more complex.

 

The Nature of Time

The answer depends on your view of time. Here we need to consider two major theories of time, which are known as eternalism and presentism.

Eternalism holds that all of time exists. The past, the present, and the future are all real from the ultimate perspective—that is, from the eternal perspective outside of time. We may only experience history one bit at a time, but from the “eternal now” that God dwells in, all moments of time are equally real.

Presentism (as we will be using the term) holds that, from the ultimate perspective, the only time that exists is right now—the present. The past used to be real, but it is no longer. And the future will exist, but it does not yet. Since neither the past nor the future are real, they do not exist in any sense of the word. If you asked God—from his ultimate perspective—“What is real in the created order?” he would answer, “Only the present.”

 

The Eternalist Option

Supposing that eternalism is true, Craig’s second premise would be true. From the eternal perspective outside of time, God would see an infinite series of past events laid out before him.

Or, if you wish to avoid the question of how God’s knowledge works then, as the Creator, God would be causing that infinite series of past events to exist.

They would all be equally real—equally actual—from his perspective, and—since they have no beginning—they would be infinite. Being both actual and infinite, the events of a beginningless history would represent an actual infinity. Thus, the second premise would be true.

But for a classical Christian theist, there would be a problem, because Christianity teaches that God will give people endless life. While human beings may come into existence at the moment of their conception, they will never pass out of existence.

Therefore, humans have an endless future. And that future also will be equally real to God.

From his eternal perspective outside of time, God sees and creates all the moments of our endless future. They are both real—actual—from his perspective, and they are infinite in number. Being both actual and infinite, the moments of our future also would be an actual infinity.

From the viewpoint of a classical Christian theist, eternalism implies the existence of an actual infinity of future moments, giving such theists reason to challenge Craig’s first premise (that an actual infinity can’t exist).

However, this post is only examining his second premise, so let’s consider the other option we need to look at.

 

The Presentist Option

If only the present exists, is it true that a beginningless series of events in time entails an actually infinite number of things?

No. At least not an actual infinity of real things.

The reason is that, on the presentist view, only one moment of time exists. No past moments exist, and no future moments exist.

It doesn’t matter how many events took place in the past, because those events are no longer real. As soon as a new moment arrived, all the events taking place in the previous moment evaporated and are no longer actual.

Therefore, it doesn’t matter how many past events there have been—it could be a finite number or an infinite number—because they have all ceased to be actual. The only actual events are those occurring in the present.

So, if presentism is true, the second premise of Craig’s argument is false if applied to concrete, real things like events. A beginningless series of events in time does not entail an actually infinite number of such things because those things are no longer actual.

For a collection of things to be actually infinite, they all have to be actual from some perspective. On eternalism, that can happen, because all the moments of time are actual from the eternal perspective outside of time.

But it can’t happen on presentism, because this view holds that, from the ultimate perspective, only one moment is real, and one is a finite number. This view entails that no actual infinity of moments in time exists, because only one moment of time is actual.

This is why Aristotle could believe that the world did have an infinite history. Even though he thought an actually infinite number of things couldn’t exist at the same time, history didn’t present that problem, because one moment passed out of existence when another came into it, so the total number of moments was always finite.

 

The Counting Argument

In the Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, Craig and coauthor James Sinclair respond to this issue with two lines of thought.

The first is based on counting, and their reasoning (omitting examples for brevity) goes like this:

[W]e may take it as a datum that the presentist can accurately count things that have existed but no longer exist. . . .

The nonexistence of such things or events is no hindrance to their being enumerated. . . .

So in a beginningless series of past events of equal duration, the number of past events must be infinite, for it is larger than any natural number. . . .

[I]f we consider all the events in an infinite temporal regress of events, they constitute an actual infinite.

It’s true that a presentist can count things that have existed but no longer exist (e.g., the number of days that have elapsed so far this year)—and their nonexistence doesn’t prevent this counting (just look at a calendar!).

The problem comes in the third statement, because it can be understood in more than one way.

In terms of what is real on the presentist view, the number of past events is not infinite, because no past events exist. That’s a key point of presentism.

If you want to talk about an infinite number of past events, you have to shift from speaking of events that do exist to those that have existed, and those aren’t the same thing.

Yes, on presentism, we could speak of an infinite collection of events that were real but aren’t anymore. And that’s the point: They aren’t real.

This points to a second way of reading the statement when Craig and Sinclair speak of “the number of past events.”

If we are talking about the number of events, then we’re no longer talking about the events themselves. Instead, we’re talking about a number, which raises a question.

 

What Are Numbers?

Mathematicians and philosophers have a variety of views about what numbers are. Some classify them as “abstract objects” that exist independent of the mind. Others think of them as mental constructs of some kind. There are many variations on these views.

Whatever the case may be, Craig doesn’t see infinite numbers themselves being a problem.

In his talks and writings, he has frequently said that he doesn’t have a problem with the mathematics of infinity—that modern mathematical concepts dealing with the infinite are fine and useful as concepts. Thus, the infinite set of natural numbers (0, 1, 2, 3 . . . ) is a useful concept.

Craig doesn’t reject the idea that the set of natural numbers is actually infinite. It’s just not the kind of actual infinity that causes a problem for him because numbers aren’t concrete objects in the real world.

So, actual infinities of the numerical order are fine, in which case it’s fine if the number of past events is actually infinite. It’s an actual infinity of events themselves that he says can’t be part of the real world.

And on presentism, they’re not. Past events would have to be understood in some other way. They might be abstract objects, like many mathematicians hold numbers to be. Or they might be purely mental concepts at this point, as others regard numbers.

Whatever is the case, on presentism they do not exist in the real world. And so, whatever kind of infinity a beginningless universe would involve, it doesn’t violate the principle that—while actual infinities may exist in an abstract way, as in mathematics—they don’t exist in the real world.

 

Back to the Future

There is another way of illustrating the problem with the argument from counting, and it involves considering the number of future events.

If the universe can’t have a beginningless past because an infinite set of non-real past events can’t exist, then we also can’t have an endless future, because that entails an infinite set of non-real future events.

The argument simply involves shifting from events that used to be real to those that will be real.

If God gives people endless life, then the number of days that we will experience in the future is infinite. As the hymn says about heaven,

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise,

Than when we first begun.

As Craig and Sinclair acknowledge:

It might rightly be pointed out that on presentism there are no future events and so no series of future events. Therefore, the number of future events is simply zero. . . . [O]n presentism, the past is as unreal as the future and, therefore, the number of past events could, with equal justification, be said to be zero. It might be said that at least there have been past events, and so they can be numbered. But by the same token there will be future events, so why can they not be numbered? Accordingly, one might be tempted to say that in an endless future there will be an actually infinite number of events, just as in a beginningless past there have been an actually infinite number of events.

So, why should an infinite number of future events be considered more permissible for a presentist than an infinite number of past ones?

 

Possible vs. Actual Infinity

Craig and Sinclair’s response involves the difference between an actual infinity (where an unlimited number of elements exist simultaneously) and a potential infinity (where an unlimited number of elements don’t exist simultaneously). They write:

[T]here never will be an actually infinite number of [future] events since it is impossible to count to infinity. The only sense in which there will be an infinite number of events is that the series of events will go toward infinity as a limit. But that is the concept of a potential infinite, not an actual infinite. Here the objectivity of temporal becoming makes itself felt. For as a result of the arrow of time, the series of events later than any arbitrarily selected past event is properly to be regarded as potentially infinite, that is to say, finite but indefinitely increasing toward infinity as a limit.

This reasoning is mistaken. It is false to say that “the series of events later than any arbitrarily selected past event is . . . finite but indefinitely increasing toward infinity as a limit.”

No. If you arbitrarily select any event in time and consider the sequence of later events, they do not “indefinitely increase toward infinity.” They are always infinite.

Consider January 1, 1900. On the Christian view, how many days of endless life will there be after that? An infinite number.

Consider January 1, 2000. How many days are to come? Again, an infinite number.

Consider January 1, 2100. How many days follow? Still an infinite number.

As the hymn says, “We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we first begun!”

What Craig and Sinclair are thinking of is the fact that, if you pick a date and go any arbitrary distance into the future, your destination will still be a finite number of days from your starting point.

Thus, the number of days that has elapsed between the start and finish of your journey grows toward infinity but never gets there, making this span of days a potential rather than actual infinity.

But it does not follow—and is simply wrong—that the complete set of future days is only potentially infinite. To show this, just give each day a number: Today is 0, tomorrow is 1, the next day is 2, and so on. We can thus map the set of future days onto the set of natural numbers, which is actually rather than potentially infinite.

Take any day you like, and on the Christian view the quantity of days that will be after it is identical to the quantity of natural numbers.

The quantity of days that will be—like the quantity of natural numbers—does not grow. This quantity just is.

Unless you say—contrary to the teaching of the Christian faith—that the number of future days is finite and God won’t give us endless life, then there is an actual infinity of future days.

And if a presentist wants to affirm an actual infinity of currently-not-real days that will be, he must allow the possibility of an actual infinity of currently-not-real days that have been.

 

Conclusion

In summary, Craig’s second premise was:

2) A beginningless series of events in time entails an actually infinite number of things.

Whether this is true will depend on one’s view of time and the status of non-real things.

On eternalism, a beginningless series of events in time would involve an actually infinite number of things, for all these moments exist from God’s perspective outside of time. But so would the actually infinite number of future days that God promises us, giving the eternalist reason to reject the idea that an actual infinity cannot exist in the real world.

On presentism, a beginningless series of events in time would not involve an actual infinity of events existing in the real world, because presentism holds that the past does not exist.

Such a series of events might result in an actual infinity of (past) non-existent days, but so would the actual infinity of (future) non-existent days. And if a Christian allows one set of non-existent days, the other must be allowed as well.

The fact that the past days are countable is irrelevant, because so are the future days.

And it is simply false to say that the days that will be are only potentially infinite. They’re not. Right now, the number of days that will be is actually infinite, the same way the set of natural numbers is actually infinite.

Based on what we’ve seen here, presentism does not exclude an infinite past any more than it does an infinite future.

Traversing an Infinite?

God created the universe a finite time ago, but there’s a question of whether we can prove this by reason alone.

Defenders of the Kalaam cosmological argument often claim that the universe cannot have an infinite history because “traversing an infinite” is impossible.

In his book Reasonable Faith (pp. 120-124), William Lane Craig puts the argument this way

1. The series of events in time is a collection formed by adding one member after another

2. A collection formed by adding one member after another cannot be actually infinite

3. Therefore, the series of events in time cannot be actually infinite.

The second premise of this argument is the one that deals with “traversing an infinite.” Craig writes:

Sometimes this problem is described as the impossibility of traversing the infinite.

Still a third way of describing it is saying that you can’t form infinity “by successive addition.”

Whatever expression you prefer, each of these expressions refer to the intuition people commonly have about infinity—that “you can’t get there from here.”

 

Where Is “Here”?

If you can’t get to infinity from here, where is “here”?

However you want to phrase the problem—getting there from here, traversing an infinite, or successive addition, this is a question that needs to be answered.

Let’s take another look at the second premise:

2. A collection formed by adding one member after another cannot be actually infinite

What does it mean to “form” a collection by adding one member after another?

Perhaps the most natural way to take this would be to form such a collection from nothing. That is, you start with zero elements in the collection (or maybe one element) and then successively add one new member after another.

And it’s quite true that, if you form a collection this way, you will never arrive at an infinite number of members. No matter how many elements you add to the collection, one at a time, the collection will always have a finite number of elements.

This can be seen through a simple counting exercise. If you start with 0 and then keep adding +1, you’ll get the standard number line:

0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 . . .

But no matter how many times you add +1, the resulting number will always be finite—just one unit larger than the previous finite number.

However, there is a problem . . .

 

The First-and-Last Fallacy

As I’ve discussed elsewhere, any string of natural numbers that has both a first and a last element is—by definition—finite.

Any time you specify a first natural number and a last natural number, the space between them is limited.

It thus would be fallacious reasoning to envision an infinite timeline with both first and last elements.

Yet it is very easy to let the idea of an infinite past having a beginning somewhere “infinitely far back” unintentionally sneak back into discussions of the Kalaam argument.

It can easily happen without people being aware of it, and often our language is to blame:

  • The natural sense of the word “traverse” suggests going from one point to another, suggesting both a beginning point and an end point.
  • So does the idea of “forming” an infinite collection. If we imagine forming a collection, we naturally envision starting with nothing (a collection with no members) and then adding things to it.
  • And if we think of getting to infinity “from here,” we naturally think of a starting point in the finite realm (“here”) and an end point (“infinity”).

Without at all meaning to, it’s thus very easy to fall into the trap of subconsciously supposing both a starting point and an ending point in a supposedly infinite history.

This happens often enough that I’ve called it the First-and-Last Fallacy.

 

Taking No Beginning Seriously

In Reasonable Faith, Craig denies that this is how his argument should be understood. He writes:

Mackie and Sobel object that this sort of argument illicitly presupposes an infinitely distant starting point in the past and then pronounces it impossible to travel from that point to today. But if the past is infinite, they say, then there would be no starting point whatever, not even an infinitely distant one. Nevertheless, from any given point in the past, there is only a finite distance to the present, which is easily “traversed.” But in fact no proponent of the kalam argument of whom I am aware has assumed that there was an infinitely distant starting point in the past. The fact that there is no beginning at all, not even an infinitely distant one, seems only to make the problem worse, not better (boldface added).

Craig thus wishes us to understand his argument not as forming an infinite collection of past historical moments from an infinitely distant starting point—i.e., from a beginning.

It’s good that he is clear on this, because otherwise his second premise would commit the First-and-Last Fallacy.

But does this really make things worse rather than better?

It would seem not.

 

Formed from What?

If we are not to envision a collection being “formed” from nothing by successive addition, then it must obviously be formed from something. Namely, it must be formed from another, already existing collection.

For example, suppose I have a complete run of my favorite comic book, The Legion of Super-Heroes. Let’s say that, as of the current month, it consists of issue #1 to issue #236.

Then, next month, issue #237 comes out, so I purchase it and add it to my collection. I now have a new, larger collection that was “formed” by adding one new member to my previous collection.

Now let’s apply that to the situation of an infinite history. Suppose that the current moment—“now”—is the last element of an infinite collection of previous moments (with no beginning moment).

How was this collection formed?

Obviously, it was formed from a previous collection that included all of the past moments except the current one.

Let’s give these things some names:

  • Let P be the collection of all the past moments
  • Let 1 represent the current moment
  • And let E represent the collection of all the moments that have ever existed

With those terms in place, it’s clear that:

P + 1 = E

We thus can form one collection (E) from another collection (P) by adding a member to it.

 

But Can It Be Infinite?

Now we come to Craig’s second premise, which said that you can’t form an actually infinite collection by adding one member after another.

If you imagine forming the collection from nothing—and thus commit the First-and-Last Fallacy—then this is true.

But it’s not true if you avoid the fallacy and imagine forming an actually infinite collection from a previous collection by adding to it.

The previous collection just needs to be actually infinite as well. If P is an actually infinite collection and you add 1 to it, E will be actually infinite as well.

And this is what we find in the case of an infinite past. Let us envision an infinite past as the set of all negative numbers, ending in the present, “0” moment:

. . . -7, -6, -5, -4, -3, -2, -1, 0.

The set of all the numbers below 0 is infinite, but so is the set of all numbers below -1, all the numbers below -2, and so on. Each of these collections is actually infinite, and so we can form a new, actually infinite set by taking one of them and adding a new member to it.

Understood this way, Craig’s second premise is simply false. You can form an actually infinite collection by adding new members to an actually infinite collection—which is what we would have in the case of a universe with an infinite past, one that really does not have a starting point.

 

Conclusion

What we make of Craig’s argument will depend on how we take its second premise.

Taken in what may be the most natural way (forming an infinite collection from nothing—or from any finite amount—by successive addition), will result in the argument committing the First-and-Last Fallacy.

But if we take it in the less obvious way (forming an infinite collection by adding to an already infinite collection), then the second premise is simply false.

There may be other grounds—other arguments—by which one might try to show that the universe cannot have an infinite past.

But the argument from “successive addition,” “traversing an infinite,” or “getting there from here” does not work.

Depending on how you interpret it, the argument either commits a fallacy or uses a false premise.

The Kalam Cosmological Argument

This page collects articles I have been writing dealing with the Kalaam cosmological argument for God’s existence. It is expected to grow over time as I write more on the subject.

Put simply, the argument goes:

  1. Whatever has a beginning has a cause.
  2. The universe has a beginning.
  3. Therefore, the universe has a cause.

The cause of the universe can be meaningfully described as God. Therefore, God exists.

This argument is both valid and sound–that is, it uses a valid logical form and its premises are true, so its conclusion is true.

Despite this, many of the arguments used to support it are not successful. In particular, many of the philosophical arguments used for its second premise are flawed.

Here are articles in which I explore why.

General Considerations:

The Big Bang and Science

Philosophical Arguments:

The First Argument (No Actual Infinities):

The Second Argument (No Infinity by Successive Addition):

More Recent Arguments:

Related:

What’s Wrong with the Countdown Paradox?

Sometimes defenders of the Kalaam cosmological argument defend its second premise (i.e., that the world couldn’t have an infinite past) by proposing a paradox involving counting.

The line of reasoning goes something like this:

A. Suppose that the universe has an infinite history (the kind of history you’d need to do an infinite countdown).

B. Suppose that a person has been counting down the infinite set of negative numbers (. . . -3, -2, -1) for all eternity, and they finish today, so today’s number is 0. It took them an infinite amount of time to reach 0 in the present.

C. Now suppose that we go back in time to yesterday. How much time was there before yesterday? Also an infinite amount of time! Given that, they could have counted down the infinite set of negative numbers so that they reached 0 yesterday instead of today!

D. So, we have a paradox: If the person had been counting down the negative numbers for all eternity, they could have finished today—or yesterday—or on any other day in the past, since there was always an infinite number of days before that.

E. There needs to be a sufficient reason why they stop on the day they did.

The Kalaam defender then challenges the Kalaam skeptic to name the sufficient reason, and if he’s not convinced by the answer, he rejects Step A of the argument—the idea that the universe has an infinite history—since there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with Steps B, C, D, or E.

What’s problematic about this line of reasoning?

 

Arbitrary Labels

To see what the answer is, we need to think about the arbitrariness of the labels involved in the countdown.

In Part B, the Kalaam defender chose to use the set of negative numbers, but he could have chosen something else.

For example, he could have chosen the digits of the irrational number pi (3.14159 . . . ) in reverse order (. . . 9, 5, 1, 4, 1, 3), in which case today’s number would be 3.

Or he could have used the Golden Ratio and chosen the digits of the irrational number phi (1.61803 . . . ) and reversed them, in which case today’s number would be 1.

Or he could have picked anything else, such as an infinitely long string of random numbers—or random words—or random symbols.

Any string will do for an infinite count of the past—as long as it’s an infinitely long string.

The point we learn from this is that the labels we apply to particular days are arbitrary. It depends entirely on what labels we choose. We can pick any labels we want and use them for any set of days we want.

 

Forward Counts

To underscore this point, let’s consider counts that go forward in time rather than backwards.

For example, we could choose the set of natural numbers (0, 1, 2, 3 . . . ), assigning 0 to today, 1 to tomorrow, 2 to the day after that, and so on.

Or we could use the digits of pi, in which case today would be 3, tomorrow 1, the day after that 4, etc.

Or the digits of phi, so today would be 1, tomorrow 6, the day after that 1, etc.

Or we could use something else—such as an infinite string of random numbers, words, or symbols.

We can pick whatever labels for a set of days, beginning with today, that we want!

 

A Count-Up Paradox

Now consider the following line of reasoning:

A*. Suppose that the universe has an infinite future (the kind of future you’d need to do an infinite count going forwards).

B*. Suppose that a person starts counting the infinite set of natural numbers (0, 1, 2, 3 . . . ) today, so that today’s number is 0, tomorrow’s is 1, the next day is 2, etc.

C*. Now suppose that we go forward in time to tomorrow. How much time is there left in the future of the universe? Also an infinite amount of time! Given that, the person could start their count of the infinite set of whole numbers so that they begin with 0 tomorrow instead of today!

D*. So, we have a paradox: If the person counts the set of whole numbers for all eternity, they could have started today—or tomorrow—or on any other day in the future, since there will always be an infinite number of days after that.

E*. There needs to be a sufficient reason why they start on the day they do.

If we’re challenged to name the sufficient reason why the person starts counting on the day they do, what will our answer be?

Mine would be, “Because that’s how you set up the thought experiment! You made this determination in Step B*. You could have chosen to start the count on any day you wanted (today, tomorrow, yesterday—or any other day), and you chose the set of numbers that would be used to label these days. Your choices are the sufficient reason for why the count starts and why it labels the days the way it does.”

 

Turn About Is Fair Play

And this is the answer to the original line of reasoning we presented. The same logic is present in A-E that is present in A*-E*, so the answer is the same.

The reason that the original countdown stopped today, which was labelled 0, is because those were the choices made in Step B. The person setting up the thought experiment chose that the countdown stop today, and he chose that it would stop with 0.

Once again, it is the choices that the person made that determine when the count stops and what it stops on.

There is only a “paradox” here if you lose sight of the fact that these choices were made and demand a sufficient reason over and above them.

To say—in the first case—“I know I made these choices in Step B, but I want a reason over and above that to explain why the countdown doesn’t stop on another day” is the same as saying—in the second case—“I know I made these choices in Step B*, but I want a reason over and above that to explain why the count doesn’t start on another day.”

No such reasons are needed. The choices made in Step B are sufficient to explain why the countdown works the way it does, just as the choices made in Step B* are sufficient to explain why the count-up works the way it does.

So, like a lot of paradoxes, the “countdown paradox” has a perfectly obvious solution once you think about it.

 

God as the Decider

Now let’s apply this to the question of whether God could have created the universe with an infinite past. In this case, we’re doing a thought experiment where God is the one making the choices.

A**. Suppose that God creates a universe with an infinite past (the kind you need for an infinite countdown).

B**. Suppose that–within this timeline–God creates a person (or angel, or computer, or whatever) that counts down the negative numbers so that he finishes today, and today’s number is 0.

Why didn’t the person stop counting on some other day or with some other number? Because that’s not what God chose. He chose to have it happen this way, with the person counting the number -2 two days ago, the number -1 one day ago, and the number 0 today.

Could he have have done it differently? Absolutely! God could have made different choices!

In fact–to go beyond what we’ve stated thus far–God may have created other people doing just that.

C**. Suppose that God also created a second person who has been counting for all eternity such that he ended yesterday with the number 0.

D**. Suppose that God further created a third person who has been counting for all eternity such that he ended two days ago with the number 0.

These are also possible, and we can modify our thought experiment such that God creates any number of people we like, finishing an infinite count on any day we like, with any number (or word or symbol) we like.

In each case, it is God’s choice that is the sufficient reason why the person finished when he did and with what he did.

The situation is parallel to the following:

A***. Suppose that God creates a universe with an infinite future (the kind you need to do an infinite count going forward).

B***. Suppose that–within this timeline–God creates a person who starts an infinite count today, beginning with the number 0.

As before, we can include any number of counters we want:

C***. Suppose that God also creates a second person who begins counting tomorrow, starting with the number 0.

D***. Suppose that God further creates a third person who begins counting the day after tomorrow, starting with the number 0.

As before, we can modify our thought experiment to include any number of counters we want, they can start on any day we want, and they can start with whatever number (or word or symbol) that we want.

Yet in these scenarios, it is God’s choices that determine who is created, when they start counting, and how the count works. These choices are the only reasons we need to explain what is happening.

If there is no unsolvable paradox preventing the scenarios described in A***-D***, then there is no unsolvable paradox preventing the scenarios described in A**-D**–or in any of the previous scenarios we’ve covered.

There just is no problem with the idea of a person doing an infinite countdown ending today–any more than there is with the idea of a person beginning an infinite countdown today.

The Burden of Proof

The burden of proof is one of the more abused concepts in apologetics today. Apologetics discussions are filled with arguing about the burden of proof, whether it has been met, and—most importantly—who has it.

The Internet is buzzing with such apologetics discussions right now. Yet many of these discussions—particularly concerning who has the burden of proof—are a complete waste of time.

There is a simple rule to tell you who has the burden of proof in a discussion. Unfortunately, most who get into disputes over which side has the burden of proof don’t know what this rule is, and an enormous amount of time is wasted on trying to figure it out.

Burden of Proof in Law and Debate
Most people are familiar with the concept from the legal principle that someone on trial in the United States is “presumed innocent until proven guilty.” The burden of proof is the requirement that the prosecution must meet in overcoming the presumption of innocence.

The burden of proof is a concept also employed in debating, where the standard principle is that the side that “takes the affirmative” must shoulder the burden of proof. In other words, the side in a formal debate that argues that you should believe or do something must produce reasons why.

As a result, the burden of proof changes depending on how you phrase the resolution. To use an X-Files analogy, “Resolved: Aliens exist” will place the burden of proof on Agent Mulder; “Resolved: Aliens do not exist” will place it on Agent Scully. The burden falls to whichever debater agrees with the resolution.

This situation would be much more complicated if the opposing debaters were expected to both knock down the affirmative team’s arguments and prove an alternative position. For example, if folks were debating the resolution “Christianity is the true religion,” it could get quite muddled if those taking a negative position were expected to both knock down the Christian arguments and prove the truth of a different religion.

That kind of muddle is judged too much for the kind of formal debating that high school and college debate teams engage in. But it is precisely the kind of muddle found in apologetics.

Burden of Proof in Apologetics
Apologetics discussions are frequently like formal debates without the formal part. In other words, debating without the rules.

If one group in a discussion accepts (or can be made to accept) the burden of proof, then the outcome of the discussion can be more easily ascertained. If you are not part of the group that has the burden, then in theory your job is easy: You simply have to knock holes in the other side’s arguments. If you succeed in doing so, you win, and your opponent must acknowledge that he was wrong and convert to your viewpoint.

If only it were so easy.

In a debate, who has the burden of proof is arbitrary. It depends on how the resolution is phrased. But in a trial, it is clear who shoulders the burden: the prosecution. Horrendous social consequences would result if the reverse were true. Human experience has shown that tyranny would result if people in court were presumed guilty.

The courts, therefore, have a rational reason for placing the burden of proof on one side rather than the other. But what about apologetics discussions? Do they have a rational way to set the burden of proof with a particular side?

It would be nice if they did. To place the burden of proof on your opponent in such a discussion would make it easy for you. As a result, many apologists, regardless of the issue, seek to lay the burden on their opponents and, when challenged, try to come up with rational reasons for this.

Most of the reasons that you hear are lousy.

Atheism and the Burden of Proof
Take the case of atheists debating the existence of God. They will commonly assert that theists rather than atheists must bear the burden of proof, that it is they who must show reasons that God exists, not the atheists who must show reasons that he does not.

They might justify this claim by saying that theists should bear the burden of proof because everyone who has a belief—regardless of what the belief is—should have a reason for it. This argument has some appeal. There seems to be a basic human intuition that we ought to have reasons for our beliefs.

But it is a lousy argument for showing that theists rather than atheists should have the burden of proof. The atheist also has a belief (namely, “God does not exist” or “There are no gods”), and he too should have a reason for his belief. The atheist should share the burden of proof to the same extent as the theist.

Some atheists have asserted that the burden of proof is on the theist because he asserts something positive—namely, the existence of God. The atheist, by contrast, asserts something negative: the non-existence of God. It is “positive beliefs,” this argument goes, that require one to shoulder the burden of proof.

But why should this be so?

After all, they are logically equivalent. “X exists” and “X does not exist” are convertible. Negate them and they switch places. They can be plugged into the same logical formulas.

Let me give a more concrete example: Why should the claim “I have a brother” be held to a higher standard of proof than the claim “I do not have a brother”? Surely, if I make either claim I should have a reason for it. But isn’t the memory that I did grow up with a brother on the same footing evidentially as the memory that I did not grow up with one? Wouldn’t the fact that a brother is listed in the birth records for my family be on the same level as the fact that one is not listed in them? Why should a claim of existence require more evidence than a claim of nonexistence?

The evidence used to argue the existence or nonexistence of a brother is the same: my own memory, the testimony of relatives and family friends, what is recorded in birth and medical records. What this evidence says should settle the matter. I don’t have to produce any extra evidence to argue that a brother exists than to argue that one does not.

Sometimes to defend the claim that they should not have the burden of proof, atheists appeal to a concept known as “the universal negative.” A universal negative is a claim that nothing of a particular sort exists. For example, “There are no unicorns” or “There is no present king of France.”

The argument is that no one should be asked to prove a universal negative because it is impossible to do so, and nobody can be required to do the impossible.

To prove a universal negative, one would have to have knowledge of the entire universe so that one could verify that the thing in question does not exist, and nowhere in the universe is a unicorn and nowhere in the universe today is a man who is the king of France.

This argument is unfair because it raises the burden of proof to a new level. No longer does it concern providing reasons for believing that the thing in question exists. It now requires universe-spanning, exhaustive proof of it. This is an important distinction.

It is easy to provide reasons that one should not believe in unicorns (e.g., they are claimed to be corporeal beings but you have never seen one with your own eyes; you can’t find photos of them in biology textbooks; biologists don’t hold them to exist; most people regard them as fictitious). It is another thing to scan all of creation and prove the point in exhaustive detail.

Similarly, one could ask the atheist to produce other reasons to think that God does not exist (e.g., most people believe God to be a fiction; there seem to be logical contradictions in the idea of God; there is an absence of any evidence of miracles in history; the universe does not appear to show traces of intelligent design). The atheist doesn’t have to scan the universe in exhaustive detail to offer such reasons. He simply has to appeal to the evidence at hand, and if the evidence at hand doesn’t allow him to make such claims, then it doesn’t offer us reasons to disbelieve in God.

Ultimately, the appeal to “universal negatives” doesn’t work, because in an ordinary discussion people don’t expect their opponents to prove their beliefs by scanning the whole universe. All they want them to do is look at the evidence that is available and make an assessment based on that.

Protestantism and the Burden of Proof
Trying to shift the burden of proof to one’s opponents is a tactic not limited to atheists. Protestant apologists also try it, and on a wide variety of subjects. One of these is the principle of sola scriptura—that we should form our theology “by Scripture alone.”

An argument that is sometimes used to defend this principle is reminiscent of the atheist’s “universal negative” argument: “I shouldn’t be asked to prove that we should do theology by Scripture alone because to show this I would have to prove a universal negative, and nobody can do that. I can’t scan the universe and show that there is no other source we should do theology by, so I’m entitled to conclude that there is not.”

This argument fails for the same reason that the atheist’s argument does: Nobody is being asked to scan the universe. All one has to do is look at the evidence at hand and see whether it indicates that we should do theology by Scripture alone.

What does the evidence at hand include? This is something we could argue about. In fact, it would be interesting to argue about the criteria by which we can know that something is a source to be used in theology. Nevertheless, in the Catholic-Protestant controversy it at least could be agreed upon that Scripture itself is relevant to the question of how we do theology. If it indicates that we should do it one way, then we should. If it indicates we should not do it a particular way, then we shouldn’t.

Things begin to look bad for the Protestant case, then, when we find Scripture saying positive things about the role of Tradition in the Christian life (cf. 1 Cor. 11:2; 2 Thess. 2:15; 3:6; 2 Tim. 2:2). Things look even bleaker when it is realized that there is an absence of verses that teach Scripture alone.

The coup de grace comes when one realizes that if sola scriptura were true then there would have to be such verses. If all principles of theology must be established by Scripture alone, and sola scriptura is a principle of theology, then it must be established by Scripture alone. If it can’t be, then it is shown to be false by its own test.

Realizing this, one discovers that the advocate of sola Scriptura doesn’t have to prove a universal negative; he has to prove a “particular positive”—namely, “Scripture teaches sola scriptura.”

It is the inability to prove this that motivates Protestant apologists to appeal to the universal negative argument in the first place.

The Rule
Sola scriptura is not the only issue on which Protestant apologists will attempt to place the burden of proof on Catholics. It is a general rule that, whenever an apologetics discussion begins, both sides will try to place the burden of proof on each other. That’s where the confusion and the time wasted begin.

But, as I indicated, there is a simple rule to tell which side has the burden of proof.

I recently pointed out this rule in an e-mail discussion I was having with a Protestant seminary professor regarding the much-discussed ossuary of James and what implications it may or may not have for our knowledge of the Holy Family. During the course of the exchange, the professor asserted to me that I would have to shoulder the burden of proof if I wanted to maintain that Mary was a perpetual virgin.

My response was simple: Yes, I would . . . if I were trying to convince you of that point. Whenever two people disagree and one wants the other to change his view, then the person advocating the change always has to shoulder the burden of proof.

In our discussion, I wasn’t trying to show him that Mary was a perpetual virgin. That’s what I as a Catholic believe, but I wasn’t trying to get him to change his mind on this point. I was simply trying to get him to acknowledge that the ossuary, if genuine, did not show that James was a biological son of Mary (a point that he grudgingly and tacitly conceded).

Had I been trying to bring him over to the Catholic view on Mary’s perpetual virginity, then I would indeed have to shoulder the burden of proof.

Any time someone wants us to change a belief we have, he has to give us reasons that we should do so, and in that he takes on the burden of proof.

The trouble arises in apologetics discussions when the two sides in the discussion are trying to mutually convert each other. That’s normal in such discussions, but it results in their being two cases argued simultaneously. In an apologetic encounter between a Protestant and a Catholic, the issues being argued frequently are “Protestantism is true” and “Catholicism is true.” On the first issue the Protestant has the burden of proof, and in the latter the Catholic does.

Such discussions will always go on because it’s human nature for each side in a discussion to want to bring the other around to his own point of view. But recognizing that the burden of proof does not simply rest with one side or the other—recognizing the true complexity of the discussion—can save an awful lot of time and emotional energy that otherwise would be wasted in wrangling over who has to prove what to whom.

Bottom line: If you want to prove something, it’s up to you to prove it.

Are Fine-Tuning Arguments for God (or the Multiverse) Circular?

In a recent video, theoretical physicist Sabine Hossenfelder argues that design arguments for God’s existence commit the fallacy of begging the question—also known as circular reasoning.

Do they?

Before we began, I want to lay my cards on the table and say that I’m a fan of Sabine Hossenfelder. She’s smart, well qualified, and a research fellow at the Frankfurt Institute for Advanced Studies.

I appreciate her commitment to explaining physics in comprehensible terms and her willingness to challenge ideas that are fashionable in the physics community but that are not well supported by evidence.

She also doesn’t reject religious claims out of hand—as many do. Instead, she typically concludes that they are beyond what science can tell us, one way or the other.

 

A Finely Tuned Universe?

In her recent video, she notes that many people argue that the laws of physics that govern our universe seem finely tuned to allow life to exist. Even slight changes in the constants they involve would prevent life from ever arising.

An example she cites is that if the cosmological constant (i.e., the energy density of space) were too large, galaxies would never form.

Similarly, if the electromagnetic force was too strong, nuclear fusion would not light up stars.

Given all the values we can imagine these constants having, it seems unlikely that the laws that govern our universe would be finely tuned to allow life to exist just by random chance, so the question is how to explain this.

 

God or the Multiverse?

One proposed explanation is that the universe isn’t finely tuned by chance. It’s finely tuned by design.

Some entity with immense, universe-spanning power (i.e., God) designed the universe to be this way, and in religious circles, this type of argument is known as a “design argument” for God’s existence.

Another proposed explanation is that our universe is finely tuned for life by chance. But since it would be improbable to get a finely tuned universe with a single throw of the dice, it’s inferred that there must be other throws of the dice.

In other words, our universe is just one of countless universes that contain other laws and constants, and we just happen to be living in a universe where the things happen to come up right for life to exist.

(After all, we wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.)

Such a collection of universes is known as a multiverse.

 

God and the Multiverse?

From a religious perspective, the multiverse hypothesis can look like an attempt to get around the obvious implication of the universe’s apparent design—i.e., that it has a Designer.

However, that doesn’t mean that the multiverse doesn’t exist. If he chose, God could create a vast array of universes, each of which have different laws, and not all of them may contain life. (After all, most of our own universe does not contain life!)

Similarly, from the perspective of someone who believes in the multiverse, multiple universes wouldn’t rule out the existence of God, because you could still need a God to explain why the multiverse exists at all.

The God hypothesis and the multiverse hypothesis thus are not incompatible.

 

Both Are Possibilities

Dr. Hossenfelder acknowledges that both God and the multiverse could be real, but she says—correctly—that this would not add to our knowledge of how our universe works.

If God exists, that doesn’t tell us what the laws of our universe are. We still have to discover those by observation.

And if the multiverse exists, that also doesn’t tell us about the laws of our universe. Observation is still necessary to figure them out.

 

Circular Reasoning?

Her claim is that the fine-tuning arguments for both God and the multiverse don’t work—and, specifically, that they involve circular reasoning.

She fleshes out this claim along the following lines:

  1. To infer God, the multiverse, or anything else as the cause for why our universe seems finely tuned, you need evidence that our universe’s combination of constants is unlikely.
  2. However, the only evidence we have is what we have measured, and—precisely because the constants are constant—we always see them having the same values.
  3. Therefore, we have no evidence that the combination we see is unlikely.
  4. So, advocates of these views must assume what they need to prove—that the combination is unlikely—and that’s circular reasoning.

 

The Pen Objection

Dr. Hossenfelder seeks to head off an objection to her argument by pointing to a parallel case: Suppose you saw an ink pen standing upright on a table, balanced on its point.

It seems very unlikely that a pen would be balanced in this way, and so you’d suspect there was a reason why the pen was standing like this—perhaps a special mechanism of some sort.

But, she says, the reason that we can rationally suspect this is because we have experience with pens and know how hard it is to balance them this way.

Therefore, it would not be circular reasoning to propose an explanation for the oddly balanced pen.

However, the only experience we have with the constants of nature is the set we see. We thus can’t estimate how likely or unlikely they are to occur, because we don’t have evidence about the probability of this combination of constants.

 

What Do You Mean by “Evidence”?

The problem with Dr. Hossenfelder’s argument is the way she uses the term “evidence.”

In the video, she seems to assume that “evidence” must mean empirical evidence—that is, evidence derived from observation using the physical senses (and their technological extensions, like radio telescopes and electron microscopes).

This is the kind of evidence used in the natural sciences, and so you also could call it “scientific evidence.”

However, this is not the only kind of evidence there is.

Fields like logic, mathematics, and ethics depend on principles—sometimes called axioms—that cannot be proved by observation.

The evidence we have for them comes in the form of intuitions, because they seem either self-evidently true or self-evidently probable to us.

Since each of these fields is part of or closely connected with philosophy, we might refer to this intuitive evidence as “philosophical evidence.”

Whatever you want to call it, it’s evidence that we depend on—certainly in every field that involves logic, mathematics, and ethics.

Science involves all three, and so, while the scientific enterprise depends on observational evidence, it also depends on intuitive, philosophical evidence.

 

Do We Lack Observational Evidence?

It’s true that we can’t observe other universes, and so we lack observational evidence of the laws and constants that might be at play in them.

But does this mean that we lack any observational evidence that constants could have different values?

Confining ourselves strictly to our own universe—the only one we can observe—we see that not all constants have the same value. For example:

  • The strong coupling constant is about 1
  • The fine-structure constant is about 1/137
  • The top quark mass is about 1/10^17
  • The bottom quark mass is about 3/10^19
  • The electron mass is about 4/10^23

Clearly, we see things that we regard as constants with different values, even in our own universe. The constants I’ve just listed span 23 orders of magnitude!

Why do all these dimensionless constants have different values?

That’s a natural question to ask!

And so, one could argue that we do have observational evidence that constants can have different values—not from universe to universe but from constant to constant—and that leaves many people asking why.

 

Variable Constants

Further, we even have evidence that some of these constants may vary over time.

In particular, we have evidence that the fine-structure constant—which deals with the strength of the electromagnetic interactions—may have varied slightly over time within our universe.

Dr. Hossenfelder says in her video that this “has nothing to do with the fine-tuning arguments,” but this seems false.

If we have evidence that some things scientists initially took as constants aren’t constant after all, then it further raises the question of why they have the values they do.

 

The Evidence of Intuition

I’m not at all convinced that we don’t have observational evidence that invites us to ask why the constants we see in our universe have the values they do.

However, even if I were to waive this point, we still have one other line of evidence: direct intuition.

People who study the constants can imagine them having different values. We can, for example, imagine the electron mass being twice—or half—what its measured value is.

That makes it rational to ask why a constant has the value it does. As theoretical physicist and Nobel laureate Richard Feynman famously said about the fine-structure constant:

It has been a mystery ever since it was discovered more than fifty years ago, and all good theoretical physicists put this number up on their wall and worry about it.)

Immediately you would like to know where this number for a coupling comes from: is it related to pi or perhaps to the base of natural logarithms? Nobody knows. It’s one of the greatest damn mysteries of physics: a magic number that comes to us with no understanding by man. You might say the “hand of God” wrote that number, and “we don’t know how He pushed His pencil.” We know what kind of a dance to do experimentally to measure this number very accurately, but we don’t know what kind of dance to do on the computer to make this number come out – without putting it in secretly!

 

In Search of Explanations

Finding out the explanations for things is a key part of the scientific enterprise. The same is true of the philosophical enterprise.

We have a powerful (philosophical) intuition that things we encounter have explanations, and thus we seek them.

In philosophy, this intuition is sometimes framed as the Principle of Sufficient Reason, and while precisely how to formulate the principle is controversial, some kind of sufficient-reason quest is behind the scientific enterprise.

It would not do at all—and it would not be scientific at all—to encounter phenomena like stars shining, plants growing, and objects falling and say, “Those are just brute facts that don’t have explanations.”

Our intuition tells us that they need explanations, and it is the task of science to find them—to the extent it can—based on observation of how they work.

When we discern that many of these phenomena can be explained in terms of a set of underlying laws and constants, it’s then natural to ask what the explanation for these is—particularly when we notice that if these things were even slightly different, we wouldn’t be here.

 

The Limits of Science

Ultimately, Dr. Hossenfelder doesn’t deny that explanations for these things exist. She specifically says:

But this does not mean god or the multiverse do not exist. It just means that evidence cannot tell us whether they do or do not exist. It means, god and the multiverse are not scientific ideas.

The problem with this is how she’s using the word “evidence.” She’s taking it to mean empirical/observational/scientific evidence.

And it’s true that, at least in any conventional sense, you can’t do a laboratory experiment that shows that God exists—or a laboratory experiment that shows the multiverse exists.

Consequently, both ideas are beyond what can be proved scientifically.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t argue for them on other grounds. You can, in fact, argue for them based on your intuitions about what needs to be true in order to explain the constants as we see them.

This makes God and the multiverse subjects of philosophical argumentation rather than scientific demonstration.

 

Not Circular Reasoning

And that means that the charge of circular reasoning is false.

It would be circular reasoning to simply assume that it’s improbable the values of the constants we see in our universe should have the values they do.

But it’s not circular reasoning to say, “I have a strong intuition that this calls for an explanation” and then reason your way to what you think best explains it—even if that explanation lies beyond what’s scientifically measurable.

In other words, just because you’re doing something beyond science, it doesn’t mean that you’re simply begging the question.

 

The Return of the Pen

Let’s apply this insight to the ink pen example that Dr. Hossenfelder brought up.

Even if I’d never before seen a pen–or any similar object–it would make sense, when I first encountered one, for me to ask why it is the way it is.

Just like scientists and philosophers ask this for anything else they encounter.

I don’t need to know how likely or unlikely it is that an ink pen would be balanced on its point. The fact I can conceive of it being otherwise makes the question of why it’s standing rational.

Just asking the question is not begging the question.

And neither is having an intuition that it’s unlikely to be standing on its point (or in any other position) without an explanation.

 

Tying up Loose Ends

To keep things simple, I haven’t responded to everything Dr. Hossenfelder says in her video, since I wanted to keep things focused on her main argument.

However, I would like to circle back to the God hypothesis and the multiverse hypothesis as explanations for the apparent fine-tuning of our universe.

Personally, I like the idea of there being multiple universes—not for scientific or philosophical reasons, but just because I think it would be cool.

I’d also be fine with them having different laws and constants governing them. That would only add to the coolness.

But—speaking philosophically—there would still need to be a reason why the whole collection of them exist and why the laws that govern them vary from one to another.

Elsewhere, I’ve written about this as a “cosmic slot machine”:

If there is a multiverse with every possible combination of natural laws in the universes it contains . . . what is driving the change of laws in each universe? If there is a cosmic slot machine, whose innards cause the constants to come up different in each universe, why is that the case?

To explain the existence of such a cosmic slot machine, we’d need to appeal to something beyond the multiverse itself.

And so, whether or not there is a multiverse, I favor the God hypothesis.

The Kalaam Cosmological Argument and the First-and-Last Fallacy

The Kalaam cosmological argument for God’s existence has been around for centuries.

It hasn’t been that popular historically, with authors such as St. Thomas Aquinas pointing out problems with it. However, it has been popular in recent years, due principally to the advocacy of William Lane Craig.

I’ve written and spoken about it on a number of occasions, and I won’t review all that here, but I’d like to point out some problems with some recent defenses that involve a logical fallacy.

 

Stating the Argument Briefly

One way of putting the Kalaam argument is:

  1. Everything with a beginning has a cause.
  2. The universe has a beginning.
  3. Therefore, the universe has a cause.
  4. The cause of the universe, by definition, is God.
  5. Therefore, God exists.

In this article, the premise we’re interested in is line 2—that the universe has a beginning.

This has been argued both on scientific and philosophical grounds.

Modern Big Bang cosmology is consistent with the universe having a beginning, though—as Fr. George LeMaitre (the father of Big Bang cosmology) pointed out—it does not conclusively prove it.

The results of science are always provisional, so if you want a conclusive proof, you’ll need to demonstrate it philosophically and rely on logic rather than observation.

Consequently, defenders of the Kalaam argument have sought to prove by logic alone that the universe had a beginning.

 

Finding a Logical Contradiction?

From a Christian perspective, the question we need to ask is whether God could have created the world with an infinite history.

We know from Scripture that he did not. He created the universe at a specific point in the past, so it has a finite history.

The question is whether he could have created it with an infinite history if he chose. Is a universe with an infinite history something God would be able to bring about by his divine omnipotence?

Omnipotence allows God to create anything as long as it does not involve a logical contradiction—that is, as long as the terms involved do not contradict each other.

“Four-sided triangle” and “square circle” both involve logical contradictions (as does “stone too heavy for an omnipotent being to lift”), so God can’t create those as the terms involved are logical gibberish and don’t refer to conceptually possible entities. They’re just word salad.

This is St. Thomas’s point when he says that, “everything that does not imply a contradiction in terms, is numbered amongst those possible things, in respect of which God is called omnipotent: whereas whatever implies contradiction does not come within the scope of divine omnipotence, because it cannot have the aspect of possibility” (ST I:25:3; cf. SCG 2:25).

Therefore, if you want to say that God can’t create a universe with an infinite history, you’ll need to show that this concept involves a logical contradiction. If it doesn’t, then it’s something God can create.

The burden of proof thus falls to the Kalaam advocate to show that “universe with an infinite history” is self-contradictory.

 

Traversing the Infinite

A common strategy for doing this involves what is sometimes called “traversing an actual infinite.” The basic idea is this:

  1. Suppose that you start counting 1, 2, 3 . . .
  2. No matter how high you count, you will never arrive at infinity, because there is always a next number you can say.
  3. Therefore, the universe could not start infinitely far back in time, because you couldn’t start counting and cover an infinite series of moments to get up to the present. You thus can’t traverse an actually infinite series.

All of this is true.

It’s also irrelevant.

Notice what the argument says: “The universe could not start infinitely far back in time” and then traverse an infinity of time to the present.

The argument is assuming that the universe had a beginning—namely, one infinitely far back in time.

But that would not apply to a universe with an infinite history.

 

Understanding the Infinite

To see why, we need to remember the nature of the infinite. Derived from Latin roots, the word means “no” (in-) “limit” (finis). Something is infinite if it is lacking a limit or end.

For an ordered series, this can happen in one of three ways, as illustrated by the number line:

  1. The set of positive natural numbers has a limit at the beginning (i.e., the number 1) but no final limit. It just keeps going {1, 2, 3 . . .}.
  2. The set of negative natural numbers as a limit at the end (i.e., the number -1), but no starting limit, so it goes {. . . -3, -2, -1}.
  3. The set of all natural numbers (which also includes 0) has neither a beginning limit nor an ending limit, so it goes {. . . -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3 . . .}.

Each of these three sets is infinite because they lack either a beginning limit, and ending limit, or both.

However, if an ordered series has both a beginning and an ending limit, then it isn’t infinite. Instead, it’s finite. Consider the sequence {6, 7, 8, 9}. This series is finite because it has both a beginning limit (6) and an ending limit (9). It is thus limited to the numbers between 6 and 9, making it finite (i.e., limited).

 

What’s Wrong with Traversing an Infinite?

With this in mind, we can see what’s wrong with the “Traversing an Infinite” argument, above.

It assumes that the universe had a beginning “infinitely far back in time” and then traversed an infinite series of moments to arrive at the present. In making these assumptions, it assumes both a beginning limit and a final limit. It therefore—by definition—describes a finite series.

If {H} is the set of moments in the universe’s history, then there can’t be both a first moment and a last (most recent) moment without {H} being a finite set.

The argument thus tells us nothing more than that a number can’t be both finite (limited) and infinite (unlimited).

We already knew that.

But it’s irrelevant to the issue of a universe with an infinite history.

We can agree that the universe’s history ends in the present, but if it had a beginning—however far back in time—then its history is, by definition, finite.

If a universe’s history ends in the present, it has a final limit. Therefore, for its history to be truly infinite, it must not have a beginning limit. Therefore, it has no beginning. It’s just always been there, with no first moment.

All this is pointed out by Aquinas, in summary form, when he writes that God could create a history containing an infinite number of previous revolutions of the sun, for “if the world had been always, there would be no first revolution. Wherefore there would be no passing through them, because this always requires two extremes” (SCG 2:38:11).

Therefore, you wouldn’t be traversing an infinity. When you traverse a distance, it must have both a starting and an ending point, making it finite. For it to be infinite into the past, it must have no beginning point. In that case, the universe would have always been approaching the present, without any moment that this trek began.

 

The First-and-Last Fallacy

It’s therefore a logical mistake—or fallacy—to apply a series with both a beginning and an end to the case of a universe with an infinite history.

Because this move involves there being both a first element and a last element in a supposedly infinite series, I will call it the “First-and-Last Fallacy.” Stated more formally:

The First-and-Last Fallacy occurs if and only if a person envisions a supposedly infinite series as having both a first and a last element.

A series can be infinite if it has only a first element, like the series {1, 2, 3 . . .}. Or it can be infinite if it has only a last element, like the series {. . . -3, -2, -1}. Or it can be infinite if it has neither a first and last element, like the series {. . . -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3 . . .}.

But it can’t have both a first and last element and be infinite.

Unfortunately, the “Traversing an Infinite” argument isn’t the only one that commits the First-and-Last Fallacy.

Some recent philosophical defenses of the Kalaam argument also commit this fallacy. They are, in essence, alternate versions of the “Traversing an Infinite” argument presented in other guises.

 

The Grim Reaper Paradox

Alexander Pruss and Robert Koons have proposed what is known as the Grim Reaper Paradox, which can be formulated different ways. One way goes like this:

  1. There is a man named Fred, who is alive at 12:00 noon.
  2. However, in the next hour, he must face an infinite series of Grim Reapers with orders to kill him if he is not already dead.
  3. The final Grim Reaper will kill him at 1:00 p.m. if he is still alive then.
  4. But half an hour earlier, at 12:30, another Grim Reaper would kill him if he was still alive then.
  5. And a quarter hour before that, at 12:15, another Grim Reaper would kill him if he was still alive then.
  6. The rest of the infinite series of Grim Reapers are set to strike in increasingly shorter intervals, as we work our way back to 12:00 noon, when Fred was alive.

The question is: Which Grim Reaper kills Fred?

  • He will definitely be dead by 1:00 p.m., because the final Grim Reaper will kill him.
  • But that one shouldn’t be the answer, because he should have been killed by the 12:30 p.m. Grim Reaper.
  • And that one shouldn’t have had to kill him, either, because of the 12:15 p.m. Grim Reaper, and so on.
  • It thus looks like we can’t identify which Grim Reaper kills him, because there’s always a prior Grim Reaper who should have done the job.

Framed this way, the problem is essentially the same as asking “What’s the first moment of time after 12:00 noon?”—because that’s when Fred will encounter the first Grim Reaper and get killed.

But if time is infinitely divisible, there is no “first” moment after noon, because you can always specify a prior moment. If you say “1 second” after noon, you then could say “1/2 second earlier,” then “1/4 second earlier,” then “1/8 second earlier,” and so on.

We encounter the same problem on the number line. If you consider all the decimal numbers between 0 and 1, there is no limit to them, and there is no “first number after 0.” If you propose 0.1, you’ll have to face 0.01, then 0.001, then 0.0001, and so on. There’s always a number closer to 0 and thus there is no “first” number after 0.

That’s what’s required by an infinite series.

This reveals what’s wrong with the Grim Reaper Paradox. If the number of Grim Reapers Fred will encounter really is infinite, with the final one striking at 1:00 p.m., then there is no first Reaper. There can’t be if the series is truly infinite, just like there can be no “first element in the infinite series {. . . -3, -2, -1}” or a “first number after negative infinity.”

These are logically impossible entities.

 

The New Grim Reaper Paradox

Some have reformulated the Grim Reaper Paradox so that it doesn’t involve time compression between noon and 1 p.m.

For example, you could have the Grim Reapers strike on New Year’s Day. If Fred is alive on New Year’s Day 2021, a Grim Reaper will kill him. But there also was a Grim Reaper set to strike on New Year’s Day in every prior year, going back an infinite number of years in history.

The same issue then results. There is no first Reaper that kills Fred.

And that’s the problem: The thought experiment is proposing an entity that can’t exist, because it involves a logical contradiction.

There can’t be a first Grim Reaper in an infinite series that has a final limit any more than there can be a first number in the series {. . . -3, -2, -1}. That’s a contradiction in terms.

It’s therefore a logical impossibility.

The terms involved in the thought experiment entail a logical contradiction. The question “Who is the first Grim Reaper that Fred encounters in an infinite series of Reapers that ends at 1:00 p.m. on New Year’s Day 2021?” is the logical equivalent of “What is the first decimal number after 0?” or “How many angles does a 4-sided triangle have?”

These are all just word salad.

And the particular form of word salad in the Grim Reaper Paradox involves there being a first and a last Grim Reaper in a supposedly infinite series of them. It thus commits the First-and-Last Fallacy.

 

The Eternal Society Paradox

A similar, more recent paradox is proposed by Wade Tisthammer. It can be framed like this:

  1. Suppose there is a society that stretches infinitely far into the past (i.e., an eternal society).
  2. Every year, this society flips a coin.
  3. If the coin comes up “heads” (H) and it’s the first time it’s ever come up heads, they do a special chant to commemorate it being the first time heads has come up.
  4. If the coin comes up “tails” (T), they do nothing.
  5. Every combination of heads and tails is possible.
  6. One possible combination is that in every prior year of their infinite history, the coin has come up tails, until the most recent year, in which it comes up heads, so the series looks like {. . . T, T, T, T, T, T, H}. In this case, they get together and do their special chant to commemorate it being the first time heads has come up.
  7. Another possibility is that it comes up heads every year in their infinite history, so the series looks like {. . . H, H, H, H, H, H, H}.
  8. In that case, when did they do the special chant to commemorate the first time heads came up? It can’t be in any of these years, because heads had occurred in every prior year.

It’s worth pointing out that an infinite series of heads is only possible. It’s not guaranteed, and so the paradox might not arise in actual history. If God has a rule that prevents logical contradictions from arising—a logical equivalent of the Chronology Protection Conjecture—then one could argue that the series {. . . H, H, H, H, H, H, H} will never arise.

However, we don’t need to go that route, because, after what we’ve seen, the solution is straightforward: The Eternal Society Paradox is presupposing a logical contradiction.

It’s asking “What is the first heads in an infinite series of head flips that has a final limit?”

If an infinite series has a final element, then it can’t have a first element—by definition.

Once again, we’re dealing with the equivalent of “What’s the first decimal number after 0?” or “How many angles does a four-sided triangle have?” The thought experiment presupposes an entity that involves a logical contradiction and thus cannot exist.

It presupposes a first and a last element to a supposedly infinite series, so the Eternal Society Paradox commits the First-and-Last Fallacy.

 

Physicalizing the Infinite

We’ve looked at three philosophical arguments that the universe must have a finite history:

  • Traversing an Infinite
  • The Grim Reaper Paradox
  • The Eternal Society Paradox

Each one involves the First-and-Last Fallacy, though they present it in different physical terms. They thus physicalize it in different ways and correspondingly ask different questions:

  • Traversing an Infinite asks us to envision a starting point to the universe’s infinite history and then asks how we could cross that by traversing an infinite number of moments to get to the present. The answer to this question is that we couldn’t. You can’t cross an infinite series by successive addition. However, this is irrelevant because—if the universe has an infinite history terminating in the present—then there was no first moment when the journey began. The universe has just always been there, getting progressively closer to the present.
  • The Grim Reaper Paradox asks us to envision an infinite series of Grim Reapers that end at a certain moment (say, 1:00 p.m. on New Year’s Day 2021) who are all ordered to kill Fred if he hasn’t already been killed. It then asks who is the first Grim Reaper to encounter Fred and kill him. Answer: None of them. There is no first Reaper in an infinite series that terminates at a certain moment. Such a Reaper is a logically impossible entity—as is “an infinite series of Reapers with a first and last element.” Such a self-contradictory series cannot exist, and thus cannot harm Fred. He’s either alive or not, regardless of the word salad entity that’s supposed to confront him.

If a series of Reapers is truly infinite into the past, then Fred has simply never lived, except for the window between his birth and when the next Reaper was timed to strike.

  • The Eternal Society Paradox invites us to consider an infinite series of coin tosses that all turn up heads and that ends in the present. It then asks us when the Eternal Society did its special chant to commemorate the first time the coin came up heads. Answer: Never. There was no “first time” the coin came up heads. “First heads flip in an infinite series of head flips ending in the present” is a logically impossible entity. Therefore, in physical terms, the Eternal Society would never have done their chant to commemorate the first heads flip, because there wasn’t one.

Each of these thought experiments presupposes an entity that involves a contradiction in terms—a series that has both a first element and a last element and yet is supposed to be infinite.

They may then go on to ask questions about an element in this series, which also involves a logical contradiction (e.g., “What’s the first element in an infinite series that has a final limit?”).

But this is a nonsensical question, just like “What’s the first number after negative infinity?”, “What’s the last number before positive infinity?” or “If there were a four-sided triangle, what size would it be?”

In view of how easy it is to fall into the First-and-Last Fallacy, advocates of the Kalaam argument who wish to support it with philosophical proofs need to carefully examine their arguments to see whether they are envisioning a scenario that presupposes both a first and a last element in a supposedly infinite series.

St. Thomas Aquinas and the Occult – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

St. Thomas Aquinas was one of the great intellects in Christian history who wrote on many subjects, including topics we would consider occult. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli discuss what Aquinas had to say about astrology, crystal healing, amulets, demons, ghosts, psychic powers and more.

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Are We In a Simulation? Does It Matter? – Jimmy Akin’s Mysterious World

Some serious people think we could be part of gigantic Matrix-style computer simulations. Jimmy Akin and Dom Bettinelli discuss whether it’s philosophically or scientifically possible and, if it were true, would it matter to us on a practical or theological level?

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Would It Matter If We’re Living in a Simulation?

A reader writes:

My good sir, a baptized Catholic who is away from the Faith asked me at work this week: “How do we know we are not living in a computer simulation? What is wrong with Elon Musk’s simulation hypothesis?” What do I say in reply?

 

What the Simulation Hypothesis Is

Currently we use computers to run simulations of many different kinds of scenarios. For example, physicists use them to run simulations of how different kinds of subatomic particles interact.

The basic idea of the simulation hypothesis is that as computers get better and better, we will be able to run better and better simulations, and one day we could arrive at a stage where computers would allow us to run detailed simulations of the natural world as we experience it.

We might then choose to run simulations about the past and learn about what our ancestors did. Or we might run simulations just for fun, like a supercomplex, universe-sized Tamagotchi toy.

We might, in fact, run many, many simulations. Or if we don’t, aliens on other planets might.

If a very large number of simulations exists, each of which is indistinguishable from the natural world as we experience it, then how do we know we aren’t living in such a simulation?

This idea—as far out as it may sound—is being seriously entertained by some philosophers and scientists.

It’s essentially a modern variant of an ancient question: How do we know that the world we experience is as it seems? Could reality actually be very different?

 

Bostrom’s Trilemma

As Wikipedia explains, in 2003 the philosopher Nick Bostrom published a paper in which he argued that one of three propositions is very likely to be true:

  1. “The fraction of human-level civilizations that reach a posthuman stage (that is, one capable of running high-fidelity ancestor simulations) is very close to zero,” or
  2. “The fraction of posthuman civilizations that are interested in running ancestor-simulations is very close to zero,” or
  3. “The fraction of all people with our kind of experiences that are living in a simulation is very close to one.”

Bostrom himself does not consider any of these three to be especially more likely than the others, but some have definite preferences.

Option 3 is favored by industrialist Elon Musk, who has said that the thinks the odds are billions to one in favor of us living in a simulation, while astronomer Neil deGrasse Tyson has put the odds of us living in a simulation around 50/50 (source).

Others have put the odds vastly lower.

 

Some Objections

Option 1 has been favored by those who have argued that there are insurmountable physical limits to the kinds of computers that can be built even by an advanced civilization, and these would prevent the kind of detailed simulations needed.

One might support Option 2 by arguing that any advanced civilization capable of creating such simulations would have progressed past the point of needing them—either for research or entertainment purposes (an electric wire connected directly to the pleasure center of the brain would be vastly more entertaining, just like Tamagotchi toys proved to be much less entertaining than other options we have).

Some have also challenged the whole trilemma—for example, by noting that we experience consciousness, but patterns of information in a computer do not. The fact of our consciousness means that we are not living in a simulation.

In other words, “the faction of all people with our kind of experiences”—i.e., consciousness—would be exactly zero (Option 3 is false), and computers cannot simulate experiences of our kind (making the kind of ancestor-simulations envisioned in Options 1 and 2 impossible).

And there are other objections, yet.

The simulation hypothesis is thus far from established. However, let’s consider what the implications for the Christian Faith would be if it were true.

 

The Christian Worldview

The Christian worldview contains three essential elements that are relevant to our discussion, and they are encapsulated in the Creed, when we profess our faith in “God . . . maker of heaven and earth”:

  1. God, the infinitely perfect Creator of everything is obviously essential to the Christian worldview.
  2. “Heaven”—i.e., the spiritual world which includes our souls, is also essential.
  3. “Earth”—i.e., the natural world as we experience it, is the final component.

What would we conclude about these three if the simulation hypothesis were true?

 

The Existence of God

Philosophical arguments prove that there is an infinitely perfect Creator outside of all Creation. Therefore, God exists.

The simulation hypothesis does not affect the existence of God. Even if we’re living in a computer simulation, that simulation exists within a computer somewhere in a higher universe.

That universe might itself be a simulation, so you could posit any number of worlds within worlds that you might like.

It doesn’t matter, for eventually there would be some final, created world (or set of worlds in the case of a multiverse) containing the computer(s) that run all the simulations.

That final world (or worlds) still needs an explanation, and that explanation is God.

 

The Physical World

People have wondered for a long time about the nature of the physical world that we live in.

According to the classical element theory, the natural world was made of four (or five) elements: air, earth, fire, and water (and maybe ether).

According to the modern atomic theory of matter, the natural world is made of patterns of subatomic particles that form atoms.

According to the simulation theory, the natural world is made of patterns of information that exist in some unknown computer medium that form simulations of atoms.

Either way, the natural world we live in exists. It’s just a question of what its fundamental components are—whether subatomic particles or patterns of information.

The fundamental nature of our world is an interesting subject, but it doesn’t change anything from a religious perspective. The natural world still exists. Whether it’s made of four/five elements, subatomic particles, or patterns of information, it’s still real.

So, the only thing the simulation theory would do is add at least one additional layer to creation—i.e., the layer containing the computer in which our natural world exists.

 

The Spiritual World

That leaves us with the question of the human soul and the larger spiritual world.

A key point of evidence for this is our subjective experience of consciousness. Although one can assert that consciousness is explained by subatomic particles (as materialists would) or by patterns of information in a computer medium (as simulationists would), one cannot prove this.

In fact, we have no scientific hypothesis at all explaining how consciousness could arise from these things. That is, nobody has produced a testable hypothesis that would account for how non-living things like subatomic particles or information could give rise to consciousness.

This is known in scientific and philosophical circles as “the hard problem of consciousness.”

Yet our consciousness remains as a brute fact that is unexplainable in scientific terms.

One is therefore entitled to set aside assertions that consciousness arises from physical phenomena and propose what our experience indicates—that there is something non-physical (a soul) that, however closely it interacts with our bodies, is responsible for consciousness.

The simulation hypothesis can’t explain this any better than the atomic theory of matter does. Therefore, the simulation hypothesis changes nothing with respect to the third component of the Christian worldview—the soul.

If the atomic theory is true, then our souls interact with the patterns of subatomic particles that form the base layer of the natural world.

If the simulation hypothesis is true, then our souls interact with the patterns of information simulating our bodies in the computer system that resides in the base layer of reality.

If one finds it implausible that souls would interact with such data patterns, that would give you reason to reject the idea that we’re living in a simulation, but it wouldn’t give you reason to reject either the existence of the soul or the existence of a natural world.

 

The End of the World

The Christian Faith holds that, at some point, the physical world in which we live will be renovated and replaced by a “New Earth,” where we will have a place for all eternity.

The simulation hypothesis would not prevent this. If our present physical world is a simulation, God might put us in a new, similar world—or he might put us in a base level reality and have our souls interact with that. Ultimately, that’s up to him.

Either way, whether the present world we experience is a simulation or a base reality doesn’t matter. The Creator who exists outside the entire created world—however many levels it may contain—has made contact with us, here, and told us that one day we will live in a new world.

The nature of that world is in his hands, as it has always been.

 

Conclusion

I thus don’t see how the simulation theory changes anything from a faith perspective. We still have the same three elements—God, the spiritual world, and the natural world—and all three interact.

The natural world used to be explained by the classical element theory, it is presently explained by the atomic theory, and if we ever get actual, robust scientific evidence that we’re living in a simulation then it would be explained by the simulation theory.

But all these theories do is shed varying degrees of light on the nature of the physical world as we experience it. They don’t change anything from a religious perspective.

Learning that the physical world as we experience it is contained in a larger, meta-world would be interesting, but it doesn’t alter the need for us to have a right relationship with the Creator, who is responsible for both the spiritual and the natural world—whatever the specific components or structure of the latter turns out to be.

Neither does the simulation hypothesis stop us from needing to live our lives in the world as we find it.

I’d note that it certainly hasn’t stopped Elon Musk from living his life as an entrepreneur and industrialist and undertaking all kinds of projects.

It hasn’t caused him an existential crisis, and neither should it us.