Can you choose to believe something, just like that?  Author: Mark Boespflug, Assistant Professor of Philosophy, Fort Lewis College

Some years ago, I was in a lively conversation with a software developer about arguments for and against God’s existence. After discussing their merits and shortcomings, he paused – perhaps a little impatiently – and said, “You know, these arguments really don’t matter that much. I choose to believe in God. Believing is so valuable for my life.”

But is that how belief works – can you simply choose to believe?

People can, of course, choose to read certain sources, spend time with certain groups, or reflect on a certain matter – all of which influence their beliefs. But all of these choices involve evidence of some kind. We often choose which evidence to expose ourselves to, but the evidence itself seems to be in the driver’s seat in causing beliefs.

For much of the past 2,000 years, philosophers would have been perfectly comfortable with the software developer’s claim that belief is a matter of choice. A long line of distinguished thinkers – from the Stoic philosopher Epictetus and Saint Augustine of Hippo to French rationalist René Descartes and early feminist Mary Astell have held that people can exercise at least some control over their beliefs.

Over the past half-century, however, “doxastic voluntarism” – the idea that belief is under the control of the will – has been widely rejected. Most current philosophers don’t think people can immediately believe something “just like that,” simply because they want to. What beliefs someone ends up having are determined by the people and environments they are exposed to – from beliefs about a deity to beliefs about the solar system.

As a philosophy professor myself, I’ve dedicated years of reflection to this issue. I’ve come to think both camps get something right.

Reflecting reality

Some philosophers think that the nature of belief itself ensures that people cannot just choose what to believe.

They argue that beliefs have a “truth-aim” built into them: that is, beliefs characteristically represent reality. And sadly, reality often does not obey our wishes and desires; we cannot just decide to think reality is a certain way.

No matter how much I may want to be 6 feet, 8 inches tall, reality will faithfully imprint it upon my consciousness that I am 5’11” every time I glance in the mirror or make an appearance on the basketball court. Were I to resolve to believe that I am 6’8″, I would quickly find that such resolutions are wholly ineffective.

Or consider another example. If belief were truly voluntary, I would gladly relinquish my belief that climate change is afoot – imagine how less worried I’d be. But I cannot. The evidence, along with the widespread agreement among scientific authorities, has indelibly impressed upon my mind that climate change is part of reality.

Regardless of whether I want to believe or not believe, bare desire isn’t enough to make it happen. Beliefs seem largely outside of our direct control.

Who’s responsible?

But if that’s true, some rather alarming consequences seem to follow. It seems we had better stop blaming people for their beliefs, no matter how far-fetched.

Suppose I believe a dangerous falsehood: that Bill Gates used the COVID-19 vaccine to implant microchips in people, or that climate change is a hoax, or that the Holocaust is an elaborate fabrication. If belief is involuntary, it looks as though I am innocent of any wrongdoing. These beliefs just happened to me, so to speak. If beliefs are not voluntary, then they seem the spontaneous result of my being exposed to certain influences and ideas – including, in this case, conspiracy theory chat forums.

Now, people can choose what influences they allow into their lives – to some extent. I can decide where to gather information about climate trends: a chat forum, the mainstream media, or the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. I can decide how much to reflect on what such sources tell me, along with their motivations. Almost all contemporary philosophers think that people can exert this type of voluntary control over their beliefs.

But does that mean I am responsible for the beliefs I arrive at? Not necessarily.

After all, which sources we decide to consult, and how we evaluate them, can also be shaped by our preexisting beliefs. I am not going to trust the U.N. climate panel’s latest report if, say, I believe it is a part of a global conspiracy to curtail free markets – especially not if I had many similar beliefs drummed into me since childhood.

It gets difficult to see how individuals could have any meaningful freedom over their beliefs, or any meaningful responsibility.

The murky middle

Research has led me to think that things are a bit less grim – and a bit less black and white.

Philosopher Elizabeth Jackson and I recently carried out a study, not yet published, involving more than 300 participants. We gave them brief summaries of several scenarios where it was unclear whether an individual had committed a crime.

The evidence was ambiguous, but we asked participants whether they could choose to believe the individual was innocent “just like that,” without having to gather evidence or think critically. Many people in the study said that they could do exactly this.

It’s possible they were mistaken. Still, several recent studies at the intersection of philosophy and psychology suggest people can control some of their beliefs, especially in situations where the evidence is ambiguous.

And that describes many of the most important propositions people are forced to consider, from politics and careers to romance: Who is the best candidate? Which path should I pursue? Is she the one?

So, it looks like we have some reason to think people are able to directly control their beliefs, after all. And if the evidence for God is similarly ambiguous, perhaps my software developer was right that he could decide to believe.

Mark Boespflug receives funding from the John Templeton Foundation.

Some years ago, I was in a lively conversation with a software developer about arguments for and against God’s existence. After discussing their merits and shortcomings, he paused – perhaps a little impatiently – and said, “You know, these arguments really don’t matter that much. I choose to believe in God. Believing is so valuable for my life.”

But is that how belief works – can you simply choose to believe?

People can, of course, choose to read certain sources, spend time with certain groups, or reflect on a certain matter – all of which influence their beliefs. But all of these choices involve evidence of some kind. We often choose which evidence to expose ourselves to, but the evidence itself seems to be in the driver’s seat in causing beliefs.

For much of the past 2,000 years, philosophers would have been perfectly comfortable with the software developer’s claim that belief is a matter of choice. A long line of distinguished thinkers – from the Stoic philosopher Epictetus and Saint Augustine of Hippo to French rationalist René Descartes and early feminist Mary Astell have held that people can exercise at least some control over their beliefs.

Over the past half-century, however, “doxastic voluntarism” – the idea that belief is under the control of the will – has been widely rejected. Most current philosophers don’t think people can immediately believe something “just like that,” simply because they want to. What beliefs someone ends up having are determined by the people and environments they are exposed to – from beliefs about a deity to beliefs about the solar system.

As a philosophy professor myself, I’ve dedicated years of reflection to this issue. I’ve come to think both camps get something right.

Reflecting reality

Some philosophers think that the nature of belief itself ensures that people cannot just choose what to believe.

They argue that beliefs have a “truth-aim” built into them: that is, beliefs characteristically represent reality. And sadly, reality often does not obey our wishes and desires; we cannot just decide to think reality is a certain way.

No matter how much I may want to be 6 feet, 8 inches tall, reality will faithfully imprint it upon my consciousness that I am 5’11” every time I glance in the mirror or make an appearance on the basketball court. Were I to resolve to believe that I am 6’8″, I would quickly find that such resolutions are wholly ineffective.

Or consider another example. If belief were truly voluntary, I would gladly relinquish my belief that climate change is afoot – imagine how less worried I’d be. But I cannot. The evidence, along with the widespread agreement among scientific authorities, has indelibly impressed upon my mind that climate change is part of reality.

Regardless of whether I want to believe or not believe, bare desire isn’t enough to make it happen. Beliefs seem largely outside of our direct control.

Who’s responsible?

But if that’s true, some rather alarming consequences seem to follow. It seems we had better stop blaming people for their beliefs, no matter how far-fetched.

Suppose I believe a dangerous falsehood: that Bill Gates used the COVID-19 vaccine to implant microchips in people, or that climate change is a hoax, or that the Holocaust is an elaborate fabrication. If belief is involuntary, it looks as though I am innocent of any wrongdoing. These beliefs just happened to me, so to speak. If beliefs are not voluntary, then they seem the spontaneous result of my being exposed to certain influences and ideas – including, in this case, conspiracy theory chat forums.

Now, people can choose what influences they allow into their lives – to some extent. I can decide where to gather information about climate trends: a chat forum, the mainstream media, or the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. I can decide how much to reflect on what such sources tell me, along with their motivations. Almost all contemporary philosophers think that people can exert this type of voluntary control over their beliefs.

But does that mean I am responsible for the beliefs I arrive at? Not necessarily.

After all, which sources we decide to consult, and how we evaluate them, can also be shaped by our preexisting beliefs. I am not going to trust the U.N. climate panel’s latest report if, say, I believe it is a part of a global conspiracy to curtail free markets – especially not if I had many similar beliefs drummed into me since childhood.

It gets difficult to see how individuals could have any meaningful freedom over their beliefs, or any meaningful responsibility.

The murky middle

Research has led me to think that things are a bit less grim – and a bit less black and white.

Philosopher Elizabeth Jackson and I recently carried out a study, not yet published, involving more than 300 participants. We gave them brief summaries of several scenarios where it was unclear whether an individual had committed a crime.

The evidence was ambiguous, but we asked participants whether they could choose to believe the individual was innocent “just like that,” without having to gather evidence or think critically. Many people in the study said that they could do exactly this.

It’s possible they were mistaken. Still, several recent studies at the intersection of philosophy and psychology suggest people can control some of their beliefs, especially in situations where the evidence is ambiguous.

And that describes many of the most important propositions people are forced to consider, from politics and careers to romance: Who is the best candidate? Which path should I pursue? Is she the one?

So, it looks like we have some reason to think people are able to directly control their beliefs, after all. And if the evidence for God is similarly ambiguous, perhaps my software developer was right that he could decide to believe.

Mark Boespflug receives funding from the John Templeton Foundation.

   

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