Time

 Travel  Transcript  

Part  One  -­‐  What  might  time  travel  be  anyway?  

Hello  from  the  past,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  My  name  is  Alasdair  Richmond  and  I  teach  
philosophy  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  and  I  specialise  in  that  branch  of  metaphysics  
which  looks  at  philosophical  questions  to  do  with  time  and  in  particular,  time  travel.    And  
the  aim  of  this  talk  is  to  give  you  a  short  overview  of  the  philosophy  of  time  travel  and  some  
of  the  philosophical  problems  that  this  topic  throws  up.  

The  key  text  for  this  talk  is  a  1976  paper  by  David  Lewis  (1941  –  2001)  called  ‘The  Paradoxes  
of  Time  Travel’.    And  in  that  paper,  Lewis  tries  to  defend  the  logical  possibility  of  backwards  
time  travel.    So  a  really  good  way  into  the  debate  is  to  begin  by  looking  at  Lewis’s  definition  
of  what  time  travel  might  actually  involve.    And  Lewis  says:  time  travel  requires  a  distinction  
between  two  ways  in  which  time  could  be  registered  –  what  you  might  call  external  time  on  
the  one  hand  and  personal  time  on  the  other.  

External  time  is  time  as  it  is  registered  by  the  world  at  large  –  which  might  be  time  as  it’s  
registered  by  the  movement  of  the  tides,  by  the  rotation  of  the  Sun,  by  the  movement  of  
the  Earth  through  space,  by  the  Sun  rising  and  setting.    So  external  time  is  simply  time  as  it  
is  registered  by  the  majority  of  the  non-­‐time-­‐travelling  universe;  time  for  everybody.  

Personal  time  on  the  other  hand  is  time  as  it  is  registered  by  a  particular  person  or  a  
particular  travelling  object.    And  so  personal  time  for  example  might  be  time  registered  by  
the  traveller’s  watch,  time  registered  by  the  accumulation  of  the  traveller’s  memories,  time  
registered  by  the  accumulation  of  the  traveller’s  digestive  products,  time  registered  by  the  
accumulation  of  the  traveller’s  hair  greying  or  cells  dying.  

Now  for  most  of  us,  and  I’m  going  to  assume  for  the  purposes  of  this  talk  that  most  of  us  
aren’t  time  travellers,  external  time  and  personal  time  march  in  step.    If  five  minutes  elapses  
for  you  (as  recorded  by  your  watch,  by  your  digestion,  by  your  blood  circulating),  you  should  
typically  find  that  five  minutes  has  passed  in  the  external  world.    But  in  cases  of  time  travel,  
personal  time  and  external  time  diverge.    And  there  are  two  ways  in  which  this  could  be  
imagined  as  happening.  

In  cases  of  forward  time  travel,  personal  time  and  external  time  share  the  same  direction  
but  they  have  different  measures  of  duration.    Suppose  for  example  I  depart  from  January  
2013  in  my  time  machine  and  I  arrive  in  January  of  2063.    So  fifty  years  has  elapsed  in  
external  time.    But  in  my  frame  of  reference,  aboard  the  machine  -­‐  measured  by  my  watch,  
my  digestion,  by  the  accumulation  of  my  memories  –  all  the  processes  that  travel  with  me  –  
only  five  minutes  has  elapsed.    So  I  get  out  of  the  machine  five  minutes  older  in  personal  
time  only  to  find  that  fifty  years  has  elapsed  in  the  external  world.    So  this  would  clearly  be  a  
case  of  time  travel:  five  minutes  of  personal  time  corresponds  (the  same  journey)  to  fifty  
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years  of  external  time.    So  in  cases  of  forward  time  travel,  personal  time  and  external  time  
share  the  same  direction  but  different  duration.  

In  cases  of  backward  time  travel,  personal  time  and  external  time  again  diverge.    
(Remember  that  Lewis  thinks  that  divergences  between  personal  time  and  external  time  are  
actually  constitutive  of  time  travel.)      So  in  backward  time  travel,  personal  time  and  external  
time  diverge  but  they  diverge  in  direction.  

Suppose  now  that  my  five-­‐minute  personal  time  journey  from  January  2013  doesn’t  take  me  
into  the  future  but  it  takes  me  into  the  past.    So  I  activate  the  machine,  five  minutes  passes  
for  me,  my  watch  shows  an  increase  of  five  minutes,  fives  minute  seems  to  elapse  in  my  
frame  of  reference,  but  when  I  arrive  I’ve  arrived  in  January  1863.    So  a  journey  which  has  
five  minutes  positive  personal  duration  has  150  years  negative  external  duration.    So  in  
backward  time  travel,  personal  time  and  external  time  diverge  in  direction.    So  in  this  case,  
five  minutes’  positive  personal  time  measures  the  same  journey  as  a  150-­‐year  negative  
interval  of  external  time.    Now  a  backward  time  journey  has  the  peculiarity  that  in  external  
time,  the  journey  begins  after  it  ends.    The  journey  ends  in  1863  but  it  begins  in  2013.  

So,  says  Lewis,  given  a  distinction  between  external  time  and  personal  time,  it  is  at  least  
possible  to  imagine  forward  time  travel  and  backward  time  travel.    Now  the  details  of  this  
are  slightly  technical  but  forward  time  travel  seems  to  be  a  very  deeply  embedded  
phenomenon  in  one  of  our  best-­‐supported  physical  theories.    Einstein’s  Special  Theory  of  
Relativity  predicts  that  the  rate  at  which  time  passes  is  not  an  absolute,  not  an  invariant  but  
varies  according  to  relative  speed  [sic.  –  velocity].    In  other  words,  the  greater  the  relative  
velocity  between  two  systems,  the  closer  that  that  relative  velocity  comes  to  the  speed  of  
light,  the  more  that  the  rate  of  temporal  passage  diverges  in  those  two  frames  of  reference,  

Now,  if  I’m  lucky,  I  maybe  have  forty  or  even  fifty  years  of  personal  time  ahead  of  me  and  
the  Special  Theory  of  Relativity  says  that  if  I  travel  fast  enough  relative  to  the  Solar  System,  I  
can  make  that  forty-­‐  or  fifty-­‐year  interval  of  personal  time  comprise  tens  or  hundreds  or  
millions  or  even  billions  of  years  of  external  time.    Provided  that  I  travel  fast  enough,  I  can  
make  my  forty  years  of  personal  time  extend  through  the  entire  future  history  of  the  Sun.    
So  forward  time  travel  is  very  deeply  embedded  in  Einstein’s  Special  Theory  of  Relativity  and  
we  have  decades  and  decades  of  very  well-­‐supported  physical  results  which  suggest  that  
these  divergences  between  frames  of  references  really,  really  occur.  

Backward  time  travel  is  a  bit  more  speculative,  and  whether  physics  permits  backward  time  
travel  is  still  something  which  is  hotly  contested.  But  the  General  Theory  of  Relativity  seems  
to  predict  that  under  certain  circumstances  (given  an  enormous  amount  of  mass  or  an  
enormous  density  of  mass  or  enormously  rapid  movement  of  mass),  it’s  possible  to  create  
circumstances  where  personal  time  and  external  time  diverge  not  only  in  duration  but  in  
direction.  

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There’s  a  famous  model  universe  by  the  Austrian  mathematical  physicist  Kurt  Gödel  which  
describes  a  relativistically  possible  universe  where  it’s  possible  to  take  journeys  into  the  
local  future  that  can  visit  any  point  in  the  external  past.  So  the  General  Theory  of  Relativity  
seems  to  under-­‐write  the  kind  of  personal  time  /  external  time  discrepancies  that  are  
constitutive  of  backward  time  travel  as  well.  

[Post-­‐facto  owning  up:  I  have  edited  the  above  to  take  out  the  typos.  successfully  identified  
by  'Anonymous'  below  -­‐  to  whom  many  thanks  indeed.    All  best,  Al.]  

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Part  Two  –  Grandfather  Paradoxes  

So  that’s  how  Lewis  defines  time  travel:  divergences  between  personal  time  and  external  
time.    The  classic  objection  to  backwards  time  travel  is  usually  referred  to  as  the  
Grandfather  Paradox  and  a  big  part  of  Lewis’s  paper  is  designed  to  defuse  the  argument  
that  time  travel  must  generate  logical  contradictory  outcomes.  

Now  I  stress  that  Lewis  is  only  defending  the  logical  possibility  of  time  travel.    All  Lewis’s  
paper  aims  to  show  is  that  it  is  logically  possible  for  someone  to  travel  in  time.    Lewis  isn’t  
saying  that  time  travel  is  physically  possible;  still  less  is  he  saying  that  time  travel  actually  
occurs  and  time  travellers  walk  among  us.  

So  the  aim  of  the  game  is  to  defend  the  claim  that  it’s  logically  possible  to  travel  in  time.    Or,  
to  put  it  another  way,  that  some  backward  time  journeys  can  be  described  without  falling  
into  contradiction.  

Well,  why  might  someone  think  that  backward  time  journeys  [are]  logically  problematic?    
Well,  the  classic  argument  appeals  to  Grandfather  Paradoxes.    And  it  goes  something  like  
this:  

“If  it  was  possible  to  travel  in  time,  it  would  be  possible  to  create  contradictions.  

It  is  not  possible  to  create  contradictions.  

Therefore,  it’s  not  possible  to  travel  backwards  in  time.”  

Now  Lewis  accepts  some  of  that  argument:  he  accepts  that  it  is  not  possible  to  create  a  
contradiction.    Any  real  state  of  affairs,  any  real  world,  had  better  be  consistent  –  the  world  
had  better  be  logically  possible.    Or,  to  put  it  another  way,  to  establish  that  something  is  
logically  impossible  is  to  establish  that  it  just  cannot  possibly  occur.  

So  Lewis  does  accept  that  contradictions  can’t  occur,  but  where  he  differs  from  the  
proponents  of  the  Grandfather  Paradox  argument  is  that  he  thinks  that  backward  time  
travel  needn’t  necessarily  involve  the  ability  to  generate  paradoxes.    Interpreted  properly,  
backward  time  travel  can  be  internally  consistent.  

Well,  why  are  they  called  “Grandfather  Paradoxes”?    Well  the  standard  example,  popular  
from  innumerable  science  fiction  stories  and  films,  imagines  a  traveller  going  back  in  time  
and  removing  an  essential  cause  of  her  (or  his)  existence.    The  standard  example  imagines  
that  the  traveller  goes  back  in  time  and  eliminates  a  grandparent  (typically  a  grandfather)  
before  Grandfather  has  had  a  chance  to  father  any  children.      

So  if  you  could  travel  back  in  time  and  eliminate  your  grandfather  before  Grandfather  had  
achieved  parenthood,  you  would  remove  one  of  your  parents  from  existence.    If  you  remove  
one  of  your  parents  from  existence,  you  presumably  remove  yourself.    So  if  your  mission  
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succeeds  your  Grandfather  doesn’t  exist,  one  of  your  parents  don’t  [sic.  –  doesn’t]  exist  and  
you  don’t  exist.    But  if  you  don’t  exist,  how  do  you  travel  back  to  carry  out  your  mission  in  
the  first  place?  The  mission  seems  to  succeed  only  if  –  if  and  only  if  –  it  doesn’t  succeed.    
Which  seems  to  issue  in  a  glaring  logical  contradiction.    So  the  problem  is,  that  if  you  could  
travel  back  in  time  and  eliminate  the  causes  of  your  own  existence,  you  could  make  yourself  
both  exist  and  not  exist  at  the  same  time  –  which  is  surely  logically  impossible.        

Now,  as  I  say,  Lewis  thinks  that  logical  contradictions  can’t  occur.    Where  he  thinks  the  
Grandfather  Paradox  argument  goes  wrong  is  in  assuming  that  time  travel  necessarily  
generates  the  ability  to  enact  logical  contradictions.  

I  don’t  have  a  problem  with  either  of  my  grandfathers  so  for  the  sake  of  argument,  I  will  
assume  that  my  mission  is  to  assassinate  someone  I  do  have  a  problem  with,  namely  Adolf  
Hitler.    So  let’s  suppose  that  I  get  funding  to  develop  a  time  machine,  and  my  experimental  
launch  takes  place  in  January  2013.    I’ve  done  my  homework  and  I  decide  that  the  best  
place  to  strike  at  Hitler  is  in  late  1908,  during  the  so-­‐called  ‘Hunger  Years’  when  Hitler  was  
trying  to  eke  out  a  living  as  an  artist  in  Vienna.    I  reason  that  at  this  point  Hitler  doesn’t  have  
an  army,  he’s  not  surrounded  by  security  guards;  he’s  a  lone,  private  individual  and  
therefore  a  safe  target.  

So  let’s  suppose  that  I  arrive  in  Vienna  in  1908,  dressed  and  equipped  and  trained  to  pass  
myself  off  as  a  native  Viennese  of  the  period.    I  get  Hitler  in  my  sights,  I  try  to  pull  the  trigger  
and  what  happens?    Well,  something  that  can’t  happen  is  that  I  successfully  assassinate  in  
1908  someone  who  doesn’t  in  fact  die  until  1945.    Assuming  that  death  is  a  one-­‐shot  
operation,  one  and  the  same  person  cannot  die  in  1908  and  die  in  1945.    So  my  successfully  
assassinating  Hitler  in  1908  would  generate  a  Grandfather  Paradox.  

I  should  just  say  at  this  point  that  people  seem  to  think  that  paradoxes  are  okay  provided  
history  is  only  changed  “a  little  bit”.    Well  unfortunately  logic  doesn’t  recognise  things  being  
“slightly”  contradictory  –  something  is  either  contradictory  or  it  isn’t.  

So  I  can’t  do  anything  in  1908  that  hasn’t  already  happened  in  the  history  whence  I  come.    
So  if  I  get  Hitler  in  my  sights  in  1908,  there  seems  a  guarantee  of  failure.    But  that  failure  
might  take  any  one  of  a  number  of  forms.    My  gun  could  jam,  I  could  sneeze,  Hitler  could  
duck  to  tie  up  his  shoelaces,  I  could  be  run  over  by  a  tram  –  OR  I  could  successfully  shoot  
down  somebody  I  believe  is  Hitler,  only  to  discover  I’ve  shot  the  wrong  person.  

Now  all  of  those  outcomes  are  perfectly  consistent  with  Hitler  surviving  until  1945.    So  my  
mere  presence  in  the  past  is  not  necessarily  contradictory.    So  certain  outcomes  are  
compatible  with  Hitler  surviving  until  1945.    So  my  actions  in  the  past  seem  to  be  restricted  
but  that’s  not  the  same  as  saying  that  they’re  impossible.  

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One  thing  to  bear  in  mind  is  that  in  Lewis’s  analysis  each  moment,  each  time,  happens  only  
once.    It’s  not  that  1908  happens  once  without  my  presence  and  I  go  back  in  my  machine  
and  somehow  1908  happens  again,  only  this  time  I’m  there.    If  Lewis  is  correct,  each  
moment  happens  once  and  once  only  and  the  course  of  history  is  consistent  over  time.  

So  if  I  travel  back  from  2013  to  1908,  the  history  whence  I  come  contains  anything  that  I  get  
up  to  when  I  arrive  at  my  destination  in  the  past.    So  provided  that  the  history  that  I  come  
from  in  2013  is  consistent  with  the  history  that  I  arrive  in  in  1908,  there’s  no  paradox.  

So  where  does  the  appearance  of  paradox  come  from?    Why  does  the  Grandfather  Paradox  
argument  have  such  an  appeal?    And  Lewis  says  it’s  because  there’s  an  ambiguity,  or  worse  
than  an  ambiguity,  in  the  argument’s  very  first  premise:  ‘If  it  was  possible  to  travel  
backward  in  time,  it  would  be  possible  to  generate  paradoxes’.    Well,  what  does  ‘possible’  
mean?    Lewis  says  that  to  answer  this  question  properly,  we  need  the  notion  of  something  
being  compossible.  

Now  compossibility  means  possible  relative  to  a  set  of  facts  or  certain  states  of  affairs.    
Here’s  an  example  (adapted  from  Lewis):  is  it  possible  for  me  to  speak  Gaelic?  Well,  in  one  
sense,  it  is:  I  can  speak  one  language  at  least,  I  can  master  some  basic  syntax,  I’ve  got  a  few  
words  at  my  disposal  I’ve  got  a  larynx  that  functions.    So  in  a  sense,  yes,  I  should  be  able  to  
speak  Gaelic.    But  don’t  ask  me  to  recite  any  of  Scotland’s  rich  history  of  Gaelic  poetry  
because  as  it  happens  I’ve  never  learned  Gaelic.    My  education  just  hasn’t  stretched  to  
picking  up  the  words,  the  syntax  and  the  grammar.  

So  in  one  sense  it’s  possible  for  me  to  speak  Gaelic,  relative  to  one  set  of  facts  –  it’s  
compossible  with  set  of  states  of  affairs.    But  relative  to  another  set  of  facts,  a  bigger,  more  
inclusive  set,  it’s  not  possible.      But  there’s  no  paradox  here  because  the  set  of  facts  
according  to  which  it’s  possible  that  I  could  speak  Gaelic  are  not  the  same  set  of  facts  as  the  
set  of  facts  which  mean  that  it’s  not  possible  for  me  to  speak  Gaelic.  

Apply  this  to  time  travel  cases:  is  it  possible  for  me  to  assassinate  Hitler  in  1908?    Well,  
relative  to  one  set  of  facts,  it  is  possible.    Let’s  suppose  that  my  gun  is  in  good  order,  my  eye  
is  keen,  I’m  well-­‐trained  –  this  is  perhaps  the  least  plausible  business  in  the  whole  scenario  
but  let’s  just  suppose  that  my  training  and  my  eyesight  are  up  to  the  job.    Let’s  suppose  that  
Hitler  isn’t  wearing  a  Kevlar  vest  or  any  kind  of  armour.    Well,  relative  to  facts  like  that,  then  
yes,  my  mission  succeeding  is  possible  –  it’s  compossible  with  those  facts.  

But  the  success  of  my  mission  is  not  compossible  with  a  more  inclusive  set  of  facts  –  
particularly  not  relative  to  the  fact  that  in  1945,  Hitler  is  still  alive.    So  what’s  compossible  
relative  to  some  facts  about  1908  is  not  possible  relative  to  a  more  inclusive  set  of  facts.    
But  there’s  no  paradox  here  because  it’s  a  feature  of  possibility  (and  compossibility)  that  
what’s  possible  relative  to  one  set  of  facts  may  not  be  possible  relative  to  another  set  of  
facts.  
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So,  Lewis  says,  backward  time  travel  can  be  logically  consistent  provided  you  bear  in  mind  
that  what’s  possible  relative  to  one  set  of  facts  may  not  be  possible  relative  to  another  set  
of  facts.  

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3)  Two  senses  of  change  

Okay,  so,  so  far,  we’ve  covered  Lewis’  account  of  what  time  travel  actually  involves  and  
we’ve  covered  Lewis’s  attempt  at  trying  to  defuse  the  appeal  of  Grandfather  Paradoxes.    So,  
so  far  the  account  is  this:  travel  into  the  past  is  logically  possible  provided  that  what  the  
traveller  does  in  the  past  is  consistent  with  the  history  whence  the  traveller  comes.  

Now  at  this  point  you  might  be  thinking:  well  hang  on,  if  the  traveller’s  actions  already  exist  
in  the  past  in  some  sense  before  the  traveller  sets  out,  or  at  least,  if  the  traveller’s  actions  
exist  at  external  times  earlier  than  the  traveller’s  departure,  how  can  the  traveller  possibly  
have  any  impact  on  the  past?  

People  sometimes  hear  Lewis’s  analysis  and  think:  ‘Oh  surely  the  traveller  is  just  a  kind  of  
pre-­‐programmed  robot,  completely  pre-­‐determined  to  go  through  a  completely  rigid  set  of  
actions’.    Or  worse  still,  people  might  think  that  a  traveller  in  the  past  is  doomed  to  be  a  sort  
of  ghost  –  forced  to  witness  events  but  be  powerless  to  intervene.  

Well,  Lewis  thinks  that  it’s  possible  for  a  traveller  to  be  really,  concretely  present  in  the  past  
–  a  proper  functioning  human  agent  with  intentions  and  wishes  and  choices  –  and  to  make  a  
difference  to  the  past.  

We  have  to  be  careful  how  we  imagine  the  impact  of  a  traveller  in  the  past.  

Lewis  distinguishes  between  two  senses  in  which  it  could  be  said  a  traveller  could  change  
the  past  –  what  I’m  going  to  call  replacement  change  and  counterfactual  change.    In  a  
nutshell,  Lewis  says  that  a  traveller  in  the  past  cannot  effect  replacement  changes  but  can  
effect  counterfactual  changes.  

What’s  a  replacement  change?  Consider  a  perfectly  ordinary  object,  like  a  glass.    If  I  were  to  
drop  a  glass  from  waist  height  onto  a  concrete  floor  and  the  glass  shatters,  I  would  have  
replaced  an  intact  glass  with  a  set  of  glass  fragments.    I  would  have  effected  a  replacement  
change.    There  was  an  intact  glass  –  the  intact  glass  has  shattered,  the  intact  glass  has  gone  
away  -­‐  and  in  its  stead,  it’s  been  replaced  by  a  set  of  glass  fragments.  

Now,  Lewis  thinks  that  replacement  changes  can  happen  to  concrete  objects  but  not  to  
times  –  you  can’t  ‘replacement-­‐change’  any  time  past,  present  or  future.    Suppose  you  make  
a  plan  to  meet  a  friend  for  lunch  at  12  o’clock  at  a  certain  restaurant,  and  then  you  get  a  
text  from  your  friend  to  say  ‘I’m  sorry,  I  can’t  make  lunch  today  –  can  we  meet  tomorrow?’    
Well,  that  hasn’t  replacement-­‐changed  the  future  –  it’s  not  that  you  did,  in  the  future,  meet  
at  a  certain  restaurant  and  then  that  future  somehow  went  away.  

So,  Lewis  says,  yes  you  can’t  effect  replacement  changes  in  the  past  but  you  can’t  effect  
replacement  changes  in  the  future  either.    Replacement  changes  can  only  happen  to  

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concrete  objects.    You  can  replace  a  concrete  object  like  an  intact  glass  with  a  set  of  glass  
fragments  but  concrete  objects  are  not  the  same  as  times.    So  that’s  replacement  change.  

Counterfactual  change  may  be  a  little  bit  harder  to  get  a  handle  on  but  counterfactual  
change  is  the  impact  that  you  have  assessed  in  terms  of  what  would  have  happened  
(counterfactually)  if  you  hadn’t  been  present.  

One  of  the  things  that  enabled  me  to  be  on  time  for  this  session  this  morning  was  that  my  
alarm  clock  went  off  on  time  –  but  if  the  alarm  clock  hadn’t  gone  off,  I  would  have  been  late.    
So  I  can  assert  the  counterfactual  “If  my  alarm  clock  had  broken,  I  wouldn’t  have  been  on  
time”.    So  when  my  alarm  went  off  clearly  had  an  impact  on  my  ability  to  attend  this  session  
on  time.    (If  my  alarm  clock  had  broken,  I  would  have  been  late.)    So,  in  a  sense,  the  alarm  
has  changed  the  course  of  my  day  –  but  that  change  is  not  to  be  assessed  in  replacement  
terms.  

It’s  not  that  there  was  an  original  version  of  events  where  my  alarm  clock  didn’t  go  off  and  I  
was  late,  and  then  somehow  my  alarm  clock  did  go  off  and  history  was  replacement-­‐
changed  and  I  was  on  time.    Rather  the  impact  the  alarm  clock  had  can  be  assessed  
counterfactually  –  this  morning  only  happened  once  and  it  happened  with  my  alarm  clock  
going  off  on  time.    But  if  it  had  happened  differently,  history  would  have  unfolded  
differently.  

Another  example:  historians  who  treat  of  the  period  (not  least  Arthur  Wellesley,  the  Duke  of  
Wellington)  maintain  that  a  crucial  factor  in  determining  the  outcome  of  the  Battle  of  
Waterloo  was  the  arrival  in  the  late  afternoon  at  the  battle  of  Prussian  forces  under  the  
command  of  Field  Marshall  Blücher.    Wellington  himself  frequently  said  that  if  Blücher  had  
been  late,  Napoleon  would  have  won.    So  that’s  clearly  a  counterfactual  conditional:  IF  
Blücher  had  been  late,  [then]  Napoleon  would  have  won.  

Again,  it’s  NOT  that  Blücher  made  a  replacement  change  to  the  Battle  of  Waterloo.    It’s  not  
that  Waterloo  originally  issued  in  a  French  victory,  and  then  Blücher’s  forces  arrived  and  the  
French  victory  somehow  was  made  such  that  it  never  was  and  an  Allied  victory  took  its  
place.    Waterloo  happened  only  once,  with  a  victory  for  the  Allies.    But  an  important  factor  
in  that  victory  was  the  arrival  of  Marshall  Blücher.    So  we  can  say  that  Blücher’s  arrival  
changed  the  course  of  history  –  but  it  changed  it  in  the  counterfactual  sense,  not  in  the  
replacement  sense.  

Okay,  we’ve  got  two  senses  of  ‘change’:  replacement  change  and  counterfactual  change.  
Lewis  maintains  that  time  travellers  can  have  an  impact  on  the  past  in  the  counterfactual  
sense.    The  presence  of  a  traveller  might  make  history  different  from  what  it  would  have  
been  if  the  traveller  hadn’t  been  there.  

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Going  back  to  my  attempt  at  assassinating  Hitler:  suppose  my  time  machine  deposits  me  in  
Vienna  in  1908  with  a  great  flash  of  light,  and  I’ve  arrived  so  close  to  Hitler  that  Hitler  sees  
the  flash  of  light  and  recoils.    He  steps  back  in  shock  –  out  of  the  path  of  a  tram  that  would  
otherwise  have  cut  him  down.    In  this  case,  I  could  assert  the  counterfactual  “If  I  hadn’t  
travelled  back  in  time,  Hitler  would  have  died”.    So  in  this  case  I’ve  clearly  had  a  
counterfactual  impact  on  history  –  I  have  (albeit  unwittingly)  been  partly  responsible  for  
Hitler’s  survival.    So  it  could  well  be  that  the  course  of  history  could  consistently  contain  the  
counterfactual  impact  of  the  presence  of  time  travellers.  

Another  example:  suppose  I  travel  back  to  1864  and  I  bump  into  Lincoln.    Lincoln  is  about  to  
give  the  world-­‐famous  words  of  the  Gettysburg  address  but  he’s  unsure  which  version  to  
give.    He  has  a  choice  between  the  famous  version  that  history  records  and  another  version.    
And  I  say  to  him  “Abe,  go  with  the  version  that  starts  with  these  great  resonant  sentences  
about  how  this  nation  was  conceived  in  liberty  –  that  will  go  down  very  well”.    And  Lincoln  
takes  my  advice,  and  the  other  version  of  the  speech  is  binned.    But  suppose  if  I  hadn’t  
intervened,  Lincoln  would  have  recited  a  different  version  of  the  Gettysburg  Address.    Well,  
I’ve  clearly  had  an  impact  on  history  –  history  is  different  as  a  result  of  my  efforts.    But  I’ve  
not  replaced  anything  –  I’ve  not  made  one  version  of  the  Gettysburg  Address  disappear  and  
another  version  take  its  place.    The  Gettysburg  Address  happens  once,  and  once  only.    But  
I’ve  still  changed  the  course  of  history.  

   

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Part  Four  –  Causal  Loops  

Okay,  so  so  far  we've  covered  Lewis's  account  of  what  time  travel  is,  we've  covered  his  
attempt  at  defusing  the  Grandfather  Paradoxes  and  we've  covered  Lewis's  reasons  for  
thinking  that  a  time  traveller  could  genuinely  be  said  to  have  an  impact  on  the  past.  Well  
there's  another  class  of  examples,  familiar  from  fiction,  which  don't  involve  paradoxes,  but  
nonetheless  seem  to  pose  a  problem  for  the  intelligibility  of  backward  time  travel,  and  these  
are  cases  of  so-­‐called  causal  loops.  

A  causal  loop,  for  our  purposes,  is  a  chain  of  events  that  loops  back  in  time,  so  that  an  event  
turns  out  to  be  among  its  own  causes.  And  there  have  been  some  very  ingenious  science  
fiction  stories  on  these  themes.  

So,  for  example,  let's  suppose  that  I  get  in  my  time  machine,  clutching  a  copy  of  the  
complete  works  of  Shakespeare  printed  in  2012,  and  I  travel  back  to  1588  and  I  make  
contact  with  the  young  struggling  player  Will  Shaxberd  (as  he  was  then  calling  himself).    And  
I  take  him  to  one  side  and  I  say,  "Will,  you  want  to  get  ahead  in  this  drama  business,  don't  
you?  Try  writing  this  down.  'What  a  piece  of  work  is  a  man  /  How  noble  in  reason,  how  
infinite  in  faculties  /  In  form  and  moving  how  express  and  admirable  …'  And  I  then  give  him  
one  of  Hamlet's  famous  speeches.  And  Shakespeare  goes,  "Yes,  that's  not  bad.  Is  there  more  
where  that  came  from?"  I  say,  "There's  loads  more.  There's  all  of  this."  And  I  hand  to  
Shakespeare  a  2012  copy  of  his  own  complete  works,  and  let  him  copy  them  down.  

So  Shakespeare  copies  down  his  own  works,  those  copies  are  transmitted  to  players,  to  
theatre-­‐goers,  to  printers,  all  over  the  world.  They're  popular,  they  become  part  of  the  
history  of  the  world.  And  they  are  transmitted  to  a  printing  works  in  2012,  whence  is  
derived  the  copy  that  I  take  back  to  1588.  So  Shakespeare  copies  the  plays  from  a  2012  
printing  of  his  works.  The  2012  printing  exists  because  of  Shakespeare's  act  of  copying  in  
1588.  

But  who  writes  ‘Hamlet’?  

Where  does  the  information  come  from?  Where  do  all  these  beautifully  poised,  balanced,  
intricately  wrought  speeches  and  scenes  and  characters  come  from?  Where  is  the  
information  generated?  

 
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Lewis  takes  perhaps  a  simpler  example.    Lewis  says,  "Imagine  that  you  are  home  one  
evening,  and  the  ‘phone  rings  and  an  oddly  familiar  voice  says  "Don't  say  a  word,  write  
these  instructions  down  and  follow  them  to  the  letter."  And  the  voice  proceeds  to  recite  
some  instructions  for  how  to  construct  and  operate  a  time  machine,  and  you  follow  the  
instructions  and  you  discover  the  time  machine  has  deposited  you  in  the  recent  past.  And  
once  in  the  recent  past,  you  call  your  own  ‘phone  number.  An  oddly  familiar  voice  says  
“Hello?”  and  you  say  into  the  phone,  "Don't  say  a  word,  write  these  instructions  down,  and  
follow  them  to  the  letter".  And  you  proceed  to  give  your  younger  self  the  instructions  that  
you  remember,  for  how  to  build  and  operate  a  time  machine.  

So  the  question  is,  given  that  this  doesn't  seem  to  be  inconsistent  -­‐  there's  no  paradox,  
there's  no  event  being  replaced,  there's  no  ‘live  and  dead  grandfather’  problem  -­‐  there's  still  
something  very  strange  about  a  causal  loop.  And  you  think,  "Well,  how  does  my  older  self  
know  how  to  build  the  machine?"  Well,  the  older  self  knows  how  to  build  the  machine  
because  the  older  self  remembers  hearing  the  information  as  the  younger  self,  and  the  
younger  self  remembers  because  he  was  told  by  my  older  self.  But  where  does  the  
information  come  from,  where's  the  entry  point  for  the  information  into  the  loop?    And  
Lewis  says,  well  there  just  isn't  an  entry  point.  In  the  case  of  the  time  machine,  there  is  no  
answer  to  where  the  information  comes  from.    In  the  Shakespeare  case,  there's  no  answer  
to  the  question  "Who  wrote  ‘Hamlet’?"  

‘Hamlet’  wasn't  written.  ‘Hamlet’  merely  exists.  

Now  this  seems  very  counter-­‐intuitive.  It  seems  a  good  principle  that  knowledge  and  
information  are  created  through  normal  causal  processes.  It  would  be  very  strange  indeed  
to  stumble  across  a  fully-­‐formed,  highly-­‐informative  text  or  machine  that  has  no  causal  
origin.  And  Lewis  says,  yes,  it  would  be  very  strange.  But  that's  not  to  say  that  it's  
impossible.  

So  Lewis's  answer  to  the  problem  of  causal  loops  is  to  say  this:  A  causal  loop  is  very  strange.  
To  see  information  apparently  springing  into  existence  from  nothing  is  very  counter-­‐
intuitive.  But,  says  Lewis,  where  does  information  come  from  in  any  case?    Lewis  says  ‘It's  
one  thing  to  ask  where  an  event  comes  from.  It's  another  thing  to  ask  where  an  entire  chain  
of  events  comes  from’.  

 
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It  can  be  a  good,  useful,  well-­‐formed  question  to  say,  ‘Well,  why  did  this  event  occur?’    I  
mean,  suppose  you  want  to  know  how  you  came  to  be  born.  You  might  appeal  to  earlier  
events,  facts  about  your  parents,  how  they  met,  facts  about  your  grandparents,  facts  about  
human  evolution,  facts  about  how  the  Solar  System  evolved,  facts  about  how  the  universe  
evolved.  So  you  might  be  able  to  trace  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects  back  and  back,  and  
back  and  back,  and  back  arbitrarily  far.  

Lewis  says  there  are  only  really  three  possible  chains  of  events.  And  in  each  case,  the  
question,  ‘Where  does  the  information  come  from?’  is  just  as  pressing.  Suppose  that  the  
chain  of  causes  and  effects  stretches  back  infinitely.  Every  event  has  a  cause,  which  has  a  
cause,  which  has  a  cause,  which  has  a  cause,  forever.  So,  for  each  event,  you  can  appeal  to  
an  earlier  event,  and  an  earlier  event  still,  and  an  earlier  event  still,  back  and  back  and  back,  
but  there's  no  end  to  the  chain.  And  so  there's  no  answer  to  the  question,  "Where  does  the  
whole  chain  come  from?"  The  chain  itself  has  no  origin,  has  no  end  point.  So  that's  an  
infinite  linear  chain.  

Suppose  on  the  other  hand,  and  this  is  a  prospect  that  many  physicists  take  very  seriously,  
there  are  causal  chains  that  just  appear  from  nowhere.  Quantum  physics  -­‐  Big  Bang  
cosmology  -­‐  takes  very  seriously  the  idea  that  the  laws  of  physics  allow  events  to  occur  
without  any  prior  causes.  The  Big  Bang,  for  example.    Standard  Big  Bang  cosmology  says  that  
the  Big  Bang  isn't  the  first  event  in  time,  it's  the  beginning  of  time.  

As  Stephen  Hawking  memorably  put  it,  asking  what's  before  the  Big  Bang,  what's  earlier  
than  the  Big  Bang,  is  like  asking  what's  to  the  north  of  the  North  Pole.  There's  just  no  good  
answer.  The  question  doesn't  make  sense.  The  Big  Bang  is  governed  by  physical  laws,  but  
there  are  no  earlier  events.  So  if  Big  Bang  cosmology  is  true,  every  causal  chain  in  the  
universe  is  linear,  but  finite.  There  comes  a  point  beyond  which  you  simply  can't  appeal  to  
earlier  events.  So  infinite  linear  chains  and  finite  linear  chains  both  pose  the  same  problem:  
where  does  the  information  come  from?  In  the  ‘Hamlet’  case,  and  the  telephone  case,  
we've  got  a  finite,  non-­‐linear  chain  of  events  that  prove  to  be  among  their  own  causes.  But,  
again,  the  question  where  the  whole  chain  comes  from,  it's  not  clear  that  there's  a  good  
answer  to  it.  

So  Lewis  says,  yes,  causal  loops,  events  that  are  among  their  own  causes,  information  
seemingly  generated  from  nothing  -­‐  very,  very  counter-­‐intuitive.  But  a  causal  loop  is  no  
more  or  less  problematic  than  any  other  kind  of  chain.  The  options  are  

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-­‐  infinite  linear  

-­‐  finite  linear  

-­‐  or  finite  non-­‐linear  

and,  in  each  case,  there  may  be  a  good  explanation  why  each  event  occurred,  but  there's  no  
explanation  for  the  chain  of  events  as  a  whole.  

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Part  Five  –  Where  next?  

Well,  that's  all  I  wanted  to  say  about  Lewis's  analysis.    I've  covered  how  Lewis  defines  time  
travel,  his  way  of  defusing  grandfather  paradoxes,  his  account  of  change  in  the  past,  and  his  
account  of  causal  loops.    What  I  want  to  do  for  this  final  section  is  simply  to  sketch  some  of  
the  live  problems  in  the  philosophy  of  time  travel,  and  where  this  branch  of  philosophy  is  
going  next.  

One  of  the  interesting  questions  concerns  persistence  and  time  travel.    Suppose  you  travel  
back  in  time,  and  you  meet  your  younger  self.    You  have  a  conversation  with  your  younger  
self,  something  along  the  lines  of  the  phone  call  that  Lewis  imagines.    How  can  one  person  
be  present  in  two  places  at  once?    How  did  time  travel  suddenly  allow  you  to  bilocate?  

Interesting  questions,  from  physics  and  time  travel,  concern  what  sort  of  laws  of  nature  
would  govern  a  physical  world  that  had  systems  that  time-­‐travel  in  it.  A  fascinating  
argument,  from  David  Deutsch  and  Michael  Lockwood,  argues  that  a  realistic  physics  of  time  
travel  would  have  to  imagine  that  time  travel  takes  place  in  many,  many  histories.  

Suppose,  on  this  view,  you  travel  back  in  time  and  you  try  to  assassinate  Hitler  in  1908.    In  
the  "one  world  system"  (and  Lewis's  analysis  is  part  of  [sic.  –  assumes]  a  one  world  system)  
there  seem  to  be  certain  physically  possible  outcomes  that  you  can't  achieve.  You  can't  
shoot  somebody  dead,  for  all  that  the  person  is  unarmed  and  unarmoured.    

So,  Deutsch  and  Lockwood  argue,  backward  time  travellers  would  face  very  strange  physical  
blocks  -­‐  there  would  be  apparently  physically  possible  actions  that  you  couldn't  perform  in  
the  past.  And  they  think  that  it's  a  constitutive  part  of  a  realistic  physics  that  local  systems,  
local  agents,  should  be  autonomous  in  the  sense  that  what  is  possible  in  a  given  region  of  
space-­‐time  should  be  determined  by  what's  going  on  in  that  future,  and  not  reflect  facts  
about  all  of  space-­‐time.  

So,  Deutsch  and  Lockwood  think  the  way  to  make  time  travel  consistent,  and  also  preserve  a  
realistic  sense  of  physical  possibility,  is  to  imagine  that  time  travel  takes  place  in  a  system  of  
many  worlds,  or  branching  histories.    So  you  travel  back  in  time  to  1908  and  you  can  
assassinate  Hitler,  but  the  Hitler  you  assassinate  belongs  to  a  history  that  branches  off  from  
the  history  whence  you  come.  So  yes,  you  can  have  your  full  freedom  of  action,  your  full  
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autonomy  in  the  past,  but  if  you  change  history  (in  the  replacement  sense),  the  history  you  
arrive  in  is  distinct  from  the  history  you  left.  So,  to  go  back  to  the  Hitler  example,  you  could  
assassinate  a  version  of  Hitler  in  1908  and  create  an  alternative  history,  a  history  that  
branches  off  from  the  history  that  you  come  from.  But  there's  no  paradox  here,  because  
there  are  now  two  versions  of  Hitler.  There's  the  Hitler  from  your  history,  who  dies  in  1945,  
and  there's  the  Hitler  in  the  history  that  you  create,  who  dies  in  1908.  

So  you  could  have  your  full  freedom  of  action,  without  generating  paradoxes,  at  the  cost  of  
accepting  the  existence  of  many  worlds.  And  an  interesting  question  is,  does  "many  worlds  
time  travel"  really  qualify  as  time  travel?  If  your  destination  is  in  a  different  history,  a  
different  chain  of  events,  is  that  really  travelling  in  time?  

Another  problem  concerns  whether  or  not  a  realistic  physics  would  let  us  construct  time  
machines.  Now  this  is  a  region  where  we're  looking  at  the  intersection  of  quantum  
mechanics  and  the  General  Theory  of  Relativity.  And  a  lot  of  work  remains  to  be  done  to  
make  those  two  very  different  and  very  successful  theories  into  a  single  cohesive  theory  of  
quantum  gravity,  as  it's  called.  And  an  interesting  question  is  whether  the  mechanisms  from  
time  travel  that  general  relativity  may  permit,  and  the  time  travel  mechanisms  that  
quantum  mechanics  may  permit,  will  survive  the  fusion  of  general  relativity  and  quantum  
mechanics  into  quantum  gravity.  

At  the  moment,  one  interesting  line  of  approach,  particularly  associated  with  the  
philosopher  John  Earman,  holds  that  it  might  be  possible  to  construct  a  realistic  time  
machine,  but  at  the  cost  that  you  couldn't  control  it.  You  could  set  up  the  conditions  
necessary  to  generate  divergences  between  personal  time  and  external  time,  but  it  would  
be  physically  impossible  to  predict  what  that  mechanism  would  actually  create.  So  you  
could  set  up  a  time  machine,  you  could  create  a  region  of  the  universe  where  time  travel  
occurred,  and  yet  not  be  able  to  predict  what  sort  of  outcomes  were  generated  by  it.  

I  mentioned  Stephen  Hawking  on  Big  Bang  cosmology  earlier,  and  Hawking  has  posed  a  
great  challenge  to  the  realistic  possibility  of  time  travel,  which  is  often  quoted,  which  is,  "If  
time  travel  is  possible,  where  are  the  time  travellers?"    Now,  I  stress  that  Lewis's  analysis  is  
concerned  only  to  support  the  logical  possibility  of  backward  time  travel.  Something  could  
be  logically  possible,  but  yet  physically  impossible.  So  Lewis  did  accept  that  a  world  in  which  
backward  time  travel  occurred  might  have  some  very,  very  strange  coincidences  in  it,  some  

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very  strange  failures  of  causation,  and  might  look  very  unlike  the  world  that  we  think  we  
inhabit.    And  some  philosophers  have  tried  to  argue  that,  if  backward  time  travellers  did  
exist,  we  would  be  able  to  spot  them  because  of  the  unlikely  chains  of  coincidences  that  
they  would  trail  in  their  wake.  

Suppose  I  go  back  in  time  to  the  end  of  1908  with  a  bus  full  of  assassins,  and  we  each  take  a  
separate  mechanism  for  trying  to  whack  Hitler.  Somebody  has  a  machine  gun,  someone  has  
a  bazooka,  someone  else  has  a  poisoned  hat,  someone  else  has  an  exploding  cake.  And  we  
all  converge  on  Hitler's  known  history  with  our  various  infernal  devices.  No  matter  how  
many  times  we  try,  we're  guaranteed  to  fail.  And  surely,  this  argument  runs  -­‐  this  is  
associated  with  the  philosopher  Paul  Horwich  in  particular  –  surely,  Horwich's  argument  
runs,  if  backward  time  travel  occurred,  we  would  see  trails  of  unlikely  coincidences,  as  
people  try  to  change  history  -­‐  and  fail.  

Now  there  may  be  an  answer  to  Hawking's  "Where  are  the  time  travellers?",  depending  on  
the  kind  of  mechanism  that  you  imagine  time  travel  involving.  I  mentioned  Kurt  Gödel's  
model  of  general  relativity,  according  to  which  an  infinite  amount  of  matter  distributed  
across  an  infinite  space  time,  creates  a  universe  where  any  two  points  in  history  can  be  
joined  together  -­‐  where  you  can  travel  anywhere  in  space  and  time.  Now,  if  we  lived  in  a  
Gödel  universe,  the  absence  of  other  time  travellers  would  be  a  real  problem  because,  in  a  
Gödel  universe,  the  whole  of  history  is  accessible.  

But  other  scenarios  are  more  localised.  When  physicists  talk  about  time  travel,  they  talk  
about  the  possibility  of  closed  time-­‐like  curves.  A  closed  time-­‐like  curve  is  a  path  through  
space  and  time  that  returns  to  the  very  point  whence  it  departed,  but  that  nowhere  exceeds  
the  local  speed  of  light.  It's  a  pathway  that  a  physically  possible  object  could  take,  that  leads  
backward  in  time.  And  it's  still  a  hotly  disputed  question  whether  a  realistic  physics  allows  
closed  time-­‐like  curves.  

But  one  thing  that  physicists  are  agreed  on,  is  that  a  device  that  generates  a  closed  time-­‐like  
curve  is  not  a  vehicle.  It's  not  like  the  time  machines  that  we  see  in  fiction,  the  wonderful  
assembly  of  brass  and  quartz  rods  that  lets  you  rove  through  history  at  will.  Rather,  a  time  
machine,  as  physicists  describe  it,  is  a  kind  of  place,  a  region:  a  region  of  curved  space  time.  
So  suppose  I  create  a  closed  time-­‐like  curve  generator  in  2015.  Thereafter,  it  should  be  
possible  to  travel  back  to  2015,  but  the  closed  time-­‐like  curve  generator  only  allows  access  

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to  history  over  the  period  over  which  it  itself  exists.  So,  if  the  first  ever  closed  time-­‐like  
curve  generator  comes  online  in  2015,  that  means  that  subsequent  times  can  travel  back  to  
2015,  but  nobody  can  travel  further  back  than  2015.  

So  the  answer  to  Hawking's  question,  "If  time  travel  is  possible,  where  are  the  time  
travellers?",  may  well  be  that  time  travel  is  possible,  but  not  yet.  

For  more  information  about  Gödel,  about  Lewis,  about  Deutsch,  about  Horwich,  for  some  
references  and  for  some  diagrams,  please  see  the  hand-­‐out  that  goes  with  this  talk.  

Thank  you  very  much.  

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