The problem of evil and the problem of consciousness pose profound conundrums that have provoked intense discussion in the philosophy of religion and the philosophy of mind, respectively, for a long time. On the face of it, these problems seem to be completely unrelated. The problem of evil is concerned with whether the existence of evil in the world, including wars, crimes, and natural disasters, undermines belief in the existence of an omnipotent and wholly good God while the problem of consciousness is concerned with the nature of consciousness and how it can arise from physical processes in the brain. In this paper, I propose a unique thesis: the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness are fundamentally the same, as they stem from a shared root, which I call the “problem of expectation mismatch.” Moreover, I argue that recognizing the structural alignment of these two problems proves helpful in classifying and assessing, in a systematic manner, existing responses to both problems. This is especially the case with panpsychism, which has attracted considerable attention recently in the literature in the philosophy of mind.

I advance our discussion as follows. In the second section, I provide an overview of the problem of evil and five prominent responses to it. In the third section, I provide an overview of the problem of consciousness and six prominent responses to it. In the fourth section, I argue that the problem of evil can be viewed as a version of the problem of expectation mismatch—more specifically, the problem of axiological expectation mismatch. I also argue that the problem of consciousness can be viewed as a version of the problem of expectation mismatch—more precisely the problem of ontological expectation mismatch. In the fifth section, I explain that these problems evoke cognitive dissonance in parallel fashion and suggest that further adjustments can be made to enhance the structural alignment of both problems. Such an alignment would allow not only the problem of evil but also the problem of consciousness to be framed as a version of the problem of ontological expectation mismatch. Furthermore, I argue that both problems can be modified to share the same object as their focus. In the sixth section, I compare existing responses to the problem evil and existing responses to the problem of consciousness and argue that they also exhibit structural parallelism. In the seventh section, I focus on panpsychism, a view that is now considered among the most promising responses to the problem of consciousness. I utilize the structural alignment of the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness to show that panpsychism cannot be a compelling solution to either problem because it merely replaces one version of the problem of ontological expectation mismatch with another. The eighth section concludes.

Let us focus on the problem of evil first. It seems evident that the world is filled with evil; countless horrific events occur globally, inflicting pain and suffering on many innocent humans and sentient animals alike. If, as traditional theists maintain, there exists an omnipotent and wholly good God, it is puzzling why such events would persist.¹ Philosophers of religion have offered a variety of responses to the problem of evil over the last few centuries. Let me briefly overview five of these responses that pertain to our subsequent comparison between the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness.

The first and most straightforward response to the problem of evil is to embrace the problem at face value and conclude that traditional theism is untenable. If the existence of God and the presence of evil are irreconcilable and evil undeniably exists, it seems reasonable to reject belief in God. In fact, many philosophers endorse atheism precisely because of the problem of evil.

Other responses to the problem of evil aim to uphold traditional theism. One such response revolves around the privation theory of evil. The problem of evil often presupposes that evil exists as a substantial ontological entity, inherently conflicting with the notion of God, who is considered wholly good. According to the privation theory, however, evil is not a positive existence but rather a lack or corruption of good; it can be likened to illness, which represents a deprivation of health. Hence, the presence of what is conventionally deemed evil does not necessarily contradict the existence of God.

The third response is the greater-good theodicy. According to this response, evil is necessary because, without it, God cannot instantiate greater goods, such as compassion, forgiveness, and altruism. J. L. Mackie (1982) elucidates the greater-good theodicy by delineating levels of good and evil. There are instances where secondorder good outweighs first-order evil as well as instances where second-order evil outweighs first-order good. Mackie terms these instances “absorbed evil” and “absorbed good,” respectively. Evil that remains unabsorbed corresponds to so-called gratuitous evil. According to the greater-good theodicy, roughly speaking, the problem of evil does not pose a challenge to theists because there are no instances of unabsorbed evil in the actual world.

The fourth response is the free will theodicy, which is based on two assumptions: (i) libertarianism about free will is correct, and (ii) holding all else equal, a world in which morally significant freedom is realized is better than a world in which it is not realized. These assumptions imply that God’s creation of the actual world, in which there are morally significant free human agents, is not in conflict with His power and goodness. According to this theodicy, the responsibility for evil, particularly moral evil, in the actual world rests with free human agents rather than with God.²

The fifth response is skeptical theism. According to this response, the fact that we cannot comprehend God’s justification for allowing evil does not undermine the existence of God because we almost certainly lack direct access to God’s mind. Given our cognitive and moral limitations, we should not expect to be able to fully grasp the reason that God allows evil because we do not (and probably cannot) know everything relevant to the nature of God and morality. This is analogous to a situation in which, for example, a small child has to have dental surgery without understanding why her parents would force her to undergo such a painful procedure. In this analogy, the child represents us and the parents represent God. The child does not and cannot comprehend the justification for allowing such “evil” but that does not mean that the parents lack justification.

Let us set aside the problem of evil for now and move on to the problem of consciousness. When we taste bitter coffee, see a bright flashlight, or listen to pleasant music we have distinctive subjective experiences. These experiences correspond to specific mental states with unique phenomenal properties that characterize “what it is like” to experience these mental states. This familiar feature of reality that we experience every day, or indeed every moment when we are awake, is the source of the problem of consciousness, which is considered one of the most intractable problems in the philosophy of mind.

From our inner, subjective perspective, there seems to be no doubt that phenomenal consciousness is real. Experiencing pleasure and pain and other sensory modalities is an essential part of our sentient life, and our access to them seems more immediate than our access to anything else. In light of findings in neuroscience, there is also no question that these phenomenal experiences correlate with specific neural states. When we are in a certain mental state there is always a corresponding minimal set of neural states that are realized in the brain. Inasmuch as the brain is a bodily organ, it seems natural to expect that phenomenal properties that are realized by the brain can in principle be explained fully in materialistic terms. After all, states that are realized in other organs, such as the lungs and liver, are fully explained in entirely materialistic terms. It is counterintuitive to think that the brain is fundamentally distinct from other bodily organs.

These considerations notwithstanding, the problem of consciousness arises here— phenomenal experiences appear to be anomalies that elude scientific explanation. While we can analyze the structure and function of the brain to determine, for instance, exactly which phenomenal states are correlated with which neural states, specifying correlations only raises a more profound question: why are they correlated in the first place? Why must the phenomenal experience of seeing a bright flashlight correspond to this rather than that particular neural state? Phenomenal experiences seem distinctly peculiar from other material events, such as the movements of planets and the digestion of food.

Frank Jackson’s knowledge argument illustrates the problem of consciousness vividly through a thought experiment (Coleman 2019, Jackson 1982, 1986; Ludlow, Nagasawa, and Stoljar 2004). Imagine Mary, a brilliant scientist in the remote future, who is confined to a black-and-white room. Although she has never been outside her room in her entire life, she has learned everything there is to know about material reality by reading black-and-white textbooks and watching lectures on a black-andwhite television. Mary’s knowledge includes all material facts and laws of physics, including causal and relational facts and functional roles. She knows exactly which phenomenal experiences are correlated with which neural states. If materialism is true, Mary, who has complete knowledge of the material, must have complete knowledge simpliciter.

What will happen, Jackson continues, when Mary leaves her room and looks at, say, a ripe tomato for the first time? Materialism seems to imply that she should not come to know anything new because she is already supposed to have complete material knowledge. It appears obvious, however, that she will discover something new upon her release; namely, “what it is like to see red,” a phenomenal feature of her color experience. This contradicts the materialist assumption that Mary, prior to her release, had complete knowledge simpliciter. Mary’s complete knowledge of material reality fails to capture certain facts about the world. Jackson concludes, therefore, that materialism is false.

There are many metaphysical views explaining the relationship between phenomenal properties and material properties, and these views can be construed as responses to the problem of consciousness. I provide here a brief overview of six of them based on David Chalmers’s useful taxonomy (Chalmer 2002). These six responses include type-A materialism, type-B materialism, type-C materialism, type-D dualism, type-E dualism, and type-F monism. It is important to introduce these responses because they play an important role in our discussion later.

According to type-A materialism, ultimately there is nothing about consciousness that requires explaining over and above the material. Type-A materialism suggests that, given that Mary knows all there is to know about material reality, she should know exactly what it is like to see red without having a red experience. While she might acquire new abilities—such as the ability to recall a red experience or distinguish a blue experience from a purple experience—upon her release, she does not acquire any new propositional knowledge when she leaves her room (Lewis 1988). Eliminativism is a well-known example of type-A materialism. According to this view, ultimately there are no phenomenal truths because, contrary to common sense, there is no such thing as consciousness in an ontologically significant sense in the first place. Consciousness should be eliminated from future scientific discourse, perhaps following a trajectory akin to the elimination of witchcraft and thunder gods from scientific consideration. Another version of type-A materialism is analytical functionalism, according to which consciousness can be fully explained in wholly functional terms. The existence of consciousness is not an issue for materialism because, according to this view, it expresses only a functional concept within a materialist ontology.

Type-B materialism is less radical than type-A materialism in the sense that it allows for a gap between the material and the phenomenal. That is, it agrees with Jackson that Mary learns something new upon her release. As a form of materialism, however, it denies that the gap in question is ontologically significant; it is a mere epistemic gap. That is, what Mary learns upon her release does not imply the ontological conclusion that materialism is false. A common version of type-B materialism holds that, while there is no a priori entailment from complete physical truths to phenomenal truths there is an a posteriori entailment. According to this view, entailment P → Q is necessary and a posteriori, where P refers to the complete set of physical truths and Q refers to any phenomenal truth. The necessary part of the entailment secures materialism and the a posteriori part allows for Mary’s learning (or the epistemic gap). The identity of phenomenal states and relevant physical states is analogous to the identity of H₂O and water, which is necessary a posteriori, as opposed to the identity of triangles and three-sided objects, which is necessary a priori. In other words, while materialism is true there is no way to deduce specific phenomenal truths from physical truths by appealing to a priori reasoning alone. Yet Mary’s “discovery” of what it is like to see red does not entail any negative ontological implications for materialism, just as scientists’ discovery that water is H₂O does not entail any negative ontological implications for materialism.

Type-C materialism, like type-B materialism, considers the gap between the phenomenal and the material to be epistemic rather than ontological. Type-C materialism advocates, however, for a wider epistemic gap than type-B materialism assumes. According to Colin McGinn’s version of type-C materialism, we are cognitively closed with respect to the solution that fills the gap (McGinn 1989). That is, while the complete set of physical truths does entail all phenomenal truths, no matter how far we advance the physical sciences it is beyond our ken to determine precisely how the brain can realize phenomenal experiences. According to Thomas Nagel’s version of type-C materialism, which is less pessimistic than McGinn’s, while we cannot solve the problem of consciousness by merely advancing the physical sciences in their current form, we may be able to solve it if there is a radical breakthrough. Nagel writes, for instance, that our current inability to understand how the brain can yield consciousness is analogous to pre-Socratics scholars’ inability to comprehended how matter can be equivalent to energy (Nagel 1974, p. 447). Once the appropriate conceptual revolution occurs we may be able to grasp how the complete set of physical truths entails every conceivable phenomenal truth. We can construe type-C materialism as a version of mysterianism. While it does not give up materialism as an ontological view it admits that the problem of consciousness is a profound epistemic puzzle, which is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to solve given our cognitive limitations.³

As we have observed, type-A, type-B, and type-C views are variations of materialism. Type-D and type-E views represent, on the other hand, versions of dualism. Both of these perspectives recognize that Mary’s alleged discovery upon her release highlights the ontological, rather than epistemic, gap between the material and the phenomenal. Type-D dualism affirms that the material and the phenomenal are ontologically distinct. This affirmation represents the dualist aspect of type-D dualism. The type-D component of type-D dualism maintains that both the material and the phenomenal are causally efficacious and interact with each other. In other words, type-D dualism is synonymous with interactionist dualism. Cartesian substance dualism is the most widely known iteration of type-D dualism. Type-D dualists are not, however, obligated to endorse the existence of two distinct types of substance, as Descartes does. Instead, they can propose that, while there is only one type of substance, there are two types of properties that are ontologically distinct. That is, type-D dualism encompasses both the substance-dualist and property-dualist versions of interactionism.

Type-E dualism also holds that the material and the phenomenal are ontologically distinct. Unlike type-D dualism, however, it implies that the causal link between the material and the phenomenal is one-way only; typically, type-E dualists hold that the material can cause the phenomenal but the phenomenal cannot cause the material. In principle, type-E dualism is, like type-D dualism, compatible with both substance dualism and property dualism. For example, type-E dualists can subscribe to substance dualism by holding that there are two distinct types of substance and two correspondingly distinct types of properties and that properties of one type of substance are causally inefficacious for properties of the other type of substance. They can also subscribe to property dualism by holding that, while there is only one type of substance—material—there are two types of properties—mental and material—and that mental properties are causally inefficacious for material properties. In the 1982 paper in which he introduced the Mary scenario, Jackson expressed his endorsement of the property dualist version of type-E dualism—epiphenomenalism—as a plausible alternative to materialism.

It is important to emphasize that, while interactionist substance dualism is a wellknown version of type-D dualism and epiphenomenalism is a well-known version of type-E dualism, the type-D/type-E distinction does not correspond to the distinction between substance dualism and epiphenomenalism. It corresponds rather to the distinction between “two-way interactionism” and “one-way interactionism.”

Type-F monism is a novel perspective that can be viewed as a fusion of materialism and dualism. Like materialism, this response denies the ontological division between the material and the phenomenal. However, like dualism, it acknowledges that phenomenal properties elude standard explanations offered by the physical sciences. This idea arises from the thesis that, while the physical sciences effectively explain natural phenomena by reference to structure, function, and dynamics, phenomenal properties are not solely a matter of structure, function, and dynamics. According to a common formulation of type-F monism, phenomenal properties correspond to the categorical grounds of fundamental physical dispositions. An increasingly popular version of type-F monism is panpsychism. This view suggests that phenomenal properties, or protophenomenal properties, permeate nature on the fundamental level as the categorical underpinnings of dispositional properties. Panpsychism presents a unique solution to the problem of consciousness, positing that the brain yields fully fledged phenomenal properties that we experience because the brain is an appropriately structured aggregate of fundamental microphysical entities that are themselves phenomenal or protophenomenal. I address panpsychism in detail later in this paper.

Thus far, I have outlined the problem of consciousness and the problem of evil along with existing responses to each. Again, these two problems in two distinct fields of philosophy seem to be completely unrelated. In what follows, however, I argue that these problems are variations of the same problem, which I term the “problem of expectation mismatch.” Framing the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness in this manner allows for a systematic comparison and evaluation of responses to them.

The core of the problem of evil is normally presented as an apparent conflict between the following two propositions:

Because proposition (1e) is the foundation of traditional theism, the problem of evil is construed as a challenge for traditional theists. It is not immediately obvious, however, that propositions (1e) and (2e) are in conflict. As Alvin Plantinga says, (1e) and (2e) are not explicitly contradictory because they are not comparable to the set of propositions P and not-P. Neither are they formally contradictory because neither of the propositions can be shown to entail the negation of the other proposition by the laws of logic alone. They cannot be implicitly contradictory either because there does not seem to be a necessarily true proposition a supplement of which implies that either of the propositions entails the negation of the other proposition (Plantinga 1974, p. 12). It is more accurate to say that proposition (1e) informally implies the following proposition, which is in conflict with proposition (2e):

Given the theistic belief expressed in proposition (1e), our expectation is that, as proposition (3e) implies, this world, which was supposedly created by an omnipotent and wholly good God, should not contain evil.⁴ However, our observation suggests, as proposition (2e) states, that there is evil in the world. This conflict between propositions (2e) and (3e) is indeed the core of the problem of evil. It is interesting to note that (3e), unlike (1e), is silent about whether or not God exists. That is, (3e) can be accepted not only by traditional theists but also by certain nontheists and atheists. That is why I argued in my 2024 book The Problem of Evil for Atheists that the scope of the problem of evil is much wider than it is generally thought to be. My thesis in the book is that the problem of evil creates a challenge for anyone, not just traditional theists, who form optimistic axiological expectations of how the world should be, which is in conflict with the less optimistic axiological observation of how the world actually is in light of evil. The problem of evil is a problem that arises from our axiological expectation of how good the world should be and our observation of evil in the world, which does not seem to sit well with the corresponding expectation.

Consider, then, in parallel, the problem of consciousness. The core of the problem of consciousness is an apparent conflict between the following two propositions:

Inasmuch as proposition (1c) is the foundation of materialism, the problem of consciousness is construed as a challenge for materialists. However, it is not immediately obvious that propositions (1c) and (2c) are in conflict. Like (1e) and (2e), (1c) and (2c) are not explicitly, formally, or implicitly contradictory. It is more accurate to say that proposition (1c) informally implies the following proposition, which is in conflict with proposition (2c):

Given the materialist belief expressed in proposition (1c), our expectation is that, as proposition (3c) implies, this world should not contain phenomenal consciousness, which appears to be nonmaterial. Considering the success of the physical sciences in explaining nature, we expect the world to be exclusively and uniformly material. This gives us a simple and elegant picture of the world. Our experience suggests, however, as proposition (2c) states, that phenomenal consciousness, which seems to be fundamentally distinct from material objects or properties with which we are familiar, exists. This conflict between propositions (2c) and (3c) is indeed the core of the problem of consciousness. The problem of consciousness is a problem that arises from our ontological expectation of how thoroughly material the world should be and our observation of phenomenal properties, which do not seem to sit well with that expectation. Hence, the problem of consciousness is a version of the problem of ontological expectation mismatch.

We have seen that the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness are structurally in parallel. The problem of evil arises from an axiological discrepancy between the theistic expectation of how the world should be and the observation of how the world actually is. Similarly, the problem of consciousness arises from an ontological discrepancy between the materialist expectation of how the world should be and the observation of how the world actually is. Each of these problems arises from a mismatch between expectation and observation.

It is important to note that the problem of axiological expectation mismatch and the problem of ontological expectation mismatch can be construed as instances of cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance is defined as a state of discomfort that one experiences as a result of conflicts between one’s beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors.⁵ For example, cognitive dissonance arises when one finds it difficult to stop smoking even though one is fully aware that smoking is harmful or when one finds it difficult to stop stealing even though one firmly believes that stealing is morally wrong.

Consider the problem of evil as an example of cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance arises for traditional theists when they experience a state of discomfort upon realizing that their optimistic expectations, rooted in their theistic beliefs, appear to be in conflict with their observation of evil in the world. This point can be supported with examples. Shusaku Endo’s novel Silence is one of the most powerful illustrations of the problem of evil and the problem of divine hiddenness. In the novel, the main character Sebastião Rodrigues, a Portuguese Jesuit in seventeenth-century Japan, faces brutal persecution of Christians, including the annihilation of a village occupied by Christians, and asks God why He does not intervene to end the pain and suffering:

Rodrigues is deeply perplexed, and even feels betrayed by God here, because of the axiological expectation mismatch that he faces: based on his Christian faith he had expected that a benevolent and powerful God would not allow the horror that he witnesses but his observation suggests that God, if he exists, remains completely silent, allowing evil to prevail.

Take another, more familiar example: Jesus’s words on the cross, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? That is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). This expression from Christ reflects profound bewilderment at the perceived absence of God despite the suffering he endures on the cross. The discomfort felt by Rodrigues and Jesus represents cognitive dissonance—a disquieting misalignment between their expectations of the world and its harsh realities. This dissonance triggers a profound shock, perhaps even inciting feelings of anger within them.

The problem of consciousness may not evoke existential anxieties akin to those stirred by the problem of evil. Yet there are instances that support my argument, demonstrating that the problem of consciousness similarly gives rise to cognitive dissonance. Take, for example, the black-and-white Mary scenario again. Mary’s implicit assumption in the scenario is that type-A materialism or a view that is sufficiently similar to it is true. Hence, Mary assumes that there is nothing in the world that escapes her complete physical knowledge. According to Jackson’s description of the scenario, though, upon her release from the black-and-white environment she does discover something new that surprises her. Jackson writes, “[w]hen she is let out of the black-and-white room or given a color television, she will learn what it is like to see something red, say. This is rightly described as learning—she will not say ‘ho, hum’” (Jackson 1986, p. 291). Mary’s surprise represents cognitive dissonance, which corresponds to the gap between her materialist expectations and the observation of reality that defies them.

Here is another illustration. Australia boasts many prominent contemporary dualists, including Keith Campbell, David J. Chalmers, Alec Hyslop, and Frank Jackson. It may seem curious to find such a concentration of dualist philosophers in a country where many of their predecessors, such as U. T. Place, J. J. C. Smart, and David Armstrong, were well-known for their defenses of materialism, often referred to as “Australian materialism.” Upon closer examination of these dualists’ views, however, the apparent inconsistency dissolves. Their endorsement of dualism does not stem from spiritual or supernatural commitments; rather, it emerges from their steadfast adherence to the naturalistic worldview and their recognition—albeit surprising and undeniable to them—that consciousness eludes physical explanations. Campbell, Chalmers, Hyslop, and Jackson all begin with materialism, which they initially find most plausible, and reluctantly transition to dualism in response to the challenges posed by the problem of consciousness. The following passage by Chalmers exemplifies this transition:

Hyslop similarly writes:

As mentioned earlier, Jackson also endorses epiphenomenalism in the paper in which he introduces the Mary scenario because, if we assume that the knowledge argument refutes materialism, epiphenomenalism appears to be a dualistic option that is closest to the heart of materialism.⁶ Campbell (1970) expresses a similar sentiment and calls his version of epiphenomenalism, whose nonmaterialist scope is limited to phenomenal properties—and not all mental properties—“Central-State Materialism Plus.” Expressions they use, such as “reluctance,” “regret,” and “overwhelmed,” underpin my point that the problem of consciousness is an example of cognitive dissonance, in this case caused by an ontological expectation mismatch.

I have elucidated the close relationship between the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness. Yet, we can illuminate their intimate connection even further by implementing the following adjustments to the arguments. First, to align the problem of evil with the problem of consciousness, we can reinterpret the problem of evil as a version of the problem of ontological, rather than axiological, expectation mismatch. According to this interpretation, the problem of evil arises from the discrepancy between theists’ ontological expectation that the world should be devoid of evil and their observation of its presence—not the disparity between their optimistic axiological expectation of the world’s greatness and their less optimistic observation of it in light of evil. Second, we can restrict the scope of the problem of evil to center on pain rather than evil in its broader sense. The crux of the problem lies in the tension between the theistic belief in the existence of an omnipotent and wholly good God and the presence of pain manifested in horrific events. Third, and finally, we can also restrict the scope of the problem of consciousness to pain, rather than to the whole range of phenomenal properties. The significance of the problem of consciousness as a challenge for materialism remains unchanged regardless of the type of phenomenal properties under scrutiny—be it pain, pleasure, or colorful sensations. With these revisions, the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness emerge as nearly identical problems, solving either of which requires bridging the gap between one’s expectation of a world free from the phenomenal property of pain and their observation of pain’s existence within it. The only remaining difference between the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness here is whether the expectation in question is based on traditional theism or materialism.

Expectation-confirmation theory, which is concerned with the phenomenon of the discrepancy between one’s expectations and observations, is widely discussed in many academic fields, including social psychology, marketing, and informationsystems research. This theory explains how our pre-existing expectations of an event or an object can influence our perceptions, attitudes, and behaviors. For instance, we often have a certain expectation of a product before purchasing it. After purchasing and using it, we acquire new information about the product. If the new information contradicts our expectations, there may be negative cognitive or emotional impacts, such as disappointment, that correspond to the gap between our expectations and the new information. As we saw above, similar phenomena are observed regarding the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness. Adherents to traditional theism expect a world without pain, a phenomenal property seemingly at odds with the existence of an all-powerful and entirely benevolent God. Adherents of materialism likewise anticipate a world without phenomenal properties, including pain, which seems at odds with materialist ontology. However, our observations seem to contradict their expectations.

In what follows, I assess existing responses to the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness, as outlined in the second and third sections, by reinterpreting them as endeavors to mitigate the cognitive dissonance in question.

An expectation mismatch generally occurs when a misalignment between our expectation and our observation of reality occurs. The problem of evil and the problem of consciousness present a distinct form of this mismatch: our worldview posits that the world is thoroughly characterized by X, yet we encounter the existence of Y, seemingly in conflict with the expectation of X. The problem of evil represents a conflict between the theistic expectation of a thoroughly nonevil world and the observed presence of evil within it. Similarly, the problem of consciousness represents a conflict between the materialist assumption of a thoroughly material world and the observed presence of phenomenal properties—that is, seemingly nonmaterial— properties, within it.

When we assess responses to the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness we can keep in mind their shared structural pattern. The main question that any plausible response to the problems needs to answer is the following: how can we fill or explain away the gap created by the presence of Y in a world that is assumed to be uniformly characterized by X? If we succeed in answering this question the associated cognitive dissonance should disappear. Let me then compare responses to the problem of consciousness discussed in the third section and responses to the problem of evil discussed in the second section by framing them as attempts to answer this question. I will categorize the responses into five distinct approaches to contrast their strategies.

I have argued that the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness are variations of the same problem—the problem of ontological expectation mismatch. Moreover, I have tried to show that existing responses to these problems can be interpreted as parallel attempts to bridge the gap between our expectations and observations of the world that are designed to alleviate the cognitive dissonance these problems evoke. While the parallel structure between the two problems and between the existing responses to them may be intriguing, what insights can we gain from comparing them? In this penultimate section, I advance the debate over the problem of consciousness by utilizing the parallel structure.

The reader may have noticed that, in the above comparisons of responses to the two problems, I have omitted any reference to type-F monism. Here, I focus on panpsychism, a version of type-F monism that has attracted many supporters in recent years. As I explained above, panpsychism posits that phenomenal properties, or protophenomenal properties, correspond to the categorical grounds of dispositional properties, and these phenomenal/protophenomenal properties are ubiquitous. According to a popular formulation of panpsychism, microphenomenal properties that are attributed to micromaterial objects such as subatomic particles can aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties, corresponding to the conscious experiences that we have. The brain realizes fully fledged macrophenomenal properties because it is an appropriately structured aggregation of micromaterial entities that are themselves phenomenal or protophenomenal.

I did not address panpsychism (or, more broadly speaking, type-F monism) in the previous section because, as far as I know, no one in the philosophy of religion has advanced a counterpart of panpsychism as a response to the problem of evil.¹¹ I believe this fact underscores the considerable challenge inherent to defending panpsychism despite its initial appeal.

Let us focus on the main thesis of panpsychism: microphenomenal properties are immanent and they can aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties. By parallelling this thesis, we can develop the following response to the problem of evil, which we might call “panevilism”: microevil properties are immanent and they can aggregate to yield macroevil properties. Here, macroevil properties are negative properties that are typically ascribed to pain and suffering realized in horrific events, such as wars, crimes and natural disasters.

Does panevilism succeed as a response to the problem of evil considered as a version of the problem of ontological expectation mismatch? It does not seem so. The main problem is that it is unclear what microevil properties are meant to be. Suppose that microevil properties are themselves evil. In this case, panevilism fails to save traditional theism because it merely replaces the “problem of macroevil,” i.e., the problem of evil as it is normally conceived, with the “problem of microevil.” Microevil properties, given the assumption that they are themselves evil, are in conflict with the existence of an omnipotent and wholly good God to the same extent that macroevil properties are. Here panevilism does not eliminate the cognitive dissonance caused by the ontological expectation mismatch because shifting the problem of evil from the macroscale level to the microscale level does not make any difference. Suppose, then, that microevil properties are not themselves evil. In this case, panevilism faces two problems. First, it is unclear what microevil properties are. They are assumed to aggregate into macroevil properties but they are not themselves evil. We could call them ‘protoevil properties’ but that does not tell us much about their nature. Second, it is difficult to understand how microevil properties, which are not themselves evil, can aggregate to yield macroevil properties. Crucial information is missing from panevilism. Hence, panevilism fails to provide a compelling answer to the problem of evil.

Consider the carpet analogy again. To succeed in responding to the problem of evil as a problem of ontological expectation mismatch, we need to fill the gap between our expectation, according to which the world is free from evil, and our observation, according to which the world is not free from evil. That is, we need to eliminate the bump in the carpet that makes the carpet appear to be slightly larger than the floor space. In this analogy, we can construe panevilism as an attempt to resolve the bump problem by maintaining that the bump is an aggregate of ‘microbumps’ which are immanent throughout the carpet. But panevilism does not resolve the problem: on the one hand, if microbumps are themselves bumps, then panevilism merely replaces the problem of a macrobump with the problem of microbumps. On the other hand, if microbumps are not themselves bumps then it is unclear what they are meant to be or how they can aggregate to yield a macrobump. Therefore, the gap that causes the cognitive dissonance remains unfilled.

I have argued that the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness represent variations of the same problem, and I have also crafted panevilism to parallel panpsychism. Consequently, panpsychism, as a response to the problem of consciousness, encounters difficulties paralleling those I introduced against panevilism above. It is crucial to emphasize, however, that, owing to its distinctive characteristics, these difficulties arise even more devastatingly for panpsychism. Allow me to elaborate.

Again, panpsychists maintain that microphenomenal properties can aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties. Are microphenomenal properties themselves phenomenal? Suppose that they are. In this case, the ontological expectation mismatch remains: how could there be microphenomenal properties in a world that is believed to be thoroughly material? In the same way that panevilism merely replaces the problem of macroevil with the problem of microevil, panpsychism merely replaces the problem of macro consciousness with the problem of micro consciousness. The ontological gap evoking cognitive dissonance remains because the problem of consciousness has only been shifted from the macroscale level to the microscale level. The difficulty that arises for panpsychism here is indeed significant, but it can be further exacerbated by referencing the nature of phenomenal consciousness, making it even more intractable.

Given the assumption that microphenomenal properties are themselves phenomenal there must be something that it is like to be a micromaterial entity, such as a subatomic particle. It is difficult enough for us humans to know what it is like to be a bat given that we do not have a bat’s unique sensory apparatus, sonar (Nagel 1974). It is even more difficult, if not outright impossible, to know what it is like to be a subatomic particle. Explaining away the problem of macro consciousness by appealing to types of phenomenal properties that are beyond our imagination and comprehension does not seem to be a promising way to resolve the ontological expectation mismatch. Furthermore, even if we assume that we can know what it is like to be a subatomic particle, it is still difficult to defend the idea that microphenomenal properties can aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties. This is the so-called combination problem.¹² We do not have any familiar examples in which phenomenal experiences of distinct subjects sum to yield phenomenal experiences of another distinct subject. That is, we do not know of any case in which what it is like to be x and what it is like to be y jointly yield what it is like to be z, where x, y, and z are distinct subjects. Hence, under the assumption that microphenomenal properties are themselves phenomenal, panpsychism encounters challenges that parallel those faced by panevilism but in a more troubling manner.

Suppose, then, that microphenomenal properties are not themselves phenomenal. In this case, panpsychism, like panevilism, faces two problems. First, it is unclear what microphenomenal properties are. They cannot be ordinary material properties because, if they were, panpsychism would collapse into materialism. Here, it seems that panpsychism finds itself in a more challenging position than materialism. Materialists grapple with explaining how we can obtain phenomenal properties from material properties, but at least they postulate only these two types of familiar properties: material and phenomenal. They do not introduce any mysterious properties into their ontology in their attempt to solve the problem of consciousness. Panpsychism, on the other hand, struggles to explain not only how we obtain macrophenomenal properties from microphenomenal properties but also what microphenomenal properties are in the first place. Second, it is difficult to understand how microphenomenal properties, which are not themselves phenomenal, can be aggregated to yield macrophenomenal properties. Panpsychists might argue that the assumption that macrophenomenal properties are not themselves phenomenal allows them to avoid the combination problem. Given that microphenomenal properties are not themselves phenomenal, panpsychists do not need to commit to the thesis that what it is like to be x and what it is like to be y can jointly yield what it is like to be z. However, making a negative assertion about what microphenomenal properties are not does not add much to panpsychism. Crucial information is missing here.

There is an additional challenge for panpsychism, one that does not arise in a parallel manner for panevilism. As mentioned earlier, type-F monism, which includes panpsychism, relies on the thesis that the physical sciences, in their current form, cannot fully explain consciousness because consciousness is not a matter of structure, function and dynamics; it represents the intrinsic nature of material entities and properties about which scientific theories are silent. Panpsychists need this thesis to make microphenomenal properties immanent while distinguishing them from ordinary material properties that the physical sciences can capture. This view makes panpsychism an even more difficult position to defend because it is not only the case that we do not have a clue what microphenomenal properties are but also that explaining how they may aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties is beyond the scope of the physical sciences to explain. This is analogous to an odd situation in which we have to find out how a certain dish (macrophenomenal properties) is made while both the ingredients (microphenomenal properties) and the recipe (the explanation of how microphenomenal properties can aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties) are beyond our comprehension. With a touch of exaggeration, what panpsychism essentially posits is a vacuous assertion that some mysterious properties beyond our comprehension can somehow aggregate to yield macrophenomenal properties through a mysterious process which is beyond the scope of the physical sciences to explain. While this difficulty does not necessarily render panpsychism false, it renders it a profoundly uninformative viewpoint, one that certainly fails to eliminate the cognitive dissonance stemming from the ontological expectation mismatch.

The problem of consciousness, as a version of the problem of ontological expectation mismatch, arises when we expect the world to be thoroughly material but discover it to include apparently nonmaterial entities, such as phenomenal properties. Materialism tries to solve this problem by insisting that, although phenomenal properties appear to be nonmaterial, the world is indeed thoroughly material. Materialism is a consistent and straightforward response to the ontological expectation mismatch: it simply sticks with the expectation and abandons the observation. The challenge for materialism then is to explain how we can obtain phenomenal properties, which do appear to be nonmaterial, from ordinary material properties. Dualism, on the other hand, tries to respond to the problem of ontological expectation mismatch by accepting the observation that phenomenal properties are nonmaterial properties and concluding that the world is indeed partly material and partly nonmaterial. Dualism is also a consistent and straightforward response to the ontological expectation mismatch: it simply abandons the expectation while sticking with the observation. The challenge for dualism is to explain how we can incorporate nonmaterial objects and properties into the causal nexus of a world that appears to be mostly material.

Panpsychists try to have their cake and eat it by introducing macrophenomenal properties and identifying them with the categorical grounds of physical dispositions. This approach does not succeed, however, in eliminating the cognitive dissonance that the ontological expectation mismatch creates. Moreover, it evokes additional problems that proponents of materialism and dualism need not worry about.

The aim of this paper has been to uncover the hidden parallel structure between the problem of evil and the problem of consciousness, which initially appear as distinct issues in distinct areas of philosophy. First, I introduced the problem of evil along with five existing responses to it. Second, I introduced the problem of consciousness along with six existing responses to it. I then argued that those two problems share a common root, which I refer to as the problem of ontological expectation mismatch. Furthermore, I argued that, with certain adjustments, we can show that these problems are essentially the same problem, causing cognitive dissonance for individuals who adhere to certain relevant worldviews. Subsequently, I applied this finding to evaluate panpsychism, an increasingly popular response to the problem of consciousness. I argued that the absence of panevilism, a response to the problem of evil paralleling panpsychism, underscores the implausibility of panpsychism. I also argued that panpsychism faces further difficulties in virtue of its unique features, by which panevilism is unaffected.

Historically, only limited engagement between the philosophy of religion and the philosophy of mind has occurred. Through this paper I hope to have convinced the reader that intradisciplinary investigations within philosophy can yield engaging and productive outcomes.¹³