The shortest day of the year is December 21st, but the earliest sunset can be almost two weeks earlier, depending on your latitude. Where I am, today is the day of the earliest sunset: 4:13 PM.
Tomorrow, I’m happy to report, the sun will set a second later than it did today. That’s the kind of progress I can get excited about! That’s why I celebrate Crepusculus.
(That’s also why I made up this holiday in the first place.) The name Crepusculus comes from the Latin for “twilight.” As far as I can tell, the ancient Romans didn’t call this day Crepusculus. But I do.
What made you decide to read this post? Was it a carefully considered decision with a freely chosen outcome? Or was it something that just, you know, naturally resulted from a cascade of genetic, cultural, and environmental influences?
Friend, I am here to tell you it was the latter, even if you think it was the former. That is to say, I am going to pick a fight about free will. That is to say, I am about to fling a rhetorical hand grenade. Catch!
Robert Sapolsky has a new book out, Determined, that attempts to destroy the concept of free will. He’s been doing the podcast circuit to promote it. I enjoyed this interview on the Jim Rutt show. Sam Harris has been working this line for some time, having written a short book called, wait for it, Free Will. I’m pretty much sold on the merits of their arguments. But I don’t like chewing on the results. Because I don’t know about you, but my personal experience is that I DEFINITELY have free will.
Free will is an entertaining topic, because… how dare you tell me I don’t have free will, right? But Robert Sapolsky and Sam Harris will tell you that you don’t have free will. So suck on that.
Free will is an entertaining topic, because… you know you have it, but it’s strangely difficult to define. Knee-jerk certainty about something indefinable makes a combustible combination. It’s no wonder people get lost in the semantic woods.
Image by Midjourney
I find it useful to start by thinking about machines. Imagine you’re using an old mechanical calculating machine to multiply two six digit numbers. You dial up the two input values, turn the crank a few times, and then press the button to make it go. The gears grind and click-clack for a bit, then a bell rings and out spits a number. How did it come up with this number? Did it think about it and make an informed decision? No, it used a mechanically encoded algorithm that, every time it’s prompted with these same numbers, will turn out the same result. Well, almost every time. On hot days the drive rotor will sometimes slip, while in the winter the overflow lever may jam because of inadequate lubrication. Does that make the machine evil or guilty of miscalculation with malice aforethought? No. We would say the machine has certain basic behaviors (like multiplying six digit numbers) that are influenced by environmental conditions (temperature). We might try to take steps that would limit or avoid any errors, but we wouldn’t condemn the machine for lacking the willpower to be a more worthy specimen of its race.
Now, of course I don’t consider myself to be a machine like this imaginary calculator. That would be a gross and indecent simplification of the the universe as I understand it. But it’s quite easy for me to imagine that YOU are a machine like this imaginary calculator. I ask you something like this: “Tell me a number between one and a hundred.” I turn your crank a few times and press a button. After a short pause you produce a number. You may think you deliberated about it in the most free-willish of ways, but from my point of view, you clicked and clacked and then emitted a number. This number resulted from your genetic inheritance, your cultural background, your education, how much sleep you got last night, and what you had for breakfast. A lot of variables, to be sure, and many more besides. But the point is, you didn’t choose that number. That number chose you. It emerged from your cerebral thickets fully formed and ready to fight. If you want to make up a story about how you came to it freely, go ahead. That’s your business. Just don’t bore me with it, you autonomous freak.
We’re all familiar with excuses for poor judgment. I’m under a lot of stress or I had a lot to drink last night can be used to explain why we shouldn’t be blamed for a bad decision. You see, in this case, it wasn’t my free will. It wasn’t me, your honor, it was my brain. And my brain is sadly susceptible to hormones and intoxicants. We understand the brain is a biological entity. Dig out a few dollops with an ice cream scoop and you won’t be so free-willy anymore. The trick is to admit that, with or without the alcohol, it’s biology all the way down. And sadly, I have to admit that if you look like a complicated machine to me, then I probably look like one to you.
People often worry about what this all means for criminal justice. If criminals can’t help themselves, then won’t murderers run amok? Here instrumentality comes to the rescue. If a person who commits a crime, we should definitely do things that are likely to stop them from doing it again in the future. This may still involve jail. Or some other kind of rehabilitation. But it no longer needs to be something to punish them simply for being evil because they should have known better.
Ultimately, the weirdest question to me is this: if you don’t believe that free will exists, then how should you behave when you’re making decisions? And I think the answer is that you really don’t do anything different. The process of deliberation will always feel free. That’s just how those gears work. Don’t worry about it too much. Just stand back and keep your fingers clear of the machinery. Click clack.
Rambles Blog at Star Chamber 