If we define free will as a singular ‘agent self’ making conscious decisions that define the totality of what we do and who we are; then free will is something we do not possess. We did not choose our parents, or the time in which our consciousness entered this reality. We didn’t get to choose the long ancestral lineage that shaped our individual nature. Nor did we get to choose the environment around us that helped shape our growth. Our brains have a default mode, and subconscious mechanisms that deterministically inform our decisions and actions. In the grand view of the universe, everything is unfolding in a great causal chain rolling forward since the big bang; or whatever came before it. If we look back on our lives at major decision points or actions, could we have done any different than we did? If we think about it honestly, the shadow of a deterministic existence begins to loom large over our lives.
Yet if we define free will in such a manner that describes a level of control over our lives and decisions, then we might be able to lay claim to its existence. Philosopher Dan Dennett has said that ‘human beings are parts of the universe that can control their trajectory to a degree’. He uses the example of a boulder rolling down a mountain versus a skier going down a mountain. The boulder rolls down the mountain determined, yet uncontrolled. While the skier goes down the mountain deterministically as well; yet in a controlled manner. I tend to think of it this way: as persons embedded in the wide causal network of reality, we resemble a rowboat in a vast roiling ocean. Our motion and direction is largely determined by the waves and currents. Yet if we are able to stick oars into the water, we can begin to steer or control our movement to a certain degree. While falling short of becoming a fully autonomous agent separate from the sea, we can become a navigator able to orient in a certain direction.
In Robert Wright’s 2017 book, ‘Why Buddhism is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment’, he offers up a theoretical description of how our minds work based on brain research and study. Wright’s description of the ‘modular mind’ concept seems to open the door to the control conception of free will. The modular mind concept is one where the mind is seen to be composed of specialized ‘modules’. Operating at an unconscious level, these different modules size up situations, compete, collaborate, and shape our conscious behavior. Better described as a network rather than separate compartments, different modules have different aims or goals. One module might be aimed to satiate hunger, while another might be aimed at gaining social status. As we evolved from primitive creatures to our modern selves, evolution added more and more modules to our brains to deal with the growing complexity of our everyday existence.
The view of the modular mind sees our subconscious as a place where the modules are in constant stimulation and activation. The notions and thoughts that bubble up into our conscious minds are the ones that have escaped the theoretical ‘mosh pit’ in the modular arena. Because of this, Wright describes our conscious selves as ‘less like presidents (calling the shots), and more like speakers of the house presiding over votes and announcing the outcome’. We don’t control the votes in our mind, we just kind of preside over the discussion. This description of the modular mind reinforces our absence of maximal free will. If a brain we did not choose is making uncontrolled decisions at a level before our conscious awareness, it’s hard to make an argument for true, maximal free will.
An extreme example of modular determinism would be an instance where we are moved into a state of great anger or great physical attraction. In either case, a reactionary module or mating module sends such a strong feeling into our consciousness that we are overcome by it. The feeling is so overwhelming, we have no choice but to get swept up in it and consumed by it. This is as deterministic as it gets, a mental state where any hope of control has fallen by the wayside. Yet in our everyday lives, the situations we encounter usually generate less passionate feelings. We usually exist in a state where we weigh multiple options when making a decision. Or we feel different feelings competing as we deliberate on the best path forward. This mental place where we have the ability to weigh or examine our feelings is the place where the control notion of free will can find its home.
One of the main points of Wright’s book is that through Buddhist philosophy and especially mindfulness meditation, we can reduce the influence of harmful feelings generated by the modules in our brains. In other words, we can take a measure of control, or use the oars in our metaphorical boats to steer ourselves through the sea of determinism. In a simplistic description, mindfulness meditation can allow an individual to gain a distance from their feelings. Feelings arise from the modular mess as kind of separate entities, untethered from an immediate behavioral response. It is through this separation that the individual can allow the feeling to pass without it taking control of their consciousness. So feelings like hatred, anxiety, or jealousy lose their power and influence. The modules in the mind that bring them into consciousness also weaken. In this light it is easy to see why mindfulness meditation can be useful for issues of addiction and trauma.
The broad point in all this is that mindfulness meditation clearly offers a measure of control over our lives. This doesn’t mean that it is the only method of control. But it does mean that since there is at least one pathway to control, the 'free will as control' notion can be justified. To be sure, if one insists on subscribing to the maximal definition of free will, then even the act of mindfulness meditation could be seen as falling under the whims of a deterministic universe. For under this view, all our actions can be regressed to some initial set of causation. Yet in a practical, real world sense, the control notion of free will seems more appropriate. It allows space for individuals to navigate reality with the hope that they can make better choices. Yet it also allows space for compassion towards others suffering their overall deterministic fate. This kind of compatibilism would seem to be more useful to us than the traditional, yet antiquated notion of free will in Western culture.
This traditional notion of free will derives from the ideas of third century philosopher St. Augustine of Hippo. As described by Jay Garfield (among many others) in his book, ‘Losing Ourselves’, Augustine’s notion of free will was conceived in order to ‘absolve God of moral responsibility for the fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden’. Augustine was worried that if God was an omnipotent supreme being, then he could have prevented Adam and Eve from sinning. But since God didn’t prevent their sin from happening, he could be held morally responsible for their transgressions. Thus, if God was indeed responsible for the actions of Adam and Eve, he would be wrong for expelling them from the Garden of Eden for a sin he himself could have prevented. Augustine’s solution for this religious conundrum was to conceive of the notion of individual free will. A kind of free will that stands separate from all external causation and serves as a faculty all individuals have. In this light, Adam and Eve were solely responsible for their actions, and God was off the hook. Remarkably, this theological construction survived to inform the philosophical, moral, and legal foundations of our modern society. For example, the American criminal justice system frequently operates under the premise that individuals are solely responsible for their actions. As with Augustine’s version of Adam and Eve, the actions of modern ‘criminals’ are seen as products of individual will; free of external causation.
Considering Augustine’s version of free will is wrong, it seems bizarre at this point to continue to allow it to inform so much of our society and thinking. A society with budding artificial intelligence, nuclear technology, and knowledge of quantum mechanics probably shouldn’t be using 3rd century religious thinking as a foundation for moral judgments. Yet this notion of free will is so entrenched within our thinking, I’m not sure how change could be possible. It makes things a lot easier to simply assign blame to individuals for their actions and move on. However, this black and white map doesn’t actually reflect the more nuanced territory underneath. The reality of which is a place where we are determined in a broad sense, yet have opportunities to exercise measures of control. The more we recognize this, the more compassion we can have for others, and ourselves.