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Compatibilism

You may be expecting this article to focus exclusively on the question “is free will compatible with determinism?” I will get to that question eventually. But first I’m going to talk more broadly about a variety of natural language concepts that might seem to be incompatible with scientific frameworks.

What is the heart for? What is its purpose? Surely it is to pump blood.

For what reason do birds have wings? Surely it is to fly.

These two questions appear to be asking for the purpose of natural organs. And the answers I gave satisfy our curiosity by providing a purpose.

But what does it mean for a naturally occurring organ to have a purpose?

If you are religiously inclined, then you might believe that God created hearts with the intent of pumping blood, and that he created wings with the intent of allowing birds to fly. This framework validates the attribution of purpose to organs, by appealing to a thinking being’s intent. Surely we can say an organ has a purpose if it was created consciously for that purpose.

But what do we make of this if we are atheists? Should we stop using the word “purpose” when we talk about naturally occurring phenomena? Should we restrict ourselves to cold and convoluted phrases such as: “Strictly speaking, the heart has no purpose, as it evolved through a process without the guiding intent of a thinking being. Nobody made it, so it couldn’t have been made for anything. But it nonetheless serves the functional role within our system of pumping blood.”

Perhaps there is a reason to talk like this. There is an intuition that the language of purpose is only proper when referring to conscious intent, so perhaps it is more precise to only use it in this way. And there are certainly some who try. We’ve all met the type of pedantic atheist who will go through these hoops when talking, usually after correcting some phrasing you have made that she deems incorrect.

But I find this unsatisfying. The urge to attribute purpose to hearts and wings is still there, even for committed atheists. I believe this is because the language of purpose has a core meaning that both theists and atheists can agree on: Regardless of how hearts and wings came into being, it seems that they have a beneficial functional role, and that this role is integral to how they came into existence.

For theists, God created hearts and wings because he intended for them to serve their roles. And for an atheist, the process of natural selection selected for phenomena that filled these roles.

So we have a core definition of “purpose” that both atheists and theists can agree on, which has do to with an organ’s function. And we have two very different frameworks (one religious and one scientific) that both flesh out this core meaning by describing the mechanism that underlies it. The core meaning is vague enough with regards to the mechanism, so it is compatible with both frameworks.

Of course, one could simply assert that the meaning of “purpose” really was only about conscious intent all along. And one could accuse me of contorting definitions in order to artificially preserve antiquated words. And I suppose we could simply decide whether or not that’s true. After all, how can one say for sure what the core meaning of a word is?

But I suspect that for most, they don’t know precisely what they mean when they talk about purpose, which is why I’m inclined to decide that the core definition is vague.

It is wrong to kill an innocent child.

This is a moral assertion that most would agree with (or at least I hope they would!) But what does it mean when I make a moral assertion? Am I describing an observable fact? Am I describing my feelings? Can I be wrong?

Some theists believe that morality is only valid if it is accordance with God’s wishes. Asserting a moral statement is asserting that it is God’s command.

So again, what are we to make of this if we are atheists? Should we accept that nothing is truly moral?

Many have tried to find non-theistic frameworks to flesh out moral assertions. The hedonists validate moral language with pleasure and pain. The utilitarians rely on a calculus of “the greater good”. The cultural relativists appeal to a society’s cultural values. And the emotivists are content to say that we’re simply asserting how we feel.

Should emotivists, accepting that there is no external backing to their moral assertions, use cold, convoluted phrases such as “While nothing is truly moral, I nonetheless hate it when people kill innocent children. Blech!”

My point here, again, is that the core language of morality is vague. We all feel moral sentiments (or at least those of us who aren’t psychopaths), and we sometimes assert them. But when we assert them, we aren’t exactly sure which lens through which to understand them. And yet we make moral assertions anyway. You simply do not need to have a full understanding of a meta-ethical framework in order to use moral language in a normal manner (and I would say a correct manner).

In other words, moral language is compatible with many different frameworks.

Now we’re getting closer to the topic of free will. What does it mean to say: “I made a decision”?

There are some who flesh out the concept of decision making with a non-deterministic causal framework of the universe. Under this framework, there are multiple possible outcomes of a decision (and when I say “possible” here I mean that the multiple outcomes are physically possible consequences of an earlier state of the universe). Under this framework, a decision is a human mind directing the course of the universe to one of these outcomes, somehow.

So what are determinists to do with a word like “decision”? It seems obvious to me that a determinist would still use the word “decision”, and say that a decision is simply a psychological event (perhaps underlied by some neurological pattern) where a mind selects between multiple perceived options.

“A-ha!” the determinist might say. “An option isn’t really an option if it refers to something that is not physically possible!”

I will discuss options more in the next section. But here I will simply say that, regardless of how we understand options, the psychological event referred to as a “decision” still takes place. We are capable of evaluating evidence, and using it (in combination with our own preferences) to select one of multiple perceived options. So for me, the question is not “Does a decision truly take place” but rather “What process is going on when we make a decision?” This process could be deterministic or non-deterministic, because the question is compatible with both answers.

And again, a determinist who believes decisions are incompatible would be condemned to use awkward phrasing, like: “While no true decision ever takes place in the mind, since the world is deterministic and there are no true decisions to make, I nonetheless felt the illusion of making a decision.” One could decide to talk like this, I suppose. But is it a good idea?

Consider the phrase: “I could have beaten my opponent at chess, if only I hadn’t sacrificed my queen.”

This is an expression of regret. Here I am recalling a game of chess where I made a tactical blunder. I saw two options of play, and I chose to take one that turned out to be a mistake. I speculate that, had I not made that blunder, I would have won.

But what does it mean to say that I could have done otherwise than I did? Is this an assertion that it would have been physically possible to have done so? If the world is causally deterministic, does that mean we must ditch the words “could have”?

And what does it mean to say we have options? If the world is deterministic, does that mean there is only ever one option in any circumstance?

It seems intuitive to say that, if determinism is true, nobody could have done otherwise and alternate options are really just illusions. And under one set of definitions for “could have” and “options”, I acknowledge that this is simply the definition of determinism.

But again, this can lead to cold, convoluted phrases such as “While I couldn’t have saved my queen, because I was determined by the atoms in my brain to sacrifice it, I nonetheless can imagine that if that hadn’t been the case I might have won.”

This is, again, unnecessary. When I’m talking about my previous chess game, I’m clearly using the words “could have” and “options” in a more flexible way. To say “I could have saved my queen” does not assert a particular causal structure of the universe. It postulates a plausible and realistic counter-factual situation.

This flexible definition is vague to the specifics of the causal structure of the universe, so it is compatible with determinism.

But the incompatiblist may object: “How can you tell the difference between real options, like different moves in a game of chess, and pure fantasy options, like turning invisible and riding a unicorn?”

To that I would answer that, while it is true that in a deterministic universe both these options are not physically possible, they are not equally realistic. We would generally consider it to be incorrect to say that I could have ridden a unicorn, because of how unrealistic that is. It would be correct to say I could have saved my queen, not because of the causal structure of the universe, but simply because of the plausibility of that option.

I understand free will as being based on the vague, common parlance definitions of “decision”, “option”, and “could have done otherwise”. To me, free will simply means that our minds are rationally choosing the actions we want, regardless of whether those choices were predetermined. This is the compatibilist position.

Some authors have criticized this position as being a semantic game that misses the point of free will. For example, Sam Harris satirizes compatibilism with the phrase “A puppet is free as long as he loves his strings.“ One can picture his eyes rolling. And he has a point. It does seem intuitive to say that the point of free will is that we really have multiple options that are physically possible, not just illusory (but realistic) options perceived in our minds.

But I would reply by pointing out that this is an issue for all the concepts I mentioned. It seems intuitive to say that hearts and wings have no purpose, and that nothing is truly moral. But just because we have such intuitions sometimes does not mean that those intuitions represent the complete nature of what these words mean and how they are used. Nor does it prescribe how we must change our language as our scientific understanding grows.

When asked a question regarding a concept that one does not fully understand, it is often tempting to just produce an answer on the spot instead of admitting that one does not know.

To use the example from morality, suppose I say to someone “But what does it really mean to say that killing is immoral? You shouldn’t assert that as fact because it’s just your opinion.” I would wager that the typical response would not be to calmly admit, “I do not know the metaethical substratum of ethical assertions, but the meaning of ethical language is vague enough that I do not need to.” Rather, I think my interlocutor would be frustrated (and perhaps disgusted) by my pedantry, and rather than admit ignorance, he would produce some metaethical postulation on the spot (and perhaps even believe it). This does not mean that this substratum was included in the true meaning of ethical language all along. It means that he produced an explanation quickly and carelessly. The compatibilist position encourages us not to take such postulations so seriously.

I do not have as strong an opinion about free will as I do about purpose and ethics, since free will is a concept that only seems to come up in frustrating philosophical discussions. It is not as much a part of regular language and does not need preserving. It could be that most people choose to hold that indeterminism is central to the definition. In that case, the question “Is free will compatible with determinism?” is reduced to the contradiction “Is indeterminism compatible with determinism?” Obviously, using those definitions, it is not.

But it seems to me that if decisions and options have flexible definitions that are compatible with determinism, then it would be strange to hold that free will nonetheless isn’t. If we have multiple options, and we can decide which to take, what more could we mean by free will? You could simply decide that, for you, free will means the ability to decide between options but only in a nondeterministic sort of way. And that would be your right. But I find that to be pedantic, convoluted, and not useful.

In this paper, it was not my goal to convince anyone that compatibilism is the correct approach to free will, and that everyone should adopt it. But I hope I have argued successfully that compatibilism is more than the unnatural contortion of definitions to suit a purpose. It is a sensible approach to understanding how language works, which we adopt in many situations (not just in the case of free will).

And since Sam Harris satirized compatibilism, I will take this opportunity to do the same for his position. As I understand it, Sam Harris and many other hard determinists believe that, although free will does not exist, we do not need it since we can construct a parallel concept under different terminology that serves the same function. Instead of free decisions, we have volitional control over our actions. And while we do not have true moral responsibility (because moral responsibility rests on true freedom), we nonetheless are justified in maintaining all of our ethical systems (such as punishment and condemnation) because they serve a beneficial role in society (even though they are not truly justified). Well, to borrow a phrase from Morty (from Rick and Morty), “that just sounds like compatibilism with extra steps”.

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