Harvey asked:

Is there free will?

Answer by Eric DeJardin

This is a question I haven’t yet (definitively) answered for myself, Harvey, but perhaps we can try to puzzle at least a bit of the way through it together.

Questions about the world seem to arise in two basic ways: first, through experience, and second, through reflection. (This is of course simplistic, since both experience and reflection contribute to the sorts of questions we ask, but it seems to be the case that many questions are motivated more powerfully by just one of these factors.) So, we might notice through experience that objects we drop tend to fall downwards, and wonder why that’s so. Or, after we’ve investigated the manner and the rate at which objects fall, we might notice certain recurring mathematical patterns, and on reflection wonder why in this respect the world and mathematics happen to match up so neatly.

Now I think it’s fair to say that questions about free will don’t tend to arise from our experience of the world, but rather from reflection on it, for we consider only our ‘inner’ experience as rational agents in the world — what me might call our phenomenal experience — it certainly seems as if we act freely, at least when we act deliberately. As it’s usually put, for any act we deliberately perform, it seems as if we ‘could have done otherwise.’ Indeed, we might say that many of our fundamental concepts, at least as they are commonly understood, reflect this seeming-so, e.g. ‘choice’, ‘responsibility’, ‘morality’, ‘mistake’, ‘regret.’ It’s only when we begin to notice that the world around us behaves in certain law-like (or, perhaps, random) ways, and that patterns of cause and effect are everywhere to be found, that we begin to question whether we, as apparently proper parts of the world, might also act in ways governed by law-like causal factors.

So it’s reflection on this tension between the apparent determinism of the world as we observe it, and the apparent freedom of our phenomenal experience (coupled with our strong sense of moral responsibility) that ultimately gives rise to the problem of free will. It’s important to notice that experience alone doesn’t give rise to this tension, but rather experience coupled with observation and reflection, for that helps explain our natural attachment to the notion that we are free, without which the problem of free will would never arise.

There are two basic ways of dealing with this tension, viz. that of the incompatibilist, and that of the compatibilist. The former believe, as the name implies, that free will and determinism are incompatible, and so one of them must be jettisoned if the other is to be retained. The latter, again as the name implies, believe that free will and determinism are compatible, though this coherence may require us to change the sense in which we understand free will. Let’s look a little closer at each of these alternatives.

There are two basic types of incompatibilists, viz. determinists and libertarians. Determinists tend to find the discoveries of modern science and the bottom-up, causally determined (and possibly partly random) world it reveals to us to be dispositive, and so they reject the notion that we have free will. Libertarians, however, tend to find the experience of freedom, and the sense that we’re morally responsible for our actions — coupled with the concomitant belief that moral responsibility presupposes free will — to be dispositive, and so they reject determinism, which leads them to embrace a radical conception of freedom according to which each person is a sort of unmoved mover.

The compatibilist wants to have his cake and eat it: he agrees with the determinist that the findings of science are dispositive, and with the libertarian that we are morally responsible for our actions, and that moral responsibility presupposes freedom. He disagrees, though, that moral responsibility requires the libertarian’s radical freedom: rather, all it requires is that one act in a way that’s not compelled (e.g. no one is placing a gun to your head), and in a way that’s consistent with one’s desires, beliefs, intentions etc. — i.e. with one’s ‘character’ — at the moment of action. Although one’s character is itself a consequence of previous causes, this doesn’t matter, the compatibilist says — if we act sans compulsion according to our character, then that’s a sufficient condition of moral responsibility, and we can be said to have the only kind of freedom that’s ‘worth wanting’.

One way to make your way through these competing notions is to ask yourself what you’re willing to give up: so, to be a determinist, you must be willing to give up any substantive notion of moral responsibility; to be a libertarian, you must be willing to give up the idea that everything in the world is governed by the law of causality; and to be a compatibilist, you must be willing to give up the notion that freedom requires that our actions not be determined by events over which we have no control.

Alternatively, you might ask what it is you cannot part with: is it moral responsibility? the scientific worldview? the acceptation of freedom?

Another way to make your way through these ideas is to consider the weakness(es) of each position: so the determinist must concede that there’s nothing immoral about genocide, since nothing is ‘really’ immoral; the libertarian must be comfortable with a notion of freedom that seems impossible to make sense of, for if my actions are not caused, in what sense are they mine, and how does this help with moral responsibility?; and the compatibilist must admit that although one’s actions are determined by events that occurred prior to one’s birth, they’re nonetheless free.

Perhaps now you can see why I’m so confused about this issue!

Here’s where I currently hang my hat: since I’m more certain that genocide is immoral than I am that every single event in the universe is caused, I find that I can’t accept determinism; and, since I think that the notion that I’m morally responsible for actions that I was determined to perform by events that occurred long before I was born is incoherent, I find that I can’t accept compatibilism; therefore, I’m left with a very tentative acceptance of libertarian freedom (LF).

While I concede that I can’t formulate an intelligible notion of LF beyond ‘whatever sort of freedom is necessary for moral responsibility,’ that’s not the same as concluding that the notion itself is unintelligible, as I would say is the case with compatibilist freedom (though the fact that I can’t intelligibly conceive of LF may indeed count as evidence of its ultimate unintelligibility). The former requires only my bafflement, while the latter requires a demonstration of incoherence.

Now the notion that we’re ‘somehow’ free in ‘the sense moral responsibility requires’, but not in this or that particular sense, doesn’t amount to a terrifically substantive position. Alas, it’s as far as I’ve gotten. But we might make the position a bit more tenable by presenting one sort of argument that might be used to support it. So, if we consider the following ‘transcendental’ argument form,

(1) Some phenomenon P obtains
(2) C is a necessary condition of P
(3) Hence, C

we might formulate an argument for LF as follows:

(1′) We are morally responsible for our actions
(2′) Having LF is a necessary condition of moral responsibility
(3′) Hence, we have LF

I think that most of us would concede that (1′) is true (if not in argument, then minimally in action — if you treat someone who claims to reject the notion of moral responsibility unjustly, chances are he’ll let you know that your treatment was unjust, and so we can say he ‘dispositionally’ believes in moral responsibility); hence, the controversial premise is (2′), and the primary difficulty with it is formulating a notion of LF that’s both coherent and capable of sufficiently latching on to the individual person in a way as to make sense of moral responsibility. Since I cannot yet provide that formulation of LF, I remain a mere tentative libertarian.

OK, now it’s your turn!

Eric DeJardin is currently studying for the BA (Hons) in Philosophy with the University of London International Programme. He is a former student of Dr Geoffrey Klempner.

Bill asked:

What is the philosophy that teaches:

I heard of this theory recently but i would like to learn more about it. It seems like a better version of the biblical ‘Do unto others’.

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

These are ostensibly two different principles, and not different versions of the same principle.

The first, ‘Do what you like without impacting others’ is a version of J.S. Mill’s Liberty Principle expounded in his book On Liberty (1869).

The second, ‘Do unto others as you would them do unto you’ is known as the Golden Rule, taken from the New Testament, Christ’s Sermon on the Mount.

In his Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals (1785) Kant noted that his Categorical Imperative — in the first formulation, ‘Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law’ — is an improved version of the idea underlying the Golden Rule beause it takes away any suggestion of a merely ’empirical’ motivation. Someone who just doesn’t care about what others ‘do unto them’ would be capable of any action, if the only rule governing ethics was the Golden Rule. It can’t be a merely empirical matter of fact, whether you ‘care’ or not. Reason alone determines the right action, according to Kant.

Mill was consciously adding to Kant, in enunciating his Liberty Principle. Mill is concerned with actions which we are tempted to do for the betterment of others. It is said that people don’t always know what is in their best interests, and in that case we have to make decisions for them — using the law, if necessary. This is the seemingly altruistic notion that Mill is concerned to contest.

On a possible reading of Kant, using the law to enforce behaviour which is in a person’s own best interests — for example, a law against marijuana, or a law which requires the wearing of seat belts — is consistent with the Categorical Imperative, but inconsistent with Mill’s Liberty Principle.

As is often the case in philosophy, things are not so simple. Mill stated in his essay Utilitarianism (1863) that he was following Kant’s idea of the Categorical Imperative in enunciating the Greatest Happiness Principle, and there is insufficient evidence that he fundamentally changed his view in the six years between the two essays. It could be argued that restricting another person’s freedom, even for benevolent motives, goes against the Categorical Imperative. On the other hand, it is not at all clear that examples like probibited drugs, or seat belts, are cases where people only hurt themselves. Drug use does impact non-drug users, and drivers or passengers injured because they didn’t wear seat belts divert the valuable resources of hospitals and medical services.

The key point for Mill is that individuality is an essential ingredient in human happiness, and must be protected at all costs, even at the price of allowing people to sometimes make bad judgements which cause harm to themselves. You can argue with someone, but you can’t physically interfere. A human being must be free to attempt ‘experiments in living’ as Mill calls it. It is in making a unique life for ourselves that we exercise our highest capacities.

For Kant, the most important thing about a human being is the faculty of
rationality. In another formulation of the Categorical Imperative, human beings ought to act ‘as law making members of the Kingdom of Ends’. The moral laws we live by are discovered by reason, and reason alone.

It could be argued that these ideas, when pursued to the limit, are inconsistent. If the capacity for reason alone constitutes the human essence, then we are all somehow ‘the same’. If our essence is individuality, then we are each of us uniquely different, and the better for it. But perhaps both can be true: for it is our very capacity to create an individual life that defines what all human beings — or indeed all rational beings — have in common.

http://www.philosophypathways.com/vita.html

Jenny asked:

Will you please explain the importance and process of keeping a personal philosophical journal/ notebook?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

Thank you for this question, Jenny, I was hoping someone would ask!

Keeping a philosophical notebook is of paramount importance. — Will that do? Perhaps not without further explanation. I have to make the case for my claim that keeping a philosophical notebook is of paramount importance, just as one has to do for every claim in philosophy.

On the face of it, the injunction to keep a notebook is just a piece of practical advice, not a philosophical claim. If the advice works for you, then that’s OK, if it doesn’t then that’s also OK. But I think there’s more to it than that. Philosophy — the ‘art of reason’ as Jonathan Barnes calls it — is also the art of memory: ‘assembling reminders for a particular purpose’ (Wittgenstein Philosophical Investigations Para 126).

I just looked up the quote in Google to check the paragraph number (faster than picking up the book and searching through it) and came upon an old entry in my Glass House Philosopher notebook, the first time I had attempted to keep up a philosophical notebook online:

“One lesson that has been drummed into me from my years of study is that philosophy is about remembering. Socrates disdained the written word because it destroyed the skill of memory. With a text in front of you, you can go back to remind yourself of the key points in the argument. Listening to a philosopher speak, you have to concentrate. You have to keep your mind traversing a narrow ledge, taking in the words, thinking about them, mapping and re-mapping the structure of the argument. Wittgenstein said ‘The work of the philosopher consists in assembling reminders for a particular purpose’. He was talking about the way problems arise because we don’t look at the whole picture. We look at one bit, then forget.” (Page 4, 23rd August 1999).

The context of that notebook entry is about a practical problem, how to ‘be a better husband and father’, which has implications for philosophy and philosophical counselling. That’s a discussion for another occasion. The point I was making is about the virtue of memory. Writing on a regular basis focuses the mind, makes you aware of connections that you might otherwise have forgotten. It’s not a substitute for memory, but rather a way of forcing yourself to put the scattered memory fragments together.

One piece of advice that I have taken from Wittgenstein is ‘don’t look back’. This is how he worked. Each time he opened a new page, he tried to think about the problem he was working on afresh. He didn’t constantly reference what he had written last week, or last month or year. But the evidence of the journey one has taken to get to this point is there, and there will come a time when you need to refresh your memory, or perhaps take something you wrote and argue against it.

Now let’s talk practical matters:

What sort of notebook? A cheap one, preferably. You don’t want to be too precious about it. Spiral bound, so that you can tear out a single page without other pages falling out. And not too thick, so that you have the pleasure of starting a new notebook more often.

The alternative is to keep a blog. I like to cover all bases, keeping up a blog (the latest are my Sophist and Metaphysical Journal) and carrying a notebook with me at all times. After various experiments, I hit upon the idea of using plain Filofax sheets (buy a six-hole punch) folded in a piece of leather or plastic and held together with a money clip. When you come home from your philosophical walk, you take out the page you’ve written on and put it in your Filofax. Job done.

http://www.philosophypathways.com/vita.html

Joyce asked:

Give three examples of how academic philosophy is useful in the contemporary world.

Answer by Massimo Pigliucci

Let me begin by questioning the question (just like any good philosopher would do!). Why should academic philosophy be useful, and what do we mean by useful anyway? It is curious that the question of utility comes up in the context of philosophy, but not of most other — arguably equally ‘useless’ — academic fields. What is the usefulness to contemporary society of, say, studying literature, or music? Indeed, even much of the research in mathematics and science (those paragons of utility) conducted within the academy, is useless, in the sense of having no practical application. Yes, scientists’ excuse for getting multi-million dollar grants is that their research may, one day, as yet yield unforeseeable pragmatic payoffs. But as a matter of historical record, it doesn’t, and at any rate, that’s not why they do it (they do it because they are genuinely curious about one arcane question or another — just like philosophers). Besides, philosophers are much less expensive.

The concept of utility itself, incidentally, is a highly philosophical one, because it presupposes a certain analysis of what we care for and why. For instance, studying philosophy in college may be ‘useful’ in the sense that it contributes to form a whole person capable of critical thinking and self reflection; or in the sense that it increases one’s chances of getting into law school (it does, by the way); or because it provides a student with ‘portable’ skills that allow for more varied and flexible employment (again, true fact).

But I take the meaning of the question to be: what practical applications in society can possibly come from the academic field of philosophy? Very well, then, I shall briefly sketch three such applications.

Perhaps the most obvious practical benefits of academic philosophy can be seen in the field of ethics. Nowadays it is increasingly rare to walk into a hospital, for instance, and not find a resident ethicist (usually referred to as a medical ethicist, or a bioethicist). This is a philosopher trained (academically) in the complexities of moral reasoning, who helps doctors, administrators and hospital staff to think through very important, and often very urgent, ethical issues. The ethicist does this by deploying her understanding of standard ethical theories (consequentialism, deontology, virtue ethics, etc.), as well as of the vast recent academic literature in the specific field of medical ethics.

More broadly, moral philosophers have contributed and continue to contribute to major debates about right and wrong in society at large. John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice, as well as Robert Nozick’s Anarchy, State and Utopia have been the reference points for discussions about justice for decades now, and philosophers continue to write about specific ethical problems (from LGBT rights to environmental issues), their papers making their way to public think tanks, policy makers and the US Supreme Court.

A second example is offered by academic research on logic, a philosophical field that has increasingly taken on an interdisciplinary connotation, with the most obvious bridges toward mathematics, computer science, and the field of Artificial Intelligence, but also law (for instance in discussions of informal logical fallacies and burden of proof). Perhaps one of the best known examples of practical applications of logic deriving from academic research is the burgeoning field of modal logic — i.e., the logics that deal with the workings of expressions such as ‘necessarily’ and ‘possibly.’ It has applications in computer science, particularly in the study of decidability (the problem of establishing whether a given formula is a theorem) and complexity (in the specific sense of estimating memory and time necessary to carry out certain computations). Another example of this sort is the applicability of linear logic to, again, computer science and mathematics, especially in areas such as analysis, algebra and topology.

My last example of usefulness of academic philosophy is the emerging field of philosophical counseling. Sometimes defined as ‘therapy for the sane,’ it is actually not a type of medical therapy (like psychotherapy, or psychiatry), but rather a set of tools to allow people with a variety of life problems (concerning meaning, planning for the future, or significant changes in life conditions) to draw on philosophical resources to rationally deal with such problems. Philosophical counseling requires a PhD in philosophy, and usually a certification by an accrediting body, such as the American Philosophical Practitioners Association. Practitioners are often (but not always) academic philosophers who are also involved in research on the long terms effects of their approach. In a sense, philosophical counseling is a return to what Socrates was doing back in the streets of Athens two and a half millennia ago. But it does so while keeping up to date with the most recent developments in philosophical inquiry which may turn out to be beneficial to clients, including modern academic literature on ethics, metaphysics and aesthetics.

There are plenty of other examples of practical uses of academic philosophy (for instance the clarification of concepts pertinent to scientific research from the field of philosophy of science; or the contributions of philosophy of mind to cognitive science). However, we should always be mindful that plenty of human activities — from music to literature to philosophy — also have intrinsic value because they are the sort of thing that enriches our mental and emotional lives.

Prof Massimo Pigliucci Graduate Center & Lehman College City University of New York http://platofootnote.org

Jeffrey asked:

how does Locke solve the problem with personal identity?

Answer by Eric DeJardin

Hello, Jeffrey!

Let’s try to get clear about what ‘the problem with personal identity’ is; then, let’s look at Locke’s resolution of it.

By ‘identity’ we mean ‘numerical identity’ as opposed to ‘qualitative identity’. The difference could be illustrated like this: two cars that are indistinguishable with respect to model, parts, color etc. are said to be qualitatively identical to each other, while one of those cars at some time t is said to be numerically identical to the same car at some later time t’. And by the modifier ‘personal’, Locke is indicating that he’s concerned with the identity of a delimited class of entities, i.e. of persons. The problem, therefore, concerns the numerical identity of persons.

But what does Locke take a person to be? His stipulated answer is:

“[a person is] a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking thing, in di?erent times and places; which it does only by that consciousness which is inseparable from thinking, and…essential to it…”

So, what is it about the numerical identity of persons that’s problematic?

There are actually many problems in this area, but Locke is primarily focused on one, viz. the problem of the identity of persons over time. Essentially, Locke’s problem concerns developing a criterion of the numerical identity of persons that clarifies in virtue of what a person at one time and a person at a different time count as the same person.

Here we should draw a distinction between ‘evidential’ and ‘constitutive’ criteria of identity. Evidential criteria provide us with reasonably reliable means of determining the numerical identity of persons; hence, we might conclude that Jones today is numerically identical with the Jones who robbed the local bank years ago because ‘both’ share the same fingerprints, DNA, appearance, etc. Constitutive criteria, however, concern what in fact makes Jones identical with the person who robbed the bank, and whatever that is, it need not be adduced to defend the claim that Jones (today) is the person who robbed the bank. Evidential criteria are thus epistemological (i.e. concern how we know), while constitutive criteria are metaphysical (i.e. concern what something fundamentally is).

We can now clarify Locke’s problem: What is the constitutive criterion of the numerical identity of persons over time?

Before we explain Locke’s answer, it would be helpful to understand what motivates it, for Locke’s proposed constitutive criterion is not merely metaphysical in nature, but forensic as well. That is, Locke is primarily interested in those aspects of persistent personhood in virtue of which one is properly blameworthy or praiseworthy (both morally and legally). So, if Jones today is the same person as the Jones who robbed the bank, then we can say that the today’s Jones is guilty of that crime.

With all the necessary ground clearing out of the way, we can (finally!) present Locke’s response to the problem, viz. it is in virtue of possessing the same continuous consciousness, with its attendant memories and self-awareness and inner sense of continuity, that persons are numerically identified. But what reasons does Locke provide to support this conclusion, and should we accept them?

Locke argues that the criterion of numerical identity will vary according to what it is we’re considering. So, if we take atoms to be indivisible (as he did), then, since any particular atom is identical to itself at any point in time, it will remain the same atom as long as it exists; and, since this holds for individual atoms, it also holds for combinations of atoms, which remain the same as long as no atoms are subtracted or added to the particular combination. But living things seem to exist continuously while undergoing changes in the matter that composes them. Hence, Locke argues that it is their organization and structure, coupled with their continuous life, that serve as the constitutive criteria of the numerical identity of living things.

Since human beings are living things, they’re numerically identified as other organisms are. But can we identify the person (recall Locke’s definition above) with the human being? Locke argues that we cannot, for we can conceive of cases in which the two notions come apart. So, suppose that the consciousness, memories etc. of a criminal are somehow transferred from the criminal’s body (A) to the body of a saint (B), and vice versa; would we say that A is still the criminal, and B the saint? Locke argues that we would not, for A would lack the criminal’s memories and dispositions, and would instead be possessed of a consciousness continuous with that of the saint, with its attendant memories and dispositions; rather, since B would now be possessed of the criminal’s continuous consciousness, we’d want to say that B is now the criminal, and A the saint. But then it follows that the person is distinct from the human being, and that the former, not the latter, is the locus of moral responsibility (for although the crime was committed ‘with’ A, we would not now judge A to be the criminal, but B).

Indeed, Locke argues that the person cannot be identified with any substance, for we can similarly conceive of the same consciousness (say, the criminal’s) moving among different particulars of the same substance (e.g. from one body to another), or even among particulars of different substances (e.g. from a body to a soul). Hence, the person is to be identified with continuity of consciousness alone.

So, did Locke get it right?

Reid famously raised a problem with Locke’s account of personal identity: suppose a man at 80 can remember what he did at 40, and at 40 could remember what he did at 10, but at 80 cannot remember what he did at 10. On Locke’s account, it follows that the 10 year old and the 80 year old are identical with the 40 year old (since, in both cases, they share one continuous consciousness), but that the 10 year old is not identical with the 80 year old (since the latter has no memory of the former). Can Locke’s account handle this objection?

One response (by Quinton) involves supposing that memories count as the memories of the same person if they stand in an ancestral relation to one another, i.e. if the 80 year old remembers what he did at 40, then as long as the 40 year old remembers what the 10 year old did, the 80 year old and the 10 year old are the same person (i.e. the memories of the 10 year old are ancestors of the memories of the 80 year old via the memories of the 40 year old).

Another problem was raised by Butler: If a crucial element of Locke’s criterion of personal identity is memory, then the account seems circular, since one could only identify past memories as the memories of the same person if one presupposes that it is indeed the same person who is in possession of those memories; yet that is precisely the claim — i.e. that is the same person — that the appeal to memory is supposed to support.

Shoemaker’s response is to redefine the relevant notion of memory in an attempt to rid it of the elements that lead to the circularity. He suggests that we instead appeal to ‘quasi-memory’, which could be understood as memory sans one’s awareness of having personally experienced the recalled event. Hence, the memorial element of Locke’s account of personal identity can be redefined in terms of quasi-memory to avoid the circularity objection.

But these are standard objections with their standard responses. Again, did Locke get it right? It seems to me as if there’s one sense in which he did.

Suppose Jones not only (somehow) lost all his memories, but also the dispositions that made the act of robbing a bank possible; instead, he is now, unlike his former self, a kind, caring and law abiding person. Would you be inclined to think that the new Jones is the same person as the old Jones? One way to answer this question is to answer another, decidedly Lockean one: Would you hold the new Jones responsible for the old Jones’s actions? I suspect that you wouldn’t; but then, at least in one relevant sense, you wouldn’t take the new Jones to be the same person as the old Jones. So, while Locke may not have provided us with the necessary and sufficient conditions of persistent personhood, he seems to have developed a sufficient condition, at least in cases that directly concern moral and legal responsibility.

Eric DeJardin is currently studying for the BA (Hons) in Philosophy with the University of London International Programme. He is a former student of Dr Geoffrey Klempner.

Harvey asked:

Is there free will?

Answer by Massimo Pigliucci

It very much depends on what one means by ‘free will.’ I don’t actually like the term ‘free will’ at all. It traces back to a theological concept of contra-causal (i.e., independent of any cause) ability to make decisions, which supposedly is the get-out-of-jail-free card available to theologians who are embarrassed by the problem of evil and how to reconcile it with the alleged existence of an all-powerful and all-good god. I’m a scientist and naturalist philosopher, so I think the idea of contra-causal anything is just plain silly. I think that a much better way to talk about the subject at hand is by using the preferred term among cognitive scientists: volition, i.e. the ability of human beings (and possibly other animals) to make autonomous (not contra-causal!) decisions exercising their agency.

Either way, classically there are three fundamental ways to think about free will/ volition from a philosophical perspective: compatibilism, deterministic incompatibilism, and libertarian incompatibilism. Each comes in a variety of flavors, but we’ll stick to the fundamentals. Beginning with the second one, deterministic incompatibilism is the idea that — since the universe is deterministic (meaning, it behaves according to the laws of physics, without exceptions) — then humans are not ‘free’ to do anything at all. We have the mistaken impression that we make autonomous decisions, but that’s just an illusion. There are neither free lunches nor free will.

Libertarian incompatibilism has nothing to do with the political meaning (in the US especially) of the term ‘libertarianism.’ Rather, it affirms our sense that we are agents capable of autonomous decision making, and concludes that if this is incompatible with determinism, so much the worse for determinism. (As it turns out, though, even if the laws of nature were irreducibly stochastic — as in some interpretations of quantum mechanics — one still couldn’t have free will independently of such laws). Relatively few philosophers, and even fewer scientists, hold to this bold position, because it seems to flatly contradict much of what we have learned from science about how the world works.

Which leaves us with compatibilism. This is the idea that we can have our cake and eat it too, in a sense. Compatibilists accept that the universe is a deterministic system, but they also agree that human beings are agents with the ability of making their own decisions. How is this possible? Think of your brain, at the least in part, as a type of evolved biological machinery to make good enough decisions about your survival and reproduction. A functional human brain makes better decisions than a less functional one (e.g., compulsive gamblers, or people with different types of severe neurological damage). It also makes better decisions than the less sophisticated brains of other species, largely because we seem to be unique (on this planet) in our ability — under ideal circumstances — to reflect on the available options before actually taking a particular course of action.

In recent years I have been developing a fourth position, which you won’t find in philosophy textbooks, but here it is anyway. I call it epistemological agnosticism. It basically says that the conclusion that the universe is deterministic is metaphysical in nature, and — currently at the least — not really in line with scientific epistemology, i.e., it cannot actually be confirmed or falsified on the basis of empirical evidence. There are two reasons for this. On the one hand, the most fundamental physical theory we have so far, quantum mechanics, is both incomplete (we know this for a fact) and amenable to either deterministic or stochastic interpretations. So, determinism, contra popular conception, is not a theoretical necessity dictated by fundamental physics, yet.

On the other hand, even if physicists did come up with a fundamental deterministic theory, they still wouldn’t be able to deploy it to contribute anything meaningful to the understanding of a huge range of complex phenomena, from biological to social ones. These phenomena, of course, are compatible with fundamental physics (they better!), but it is an open question whether fundamental physics is all that is needed to explain them.

How could that possibly be? Because it is possible that there are true ’emergent properties,’ i.e., properties of natural systems that manifest themselves only at certain levels of complexity, and which cannot be reduced to lower levels of explanation (again, while being compatible with them). True, or ‘strong,’ emergence is rather unpopular these days among physicists and philosophers, but biologists and other scientists have been considering it for the simple reason that in order to explain the phenomena they are interested in they need to deploy concepts and theories at a much higher level than quantum mechanics (e.g., the theory of evolution, or a number of principles in ecology).

So, on the one hand we have a strong metaphysical claim: the universe is a deterministic system. On the other hand we have the epistemic need to deploy different theories at distinct levels of explanations of sub-systems of that very same universe (like biological organisms, ecosystems, etc.). In other words, at the moment, metaphysically speaking we are making a claim that does not align with our current epistemology. Since I think it is always a good idea to have one’s metaphysics go hand in hand with one’s epistemology, I remain agnostic about true emergence, and therefore about ‘free will’ (because human volition could be yet another example of emergent properties of matter, like phase transitions in solid state physics; or ecosystem functions in ecology). Notice that this is not an argument in favor of emergent properties, but only of their possibility. And it certainly isn’t an argument in favor of contra-causal free will: even if true emergent properties exist, they still govern causal interactions among components of a system, and still represent a type of natural law.

Prof Massimo Pigliucci Graduate Center & Lehman College City University of New York http://platofootnote.org