An Exercise on Free Will

Edited from “1/18/23 – An Exercise on Free Will”

In his 2012 essay ‘Free Will’, Sam Harris describes the causal nature of impulses (which lead to actions) as a logical argument against the concept of Free Will (in the vulgar sense).

I believe this is as good an argument as any; however, his examples posed in the essay extend only one or two layers backward in causality. He then effectively ends each exercise with “I Don’t Know”.

That all generally expresses his point: that the causal nature of the occurrence of thoughts is a result of phenomena beyond our conscious control. However, I foresee an individual reading these pieces of rhetoric and thinking, mistakenly, “You do not know because there, at THAT point, is where your free will lies! Or, that is where God lies.”

As an exercise of Harris’ logic, I want to create another example but this time take it beyond the scope of what he had written, ad nauseum. The intention is for this to be a clearer assertion of his main point, which is logically sound but, in my opinion, poorly conveyed.

Our best examples are those of whims, or preferences, which I (like Harris) assert are causal and can be traced backward further than he put forth:

When I go to a restaurant I’ve never been before, I had a long-standing tradition (a preference) to order the same sandwich if available: a french dip.

I once had also included a chicken-bacon-ranch sandwich as a preference, but after experience a particularly terrible CBR, I am dispositioned (causally) to associate them with that disgust, and so I am not free to choose it. (Because to do so would be to choose against my conscious and unconscious predisposition). The nature of why I cannot, now aware of this causality, choose a CBR out of spite of this, we will address later.

I have a preference for the french dip because I have enjoyed it immensely previously (My enjoyment of the flavor and texture are a predisposition of my biology, which I did not choose). That continual good luck in receiving an acceptable french dip regardless of the establishment has created an impression that generally all french dips are good (a statistical illusion now codified into my unconscious mind).

The cause of my first french dip (although the memory of my first now escapes me) was almost certainly due to the funny name. During my adolescence, I sought anything different due to a desire for individuality which is common to all (Western) human beings, typically at that age. (A partly biological and partly abstract phenomenon of the general human condition, again not created by me.) 

I suspect there may have been a repressed sexual expression in the decision as well, for the name “French Dip” invoked to my pubescent mind naked french women swimming off the coast of Normandy. This romanticism of european “indecency” I would attribute to my reading near that time of “All Quiet on the Western Front” and the description of soldiers sneaking away for comfort among the horror of war. The tendency for this idea to have become romanticized can be attributed both to my experience with puberty and budding sexuality (biological), as well as an identification with the desire to be held and loved away from hardship, which is an ingrained aspect of human nature (again, not of my choosing)

Find me anyone who has chosen to be both horny and lonely.

The thought of becoming an individual defined by a preference for a sandwich with a funny sounding name is enough on its own, but there came the additional delight of an experience that is different from most sandwiches, and also (my experience thus far of) the culture of my peers: the sandwich, by its nature, comes with a dipping sauce which is called au jus. By learning this word and how to pronounce it, I was now learned beyond my peers, set on a trajectory of pure individuality by the might of my momentum toward an understanding of all things. Who is that mysterious man, they will say, and what on earth is that liquid in which he dunks his sandwich?

All of this desire for individuality, and the perception of competition between one’s fellow man such to inspire this petty impression of hierarchy can be shown to be a mechanism resulting from the conditions of the human brain (in the sense that they, too, are human nature, not chosen by me).

Consider that having written all of this out, and given clear labels and names to the causal nature of my preferences has “broken the illusion”, and now with this information I may be more free to choose other things. I am less bound by the causal nature of my preferences. I am a more worldly person. Perhaps I shall make peace with the chicken-bacon-ranch.

But Harris (and myself) would argue that what I have done is codified these preferences into a new causal preference: that of a self-awareness, which is now a binding condition of future options which will occur to me upon desiring a sandwich. Upon being presented with a menu, I may (should luck have me recall this exercise) choose based on this new preference, which was born as such: I read Harris’ essay, which caused me to become frustrated with the partial examples of rhetoric. This caused me to create this exercise, which caused me to purposefully reflect on the nature of my culinary preferences. This in turn caused a new array of preferences.

The causal nature of how someone becomes an insufferable ass who judges the rhetoric of others and asserts that they can do it better, to the degree of actually making the effort, remains for a future exercise.

Another recent effect on my preference awareness came from having read a compelling thought experiment about expectation and surprise, which suggested that next time you visit a restaurant, try just pointing at the menu and ordering that thing. Having your expectation validated by it being unpalletable would be an opportunity for growth in knowledge (and to be validated in your taste is a relaxing feeling) or otherwise you may be surprised with something new that you can now include in your preferences, becoming a greater participant in the entire world, one dish at a time.

So arrived at is the mantra shared by Harris, by Tolle, by the existentialists: Free Will is only a feeling. Self-Awareness is the tool by which you, ye cog complex such to vex the divine, become a greater thing. To see and accept the strings is to wrest them into a further fate wherein you shall direct a trajectory so much higher than that of your ‘free’ self.

All these causalities which created the you-in-this-moment are the tooth-clicks of the machine of reality. They are as single notes from which you are the symphony. Why should the music stop? Only because it knows what it is? If you can see now the motifs established in the first movement, then you know that now is the time to bring them back, layer them, use them, in the fugue to come.