July 07

Free Will: The Last Gasp of the Unenlightened Mind
by Jay Michaelson
p. 2 of 2

2. Materialism is enlightenment

There are usually two consequentialist objections to the materialist refutation of free will: ethics and spirituality. These objections hold that without free will, we are amoral and mechanical. I will now argue the exact opposite: that the concept of a "real" free will, not its absence, is a detriment to ethical and spiritual progress.

a. It'll be anarchy – not.

First, the supposed moral anarchy that results from the absence of free will simply does not occur. Legally, of course, all the penalties for conduct judged to be improper remain in place; until such time as we're all so enlightened as to see that our selves do not ultimately exist, obviously conventional truth reigns in law, just as it does in our everyday lives, in which the self can often seem to matter more than anything else in the universe. And on the plane of personal ethics, moral culpability endures to the same extent as the notion of the self does. As the nondualist sage Nisargadatta said, "As long as you believe yourself to be in control, believe yourself to be responsible."

Ironically, our currently debased moral discourse is not entirely off the mark from this perspective. In the present American cultural moment, we have become accustomed to the "abuse excuse" – that childhood abuse "causes" a person to become a criminal, and thus they should, perhaps, get an easier ride. In fact, this is just an extreme and radically oversimplified version of all of our everyday urges and motivations. Your decision to steal or not to steal is also "caused" by your childhood – for most Zeek readers, by a moral education which taught us to despise stealing, or to appreciate its negative consequences for ourselves and others – as well as, of course, a myriad other causes and conditions. The claim of the "abuse excuse" is simply that the abuse in question is so strong as to override all the other (potentially good) motives in a person's mind, even that of rational moral action; it's one cause that defeats the ethical mind itself. A simplification, of course, but perhaps a useful one; after all, isn't the point that the "ethical mind" is only a product of causes and conditions?

Legally, the question is different. Put generally, it is whether the mitigating circumstances are so extreme that they warrant a departure from our usual social norm, which is that no motivation justifies certain kinds of acts, such as murder. Generally we only do this when, again, we believe that moral agency is itself absent, though it's interesting in this regard to note the French exception for "crimes of passion," which can absolve even murderers of responsibility if their acts were committed in the heat of passion – e.g., when a man discovers his wife in bed with another man. Usually, however, while we all have urges to commit immoral acts, we still believe that people must repress them or face the consequences. Too bad that the gambling addict was stealing to feed his addiction, or the welfare mother to feed her kids; stealing is stealing.

All this structure remains completely untouched with "free will" deleted from the equation. All that is happening is that our society is stating that some urges are to be respected more than others. If you are so unlucky as to possess an inadequate moral conscience, well, you will spend time in jail. And of course, we hope that the threat of doing so helps influence your decision. No metaphysics are needed, and the change in metaphysics does not lead to a degradation in morality or ethics.

On the contrary, it leads to a refinement in our understanding and a more rational framework for punishment. The criminal justice system, as legal philosophers observe, addresses several different, and often competing needs: public safety (deterrence falls within this category), retribution, rehabilitation, and compensation, to name a few. Outside the legal academy, our popular thinking confuses all of these. Sometimes, for example, we claim that our prison system is a "department of corrections," which would mean that those strategies which best work to rehabilitate a criminal should be selected. But then we hear that prisoners should "get what they deserve," which would mean that those strategies which best work to express our societal outrage at the crime should be selected.

Throughout, the conversation is, naturally, shot through with emotion – which is itself, for many theorists and non-theorists alike an integral part of the justice system. A founding myth of the Western justice system is Aeschylus's Oresteia, in which the vengeful Furies are entombed right beneath Athens' court system, both neutralizing them and, in a sense, institutionalizing them as well. Today, with "victim impact statements" and emotional jury presentations, it's understood that emotions are intended to play some role in the justice system.

What would a justice system look like if it were animated by an understanding that the self has conventional truth only? A light example is probably the best place to start. When someone cuts me off in traffic, most of the time I get angry at them, cursing at them and judging them for being inconsiderate, rude, etc. On the rare occasions in which my more enlightened mind is present at the wheel, I understand that they were just doing as they must, just as my anger is doing what it must, and the whole clogged traffic artery is doing what it must as well. [The article Shakey: An Essay on Anger is devoted entirely to this point.] Again, I'm rarely so enlightened – but when I am, it's obvious that I've got a more truthful, and wiser, perspective on the incident than when I'm ascribing blame. Does that mean that a traffic violator shouldn't get a ticket? Of course not. It just means that the law should be applied in the way that best promotes public safety – not the way that does what I want, which is to teach that motherf--cker a lesson he won't forget, goddamit.

Likewise, in more serious matters, imagine what it would look like if the criminal justice system were primarily oriented around preventing crime, as opposed to preventing crime and meeting our need for vengeance. To be clear, I'm not proposing any of these reforms actually be implemented today, because if our "need for vengeance" is left unmet, even greater harms might result. Rather, I'm suggesting that, if it were only possible to slowly, over time, work to lessen the intensity of those needs, we would end up with a more effective system of justice, not a less effective one. Our myths of free will aren't helping; they're hurting.

b. The machine without the ghost

The second consequentialist argument for free will is that without it, we are like machines. No one wants to be dehumanized, and, so the argument goes, that's just what all this materialist mechanizing does: it reduces us to biological instruments, with no spark of the Divine – or, in semi-secular terms, no human soul.

As longtime readers of this column know, I see this argument as theologically backward: the last gasp of the unenlightened mind, as I've titled this essay. If only we were able to release the need to see ourselves as separate from the rest of the cosmos! The autonomous soul isn't the gateway to God; it's the gateway to delusion. This is precisely the yetzer hara, the selfish, separating and, occasionally, evil inclination that sees the self as the center of the universe. Whereas, when I'm able to see, just a little bit, that my choices and feelings are the results not of my autonomous "free will" but of a vast Indra's net of causes and conditions, the overwhelming majority of which I cannot know – not only a sense of perspective, but also a sense of peace, can arise.

It should be clear that I'm not approaching this subject from the detached perspective of the nondual theologian. This is how I feel. For example: I've led an interesting and unconventional life, with lots of different interests and stages and careers that at time feel incommensurate even to me. Sometimes I look at the choices I've made and feel a sense of gratitude and joy that I was able to make them. Other times, I feel great sadness, doubt, and confusion over not having a sense of mission, a feeling of "yes, this is the one thing I want to do." Sorting it all out keeps me busy, and my therapist employed; it's an important part of my practice, and I've learned a lot. But when this sadness arises, the worst thing in the world for me to do is try to figure out the causes and rake myself over the coals yet again. The only path that has worked for me, other than distraction, is to pass through what I call the "gate of sadness" into a place of equanimity and clear seeing. This is the great koan of "shit happens:" that sometimes, sadness arises. It stays. It passes. It has nothing to do with "me" or my "free will," it's just part of the causes and conditions. And no, it doesn't feel good, and I can't make it feel any different than it is – least of all with the pathetic self-delusions of conscious intention and the laws of attraction. It will be what it will be – ehyeh asher ehyeh– and my choice is simply what to do about it.

Sometimes, the conditions are present for me to allow it, appreciate it, and even enjoy it, in the same way one enjoys a sad song or a delicate flavor of food. Other times, different conditions predominate, and I can't make it work – in which case there's that much more to allow. "Stopping the war has no limits," as one of my teachers once said. There's always more to let go. In either case, the delusion of free will doesn't help. It doesn't help me remember that I can make choices – I know that already, thanks. It doesn't accurately describe my experience or my history. And it certainly doesn't help me create a sense of intimacy with my God. It just makes me feel alone – and erroneously so.

Part of me hears that Jewish objection already brewing: "But if you just let go, aren't you detaching from the world? What about tzedek, or tikkun olam?" Well, since it's a Jewish objection, I'll answer the question with another question: Which perspective is more likely to lead to pursuing justice, one centered on my self and my needs, or one which sees the arising of “my needs” as just one more strand within a web of causes and conditions – a web often given the name of God? I don't know about you, but I'm a lot less selfish when I'm not self-centered; it seems like a tautology, really.

Sure, too much equanimity can lead to a kind of ethical laziness; I accept, I accept, I accept, especially if I'm not paying the bill. But is that really equanimity? If we're really serious about looking closely at the mind, then, it seems to me, a lot of what passes for equanimity and balance – not to mention "realism" – is actually selfishness in disguise. Detaching from the delusion of free will isn't detaching from the world; it's attaching oneself to it, and that makes ignoring its suffering in the name of domestic tranquility all the more difficult.

Yes, it's clear that in the Jewish tradition, there are many examples of self-oriented people using their self-assertion to better the world, from Abraham arguing with God to Soviet refuseniks bravely asserting their individual rights. But there are just as many contemplatives who look clearly at themselves and the world, and find themselves compelled to act, from the Mother Teresas of the world to the volunteers in your neighborhood soup kitchen. Outside the Jewish world, this is the whole point of the Bodhisattva: that s/he becomes liberated from delusion first, and then turns back to the world. The Bodhisattva isn't someone who stares liberation in the face and says, "no thanks, I'd rather help people." It's someone who stares, is liberated, and then, from the place of non-self, the node of being known as the Bodhisattva functions as a kind of unobstructed compassion-machine. That's the miracle of contemplative practice: that when you are fully honest, without the delusion – you're compassionate without trying. It's from there, not some kind of stiff-necked, argumentative, wrestling-with-God-because-really-I'm-sticking-up-for-my-ego rejection of nirvana for samsara.

As for me personally, I find that my tendency to evaluate things in terms of how good they are for Jay hinders, rather than helps, my advocacy. Whether I'm working on behalf of sexual minorities or environmental causes (the two areas where I do the most of my own social justice work), I find that the ego is not much help at all. It tends to make me want to make lots of money, instead of toil in the service of this supposedly noble ideal, which, my ego cynically reminds me, is really just me trying to feel better about myself. It causes me to balance the "good feelings" I get from changing people's lives against renovating the bathroom in my house – completely omitting from the calculus the well-being of everyone else in the universe. You tell me: is the idea of self helping here, or hurting?

Nor is this erasure of the self an erasure of individuality. Letting go of the delusion of free will doesn't mean that, beforehand, I'm a creative, idiosyncratic, lusting person and afterwards I'm a null. Everything still arises; it's just seen for what It is, rather than what it isn't. This is why some of the most enlightened teachers around today are still very much Brooklyn Jews, or British contrarians, or whatever their histories have shaped them into being. They may not even seem nice at first, and I'm sure that sadness and anger still arise. Only the phonies are always smiling – don't believe a word they say.

"What about free will?" we are asked. Well, what about it: it's an illusion of the well-functioning brain, a trick of the mind, and oftentimes the joke's on you. Let go of it; you've got nothing to lose, and Nothing to gain. And there's a big difference between nothing and Nothing, even though I can't quite tell you what it is.