On agency, responsibility, and the myth of free will; or, How to get a little depressed and be pretty okay with it

Well, that’s a hell of a blog title, even by my usual standards…

To provide a bit of context: One of my greatest skills in life is my apparent knack for associating with intelligent people willing to challenge me. Depending on the day, this skill feels more like an ability to put up with intelligent people insistent on challenging me, but I digress… A while ago, before dedicating time to school things, this knack was demonstrated through a conversation about Remembrance Day; specifically, a discussion on how much responsibility can be allocated to soldiers for the harm in which they are complicit, or the harms associated with the military organization more generally (the apparent prevalence of sexual assault, for example). We came to realize that we had fundamentally different conception of personal agency and power. All in all, the discussion made for a welcome addition to my Tuesday.

I’ve had to come back to this post a few times now, intent to give myself ample opportunity to work through my own assumptions on the matter of agency, responsibility, and free will. So be forewarned: if you keep reading, that’s what you’re in for.

You may want to eat some chocolate, if that option is available to you. I find it often helps me to deal with existentialist ramblings, so maybe it’ll help you, too.

People are ultimately and necessarily flawed

People are a curious kind of animal, but ultimately animals. We sleep, eat, procreate, and flock to bodies of water. We like to consider ourselves to be somewhat special, in that we’re the only species for which we have abundant evidence to suggest that we possess reason. And don’t get me wrong — that’s pretty cool. I’m ultimately a fan of all the weird and wonderful ways people talk about how we sleep, eat, procreate, and flock to bodies of water. We, as a species, have this fantastic capacity to add this veneer of civilization and consciousness to our daily decisions. It’s downright swell.

But for all that we have managed some amazing stuff — we build tall things, practice math, and put, like, all of the porn from all over the world all over the internet — we still experience the world in some fundamentally animalistic ways. That’s not bad, it’s just limiting. Our sensory organs only perceive so much, we’ve seemingly evolved in such a way that we fear snakes but trust cars, and our brains – our beautiful, elaborate, meaty brains – can only do so much. I really can’t emphasize enough that this isn’t a bad thing. I suspect that, ultimately, our limits are what define and develop us as a species; as a people. We are known for being adaptive and perceptive. The vast array of narratives and interpretations of art that we have available are, I suspect, strongly connected to our need to perceive and process things in a limited, individualistic way. But for all the benefits and accomplishments that are related to how we see and assess the world, it still leaves us ultimately flawed when it comes to trying to understand big things. Things like how to change the world, how the universe works, or how cause is related to effect.

Individuals vs. society, and vice versa

Each and every one of us live primarily as individuals. After all, our consciousness is more or less stuck within this one body dealing with one set of sensory organs,  one linear lifespan, and a tendency to sleep for a good chunk of that life. Thus, insofar as we have control over anything, we seemingly have control over our physical/personal selves. That is to say, when we hunger, we can wield a knife to cut ingredients to make a delicious sandwich, and then proceed to consume said sandwich. Agency in action! It’s a beautiful thing.

This conception of individual control (that is, agency) becomes less straightforward once we consider ourselves as agents operating within a given environment, a given society, and even a specific corporeal form. We eat a sandwich because we grew up in a Western environment in which sandwiches are a fairly normal lunch food. The sandwich ingredients we have available are partially determined by our socioeconomic class which shapes our access to given foods; our ingredient selection is also determined by our geographical location and the season. We eat a sandwich because we’re hungry; that hunger is central to our experience and existence, but is not directly under our control. We cannot choose to ignore or eliminate our hunger; we can only feed it and delay its effects a while.

All this is to say that the extent of our control is seldom as clear-cut as we would like to believe. The real world is messy, and people are often faced with circumstances that cannot and will not align to their optimal performance or preferred practices. Again, I find myself needing to emphasize that this is not a bad thing. The fact that we function at all given the complexity of the world and the overwhelming influence of external factors is really quite remarkable. It’s also daunting and baffling. Or at least, it is to me.

So, where does society fit into this? Society (and culture) is a multifaceted and all-encompassing external factor. At the same time, it is fairly unique in that it is dynamic and collaborative. We are as much the product of our society as we are producing it. This always kind of trips me out. Society is one of those things we all seem to be able to grasp and discuss with relative ease even though it’s essentially impossible to nail-down and define. I don’t think I exactly have a main point on this matter; I just want to emphasize how curiously confusing such a central aspect of one’s existence is. It’s seriously trippy.

Military collectivism within an individualistic society

It seems necessary to mention that the way the individual interacts with their society is going to be affected in no small way depending on if they are part of an individualistic or a collectivist society. There are, of course, many other elements and even subcultures to account for, but I’m already rambling to excess, so let’s decidedly ignore those factors for now.

As discussed, we are products of our society. Being social animals, we pick up cues about how to act in order to operate within society and, ideally, reap the benefits that society emphasizes (diversification/specialization of labour, collaborative effforts, love and affection). I suspect I would do a terrible job of summarizing individualistic and collectivist societies, so I’m just going to refer y’all to Wikipedia in case you would like further details on these concepts.

With this social implication, and reductive but useful social theory in mind, I have always found military society to be a bit of a curious beast. This is based on no expertise beyond one paper I wrote back in second year, so what follows is likely as much fact as fiction (I actually suspect that disclaimer should just precede, like, all of my writing).

The military is by and large considered a brotherhood; it not only encourages collectivist values but depends on them for its function. It seems to be built around the idea of a well-oiled machine; it may not always operate that efficiently, but its structure and operations definitely seem to be most analogous to factories and machinery. This element of the military interests me for a few reasons.

For one, looking south to the United States (and with distinctly rosy Canadian lenses on), there seems to be a particularly curious consideration in that this collectivist subculture is so central to their individualistic society. Insofar as the military can be construed as protecting the citizenry, and especially looking back to the World Wars, there is definitely this sense that individuals within this collectivist military subculture have sacrificed / are willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of an individualistic society and individualistic freedoms. This is fascinating on a few fronts; specifically, it is a definite overlap and complement of seemingly contradictory ideals, and it seems to glorify military members while still othering military principles.

Secondly, I find it interesting that a collectivist subculture thrives despite counting on individuals, from an individualistic society, while putting them in extreme conditions. As I understand it, part of how the military accounts for this is to always have multiple people with the same job so as to a) rely on peer pressure and b) have a suitable amount of contingencies covered. I find it quite interesting to consider the elements that need to be addressed when operating as a collectivist model and relying on the pressures and incentives that model offers while still needing to explicitly and excessively account for the action (or inaction) of individuals.

It’s worth noting that, as memory serves, military culture and non-military society are becoming increasingly detached. Referring back to that second year paper of mine, I recall reading that it used to be that there were more points of connection between military members and society at large. Those connections are becoming increasingly distant and removed. Most of us will have an older relative who served, but we’re less likely to know a peer who is an active member. Military families are increasingly, well, military families; they associate with other military families rather than civilian families. This is relevant because it means that general society has less access to military culture, and vice versa. This disconnect leads to a lack of empathy and humanity both ways. Not insurmountably so, but this seems to contribute to our tendency to honor or vilify military action in such a black and white fashion; we all too often see the military and its members as somehow distinct and different instead of as fellow human beings being human in a distinct set of circumstances. As I alluded to earlier, there seems to be a special kind of othering that is becoming increasingly prominent in our conception of the military and its members. This may be unavoidable, but it certainly seems significant. Considering the central role the military still plays in civilian life and conceptions of our society, it seems critical to consider how military and civilian societies interact, overlap, and understand each other.

Discussion of military culture is something of a tangent, but I felt it critical to consider it as a sort of case study and open question regarding how our agency (agencies?) are practiced in different spheres. Military culture stands out for its explicit promotion of, and reliance on, a sense of brotherhood and community ties. In such a context, what role can the individual play? What sense of individual identity and responsibility can flourish? And what moral justifications can be found (if any) to the value of minimizing those individualistic tendencies in light of the apparent need for collectivist priorities and drives?

The environmental restrictions on action

And so we come back, somewhat abruptly, to the overarching topic at hand: how do environmental, social, and external factors define our actions and to what extent to these considerations define and/or negate our capacity for agency, responsibility, and free will?

Let’s get real here: I’m not going to be able to answer this question. I find it satisfactory and beneficial to assert and assess my own assumptions, and you’ve obviously made it this far, dear reader, so we shall carry on despite the absurdity and ineffective nature of this asymmetrical conversation. It just seems worthwhile to remind that this is primarily a self-indulgent exercise, just in case you had gotten your hopes up or something.

It seems that our actions and the limits thereof do not act exactly in opposition to external factors but rather alongside or through them. After all, on the most basic level, to act at all requires an actor and an object to act upon. The object of our action may be a physical object (a sandwich), a physical component of the self (an arm), or even a dimension (even the action of thought could be stated as acting or relying on a progression of time). I bring this up so as to emphasize that for all that we are limited by external factors, we are also empowered by them. Agency and action, like so many things, requires a balance of seemingly contradictory forces. But I feel like I’m starting to get to an aspect of my personal philosophy which requires its own post, so I’ll try not to dwell on this too much. Put more simply (and relevantly), we do not act entirely despite or against external factors; our capacity to act at all requires acting in congruence with external factors.

This is where my fundamental confusion and reluctance regarding individual agency and responsibility comes to light: individual action seems to be paradoxically impossible, so what can responsibility or agency even mean? It seems like a silly question, I know; after all, people do things all the time. I’m doing stuff right now. Sitting here, drinking coffee, blathering on the internet… obviously, quite regularly, there is a confluence of individual drive and external capacity that line up so that everything that has ever happened can and does happen.

The ethical compulsion to act

As discussed previously, we seemingly live our lives limited to one body, one timeline, yada. Insofar as we have any control, we have control over ourselves. I find it hard to make an argument for the compulsion to act as an individual because it seems so self-evident to me — if all a person can do to express and practice their existence is act within a given realm, then there is a seemingly necessary drive to act to the full extent those limits allow. The ethical aspect of that compulsion seems just as apparent to me — if a person is, more or less, the cumulation of their experiences, then insofar as they can affect those experiences and be an agent in their own existence, there is an ethical argument for accessing as much free action as one can, so that one can be defined by a fuller range and more self-directed range of experiences. I hate to suggest anything to be self-evident, but it seems so obvious to me that I really don’t know how to break it down any further. Maybe one day I’ll figure out how to elaborate, but that day is not today.

Basically, when you can only do so much, it seems you’d want to do every damn thing you can.

This becomes a challenge once we concern ourselves with those limitations and mitigating factors that we previously discussed. If we admit that we are creatures with a nigh comically limited impact — as I am, at this point, obviously inclined to do — what do we do when faced with circumstances beyond our capacity to change? To even affect or nudge? Wars, systematic prejudice, even the weight of bureaucratic administration… all these things seem to quite obviously fall outside of the range of what we can affect as individuals. And yet, seeing as they (and so many other external factors) so critically impact our personal experience, there seems an easy argument against inaction. That is, considering how much our individual opportunity to act is impacted by external factors (for example, we can’t very well make ourselves a sandwich if the ingredients are rationed or unavailable due to trade restrictions), we are compelled to try and impact our environment beyond what we can possibly affect so that we might reestablish a more reasonable level of control over our own actions.

So what do we do? We attempt to act in tandem with others in hopes that together we might accomplish what individually we cannot.

The compulsion to act in coordination with others

This is yet another case where the obvious and plausible solution is not so obvious nor plausible when one tries to dig into it. We act with and through others all the time — wars are fought, protests are demonstrated, classes are attended, families break bread together. Generally, we manage to make things happen, and my general experience is that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My hesitation and confusion comes down to this — how do we get the ball rolling on tandem action?

Like so many discussions of cause and possibility, it comes down to a fairly arbitrary and unprovable threshold. As stated, it is possible to make tandem action take place, insofar as it does happen, so it must happen. But the matter of actually making it happen is a whole ‘nother matter. Especially when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds, how can a person act individually so as to initiate or facilitate tandem action?

I really don’t know what to say on this one. I think it has something with the fact that we so often ignore or minimize the limits of our experience. We believe ourselves free and capable, and thus we manage to do things that seem completely illogical but nonetheless necessary and critical. This matter seems to be most often brought up in the case of (nationalistic) wars, specifically Nazi Germany and WWII. Some seem to have the sense that the people can stand up to the state, and to each other, in order to enact change. Although theoretically possible, especially seeing as any war is still primarily carried by human resources, I wonder how anyone could be expected to initiate such a level or organized objection. When bombarded with propaganda, or watching other dissidents suffer, or when the well-being of your own family is on the line, I can’t imagine the level of bravery (and/or self-deception) required to just…. speak honestly with a fellow citizen about your objections to how things are going. And even once you get that one person on your side, how do you organize a wider swath of people? Every conversation in this case puts your life, and the life of others, on the line again. It sounds terrifying.

Now, this doesn’t entirely get people off the hook. I would hate to argue that somehow one’s own family’s lives and well-being are ever ethically superior to other lives (this is likely where my neo-Kantian leanings shows the most blatantly). But by and large, I think we all understand the pressing emotional impact associated with concern for our loved ones, and generally think that it is a desirable good that people be allowed to create and maintain such personal bonds. Particularly in circumstances where we feel like success is slim, it is harder to justify putting the lives of loved ones on the line even if we recognize the necessity or preferability of pursuing the action that would put them in danger, or even if we recognize that they are in danger already. Basically, emotions be beautiful and damning things. It is part of our precious humanity that we are motivated by emotional impulses, and it is defensible that we should heed their impact even at the expense of the “greater good”.

But, as I said, this doesn’t entirely get people off the hook. Despite my neo-Kantian leanings, I do believe it is important to distinguish between morally correct and morally defensible. The morally correct thing to do, even in the face of insurmountable odds, is often to act despite. This is why we celebrate people who have done exactly that; because we seem to recognize it as the best or preferable way to act (the example of Tank Man comes to mind). But within that same tendency towards celebration, we betray our recognition of it as an outstanding act — we don’t actually expect people to regularly act in this way. This suggests that we either generally think of people as bad and immoral (thus disinclined to act morally), or that we see them as generally good but limited (thus inclined but often unable to act morally). I fall into this latter category.

Bringing this back to a situation such as war, my general feeling is that getting caught up in war efforts and actions, even ones that are immoral (I specifically have in mind killing for a cause that you don’t believe in), are morally defensible even though they are not morally correct. It’s just too easy to see the challenges and absurdity in standing against such overwhelming environmental forces. I will always celebrate the person who manages to stand against this onslaught; but I will equally pity and forgive the ones that do not.

Hm, or maybe reading 1984 just shook me up too much. That’s always a possibility.

The benefit of the myth of free will and the need to believe ourselves capable

I’d like to come back to a critical previous point — that maybe we are able to act, especially with others, specifically because we decidedly ignore the apparent absurdity of doing so. Especially considering the significant impact of thought and belief on our social reality (money, religion, language…), it seems that our beliefs have the power to greatly influence our reality. And more critically, large actions seem to follow from small actions. Considering how easy it is to talk ourselves out of action, it strikes me that choosing to act despite the odds is the only way anything ever gets done. It’s the logic of how you miss all the shots you don’t take; or how creativity is mostly a willingness to fail; or how you may not succeed if you try, but you’ve already failed if you don’t. Oh goodness, now I’m basically quoting inspirational cross stitch and chain letters…. But maybe this is why these sentiments permeate as much as they do. Because, sometimes, we have to take chances, even when they seem impossible. And sometimes, we just need to make a sandwich, and ignore all the meals we don’t even think of making. It’s really quite handy, when you get down to it. Our natural drives, whether it be providing for our corporeal forms or deciding to act despite the limitations, occasional manage to get things done despite the environmental forces that can all too easily beat us down and wear us out.

This may seem at a glance to contradict a lot of what I’ve just said. This is both simultaneously my point and also not at all my point. On the one hand, I am intending to highlight the contradiction between reality as we might reason it to be versus how we actually experience it to be. It’s sort of bizarre that we can admit to our limited natures and yet still strive against those limits; one can, after all, only struggle against one’s bonds by first acknowledging, on some level, that they exist. On the other hand, it seems to be a critical and beneficial human capacity that we can handle such contradictions without allowing them to overrule our pragmatism. This is likely related to many of the points I’ve brought up, specifically our limited perception and the necessity of acting both through and against environmental influences.

The contradictions between my philosophy and my practice

For all that I happily sit here and wax philosophic about the absurdity of reality and agency, nonetheless, I admit that my own experience and knowledge contradicts my logic here. People regularly manage astounding things. As I suspect as already been said by people more eloquent and educated than I, there is a necessary duality to our own self-conception in that we may logically deduce that action is impossible, and yet, we decide and mange to act despite. It’s beautiful, really — we deceive ourselves in so many ways, and these deceptions are critical to our capacity to participate in any sort of shared reality. We constantly, albeit often unconsciously, decide to agree that we aren’t dreaming, that our statistically insignificant existences matter, and that our form of consciousness makes us special. And that trips me out, but also makes me feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. Sometimes, you just have to revel in the absurdity of your own existence.

Conclusion

Well, insofar as this was intended to give me the opportunity to work through my own paradigm and assumptions, I think I’ve identified the following beliefs:

• People are necessarily and perfectly flawed.
• Our reality is primarily driven by our limited knowledge and experience (specifically by way of those limitations, not despite them).
• Inaction is morally defensible but not morally correct.
• We act despite the rational justification for action; we act because we can overlook the absurdity of our existence and decide to act against what can be reasoned
• Emotions are important, and they ought to be defended and celebrated, both in how they allow us to relate to one another and in how they motivate us to act.
• Sandwiches are delicious.

Some of these I already knew, or suspected, about my own paradigm. It is still immensely satisfying to work through them and their interactions, though. Even if only doing so through such a self-indulgent ramble such as this.

Thanks for sticking with it. Or for being honest with yourself and skipping to the conclusion.