journal article
LitStream Collection
Why Free Will is Real, by Christian List
Kaiserman,, Alex;Kodsi,, Daniel
2009 Mind
doi: 10.1093/mind/fzaa013pmid: N/A
1 Introduction Christian List’s crisp and confident new book, Why Free Will is Real, begins with its target clearly lined up in its sights: two epigraphs, from neuroscientist Sam Harris and biologist Jerry Coyne, each proclaiming that contemporary science leaves us with no option but to conclude that free will is an illusion. List’s aim in his book is to develop a naturalistic antidote to this persistent strain of scientistic free-will scepticism. The mistake the sceptics make, according to List, is to suppose that since the conditions on free action aren’t satisfied at the fundamental level, they aren’t satisfied at all. There is more to the world than just what is described by fundamental physics; insofar as the sceptics have failed to find the properties which ground free will, it’s only because they’re looking for them in the wrong place. ‘Free will and its prerequisites’, List concludes, ‘are higher-level phenomena’, and ‘no less real for that’ (p. 5, emphasis in original). We agree with List that free will is real, and that its constituents are not located at the microphysical ground floor. But we remain unconvinced, both by the account of free will presupposed in this book, and by List’s arguments that the relevant conditions are satisfied at, but only at, some ‘higher’ level. We take up these points in §§2-5, before concluding in §6 with some broader methodological reflections on the project in which List is engaged. 2 Defining Free Will List claims that his ‘primary interest in this book is free will as a capacity of an agent’ (p. 27), which he defines as ‘the capacity to act intentionally… to choose between alternative possibilities… [and] to control one’s action’ (p. 16). But a capacity is of little use without opportunities to exercise it; and on the face of it, a free-will sceptic could happily grant that we have the capacity to choose between alternative possibilities while insisting that we never actually have alternative possibilities of the relevant kind to choose between. For this reason, we think it’s better to regard List’s book as a defence of the reality of free action, which List defines in chapter 1 as follows: [A]n action is ‘freely performed’ if and only if it is intentional – that is, appropriately supported by the agent’s intentions; it is possible for the agent to do otherwise; and the action is under the agent’s causal control. (p. 28) List claims – without argument – that these conditions capture what it is to have free will ‘conventionally understood’ (p. 26, emphasis in original), in the sense presupposed by attributions of agency, deliberation and moral responsibility (p. 27). But there are large literatures challenging the necessity of each of these conditions. For example, subconscious actions, like drumming one’s fingers on the table, can seemingly be free without being intentional (Anscombe 1957); and non-causalists in the philosophy of action would presumably deny (on the basis of the possibility of deviant causal chains, for example) that acting freely requires any kind of causal connection between an agent’s intentions and their action. But most seriously, there is an extremely well-trodden path, since Frankfurt (1969), of denying that free actions are always such that the agent could have failed to perform them. Suppose that Lizzy has a chip in her brain which will intervene to ensure that she votes Democrat should she show any signs of wanting to do otherwise; but as it happens Lizzy decides to vote Democrat, does so, and all the while the chip lies dormant. Intuitively, Lizzy could not have done otherwise (the chip would have intervened); nevertheless, she acted freely. Many philosophers have concluded from such cases that acting freely is not even partially grounded in whether the agent could have acted otherwise, but instead depends on, for example, the degree of fit between the agent’s first- and second-order attitudes (Frankfurt 1971; Watson 1975), the agent’s degree of sensitivity to reasons (Fischer and Ravizza 1998; Sartorio 2016), the presence or absence of manipulation (either of the agent or of their environment) (Mele 1995), or some other property of the actual sequence of events leading up to the action. List does acknowledge the existence of such alternative, (as he puts it) ‘watered-down’ conceptions of free will. He nevertheless sees pragmatic merit in sticking with the so-called ‘maximalist’ definition outlined above, the suggestion apparently being that showing that free will exists on his definition would suffice to show that free will exists on any plausible alternative definition (p. 27). If that is the suggestion, however, it is mistaken – that an agent could, in some sense, have acted otherwise doesn’t imply that they satisfy any of the alternative compatibilist conditions on free will outlined above. Indeed there are several, potentially more troubling challenges to the reality of free will, which a different book of the same title might well have focused on, but which don’t feature at all in List’s book. Do not expect to see, for instance, discussion of how far it matters to freedom that an agent is not ultimately responsible for coming to be the way she is (Sartorio 2016, §5; Kment 2017), or of how far it matters that we might be less sensitive to reasons than we would perhaps like to think (Nelkin 2005; Brink 2013; Sartorio 2018). Perhaps it’s too much to expect of a defence of the reality of free will that it also answer the question of what free will is. But it’s worth pointing out that the two questions are intimately connected. By defining free will as he does, List risks defending a straw man. 3 Intentional States In chapter 3, List argues that human agents have intentional states, which are not ‘reducible’ to physical states. Together these conclusions are taken to vindicate List’s claim that his first condition on free will is satisfied, but only at some ‘higher’ level. List’s argument that humans have intentional states takes the following, familiar form: Behaviour (including human behaviour) is best explained in intentional terms, rather than in physical terms; If a system’s behaviour is best explained in intentional terms, then it has intentional states; Therefore, humans have intentional states. In defence of premise 1, List asks us to imagine what it would take to explain in microphysical terms why a dog ran into the kitchen when a bowl of water was put down. Not only would this be exceptionally difficult, such an explanation would also be profoundly unilluminating, because ‘[a] good scientific explanation should not only describe the things that actually happen but also give us some indication as to what would happen in different circumstances’ (p. 61). There are various different microphysical states of the system of dog+environment that would have led to the dog running into the kitchen; simply describing the actual such state fails to capture what they have in common, in virtue of which they all lead to the effect we want to explain. By contrast, explaining the effect in intentional terms, as the most rational response given the dog’s beliefs and desires (in particular, its desire for water), allows us to ‘identify the most salient regularities underlying the dog’s behaviour’ (p. 61), thus making for a better explanation overall. Not all physical explanations are microphysical explanations, however. To use one of List’s own examples, we can explain why a glass broke either by citing the microphysical state of the liquid inside it, or by citing its temperature; both are physical explanations, but the latter is clearly better, in List’s sense of identifying a broader range of regularities with the effect we want to explain. Consider, then, an explanation of the dog’s behaviour in terms of some coarsely-specified pattern of neural activation. This state is also realisable by many microphysical states of the dog, all of which lead to the dog running into the kitchen. Which explanation is better: the explanation citing the dog’s intentional states, or the explanation citing this coarse-grained state of the dog’s brain? A familiar argument for the latter turns on the fact that intentional states are apparently broad – whether the dog desires water, for example, depends on whether the watery stuff in its environment is in fact water. Thus, the (coarse-grained) brain state is arguably better correlated across possible worlds with the behaviour to be explained than the intentional state: the dog would have rushed forward even if the watery stuff had been XYZ (and so it had desired XYZ, not water). There have been various attempts to respond to this argument (see, for example, Yablo 1997; Williamson 2006); it nevertheless serves to illustrate that one cannot infer from the mere fact that intentional explanations of behaviour are better than microphysical explanations of behaviour that behaviour is best explained in intentional terms. List’s argument that psychological states are not ‘reducible’ to physical states begins with the observation that, since psychological properties are ‘multiply realizable’, any physical predicate that is co-intensional with some psychological predicate would have to be, at best, highly disjunctive. Moreover, this disjunctively specified physical property cannot be identical to the psychological property, List argues, because intentional predicates have explanatory functions that their disjunctive physical counterparts lack (in particular, they can be used in rationalizing explanations of behaviour). But it’s not clear why it should follow from this difference between psychological and physical predicates that they cannot express the very same property. This point is somewhat obscured by List’s discussion, which often conflates predicates with the properties they express. Consider, for example, his claim that a higher-level property is ‘reducible to’ a lower-level property only if ‘the lower-level property can serve as a substitute for the higher-level property in scientific discourse’ (p. 66). Well, what scientific discourse contains are predicates, not properties; we can substitute a higher-level predicate in scientific discourse for a lower-level one, but whether that amounts to talking about a different property is precisely the question at issue. List’s argument thus seems to presuppose a rather fine-grained theory of property individuation, which the identity theorist is not given much reason to accept. 4 Alternative Possibilities In chapter 4, List argues that there’s a sense in which it is possible for free agents to act otherwise than they actually do, even if determinism is true. Consider the following argument for incompatibilism: Free will requires that, at least in relevant situations, more than one course of action be possible; Determinism implies that, in any situation, only one course of action is ever possible; Therefore, free will and determinism are incompatible. (p. 86) List claims that this argument trades on an equivocation. Let an action be physically possible if its occurrence is compossible with the physical laws and physical state of the universe at some earlier time, and let an action be agentially possible if its occurrence is compossible with the psychological laws and the psychological state of every agent at some earlier time. According to List, if ‘possible’ means physically possible, then (2) is true, but (1) is false; whereas, if it means agentially possible, then (1) is true, but (2) is false. This is because ‘[e]ven the totality of psychological facts at a given point in time may be consistent with a variety of different physical states of the world’ (p. 91), and different such states could result, given the deterministic laws, in different actions being performed. Together these conclusions are taken to vindicate List’s claim that his second condition on free will is satisfied, but only at a ‘higher’ level. List is surely right that it is often compossible with the psychological facts and laws that we act otherwise than we actually do. But this doesn’t by itself tell us anything whatsoever about whether our actions were free – simply showing that there’s a sense in which an agent could have acted otherwise isn’t sufficient to show that they could have acted otherwise in the sense, if any, that matters for free will. As List himself notes (pp. 103-7), ‘could have acted otherwise’ is notoriously context-sensitive; the interesting question is not whether there’s a sense in which we could have acted otherwise but rather which of those senses, if any, we should care about. So List needs to explain why compossibility with the psychological facts and laws is the kind of possibility relevant to whether some agent acted freely. On closer inspection, moreover, it’s clear that List’s ‘agential possibility’ cannot be the kind of possibility in which freedom consists. Consider a paradigm case of unfree action – for example, the compulsive behaviour of a drug addict. Presumably List wants to say that this action wasn’t free because, in the relevant sense, the addict couldn’t have acted otherwise. (After all, her action was caused by an intention to take drugs, so List’s other conditions on free action are satisfied.) Yet it’s perfectly compatible with the psychological facts about the addict at time t that, for example, a neuroscientist intervenes by stimulating the relevant neurons in the addict’s brain to ensure that she refrains from taking drugs at time t+1 (for any unit of time). So the addict satisfies List’s conditions on free will, despite being clearly unfree. At some points, List seems to suggest that certain facts about the agent’s ‘macroscopic environment’ – such as, perhaps, the absence of any neuroscientists in the vicinity – should also be included among the facts to be held fixed when talking about what was agentially possible for them (p. 91). But it’s not clear that this really solves the problem. Just as psychological states can be realized by multiple different physical states, so too macrophysical states can be realized by multiple different microphysical states, each of which may result in very different things happening. It is compossible with the macrophysical state of a cracked egg (and the fundamental laws of nature), for example, that all the pieces spontaneously come back together again. (To see this, just take an actual, recently cracked egg, and reverse all of the momenta of all the particles in the system; the result is a microphysical state which realizes the same macrophysical state the egg is actually in, but which, when evolved forwards in time under the actual laws, develops into a realizer of the macrophysical state the egg was in before it was cracked.) So even if we hold fixed various macrophysical facts about an agent’s environment, List’s condition is likely to be trivially satisfied in most cases. Even setting aside this problem, though, there are many cases where we don’t want certain facts about the agent’s environment to be held fixed, such as the case of Lizzy voting Democrat in §2. If we include among the facts we are holding fixed that the neuroscientist will intervene if Lizzy shows any signs of wanting to vote Democrat, then it was not agentially possible for Lizzy to do otherwise. Yet only a sceptic would deny that Lizzy’s action was free. Indeed, this very same problem arises when thinking about which psychological facts to hold fixed. As Cohen and Handfield (2006) point out, there could be Frankfurt-style cases in which the ‘back-up’ mechanism is a psychological property of the agent. Suppose that Ann – willingly, and motivated entirely by her own reasons – decides to steal Cecilia’s bag; but deciding otherwise would have triggered an irresistible compulsive kleptomaniac desire causing her to steal Cecilia’s bag anyway. Intuitively, Ann’s action was free in this case. Yet List’s definition would have us hold fixed the facts about Ann’s latent kleptomania when determining which actions were possible for her to perform. List does acknowledge the challenge posed by Frankfurt cases, in a footnote (pp. 168-9). There he appears, peculiarly, simply to grant that it is agentially impossible for Lizzy not to vote Democrat, or for Anne not to steal Cecilia’s bag, from which it follows, on List’s view, that these actions aren’t free. He insists that it was up to Lizzy whether to make the decision to vote Democrat herself or as a result of the neuroscientist’s intervention, so that there is still ‘a kind of fork in the road’ for her. But even setting aside the question of whether such alternatives are sufficiently ‘robust’ to ground free will (Fischer 1994), they are not possibilities in which Lizzy acts otherwise, so it’s not clear how this strategy could vindicate List’s claim to have found a sense in which agents act freely only if they could have acted otherwise. One final worry for List’s definition of agential possibility stems from certain externalist commitments in the philosophy of mind. Suppose that knowledge is a mental state (Williamson 2000, §§1–3). If it is, facts about what one knows should be held fixed in assessing what is agentially possible. But since knowledge is factive, knowing that one will φ is inconsistent with not φ-ing. So List’s view apparently implies that agents who know in advance what they will do cannot act freely. But this is completely implausible. (The usual refrain is that the truth will set you free, not render you unfree.) Perhaps knowing what one will do is incompatible with properly deliberating over what to do; but an agent who, having already decided what to do, thereby knows that she will do it, seems perfectly able to act freely. Of course, one could reply by insisting that there are no factive psychological states, or that the relevant psychological states to be held fixed when determining what is agentially possible do not include the factive ones. But neither of these options would sit well with List’s other naturalistic commitments. First, as Nagel (2013) notes, it’s much less controversial in psychology that knowledge is a mental state than it is in philosophy. And second, there’s an obvious tension between the externalist thought that we should hold fixed features of the agent’s environment when evaluating what she could have done, and the internalist thought that we should hold fixed only those psychological states which don’t depend constitutively on the agent’s environment. In personal communication, List suggests that the relevant kind of possibility is ultimately to be read off the psychological sciences. It’s not clear to us how exactly this reading-off process is supposed to work, however. It’s certainly true, as List (pp. 97-103) points out, that the social sciences often represent agents as facing a choice between multiple courses of action. But even granting List his premise that we should be realists about any entities that scientists cite in their explanations of behaviour, it’s again not clear why the right way to be a realist about special scientists’ alternative possibilities need imply anything about what we could have done in the sense of relevance to free will. Merely having multiple options to choose from doesn’t imply that the choice one eventually makes is free, since there may be possible worlds at which one acts otherwise without one’s in fact being free to choose which possibility eventuates. Deferring to the sciences, in other words, can only get you so far: how their results ought to be interpreted is often itself an issue for philosophical investigation. 5 Mental Causation In Chapter 5, List argues that ‘a person’s actions are really caused by his or her intentional mental states rather than by some sub-intentional physical states of the brain and body’ (p. 118). Together these conclusions are taken to vindicate List’s claim that his third condition on free will is satisfied, but only at some ‘higher’ level. List’s argument relies on a broadly counterfactual account of causation according to which, to a first approximation, C caused E if and only if (i) if C had occurred, E would have occurred, and (ii) if C hadn’t occurred, E wouldn’t have occurred. List takes these counterfactuals to be true just in case (i*) E occurs in all the closest worlds in which C occurs, and (ii*) E doesn’t occur in all the closest worlds in which C doesn’t occur. Now suppose S forms an intention to φ, and φ-s. In many such cases, List argues, it’s true both that S’s φ-ing occurs in all the closest worlds where her intention occurs, and that S’s φ-ing doesn’t occur in all the closest worlds where her intention doesn’t occur. By contrast, it’s not the case that, had S not been in the exact microstate she was actually in, she wouldn’t have φ-ed; this, according to List, is because the closest worlds where S is not in the exact microstate she’s actually in are ones in which she’s in a slightly different microstate, one which still realizes the state of intending to φ. Therefore, List concludes, S’s φ-ing was caused by her intention to φ, and not by the exact microstate of her brain. One can raise a similar objection here to List’s focus on microphysical states, rather than other more coarse-grained, but still sub-personal, states (see §3, above). But even setting aside that worry, there is a further problem with List’s argument here. He seems to be assuming that if an event E is multiply realizable, then E would still have occurred had the event which actually realizes E not occurred. But this assumption simply isn’t plausible in general. Imagine for example that S’s brain is being controlled by a malevolent neuroscientist. The neuroscientist has assigned to every mental state a corresponding exact microphysical realizer, and has built a device that can manipulate S’s brain into each of those microphysical states (but can’t do anything else). The neuroscientist was weighing up whether to manipulate S into intending to φ or intending to ψ, and eventually decided on the former. Suppose also that the device is extremely reliable (it couldn’t easily have gone wrong). Now ask yourself: had S been in a different microphysical state, would it have been because the device went wrong and put S’s brain into a slightly different state to the one it was designed to put it into, or would it have been because the neuroscientist decided to make S intend to ψ instead (and the device worked as designed)? Arguably the latter. But then it follows, on List’s view, that both S’s intention to φ and S’s exact microphysical state caused S's action, since in both cases conditions (i) and (ii) are satisfied. Of course, List might reply that such cases are rare, and his conclusion still holds in most everyday cases. But this would miss the point – insofar as intentional states seem like more ‘fitting’ causes of actions than brain states in normal cases, the same seems true in the case above, notwithstanding its odd counterfactual structure. This was clearly appreciated over twenty-five years ago now by Stephen Yablo (1992). He noted that it would seem right to say that Socrates' death was caused by his drinking the hemlock, not his guzzling it, even if it turned out that ‘Socrates, always a sloppy eater, had difficulty drinking without guzzling, to such a degree that if the guzzling hadn’t occurred, the drinking wouldn’t have either’ (Yablo 1992, p. 276). For this reason, Yablo added two further conditions, on top of (i) and (ii), to his definition of causation: (iii) If a different determinate of C had occurred, E would still have occurred; (iv) If a determinable of C had occurred without C occurring, E wouldn’t have occurred. This definition arguably does imply that the microphysical state of S’s brain doesn’t cause her action in the case above (assuming, what is controversial, that intentions are determinables of the brain states which realize them), because condition (iv) isn’t satisfied – if the brain state hadn’t obtained but the intention still had, S would still have φ-ed. But the important point is that (i) and (ii) alone do not deliver the results List advertises. 6 Conclusion As we see it, Why Free Will is Real makes three main claims: (1) an agent acts freely if and only if her intentions appropriately caused her action and it was agentially possible that she not perform that action; (2) on the assumption that an action is free if and only if it satisfies these two conditions, many human actions are in fact free; and (3) free will and its grounds are ‘higher-level’ phenomena. In the preceding sections, we have raised reasons to doubt List’s arguments for all three of these claims. But we also have a deeper, more methodological concern about the project List is attempting here. At different points, List appeals to what he calls the ‘naturalistic ontological attitude’, according to which ‘[o]ur best guide to any questions about which entities, properties, or phenomena exist in any given domain is to be found in our best scientific theories of that domain’ (p. 74). This methodological principle is billed as the hero of the day, rescuing the phenomena of intentionality, mental causation, and ultimately free will, from a less ecumenical naturalism that threatens to reveal them as illusions. In highlighting these theoretical successes, List presumably hopes to stage an abductive case for the naturalistic attitude itself. Indeed, we suspect that the best way of understanding Why Free Will is Real is as a kind of manifesto: an advertisement for List’s particular brand of non-reductive naturalism. In the end, though, we worry that List’s approach ends up granting too much to the scientistic sceptics with whose doubts he opens this book. Compatibilist approaches to free will have always been motivated by the conviction that the question of our status as free and responsible agents is not the sort of thing to which fundamental physics alone could provide an answer. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of List’s book, then, is the suggestion that while free will might be compatible with physical determinism, it is nevertheless the sciences – specifically, the higher-level sciences – to which we ought to look to determine whether free will exists. There’s a certain dialectical appropriateness to this strategy, given List’s target audience (and if it succeeds in waking a few philosophically-minded scientists from their dogmatic slumbers, then so much the better). But while we don’t doubt the relevance of the higher-level sciences to the question of who has free will and to what extent, we are less optimistic than List seems to be that its existence can be established merely by taking the higher-level sciences seriously. There is a difference between maintaining that philosophy does and should operate on a methodology similar to the disciplines classically considered sciences, and maintaining that, if there are answers to philosophical questions, they will be discoverable by those disciplines. We find the first of these methodological principles attractive; the latter much less so. For all that List has shown, whether we have free will is – and remains – a distinctively philosophical question.* Footnotes " * The authors are grateful to Christian List for helpful comments on an earlier draft of this review. References Anscombe G.E.M. 1957 , Intention ( Cambridge, MA : Harvard University Press ). Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Brink David 2013 , ‘Situationism, Responsibility, and Fair Opportunity’ , Social Philosophy and Policy , 30 ( 1-2 ): 121 – 149 . 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