Transcript Slide 1

Childhood’s End:
One Small Choice
Feraco
Myth to Science Fiction
8 January 2013
Are we free?
Are we good?
Are we here for a reason?
Can life be meaningful if our
choices aren’t ours to make?
Should we try to resist our
human nature (if it’s even
possible)?
Is a talented artist still worthy
of respect if a divine being guided
her hand – or even simply
provided conditions that allowed
her to take advantage of her
talents?
What if it isn’t God, but society,
that provides her with the
conditions she needs?
The principles behind a
meritocracy are fairly simple:
All humans make choices.
In most situations, human beings
will make the right choices.
In some situations, one or more
right choices and one or more wrong
choices will be available; individuals
will have reasons for making both
correct and incorrect choices.
Individuals who resist the
temptations of bad choices and
consistently make wise ones will be
rewarded for their virtues – which are,
of course, demonstrated by their
choices.
Now look closer.
A meritocracy purports to reward
one thing: virtue.
We may claim to care about the end
result of something more than the
motivation behind it, but we do value
that motivation greatly.
If someone gives you a genuine
compliment, and another person gives
you that same compliment later in
order to manipulate you into liking
them more, we could claim that
they’ve done the same thing.
But in your eyes, those
actions certainly aren’t
equivalent.
The thing that distinguishes
them – motivation – gives them
meaning, because we believe
that those motivations reflect
the “core” of a person.
In theory, meritocracies
function the same way, and for
the same reason: to reward a
man for his goodness.
But they can’t function that way.
Who walks around in today’s
society measuring virtue –
capabilities, capacity for goodness,
or potential, really, since that’s all
undemonstrated virtue really is?
We measure action, not virtue.
As a culture (or a mishmash of
different ones), we’ve learned to
obsess over actions, deeds, results,
even at the expense of caring
about what someone could do.
It’s why so many of my students,
whether my freshmen in years past
or my seniors from this year, list a
desired grade as one of the
primary things they want out of my
class on their Great Expectations
assignment: the grade represents a
tangible demonstration of their
capabilities.
An A isn’t meant to just be some
letter: it’s a reaffirmation to the
larger world that Student X is an
exceptional Y.
And that’s all well and good, really.
I care less about whether you’re intelligent
than about whether you a) actually learned
something and b) were able to use what you
learned.
On the other hand, if I made it impossible
for you to learn, it’s not exactly fair for me to
condemn you for your failure.
This is why Gladwell spends the bulk of
Outliers savaging what he sees as deeply
flawed excuses for modern meritocracies.
By his arguments, we shouldn’t spend our
time reflexively praising the advantaged or
condemning the handicapped; doing either
presupposes we live in a society that provides
people with equal opportunities, and
Gladwell’s able to show – fairly convincing –
that on a lot of levels, we really don’t.
When it comes to choice, both on a personal
and societal level, we’re taught – and we teach
– some very basic lessons.
For the most part, we teach our children
that our choices determine our actions – that
most things don’t “just happen,” or happen by
mistake.
After we make it clear to our kids that they
can decide, and that their decisions determine
what they do, we also make it clear that the
things they do have consequences; the easy
follow-up lesson, of course, is for them to
consider the consequences of their actions
before deciding to act.
Ultimately, we urge our children to make
choices that improve their lives, that improve
the lives of friends and family members, and
that benefit our society and environment.
We teach these things because
we’ve been taught they’re valuable.
But you can see that these
teachings rest on the assumption
that we live in a universe in which
choices matter, in which free will
reigns supreme.
That doesn’t go for all things, as
we act instinctually or
automatically in many ways.
Obviously, you don’t have to
choose to breathe, or to make your
heart beat at a certain rate; those
things are just unconscious
responses to stimuli.
Yet those silly examples perfectly
illustrate why we think choices
should have value: we don’t much
like the idea that we’re pawns, that
we’re carrying out actions like
automatons.
Choice is what allows the “actor”
(i.e., the person making the
decision) to do something that
exceeds/differs from an automatic
response: we believe we’re superior
to other animals because we can
govern our instincts.
But what if we’re working with
incorrect assumptions?
Universal causality (which I’ll
abbreviate as “UC,” and also call
“determinism”) questions those
assumptions, as well as the idea of
free will in general.
UC proponents (such as Albert
Einstein) assert that every effect has
a cause, which is in turn the effect of
another cause.
(One wonders what the original
“cause” was!)
Because cause/effect sequences
aren’t isolated, they bleed into one
another continuously – hence the
“universal” in “UC.”
Therefore, everything that occurs
(including every “choice”) simply
represents the inevitable aftereffect of some seen/unseen cause;
there’s no such thing as an
“uncaused,” spontaneous event.
If that’s the case, UC proponents
continue, we actors aren’t making
choices; we’re simply vessels for
cause/effect delivery, the means by
which the universe maintains itself.
We’re deceiving ourselves if we
believe our “choices” allow us to do
something other than we were
“meant” to do via cause and effect.
Most UC proponents base their
arguments on the assumption that we live
in a secular universe.
Another school of thought, however,
questions the idea of free will using the
“deity” argument.
The deity in question is omnipotent and
omniscient (all-powerful and all-seeing),
which makes said deity infallible.
As an all-seeing being, it sees the future –
and as an infallible being, it sees it
unerringly.
But since the deity can’t possibly be
wrong about the future, we are only
capable of what it already sees, and can’t
possibly do otherwise; our concept of
freedom of choice, in short, is a fiction that
blinds us to the very real limits placed
upon us.
The final broadside against free
will comes in the form of the
“logic” argument.
It rests on the Excluded Middle
and Noncontradiction Laws.
The former states that absolutes
exist for every proposition; either P
or Not P is true, with no middle
ground (hello, Baselines!).
The latter merely states that P
and Not P can’t logically be true at
the same time.
Let our proposition (P) be “Nicky,
you’re going to fail your final
tomorrow.”
He either will or won’t; obviously,
he can’t fail and pass
simultaneously.
If P is a true statement, nothing
that happens between now and
tomorrow will stop him from
failing; if P is untrue…well, nothing
that happens between now and
tomorrow will stop him from
succeeding.
Now, it looks like Nicky has two
“options.”
Either he’ll pass, or he’ll fail.
However, we’ve already established
that only one can be true.
Therefore, one of the “options” is
necessarily false – a fake choice.
And since only one of the options is
really present, Nicky is powerless to
choose the other.
In order to be free, you have to have
choices – and Nicky doesn’t really have
them.
Scary!
Obviously, people have plenty of
arguments for the existence of
free will as well.
For the “deity” argument, we
assume the being can perfectly
see the things it controls.
Because it knows its creations,
it can accurately predict any
possible choice one could make
in response to a given situation.
But that, the rejoinder goes, is
exactly why it can still grant us
free will.
Think of someone who’s really good at
chess: he still sees the endgame, predicts
the actions of the other player, and brings
about the steps to make that endgame
real…but doesn’t need to absolutely
control the actions of the other player (i.e.,
reach over and move his pieces for him) in
order to make it happen.
Instead, he does his best to influence the
conditions that affect his opponent’s
choice…even knowing full well that his
opponent could suddenly behave
differently.
As Martin Luther King, Jr. puts it,“we are
responsible human beings, not blind
automatons; persons, not puppets. By
endowing us with freedom, God
relinquished a measure of his own
sovereignty and imposed certain
limitations upon himself.”
As for the “logic” scenario, let’s say that
Nicky really, really, really doesn’t want to fail
his final.
Let’s also say he’s “destined” to pass.
(Whew.)
Does this really mean he has no choice?
After all, there are different ways to pass:
Nicky can study alone, study with friends,
speak with his instructor (always a good idea),
or even cheat (tsk tsk).
In any case, Nicky still has choices within
his outcome!
You know you’re going to eat – you can’t
choose not to, at least not forever – but you
don’t necessarily know what you’ll eat…and
that decision could very well be yours after all!
Is that, in the end, our true definition of free
will?
Finally, the Determinists argued that
your only free actions are ones you do
without cause; since the Determinists
believe in UC, everything has a cause – so, in
short, you can’t do anything freely.
Indeterminists also argue that your only
free actions are ones you do without cause
–“uncaused” free actions.
However, they say, we’re obviously free,
so why buy into any argument that tries to
convince that what you know to be true
isn’t – especially since UC isn’t really a
scientific principle?
(I’m going to be honest: I don’t like the
incurious attitude of “Well, this is obvious,
so I’m going to ignore everything to the
contrary”…but your mileage may vary.)
Compatibilists, who argue that
free acts can be taken as long as their
cause lies in the inner state of the
person – a desire, an intention, etc. –
are perhaps a better alternative to
the unyielding arguments of the
Determinists.
Since they assert that our inner
choices/causes determine our will,
and that we, rather than other forces,
power the cause/effect mechanism,
the Compatibilists can get free will to
line up with UC quite nicely.
This may look like one of those
philosophical talks that turn boring
because there’s no conclusion in
sight.
But the discussion of whether we
have control over our actions – over
the course of our own lives – remains
a pertinent one, both for Childhood’s
End and for ourselves.
The questions it raises force us to
evaluate just how we wish to go
through life – not simply whether we
can decide what we do, but whether
we live while doing so.
The right to choose may be
valuable, but it also gives us a
tremendous amount of
responsibility.
After all, it seems to me that
true happiness can’t be obtained
passively.
We owe it to ourselves, in other
words, to actively place ourselves
in positions where we can earn
our happiness.
We must build societies that don’t
deny people the ability to make the
choices that would bring them
happiness for arbitrary reasons that
we don’t even fully consider.
And if we can choose between
right and wrong, that means we can
make moral judgments – and
disagree over moral matters.
You’ve matured to the point where
the mere recognition of relative
morality is no longer sufficient: you
must learn to navigate it.
The question, then, becomes one of
how one can navigate it.