Walter - Neurophilosophy of free will: from libertarian illusions to a concept of natural autonomy

Henrik Walter

Translated from German by Cynthia Klohr

For Sven

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Beyond a doubt, neuroscience has become as important to contemporary philosophy as physics and evolutionary theory were to past modern philosophy. This development questions the general liaison of science and philosophy. It requires that we first outline our concept of philosophy before we carefully explore neurophilosophy's research ventures. Anyone defining philosophy as a discipline dealing with issues irrelevant to empirical science is likely to reject or oppose the endeavors of neurophilosophy. My experience and opinion is that philosophical questions inevitably arise at a certain stage within scientific work in progress, unintentionally and in spite of the fact that the scientists involved might themselves prefer to ignore them. This is decidedly true for any science investigating the "soul's organ." Neuroscience already investigates such classical philosophical topics as consciousness, thought, meaning, language, aesthetics, and death-just to mention a few. Philosophers in tune with the state of the art should, in turn, reach out and embrace the wealth of research findings and ideas provided by neuroscience.

Why? Philosophy's primary concern, writes Thomas Nagel, is "to question and understand very common ideas that all of us use every day without thinking about them" (Nagel 1987, p. 5). Science also questions and reconsiders these general pet notions in light of new empirical findings. Philosophical fantasy frequently sails past the real data, but it also tends to assimilate recent empirical findings to our commonplace experience. Good philosophy needs a dab of speculation, which, however, should be firmly anchored in historical and empirical knowledge. We may inquire at length whether plants have souls; our pondering of the microcosm and macrocosm may be roused by observing the structural similarities of the solar system and atoms. But serious philosophy must liken and link such musings with our knowledge of the world. Our knowledge no longer is drawn solely from ordinary experience or the Holy Scriptures: Most of it results from scientific endeavor. Speculative philosophy should not-out of ignorance-be inconsistent with reliable scientific findings. If today we were to found a philosophical theory about a vis vitalis on the wonder of how plants adjust themselves to the position of the sun, without noticing that this phenomenon can be well explained in terms of physiological mechanisms, or if we were to wonder about the significance of star constellations in the heavens without using any knowledge of our universe, our theories would have very little philosophical impact. And this is equally true for our inner, mental world: The mental does not exist in a theoretical vacuum, it is real and it is seated in the brain.

Consequently, philosophy is not on the retreat, as some believe it to be.' On the contrary, new scientific findings increase our need for philosophical reflection. Sciences and scientists themselves are involved in philosophical debates, sometimes quite unintentionally, drawn in through the very nature of their own quests and topics. Unfortunately, they are seldom good philosophers, because they are simply unaware of the numerous pitfalls and perils in arguments accumulated throughout the history of philosophy. And often scientists fail to notice that their theories inherently make certain metaphysical assumptions of questionable validity. So what marks philosophy as opposed to science? Method. Doing philosophy means "asking questions, arguing, trying out ideas and thinking of possible arguments against them, and wondering how our concepts really work" (Nagel 1987, p. 4). This kind of debate should be sufficiently scientifically informed, if our aim is to "push our understanding of the world and ourselves a bit deeper" (Nagel 1987, p. 5). In philosophy we strive to comprehend ourselves, our world, and our concepts. Using contemporary knowledge as the backdrop, our strategy is to examine arguments pro and con philosophical standpoints. That is the interpretation of philosophy that inspired this book.

I once held a lecture on the topic of this book and afterward a member of the audience confided that he felt he had heard two distinct speeches: One on free will and another on neurophilosophy. Chapters 1 and 2 of this book likewise cover the two topics separately and can be read as independent essays. Chapter 3 brings them together by applying the method of neurophilosophy to the issue of the freedom of will.

The controversy over free will is one of philosophy's perpetual challenges. Thematically, it is associated with two different philosophical topics: the question of whether and how our self-determined action ties in with the rest of nature's causal order, and the fact that free will traditionally has been considered either a matter of natural philosophy or an ethical issue. I myself view it as a challenge to natural philosophy, but I am careful not to lose sight of its ethical relevance. I ask whether or not there is free will, and my answer is, it depends. As in most cases the existence of something depends on exactly what it is to which we are attributing or questioning its existence. We cannot get by without defining free will. Struggling with it takes us right to the heart of philosophical debate. Many philosophers regard the definition of free will as the most urgent challenge of the controversy. Settling for a specific definition is almost equivalent to taking sides.

I try to avoid that complication by utilizing a component theory to characterize free will. It is designed to accommodate the expression of each important theory of the free will by varying degrees of interpretation and by combining components. The three components relate to (1) whether we are able to choose other than we actually do, (2) whether our choices are made intelligibly, and (3) whether we are really the originators of our choices. I discuss arguments pro and con of some versions of varying strength and conclude that free will is an illusion, if by it we mean that under identical conditions we would be able to do or decide otherwise, while simultaneously acting only for reasons and considering ourselves the true originators of our actions.

Chapter 2 discusses the development and basic concepts of neurophilosophy and the difficulties it encounters. Calling my approach minimal neurophilosophy, I purposively neglect the Weltanschauung-aspect of this science. All neurophilosophy, however, rests on three principles: Mental processes are due to brain processes; statements about mental processes should not contradict our operative knowledge about the brain; and by studying the dynamics of brain functioning we can learn about mental processes-including free will.