I find Dostoevsky
strange, because I think that he simultaneously states and misses the point. In Notes
from Underground, he purports to take the rationalist (not in the Randian,
but in the general sense) myth—that the almighty power of science will, one
day, fully explain everything, including human behavior—very seriously, but
concludes that, since rationalism doesn’t take human whims or spite into
account, the utopian, rationalist project will fail. The obvious rationalist rejoinder is that, if
science and logic have truly gained the power to fully explain, and, thus,
fully predict human behavior, such whim and spite will be anticipated, and we
will all live in the same inevitable, prescient reality of perfect knowledge as
Laplace’s Demon. Dostoevsky’s argument
then replies that reflection upon and rebellion against that determinism will
lead people to take another path, which rationalism replies it will have
already predicted, and the argument continues ad infinitum. It is irresolvable—an intolerable logical
state. This is not because human action
is paradoxical (the whole point of a paradox is that it’s impossible), but because
the argument’s premises, Dostoevsky’s premises, are flawed. That is, human “best interests” cannot be
universally and permanently defined, and therefore cannot be subjected to
rational inquiry; full knowledge of the universe is impossible; and humans do
not make decisions “rationally,” making prediction based upon comparison of
interests futile.
I won’t
blunder into the whole argument right now (I’ll save it for my term paper), but
suffice to say that “best interests” are not a thing. They are not one
monolithic, universal thing that is the same for everyone. I might think my “best interests” consist of trying
to be a writer, because it’ll let me do what I love, but I might think that
some of my other “best interests” consist of becoming an engineer, because it’ll
probably net me a solid livelihood (along with, possibly, despondence and
self-loathing, but at least I’d be well-off and sad). Neither is inherently right, so reason alone
cannot determine what I should do.
Rational models of decision-making can’t predict action, because
rational decision-making doesn’t happen. It is impossible. We don’t do things by comparing predicted
futures for comparative advantage, but rather by working off of our experience
for pattern recognition, habit, self-definition, and context. Thus, I don’t need to default to some
nebulous “spite” or “whim” to explain why people will always act against “their
best interests”; no, this will always happen because “best interests” are
subjective, contested, and don’t actually exist.
I’m afraid
I have a similar objection to “The Grand Inquisitor.” Freedom or happiness? It’s a false binary, as our wonderful
presenters pointed out, and as most binaries are. It is, in fact, especially false; for freedom
may or may not exist, cannot be eliminated if it does, and can’t be created if
it doesn’t; and happiness is a subjective, contested meaning projected onto
reality by our limited, sentimental minds.
This is not an indictment; limitation is necessary, sentimentality is
awesome, and I need to believe in freedom for my own sanity. But if we start talking about these things as
actualities, we need to define those actualities, which quickly proves
impossible to ultimately do. Unsure what
I mean? Let me try to clarify.
On the one
hand, there’s the possibility that everything that happens, and I mean
everything—the thoughts in my head, what I “choose” to type, every hand dealt
in every casino in the world—is the inevitable consequence of the universe
unfolding according to certain laws from conditions at the beginning of time (that’s
the determinism of Laplace’s Demon, alluded to above). On the other hand, it’s possible that we’ve
the power to create multiple possible futures, a power that can be bounded and
limited, but not taken away entirely. I
can’t surrender my agency, over my thoughts, over my responses and desires,
entirely to another. On some level, I’ve
still got to choose to do anything at all.
Lop off my limbs and throw me in a river, and I still get to choose how
hard I struggle before I drown. Raise some
children according to a massive and strict body of laws, and those kids still
determine the length of their stride, how hard they work, and, of course,
whether to accept that prescription at all.
If you’ve free will, even doing nothing at all creates a different
future (than the ones in which you did something). Thus, it doesn’t really make sense to speak
of surrendering free will; either it doesn’t exist, in which case, you can’t
really get rid of it, or you can accept limitations on it, but not eliminate
it.
Happiness,
meanwhile? You can’t define happiness,
not entirely. You can define parts of it—the
absence of suffering, general contentment, etc., but such definitions are
contestable and incomplete. Without full
and all-encompassing definition, you can’t formulize happiness; you can only
feel it. You certainly can’t guarantee
it via surrender of some modicum of agency, though, for me, surrendering some agency (enough to function in a
society, at the very least) is a necessary prerequisite to happiness. Regardless, as our presenters indicated,
formulized, certain happiness is a myth.
With that, I think I’ve rambled on long enough.
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