Do We Make Choices? Do We Have a Choice?
PAGE IN PROGRESS
What you see here is a page of my hypertext book POWER of meanings // MEANINGS of power. Initially empty, this page will slowly be filled with thoughts, notes, and quotes. One day, I will use them to write a coherent entry, similar to these completed pages. Thank you for your interest and patience!
What you see here is a page of my hypertext book POWER of meanings // MEANINGS of power. Initially empty, this page will slowly be filled with thoughts, notes, and quotes. One day, I will use them to write a coherent entry, similar to these completed pages. Thank you for your interest and patience!
"It is my choice to continue playing Minecraft now!" fumes my seven-year-old when I point out that it is time to eat dinner. We see ourselves as individuals who make choices. But are we really?
...
There is a scary implication of complicating our understanding of choice: we might need to see people whose choices we don't like differently: with more compassion.
About actions of other people, actions we don't like: "Why don't they just make a different choice?"
When you see a bird carrying a straw for its nest, you might think (if you are in a philosophical mood): "Poor thing! This bird does not have any choice. It lives its life according to what nature prescribes. Each spring, the bird has to build the nest, lay eggs, and then take care of the hatchlings. In the meantime, it has to look for food and escape predators. And so its life goes by, without the bird ever experiencing any freedom." (One could, of course, see a bird as carefree as opposed to oneself. But if you know a thing or two about birds, it's hard to fully embrace this romanticized perspective.) In contrast to the bird, most people see themselves as self-aware creatures who make choices all the time. Even if you think that you are not entirely free to do whatever you want (after all, everybody is constrained by society's limitations), you might still regard the bird somewhat condescendingly or with a sense of pity. It appears that, unlike the bird, you have at least some ability to make choices, you have a degree of freedom in your life.
...
There is a scary implication of complicating our understanding of choice: we might need to see people whose choices we don't like differently: with more compassion.
About actions of other people, actions we don't like: "Why don't they just make a different choice?"
When you see a bird carrying a straw for its nest, you might think (if you are in a philosophical mood): "Poor thing! This bird does not have any choice. It lives its life according to what nature prescribes. Each spring, the bird has to build the nest, lay eggs, and then take care of the hatchlings. In the meantime, it has to look for food and escape predators. And so its life goes by, without the bird ever experiencing any freedom." (One could, of course, see a bird as carefree as opposed to oneself. But if you know a thing or two about birds, it's hard to fully embrace this romanticized perspective.) In contrast to the bird, most people see themselves as self-aware creatures who make choices all the time. Even if you think that you are not entirely free to do whatever you want (after all, everybody is constrained by society's limitations), you might still regard the bird somewhat condescendingly or with a sense of pity. It appears that, unlike the bird, you have at least some ability to make choices, you have a degree of freedom in your life.
Image credit: 42 North
Every day, these assumptions about the human ability to choose shape our perceptions and actions. We teach our kids to take responsibility for their decisions (the book What Should Denny Do? is an interesting example). We make sure to think everything through before choosing how to act. We blame, avoid, or punish those whose choices appear to be dangerous, selfish, or unreasonable; hence, assumptions about choice can help us understand all sorts of conflicts and polarization. To make sense of the present, we study history—typically by focusing on human agency, since historical accounts often emphasize intentional actions and decisions. For example, the phrase "Napoleon invaded Russia" implies conscious choice and motive. We compare people who, throughout history, had no choice (oppressed groups) and those who used their choice to do harm (oppressors). Without the idea of choice, moral judgements (and consequences based on them) become meaningless. So, justice systems also depend on our assumptions about choice and agency: placing into a correctional facility someone who was not truly free to decide how to act does not make any moral or practical sense. And there are a lot of correctional facilities out there, exactly because it is not uncommon to assume that most people choose to take actions that we call crimes.
Our everyday experiences help explain why we tend to think about people as choosing beings. Each one of us can easily notice how, throughout the day, we make numerous decisions. We automatically assume that others experience the world the same way. Of course, we can also notice how our choices are constrained by commitments and rules. You can choose which route to use to get to work today, but you do need to go to work if you want to keep it; and you do need to follow traffic rules if you don't want to end up in a police station or in hospital. And so, it seems, is with everything in life: you cannot do absolutely anything you want, but you do get to make choices. In fact, it often feels like you have to make them!
Every day, these assumptions about the human ability to choose shape our perceptions and actions. We teach our kids to take responsibility for their decisions (the book What Should Denny Do? is an interesting example). We make sure to think everything through before choosing how to act. We blame, avoid, or punish those whose choices appear to be dangerous, selfish, or unreasonable; hence, assumptions about choice can help us understand all sorts of conflicts and polarization. To make sense of the present, we study history—typically by focusing on human agency, since historical accounts often emphasize intentional actions and decisions. For example, the phrase "Napoleon invaded Russia" implies conscious choice and motive. We compare people who, throughout history, had no choice (oppressed groups) and those who used their choice to do harm (oppressors). Without the idea of choice, moral judgements (and consequences based on them) become meaningless. So, justice systems also depend on our assumptions about choice and agency: placing into a correctional facility someone who was not truly free to decide how to act does not make any moral or practical sense. And there are a lot of correctional facilities out there, exactly because it is not uncommon to assume that most people choose to take actions that we call crimes.
Our everyday experiences help explain why we tend to think about people as choosing beings. Each one of us can easily notice how, throughout the day, we make numerous decisions. We automatically assume that others experience the world the same way. Of course, we can also notice how our choices are constrained by commitments and rules. You can choose which route to use to get to work today, but you do need to go to work if you want to keep it; and you do need to follow traffic rules if you don't want to end up in a police station or in hospital. And so, it seems, is with everything in life: you cannot do absolutely anything you want, but you do get to make choices. In fact, it often feels like you have to make them!
Image credit: Pixabay
Existentialist philosophers captured this feeling when they described human beings as radically free, and freedom as inescapable. According to existentialism, people literally create themselves through their choices. From this point of view, freedom can be a burden that breeds anxiety. According to Sartre, this is not surprising: one cannot help but feel anguish upon realizing what freedom to choose truly means—being fully responsible not only for oneself, but for all humanity through one’s actions! As Sartre put it, we are condemned to be free. Another existentialist philosopher, Kierkegaard, talked about the dizziness of confronting the possibility of unlimited choice. Existentialists did acknowledge social, historical, and bodily constraints, but they emphasized human beings' freedom to interpret, respond, and choose within these limitations.
Unlike existentialists, those who embrace determinism (especially hard determinists) argue that our sense of choice is illusory, since all actions are shaped by prior states of the world. Although you might feel that you make choices every minute of your life (for example, choosing to read these words), you might also find it hard to argue with some of the determinists' claims. It does make sense to see every event as to some extent shaped by preceding events and natural laws. It is hard not to notice how our behavior is in many ways determined by human biology and inherited individual traits. Moreover, our mental states and actions are products of past experiences and unconscious drives. Numerous scholars embrace determinism, to some degree at least, by pointing out that human actions are often influenced by social structures, economic systems, or cultural conditioning. If we take determinism to its logical extreme, blame and punishment do not make much sense, while compassion and humility seem appropriate. You might find some of these ideas reasonable. But leaning too much toward determinism might also feel unwise, perhaps even dangerous! It we are too deterministic, will we need to excuse all sorts of bad behaviors? Will we become passive, waiting for things to happen to us?
If finding the balance between existentialist ideas and determinism seems impossibly hard, you are not alone. This dilemma lies at the heart of the age-old debate about free will. In Western philosophy, this question remains unresolved, and most of us are unlikely to explore all the intricacies of this complex scholarly discussion (though we may engage with these questions intuitively). For practical reasons, you will still have to make choices--or at least do what feels like making choices. This corresponds to the philosophical stance known as compatibilism, which holds that while our choices may be shaped by external factors, we still act—and are held accountable—as if we are free.
So why am I writing all of this? Because I think that continuing to make choices every minute of our lives does not prevent us from simultaneously considering how assumptions about agency and freedom can sometimes be misleading. In fact, if anything, this might lead us to make smarter and more ethical choices—at least this is what some modern philosophers and scientists argue, along with adherents of Buddhism. In particular, Buddhism offers ways to move beyond the unresolvable debate about free will: it suggests that fixation on individual agency may actually obscure our understanding of reality.
To explain the paradoxes of choice, I draw on Buddhist philosophy alongside some related insights from modern Western science, particularly certain interpretations in neuroscience and psychology. (If you are interested in exploring parallels between Buddhism and modern science in more depth, I recommend the book Why Buddhism Is True by Robert Wright. In what follows, I use the term "Buddhism" to suggest areas of intersection across different schools of thought. However, it is important to note that there is no single, unified version of Buddhism, so any generalizations I make should be understood as simplifications.)
Existentialist philosophers captured this feeling when they described human beings as radically free, and freedom as inescapable. According to existentialism, people literally create themselves through their choices. From this point of view, freedom can be a burden that breeds anxiety. According to Sartre, this is not surprising: one cannot help but feel anguish upon realizing what freedom to choose truly means—being fully responsible not only for oneself, but for all humanity through one’s actions! As Sartre put it, we are condemned to be free. Another existentialist philosopher, Kierkegaard, talked about the dizziness of confronting the possibility of unlimited choice. Existentialists did acknowledge social, historical, and bodily constraints, but they emphasized human beings' freedom to interpret, respond, and choose within these limitations.
Unlike existentialists, those who embrace determinism (especially hard determinists) argue that our sense of choice is illusory, since all actions are shaped by prior states of the world. Although you might feel that you make choices every minute of your life (for example, choosing to read these words), you might also find it hard to argue with some of the determinists' claims. It does make sense to see every event as to some extent shaped by preceding events and natural laws. It is hard not to notice how our behavior is in many ways determined by human biology and inherited individual traits. Moreover, our mental states and actions are products of past experiences and unconscious drives. Numerous scholars embrace determinism, to some degree at least, by pointing out that human actions are often influenced by social structures, economic systems, or cultural conditioning. If we take determinism to its logical extreme, blame and punishment do not make much sense, while compassion and humility seem appropriate. You might find some of these ideas reasonable. But leaning too much toward determinism might also feel unwise, perhaps even dangerous! It we are too deterministic, will we need to excuse all sorts of bad behaviors? Will we become passive, waiting for things to happen to us?
If finding the balance between existentialist ideas and determinism seems impossibly hard, you are not alone. This dilemma lies at the heart of the age-old debate about free will. In Western philosophy, this question remains unresolved, and most of us are unlikely to explore all the intricacies of this complex scholarly discussion (though we may engage with these questions intuitively). For practical reasons, you will still have to make choices--or at least do what feels like making choices. This corresponds to the philosophical stance known as compatibilism, which holds that while our choices may be shaped by external factors, we still act—and are held accountable—as if we are free.
So why am I writing all of this? Because I think that continuing to make choices every minute of our lives does not prevent us from simultaneously considering how assumptions about agency and freedom can sometimes be misleading. In fact, if anything, this might lead us to make smarter and more ethical choices—at least this is what some modern philosophers and scientists argue, along with adherents of Buddhism. In particular, Buddhism offers ways to move beyond the unresolvable debate about free will: it suggests that fixation on individual agency may actually obscure our understanding of reality.
To explain the paradoxes of choice, I draw on Buddhist philosophy alongside some related insights from modern Western science, particularly certain interpretations in neuroscience and psychology. (If you are interested in exploring parallels between Buddhism and modern science in more depth, I recommend the book Why Buddhism Is True by Robert Wright. In what follows, I use the term "Buddhism" to suggest areas of intersection across different schools of thought. However, it is important to note that there is no single, unified version of Buddhism, so any generalizations I make should be understood as simplifications.)
Image credit: erdinç ersoy
According to these perspectives, the way we perceive ourselves and others as choosing selves is largely an illusion. In particular, some branches of Western science interpret this sense of self as a biological adaptation that enhances survival. We refer to ourselves as "individuals," a word derived from the Late Latin individuus, meaning "indivisible" or "inseparable." Yet in light of insights from both Buddhism and modern science, the common use of this term is deeply ironic. The word individual implies a unified whole. A person is assumed to possess an kind of inner integrity that sets her apart from others. Internal fragmentation, by contrast, is typically seen as an abnormal condition--something rare and pathological, as in the case of dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder).
Yet, according to Buddhism, the idea of an indivisible self may be useful for reasoning and communication—but it does not reflect reality. In fact, an individual is not indivisible but composite and impermanent, which runs counter to the etymology of the term itself. Buddhism sees each person as a bundle of five aggregates: physical body, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. If this idea is unfamiliar, it might sound absurd, especially since it so deeply contradicts our everyday experience: "My self is an illusion? No way!" Does this mean Buddhists themselves are being delusional? As it turns out, views of the self that resemble the Buddhist position are increasingly supported in neuroscience and in cognitive, developmental, and evolutionary psychology.
These fields align with the Buddhist view by rejecting the idea of a fixed, indivisible self. Cognitive neuroscience shows that the self emerges from distributed brain activity, rather than from a central, unified "I" or inner agent. Split-brain studies reveal that consciousness can operate independently in the two hemispheres, further challenging the idea of indivisibility. Developmental psychology suggests that the sense of self is gradually constructed, rather than innately present. Many therapists draw on the Internal Family Systems (IFS) framework, which views the mind as composed of multiple sub-personalities or “parts”; each part has its own perspective, emotions, and function. Overall, modern science often describes individuals as systems made up of biological, psychological, social sub-systems, rather than entirely unified, coherent wholes.
If there is no fixed self, then who or what makes choices? And if there is no self, is freedom of choice just an illusion? According to Buddhism, there is no independent, unchanging “owner” of thoughts, feelings, or choices. In fact, instead of thinking of a choosing self, we should explore how the mind-body system—conditioned by prior causes and context—produces intentions and actions. Buddhism offers us a paradox to consider: choosing happens, but it is not done by what we usually call “self.”
If this formulation appears wild to you, I invite you to consider again parallels with science (see Wright's book mentioned above): in particular, modern neuroscience and cognitive psychology largely confirm Buddhist perspective. For instance, you can explore ideas of Daniel Dennett; he is a philosopher but draws on empirical findings from psychology and neuroscience. In particular, Dennett explains how the brain creates a "narrative center of gravity" that feels like a unified self; the self is a story-based construct that our brains generate to organize experience. Or you can explore how experiments conducted by Benjamin Libet suggest that many decisions are made before conscious awareness catches up (his experiments were conducted in the 1980s, but many other scholars still build their studies on his findings, even if they do not entirely agree with his initial conclusions). Libet's intuiting experiments shows how the unconscious parts of the brain initiate actions before we become consciously aware of deciding to act. Yet once these actions are taken, we feel that we have decided to take them and we make up all sorts of explanations for our decisions. So, it appears that what we we call “choice” is the product of multiple interacting systems: sensory input, emotional states, memory, context, and inhibitory control. From the interaction between these systems, a tendency toward one action over another emerges, which is not the same as a unified self making conscious decisions.
According to these perspectives, the way we perceive ourselves and others as choosing selves is largely an illusion. In particular, some branches of Western science interpret this sense of self as a biological adaptation that enhances survival. We refer to ourselves as "individuals," a word derived from the Late Latin individuus, meaning "indivisible" or "inseparable." Yet in light of insights from both Buddhism and modern science, the common use of this term is deeply ironic. The word individual implies a unified whole. A person is assumed to possess an kind of inner integrity that sets her apart from others. Internal fragmentation, by contrast, is typically seen as an abnormal condition--something rare and pathological, as in the case of dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder).
Yet, according to Buddhism, the idea of an indivisible self may be useful for reasoning and communication—but it does not reflect reality. In fact, an individual is not indivisible but composite and impermanent, which runs counter to the etymology of the term itself. Buddhism sees each person as a bundle of five aggregates: physical body, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. If this idea is unfamiliar, it might sound absurd, especially since it so deeply contradicts our everyday experience: "My self is an illusion? No way!" Does this mean Buddhists themselves are being delusional? As it turns out, views of the self that resemble the Buddhist position are increasingly supported in neuroscience and in cognitive, developmental, and evolutionary psychology.
These fields align with the Buddhist view by rejecting the idea of a fixed, indivisible self. Cognitive neuroscience shows that the self emerges from distributed brain activity, rather than from a central, unified "I" or inner agent. Split-brain studies reveal that consciousness can operate independently in the two hemispheres, further challenging the idea of indivisibility. Developmental psychology suggests that the sense of self is gradually constructed, rather than innately present. Many therapists draw on the Internal Family Systems (IFS) framework, which views the mind as composed of multiple sub-personalities or “parts”; each part has its own perspective, emotions, and function. Overall, modern science often describes individuals as systems made up of biological, psychological, social sub-systems, rather than entirely unified, coherent wholes.
If there is no fixed self, then who or what makes choices? And if there is no self, is freedom of choice just an illusion? According to Buddhism, there is no independent, unchanging “owner” of thoughts, feelings, or choices. In fact, instead of thinking of a choosing self, we should explore how the mind-body system—conditioned by prior causes and context—produces intentions and actions. Buddhism offers us a paradox to consider: choosing happens, but it is not done by what we usually call “self.”
If this formulation appears wild to you, I invite you to consider again parallels with science (see Wright's book mentioned above): in particular, modern neuroscience and cognitive psychology largely confirm Buddhist perspective. For instance, you can explore ideas of Daniel Dennett; he is a philosopher but draws on empirical findings from psychology and neuroscience. In particular, Dennett explains how the brain creates a "narrative center of gravity" that feels like a unified self; the self is a story-based construct that our brains generate to organize experience. Or you can explore how experiments conducted by Benjamin Libet suggest that many decisions are made before conscious awareness catches up (his experiments were conducted in the 1980s, but many other scholars still build their studies on his findings, even if they do not entirely agree with his initial conclusions). Libet's intuiting experiments shows how the unconscious parts of the brain initiate actions before we become consciously aware of deciding to act. Yet once these actions are taken, we feel that we have decided to take them and we make up all sorts of explanations for our decisions. So, it appears that what we we call “choice” is the product of multiple interacting systems: sensory input, emotional states, memory, context, and inhibitory control. From the interaction between these systems, a tendency toward one action over another emerges, which is not the same as a unified self making conscious decisions.
Image credit: Rishabh Dharmani
Let's take an example. You are dealing with anxiety, but you want to get over it. You take various steps to achieve this goal. Does this mean you're the one who chooses—truly in control of your choices? If we the perspective of Buddhism, not exactly. When someone decides to deal with their anxiety, this is what’s really happening: conditions align, including practice, support, insight, and openness. A new mental configuration arises. Based on these shifts, a new action pattern becomes possible. In this situation, there is no one controller pulling the levers. Instead, there is a shifting system of causes and responses. Approaching the same situation, Western science might speak of causal networks, plasticity, or systems-level dynamics. The language differs, but both perspectives challenge the idea of a fixed, autonomous agent.
How can this shift of perspective (from acting unified self to complex system of conditions and patterns) be helpful? Focusing on the choosing self often means giving credit and assigning blame. Giving credit to oneself, and feeling good about our successes, seems to be something positive. However, this tendency has its dark side: when we do not succeed, which inevitably happens, this might lead to a host of negative emotions that can easily overweight the positivity of succeeding. And when we blame others for their choices, this can lead us to treat those others with anger, impatience, and lack of compassion (this is why considering how we view choice is important if we want to overcome polarization).
There is one possible reaction that I envision as I speak of the idea that there might be no choosing self after all: "Ok, so this means I have no choice? What's the point in making decisions? This perspective is so disempowering!" As I thinking of ways to address this concern, Buddhist frameworks seems most helpful. Although Buddhism rejects the idea of the independent choosing self, this perspective is not the same as absolute determinism. So we do not have to feel disempowered as passive. Actually, according to Buddhism, letting go of the idea of a fixed self does not remove agency—it frees it. Without a rigid “I” to defend or affirm, the system becomes more responsive, flexible, and capable of wise action. For example, it can stop clinging to such thought as “I am anxious; I am an anxious person” and shift into “Anxiety is happening; learning and growth are possible.” Notably, similar insights are echoed in contemporary psychology and supported by emerging neuroscience and applied by some therapists (especially within third-wave cognitive-behavioral therapies) who help their clients overcome harmful behavioral and cognitive patterns.
When we think too much about our ability to choose, we might feel tangled in the tension between the idea (and ideal) of agency and the idea of determinism. What I like about Buddhism is that it promises a possibility to overcome this tension. When we think in terms of the Western debate about free will, we wonder: "Do I have a choice? What amount of choice do I really have considering all the constraints? And what am I supposed to do if I do not have much choice after all?" According to Buddhism, we should first of all stop worrying so much about our "I's." In fact, this is the goal of the Buddhist practice—liberation from the illusion of the self. In Western thought, solving the paradoxes of free will are about reconciling causality (everything has a cause and effect) and agency (my choices matter). For Buddhism, ultimate freedom is not the power to choose this or that in a determinist universe, but freedom from the illusion of a chooser.
This essay is only a tiny fraction of my big project where I am trying to understand human behavior and explain the importance of connection. Hence, here is a lot of depth that my essay is missing. But I hope that it will still encourage some readers to recognize the complexity behind their decisions and actions, and to treat themselves and others with more compassion. Life is full of paradoxes, and this is just one of them: even if is no chooser, this does not mean that we are free to do whatever we want, that we can mistreat each other and do not take any responsibility. Buddhist ethics assumes that cultivating skillful and wise action is possible, even without a fixed self. This perspective have profound consequences for any attempts to overcome conflicts (in particular, within polarized societies): harmful actions arise from conditions—not evil selves—so it essential to change conditions, not condemn people.
SOURCES:
About the Book "Why Buddhism Is True." (n.d.) Simon & Schuster. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Why-Buddhism-is-True/Robert-Wright/9781439195468
Determinism. (n.d.). The Information Philosopher.
https://www.informationphilosopher.com/freedom/determinism.html
Existentialism. (2023). Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism
Merriam-Webster. (n.d.). Polarization. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/polarization
What Should Denny Do? (n.d.). https://whatshoulddannydo.com/products/what-should-danny-do?srsltid=AfmBOopRc6fxQYZmj8O9yBnkyMtP_UiH8bh5fy_TkU1JkgSECOssOEp2
Let's take an example. You are dealing with anxiety, but you want to get over it. You take various steps to achieve this goal. Does this mean you're the one who chooses—truly in control of your choices? If we the perspective of Buddhism, not exactly. When someone decides to deal with their anxiety, this is what’s really happening: conditions align, including practice, support, insight, and openness. A new mental configuration arises. Based on these shifts, a new action pattern becomes possible. In this situation, there is no one controller pulling the levers. Instead, there is a shifting system of causes and responses. Approaching the same situation, Western science might speak of causal networks, plasticity, or systems-level dynamics. The language differs, but both perspectives challenge the idea of a fixed, autonomous agent.
How can this shift of perspective (from acting unified self to complex system of conditions and patterns) be helpful? Focusing on the choosing self often means giving credit and assigning blame. Giving credit to oneself, and feeling good about our successes, seems to be something positive. However, this tendency has its dark side: when we do not succeed, which inevitably happens, this might lead to a host of negative emotions that can easily overweight the positivity of succeeding. And when we blame others for their choices, this can lead us to treat those others with anger, impatience, and lack of compassion (this is why considering how we view choice is important if we want to overcome polarization).
There is one possible reaction that I envision as I speak of the idea that there might be no choosing self after all: "Ok, so this means I have no choice? What's the point in making decisions? This perspective is so disempowering!" As I thinking of ways to address this concern, Buddhist frameworks seems most helpful. Although Buddhism rejects the idea of the independent choosing self, this perspective is not the same as absolute determinism. So we do not have to feel disempowered as passive. Actually, according to Buddhism, letting go of the idea of a fixed self does not remove agency—it frees it. Without a rigid “I” to defend or affirm, the system becomes more responsive, flexible, and capable of wise action. For example, it can stop clinging to such thought as “I am anxious; I am an anxious person” and shift into “Anxiety is happening; learning and growth are possible.” Notably, similar insights are echoed in contemporary psychology and supported by emerging neuroscience and applied by some therapists (especially within third-wave cognitive-behavioral therapies) who help their clients overcome harmful behavioral and cognitive patterns.
When we think too much about our ability to choose, we might feel tangled in the tension between the idea (and ideal) of agency and the idea of determinism. What I like about Buddhism is that it promises a possibility to overcome this tension. When we think in terms of the Western debate about free will, we wonder: "Do I have a choice? What amount of choice do I really have considering all the constraints? And what am I supposed to do if I do not have much choice after all?" According to Buddhism, we should first of all stop worrying so much about our "I's." In fact, this is the goal of the Buddhist practice—liberation from the illusion of the self. In Western thought, solving the paradoxes of free will are about reconciling causality (everything has a cause and effect) and agency (my choices matter). For Buddhism, ultimate freedom is not the power to choose this or that in a determinist universe, but freedom from the illusion of a chooser.
This essay is only a tiny fraction of my big project where I am trying to understand human behavior and explain the importance of connection. Hence, here is a lot of depth that my essay is missing. But I hope that it will still encourage some readers to recognize the complexity behind their decisions and actions, and to treat themselves and others with more compassion. Life is full of paradoxes, and this is just one of them: even if is no chooser, this does not mean that we are free to do whatever we want, that we can mistreat each other and do not take any responsibility. Buddhist ethics assumes that cultivating skillful and wise action is possible, even without a fixed self. This perspective have profound consequences for any attempts to overcome conflicts (in particular, within polarized societies): harmful actions arise from conditions—not evil selves—so it essential to change conditions, not condemn people.
SOURCES:
About the Book "Why Buddhism Is True." (n.d.) Simon & Schuster. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Why-Buddhism-is-True/Robert-Wright/9781439195468
Determinism. (n.d.). The Information Philosopher.
https://www.informationphilosopher.com/freedom/determinism.html
Existentialism. (2023). Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism
Merriam-Webster. (n.d.). Polarization. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/polarization
What Should Denny Do? (n.d.). https://whatshoulddannydo.com/products/what-should-danny-do?srsltid=AfmBOopRc6fxQYZmj8O9yBnkyMtP_UiH8bh5fy_TkU1JkgSECOssOEp2