To Try

Among the most common objections I’ve received when I shared with others that I don’t believe in free will is that it somehow means one shouldn’t try—that we shouldn't apply ourselves or put in effort in self-actualization. The logic goes that if we have no actual choice in determining who we are and thus why we do anything, we should just give up. However, saying that our choices are unimportant merely because they are predetermined is a grave misunderstanding of the way our world works. While there is no way of ever knowing the predetermined course of our actions, it does not change the fact that all of our action and inaction alike still matter; they are, after all, the very inextricable elements that constitute that immutable course of the universe. Thinking that the choices do not matter is itself a choice that matters. Not thinking about the consequences of choices is also itself a choice that matters. Not believing in an unfettered form of free will does not justify nihilism and a dereliction of duty.

But at the heart of this misconception is an overly simplistic bifurcation of our attitude towards free will into the often-dismissed (and rightfully so) nihilistic camp, where our agency and the importance of our choices is dissolved by succumbing to fatalism, and the culturally dominant human tenacity camp, where each and every one of us has full control over our choices to determine what we want in the world, and logically, because choices without action are merely wishes, our choices are important only because they exist as the medium to channel the effort, the willpower and the resilience to materialize the reality that we want.

However, I will argue here that the thinking on both sides is fundamentally flawed. Our choices almost certainly matter, but it isn't because they represent our agency as free actors. It isn't because they are a hallowed manifestation of our freedom or a sacred vessel of our ambition. Our choices matter immensely because they are often the nodes of cause and effect in which many causes culminate and many effects stem from. And my point here precisely is this: the more that we can understand how and which causes are culminating—what influences our decision-making process at a psychosocial level—as well as how our choices ultimately shape the world around us, the more that we can effect the change we seek to make in this world. The more that we understand the underlying dynamics of the world we live in, the more that we can make thoughtful, rational, and effective solutions to our problems. And that matters infinitely more than merely trying.

Character judgments about willpower, strength, and human tenacity only go so far. History tells us that everyone tries—for a variety of causes, for a variety of reasons, and tries really hard, at that—and history also prominently tells us that not everyone who tries, wins; in fact, very few of them do. The human tenacity rhetoric is undergirded by a profound survivorship bias; people that made it to the other side incorrectly attribute their success to their character traits, and heavily discount the factor of luck, whether from the character traits that they developed because of the privileges or favorable conditions growing up, or the specific alignment of circumstances at the time of making a seemingly good decision. And what's even more appalling is that the survivors almost never speak for the fallen; often what happens is that the survivor, with the convenient character explanation, crassly overwrites their story with the tacit judgment of “you didn’t try hard enough.” Caved into the ills of social media? You lack willpower and discipline. Couldn't graduate high school or get a GED? You didn't study hard enough. Experienced poverty and financial insecurity? Why didn't you work harder at your job to get a promotion? This is patently useless advice that blatantly ignores the structural conditions that drive people toward failure, and yet, it is the predominant cultural narrative that pervades our thinking and the direction of our conversations. I understand that shame can be a driver of motivation, but I want to be honest—is that really the way it plays out in the long run? Or do we prefer not to talk about how this type of thinking—urging others to think that there is some inherent deficit to correct in their soul or being—is deeply complicit in the mental health crisis, leading nations of people to unprecedented rates of burnout, anxiety, depression, and suicide. Whether you want to analyze the people that we've encountered in our own lives, or look to the data, the narrative is very clear about this—every year, millions upon millions suffer from these oppressive mental states and tens of thousands of lives are lost to people taking their own lives. If we do not believe in free will, we can reopen our compassion to those who fell and treat them with empathy—to understand their story, why they are who they are, and why what happened to them happened the way it did.

And even if we wanted to talk about effort as the problem, it’s not actually the root of the problem; a lack of effort is always reducible. We have to take a look at why someone lacks willpower instead of merely wishing. Because if we see this as a character flaw that we have to iron out or power through, we often neglect our due diligence here—to actually analyze why someone lacks willpower and find concrete solutions based on the reality of their past circumstances. Were their parents negligent? Did the culture they grew up in reflect the values that we desire here and now? Did they never have good role models growing up? In our analysis of the situation, we crassly and naively believe we can substitute ourselves to be in their shoes: “well, if I was in their situation, I would do so much better.” The fact of the matter is that we’re not in their situation. And that’s the entire point—to wholeheartedly understand the people around us through their past circumstances, how it’s shaped who they are, and what solutions they would actually be responsive to. In the education system, we flunk the student and shame them. In business, we churn countless individuals in the same position until we find the hustlers that are willing to put up with low wages or poor working conditions. In the justice system, we have built and filled countless prisons instead of honestly engaging with rehabilitation and the root causes of crime.

Free will, as most of us have internalized the concept—that we're all equally capable actors and that the differentiator between success and failure is effort—is an idea that has its premise resting on these sacred democratic pillars of fairness and freedom. But the ironic part is that the belief in the concept itself, especially at a larger scale, completely belies it. Is it fair when countless individuals are punished to grow up with one parent or no parents to teach them good values? Is it truly freedom when all of our choices are but a miniscule subset under an operating system determined by our upbringing, by the people around us, by these abstract and often antiquated cultural belief systems? The crux of my issue lies with the fact that much of the conventional narrative we’ve been given my entire life treats effort and hard work as the end-all-be-all tool for success, and the way that this unilateral mentality manifests itself ultimately buries the need to actually systematically understand the communities, organizations, societies, and cultures we've designed for ourselves, while also minimizing the need to empathically understand other human beings and ask harder questions about why people don't have willpower, about why they underperform in certain contexts. We neglect this because caving into our hatred, anger, or frustration and impulsively using an ideological bludgeon—crassly labeling others as unproductive, as unmotivated, as unambitious, as lazy, as weak—is far easier than confronting significantly more complex and difficult questions: How can we be more sensitive to each other? How can we understand the mechanisms of how ideas disseminate in our culture? How do we get others to generate a sense of self-actualization—to have this drive to make things better, not just for themselves but for the world and for the people around them? How can we teach people to be generous, to be morally upright, to have strength and willpower in difficult times, to have resilience, to have faith, and to have solidarity? Could it be that the incentives and design of our schools and institutions, our jobs, and the conventional path of life cause apathy, complacency, and disillusionment, which we're misinterpreting as laziness?

My argument here is not that Tony Robbins, David Goggins, or any other source of inspiration or motivation for human tenacity have no place in our lives; in fact, I deeply admire these individuals and have found them to be an immense source of inspiration in difficult times in my life. I am exhorting us to remember that there's so much more nuance and complexity to understand about the world, about the human condition, about other people, and about ourselves. And what's even worse is when we try to apply the same set of values to practical domains like business, the education system, or government, which ultimately leads to inefficient, backwards systems that are foundationally misaligned with the cause-and-effect nature of our world and systematically produce injustice and perpetuate societal problems. Because when we emphasize character, the only thing left to do is to blame. Because in this simplistic worldview, that's the best available answer.

Idolizing these beliefs and acting as though it tells us the full narrative ultimately breeds discontment, bitterness, insensitivity, hatred: If it works for me, why can't it work for others? And worse yet, the inverse breeds self-hatred: If it works for others, why isn't it working for me? Indeed, why is the right terminology, but most of us usually stop there, because our myopic conception of the pathways to success and our internalized, emotionally charged beliefs about grit, resilience, and tenacity belie the spirit of curiosity and reason that's required to take that step further to understand why—with clarity, compassion, and discernment.