Free Will Is a Thing
Or Why I Still Teach
At the end of last year, Stanford neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky received a great deal of attention for his latest book, Determined: A Science of Life Without Free Will. His thesis, which I will not do justice in explaining, is that we humans do not really understand the “why” of the actions we take. We do not choose to take most of our decisions, but rather we need to understand the biological history of our organism and how that shaped the manner in which we arrived where we are – our evolution explains the decisions we make in our lived contexts and by our chemical makeup.
In one of the more notable examples he shares, he reduces falling in love not to whether or not we are attracted to a person for his/her personality, intelligence, etc., but rather it might be largely triggered by how much we enjoy another person’s smell.
(I want to go on the record that I really like how my wife smells. But I am going to posit that the coefficient of that variable is quite small compared to the other attributes that have drawn me to her for over three decades.)
Even if we grant Sapolsky’s thesis on the scientific foundations that got us to where we are, one wonders if the origin of his analysis goes back to either the very biological evolution of our species or to some anthropomorphic deity that set everything in motion. As such, I suppose Sapolsky would assert that we are simply passing through our lives and this universe based upon our histories, and what we actually do or accomplish is not really the outcome of any of our choices but rather are determined mostly by circumstance or even happenstance — regardless of the initial source.
So, if he’s right, I wondered,
“Why would anyone choose to be a teacher?”
For some, teaching is simply a job – a path for a paycheck and career. But for others teaching evolves into a calling – with the purpose of giving students the tools they need to be successful and perhaps to think more broadly about the impact on their families, communities, companies, or even their countries.
But if students and their actions are largely predetermined, and who they are as humans and leaders is largely set a priori before they arrive in our classrooms, why bother teaching? And for those of who teach at Business Schools, if what it takes to be a leader might be more readily influenced by the “unserious” behaviors of some of our leading business leaders, what’s the point of teaching – especially if one has other options for making a living?
I was pondering this question one morning while watching a Netflix documentary on Doc Rivers, the NBA basketball head coach. In one vignette he said something about coaching that crisply exemplified why I believe some become and stay a teacher. Coach Rivers said,
You get pleasure in watching young [people] grow up. Some of the advice when I first got started was wrong. I was told, "Don't get too close to them because some of them will let you down." Get close to them. Some do let you down. So what? Your job is to coach them and make them better players, better people, and better teammates. How to be tough, how to be compassionate, how to be a good winner, and how to be a good loser (if there is such a thing). It teaches you life.
I always tell them, "I am not going to coach you to who you are. I am going to coach you to who you should be someday."
For me, if we substitute the word “coach” to “teach” in Rivers’ last sentence it carries the spirit of why many individuals (including myself) become and remain a teacher.
Now, maybe Sapolsky would argue that I am simply the stimulus for my students; that my evolution or creation put me on the path to be that thing that fires synapses (or not) in my students’ brains. But I don’t buy that teachers being in the front of the room is a natural evolution of any person’s individual existence.
In my case, I have a choice in what I do for a living and I choose to take on that role.
By the same token, I believe my students can be exactly the leaders they want to be. Kind, bombastic, empathetic, hard-assed, ambitious, lazy — it’s their choice. Especially the students that I am lucky enough to teach — men and women from all over the world blessed with great talent and capabilities.
I’m hopefully smart enough to understand that some of us have more options in life than others, and I’m hopefully wise enough to appreciate the blessings that I and others have – gifts not available to all.
But I still keep coming back to Free Will. Sapolsky might argue that teaching is simply my being a part of the machine that we call the universe. And he even says we can ignore the machine if we want to so that we can enjoy what we experience and can feel a bit more human — even if it’s still just a machine as he asserts.
Maybe.
But if we don’t have any repeatable proof that the machine predetermines everything, and we cannot identify root cause of the machine, maybe the machine never existed in the first place? No amount of science can prove the presence of the machine or a system where everything is predetermined. There is no proof of Sapolsky’s assertion — just his claim that we are part of a machine in which we don’t really impact outcomes by choices we make.
But it is just as plausible that we do actually make choices based upon those forces that got us to where we are even if we don’t control all of those forces.
How we act in any given moment are choices we get to make as individuals and humans.
My students can choose to be exactly the leaders they want to be.
And I can choose to teach with the goal of helping them be the best version of themselves.
Free Will is a thing.
That's a really good question. Yulia and I had a heated discussion about it after one of Sapolsky's lectures. I sometimes agree with him because I see in education that many people follow their own paths and education itself doesn't seem to change them much. I think education's role as you said is to ask questions that might spark deep thinking and new ideas (that would lead to the true path of a particular person).
I don't understand why you think being part of there is no room for teaching. You seem to be a great part of the system, inspiring others and creating fun. Maybe you even change some people's paths, helping them get back to their true ones. The important thing is that everyone is enjoying themselves and feeling like they're doing something meaningful. Your teaching style, asking tough questions, helps people feel fulfilled and purposeful, even if that's not entirely true in the grand scheme of things. But who cares? It's great that we all find meaning—you in teaching, and us in learning.
After Stanford, I didn't become Elon Musk nor my live trajectory changed drastically, probably because I didn't take your courses, Robert. It's a bummer, but at least I had a fun time and I feel internally it was worth it . Maybe the real purpose of teaching isn't just teaching—maybe it's about connecting with others and giving them a sense of purpose. Hence from the system reproduction function teaching might be super important.
Finally, I don't understand why living things want to live instead of just being still or dead. It's easier to be a stone than a plant struggling for survival. What's the reason? We don't know, but maybe we don't need to know. It's just the way we're programmed, and maybe we shouldn't question it too much.
Thank you for sparking these thoughts even if I completely missed your point ;) and if you don't get mine (I am not sure I fully understand what I wrote above). In any case, thank you for being around. And please don't stop writing
The hardest part about being a teacher — I’d imagine — is that you will never be there to see the fruits of your harvest. You will not be there when I’m weighing a difficult fork in the road. You will not be there when I’m tossing and turning in bed late at night trying to figure out how to deal with a tricky situation, one that inevitably boils down to people and values. You will not be there when I wake up the next morning, aware of my circumstance and the friction I’m experiencing — not with the world, but in understanding my self, and my own values.
In those moments the voices of my great teachers (you included) ring loudly in my ears: what would Rob tell you? Or, more likely, what would Rob ask you? Without a word I can feel the answer, through nothing more than a recollection of an emotion, a mannerism. Perhaps an even better question; what face would Rob make if this situation were playing out on a classroom floor and he were sitting behind his teachers’ desk in the front?
All you can do is believe that your coaching matters and is making a difference in ways you will never be able to bear witness to. As you said once before - “that is enough.”