What Is It Like to Be a Philosopher?

In this interview, Gregg Caruso, professor of philosophy at SUNY Corning, Visiting Fellow at Northeastern University London, and Honorary Professor of Philosophy at Macquarie University, talks about growing up working-class in Long Island, reading Sartre, On The Road, and the autobiography of Malcolm X, Catholic school, learning to play the upright bass, the Gulf War, going to William Patterson University to become a jazz musician, Kant, changing course and pursuing a career in philosophy, losing his religion, word processors, working with people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, payphones, taking classes with Rosenthal, Kim, Kripke, Block, and Nagel at the CUNY grad center, developing an interest in, and defending, free will skepticism, how his wife changed his life, teaching as a grad student, landing a gig at SUNY Corning, and his last meal…

[3/21/2023]

Where did you grow up?

I grew up in Malverne, New York, which is on Long Island not far from Queens. In many ways, it was the ideal place to grow up. On my street alone, there were fifteen to twenty kids all around my own age. There was never a shortage of things to do or trouble to get into. It was not uncommon, especially in the summer, to leave the house in the morning and not come home until dinner. We spent our days playing ball in the street and, once we got older, riding our bikes around town. We had a lot of autonomy back then. Unlike today, we didn’t have to arrange “play dates” or have our parents take us over to our friend’s house. Instead, we just walked next door or across the street to find someone to hang out with. To this day, I remain friends with many of the kids I grew up with.

What was your family like?

I come from a large, loud, and loving Italian family where I was the youngest of six boys. Having five older brothers meant I had to learn how to speak up for myself if I wanted to be heard. As a result, I still speak rather fast and loud. My dad came from a large family in Brooklyn. At eighteen, he joined the Marines and went off to fight in the Korean War. When he was in Korea, my mother, who worked for the telephone company at the time, started writing letters to him—encouraged by a woman she worked with who was dating someone in my father’s unit. When my dad got out of the service, they dated for a short time and then quickly got married. My three oldest brothers were born in Astoria, Queens but then the family moved to Long Island, where the rest of us were born. Eventually, my father opened his own business designing, making, and installing kitchens and baths. He was an old-school carpenter and cabinet maker in the days before you could go to Home Depot and buy your cabinets premade. He was a real craftsman. He was also the hardest working person I ever knew.

My mother was primarily a stay-at-home mom, though when I was a kid, she also worked as a lunch lady and teacher’s assistant at the local elementary school. She also took care of the accounting for my father’s business. She was the real rock of the family and was always there when you needed her.

Growing up, my house was always filled with frenetic energy. People were always coming and going. And our front door was never locked. As my brothers began to date and then marry, the size of the family just kept growing and growing. There was, however, one constant. The kitchen table was always the center of our home. My mother would always have a pot of sauce on the stove or something cooking in the oven. Dinner was always a family affair. No matter how old you were or what you had going on in your life, the family always sat down and ate dinner together—usually at 5:30 p.m. sharp. It was a family rule.

While my family was definitely working-class, and neither of my parents attended college, we never felt poor. Yes, most of my clothes were hand-me-downs and I had to share a bedroom with three of my older brothers, but we had everything we needed. I mention this only because there’s this impression that everyone in academia comes from well-educated, upper-class families. I want people to know that, while there is still a lot of elitism in academia, there are also plenty of people, like myself, who are first-generation college students and come from working-class families.

As a little kid, what were you interested in?

Primarily books and playing with my friends. I also enjoyed going to work with my dad and helping him building things out of wood. 

How were you similar to, and different from, the rest of your friends and family?

I was definitely more introverted than most of my friends. There were extended periods of time where I just wanted to be by myself. I also used to joke that I must have been adopted, since I felt I was very different from the rest of my family. As a kid, all I wanted to do was move to New York City, travel the world, and be some kind of bohemian. I was also quieter, more reserved, and (how to put this delicately…?) more of a rule-follower than some of my brothers (though I was by no means a saint). I was also the only one in my family interested in jazz, books, philosophy, and issues of social justice. I remember, for instance, reading Malcom X’s autobiography as a kid and getting deeply into the history of the civil rights movement. I’m not sure why, but even as a child I was hypersensitive to injustice in society, especially racism. The one thing, though, that I have in common with all my brothers is that we are family-oriented—something we all got from our parents. Family means a lot to us.

As a teenager, did you like high school?

Not exactly. I had some fun and made some good lifelong friends, but if you asked me at the time, I probably would have said I hated it. After attending public schools all my life, I asked my parents to send me to a private Catholic high school—Kellenberg Memorial. At first, they said no, since the tuition was expensive and they didn’t have the money. But eventually they gave in. Looking back, I know it must have been a financial sacrifice for them. But that was my parents—they always found a way to put us kids first. I’m not exactly sure why I wanted to go to Catholic school. I think, unconsciously, I felt that if I went to my public high school, I would have ended up a burnout or working some unfulfilling job. I wanted something more out of life, even if I didn’t know what that was yet.

Ironically, as soon I got to Kellenberg Memorial, I begged my parents to go back to public school, but they refused. I disliked the uniforms, the strictness, and (over time) the focus on religion. I was raised Roman Catholic and had never really questioned my faith up to that point. In fact, at various points in my childhood, I was very interested in religion. But during my high school years, I began to question my beliefs, which strained my relationship with the Marianist brothers who ran the school.

What was on your mind in general?

It’s hard to remember. But I know in high school I started reading a lot of philosophical fiction, including Kafka, Camus, Sartre, and Milan Kundera. I was also really into the beats—Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, and Allen Ginsberg. I distinctly remember a friend of one of my brothers giving me a copy of Kerouac’s On the Road. After reading it, I literarily wanted to drop out of school, crisscross America, picking up odd jobs to survive. Fortunately, I didn’t do that. But the books I was reading filled me with a wanderlust that never really left me. In fact, immediately after graduating high school, I backpacked across Europe with my cousin. And not long after that, my friend James and I hitchhiked around Canada.

Love Burroughs and Ginsberg. I had the exact same reaction to On The Road. What else were you passionate about?

My passion in high school was music. Period. I was obsessed with both learning how to play it and with listening to it. Originally, I wanted to become a drummer since my older brother Bobby played the drums. I remember setting up his old drum kit in my bedroom and teaching myself the basics. But when I started a band with my two best friends, one of them was already a drummer, and much better than I, so I switched to the bass. My high school years were spent jamming, listening to albums, and practicing the bass. A bit later, I’m not exactly sure when, I purchased an upright bass and started getting interested in jazz. That transformed my life. At that point, I was myopically focused on becoming a professional jazz musician. 

Any early signs you'd end up being a philosopher?  Like, were you a reflective young person? 

I was a very contemplative child. I really enjoyed sitting alone letting my mind wander. I was also prone to abstract thought and discussing the “big questions” in life. In high school, for instance, I took to having deep theological debates with my friends, as well as the brothers that ran the school. But I had no idea what philosophy was back then, let alone that it was a career option.  

What did you do for fun?

Listen to music. Jam. Read. Go to concerts. Hang out with my friends.

Where did you apply to school?

I applied to the Berklee College of Music in Boston and got in. The plan was for me and my two buddies to all go together. Unfortunately, at the last minute my parents realized that the cost was simply too much so I backed out. Instead, I enrolled in the music program at my local community college. After about a year, I transferred to William Paterson University in New Jersey, which had one of the best small-combo jazz programs in the nation. I was drawn to WPU because it was close to New York City. It also had a world-class lineup of jazz instructors, include my then private upright bass teacher.

World events that had a significant impact on your worldview before college?

At the end of my senior year, the Gulf War began. I remember it was a major topic of discussion and debate among my friends. One of my classmates joined the Army immediately. The rest of us were afraid and worried. We were concerned that the US might get bogged down in a protracted conflict in the Middle East, one that could easily spread to other nations. I distinctly remember an evening at a friend’s house when we sat around discussing what we would do if there was a draft—which, of course, there was no real discussion of at the time, but being eighteen and scared, we nevertheless contemplated. I think that was the beginning of my political awakening.     

If the person you were when you graduated high school met the person you are now, what would he recognize, and what would surprise him?

That’s a very interesting question. I think, at first, they would be shocked that I didn’t end up a jazz musician. That was my raison d'etre back then. But beyond that, I think my high school self would recognize a lot in my current self. I still retain the same creative spirit, curiosity, commitment to friends and family, and desire to travel and experience new things that I had back then. I also think music and philosophy, especially jazz, have a lot in common. Both require, for instance, critical and creative skills. If you want to be a professional in either field, you really need to study theory, be good at abstract thinking, and learn how to apply your theoretical knowledge in practical and creative ways. I would like to think that my younger self would find what I do now familiar in some fundamental sense.

Favorite classes and inspirational teachers in college? Friends? How did you discover philosophy?

When I arrived at William Paterson University, I was still majoring in jazz performance. But then I took a philosophy course—probably because it fit my schedule or fulfilled a Humanities requirement. It was an intro course with Daniel Kolak, who was well-known on campus for his antics in the classroom. He was a really dynamic teacher and I immediately became hooked. After that class, I started taking every philosophy course I could and at some point, I don’t remember exactly when, I officially changed my major. I remember taking classes on epistemology, metaphysics, aesthetics, ancient philosophy, Eastern philosophy, and phenomenology. But it was a seminar with William Boos on Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason that convinced me to that I wanted to be a professional philosopher. I remember being so impressed by his scholarship that I said to myself, “I don’t know if I understand all this, but I want to do what he’s doing.”

Another big factor in my change in direction was that I met and became friends with a group of fellow students who were also interested in philosophy. We organized reading groups, hung out, and talked philosophy with each other all the time. If I had not met those guys, I don’t think I would be a philosopher today. The group included Rob Talisse (who is now W. Alton Jones Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University), Dwight Goodyear (Professor at Westchester Community College), Rob Tempio (publisher at Princeton University Press), and Matthew Cotter (now an Executive Director at CUNY). There was also a group of students that I didn’t know as well who were at WPU around that time and went on to have successful academic careers, including Thom Brooks (who is Professor of Law and Government at Durham University). I was just lucky to be at the right place at the right time.

Philosophy…what was the hook?

I think it was a combination of things. In many ways, philosophy just naturally fit my personality. It tapped into my curiosity, my love of reading, and my desire to know and explore big questions. It also didn’t require math or memorizing dates. I really liked its abstract nature. I was also drawn to philosophy’s revolutionary nature. Philosophy is punk! It challenges everything—authority, tradition, and the status quo. Nothing is sacrosanct. In my rebel youth, I found that very attractive.

Same. What was the biggest challenge, given your change in direction?

I don’t recall many external challenges, but I do remember going through an existential crisis. When someone’s identity is intimately tied with what they do, as was the case for me and music, it’s difficult to leave that thing behind without experiencing a crisis of self-identity. You feel like you are betraying yourself in some way. I have a lot of friends that have been forced out of academia because of the job market, and almost all of them experience something similar. 

What did your parents think?

That’s the funniest part. My parents thought I was going from a difficulty career choice, music, to a more secure and stable one when I switched to philosophy. They were therefore very supportive. They felt that the likelihood of success in music was extremely low. They also feared the lack of job security. Little did they know that becoming a professional academic and landing a tenured position is just as hard, if not harder.

In college, how devoted were you to your studies?

In college, I was pretty focused. When I was a jazz major, I practiced five to six hours a day. When I switched to philosophy, I applied that same level of dedication and hard work to what I was doing. Sure, I partied and had a good time, but I also studied hard and did well in all my classes. I have a compulsive personality. When I get into something, whether it be a new hobby or whatnot, I pour everything I have into it. That’s not necessarily a good thing, but it’s who I am.

Relationships?

I had a couple of girlfriends in college, but nothing too serious. Most of my down time was spent talking philosophy and debating with friends.

Overall, in college, how did your worldview transform?

That’s a hard question to answer, but I think the biggest change was that I became a philosophical naturalist and relinquished whatever was left of my Catholic upbringing.

Main reason?

There was no one moment or event. It was just a slow progression in my thinking, which began in high school and culminated in college. I came to realize that the metaphysical commitments of my religious upbringing just didn’t make sense and lacked justification. If you take the justification of your beliefs seriously, you realize that you need to earn your beliefs, not just inherit them. Unfortunately, many people find it difficult to view their inherited worldview with the same level of skepticism that they view foreign beliefs with. Over time, however, I came to believe that the naturalistic worldview was the most justified.

When did you decide to go to grad school? Where did you want to go and why? 

I was completely naive back then. I knew nothing about graduate programs or how hard it was to get into a good program. I knew I wanted to go to graduate school, but I didn’t have a good writing sample at the time. So, I took a year off, during which I got a job working for the AHRC taking care of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. At the same time, I took a graduate course at the City University of New York, Graduate Center, as a non-matriculated student. The course was with David Rosenthal. I used the course to generate my writing sample and ended up doing pretty well. At that point, and still being naïve, I applied only to one program, the CUNY Graduate Center. A number of students from WPU had gone on to CUNY and I wanted to stay in New York, so I had my sights set on going there and studying philosophy of mind with David Rosenthal. By some miracle of miracles, I got accepted. In hindsight, I cannot believe it worked out.

Any technological developments that had a significant impact on your life as an undergrad?

I think the most notable change culturally was with regard to technology. My parents sent me off to college with a word processor that was little more than a glorified typewriter. But by the time I graduated, everyone was using computers. The widespread use of cellphones also appeared to occur overnight. As a college student, I couldn’t afford a phone in my dorm room so I had to use the payphone at the end of the hall. That’s unheard of today. There’s no doubt that advances in technology have changed everything—from how we write our books and articles to how we think, communicate, and interact.   

Was grad school what you expected?

I think I had a decent idea of what to expect, having talked with friends who were already in the program. The hardest thing for me was money, since I was not given a free ride and living in New York was expensive. So, in addition to my classes, I had to take on odd jobs. Academically, though, I think I knew what the expectations were. If there was one thing that I was unprepared for, it was how political the department was back then. There were lots of divisions among the faculty. If you took a course with Prof. X, it would upset Prof. Y. I was not expecting that. 

No need to name names, but could you elaborate?

There were just certain cliques in the department and certain faculty were very proprietary over the students they worked with. Some of the divisions in the department were philosophical and ideological, others were based on personality differences. It was a lot to navigate for a naïve grad student like myself, especially since I enjoyed taking a wide variety of courses with faculty from different traditions and schools of thought.

How much did you draw on what you learned as an undergrad?

Probably not much. My undergraduate education was rather broad, but not very deep. In some ways, I was woefully unprepared. Additionally, in graduate school I was interested in studying philosophy of mind and cognitive science, even though I had no background in either. I had to get myself up to speed quickly.

Favorite classes?

My favorite classes where the one’s I took with David Rosenthal. They included philosophy of mind, consciousness, the mind/body problem, subjectivity and the self, and a course on Quine and Sellars. I was also a member of the Cognitive Science group, which met weekly and was run by David Rosenthal. I learned a lot in that group. I also enjoyed my classes with Jaegwon Kim, Simon Blackburn, Michael Devitt, Julia Driver, Arnold Koslow, and Saul Kripke. Kim’s course on mental causation, for instance, really influenced me. As did Devitt’s courses on naturalized metaphysics. I also sat in on Saul Kripke’s first course at the Graduate Center, which was on Naming and Necessity. Beyond my courses at the Graduate Center, I also regularly attended the Mind and Language seminar at NYU, run by Ned Block and Thomas Nagel. Every week there would be a different speaker. It was a virtual who’s who of philosophy of mind and language. I learned a lot there. Ironically, I never took a course on free will or moral responsibility, which is what I work most on now.   

Did you dig the classes with Rosenthal because of the content? Teaching style? Both?

Both. But I think it was the content that really intrigued me. I was really interested in consciousness and there were only a handful of theories of consciousness available at the time. I thought Rosenthal’s higher-order thought (HOT) theory was the best of the bunch, and it was an honor to study with the man himself.   

What was Kripke like?

I had limited interaction with him but as anyone who ever met him knows, he had his quirks. When attending his seminar, he would come in without any notes and just begin lecturing. Often, he was brilliant. But there were also times I found it difficult to watch him. I remember a time when he was eating soup while lecturing. It kept running down his beard, which was extremely distracting. I recall thinking to myself, “If I had to choose between brilliance without social graces, or social graces without brilliance, I would choose the latter.”

What was the dissertation on? Who was your dissertation advisor?

My dissertation was on free will and consciousness and my advisor was Michael Levin, who I disagreed with on just about everything but got along well with. Toward the end of my course work, I started to get interested in free will, despite the fact that no one at the Graduate Center was working on or teaching courses on free will at the time. I started a reading group with Michael Levin and two fellow students, Rick Repetti and Bana Bashour. We meet weekly and systematically worked our way through the first edition of The Oxford Handbook of Free Will, edited by Robert Kane, which was a great way to immerse myself in the literature. I saw a way to combine the work I was doing in philosophy of mind (especially the higher-order thought theory of consciousness) with my interest in free will, so that’s what I decided to write on. 

Was grad school in general, or writing the dissertation, challenging?

I didn’t find my course work too difficult. I think my lowest grade was an A-. That said, writing the dissertation was extremely difficult for me. I’m not exactly sure why, but it took me an embarrassingly long time. At points, I even contemplated quitting. There was some kind of psychological block that was holding me back. In hindsight, I think my project was too big for one dissertation. I was also trying to write it as a book, which was a mistake. It was also during that time that I met my wife-to-be, and within a year we were married. That slowed me down as well, but I have no regrets.  

Advice for graduate students?

My advice would be to pick a dissertation topic that is manageable and something you can complete in a timely fashion. View it as a requirement that needs to be satisfied, not your magnum opus. I got caught up thinking about it as the most important thing I was ever going to write, which it wasn’t. Approaching it that way really paralyzed me. Also, be sure to find a supportive advisor that is willing to guide you through the process. It’s extremely important to have someone that is invested in your success.

Were you encouraged to publish?

There wasn’t much pressure on graduate students to publish back then—at least I didn’t experience it. I did, however, publish a couple things as a graduate student. But I mainly did it on my own initiative. In fact, I distinctly remember getting chewed out by one of my professors for publishing an article that they thought deserved to be at a higher-ranked journal. They were angry that I didn’t consult them first. I was rather pigheaded back then and thought I could figure everything out myself. I made lots of mistakes.

I did, however, luck out with publishing my dissertation. In my defense, Steven Cahn was on my committee and he started asking me some really basic questions. I flubbed some of my answers because I thought he was laying a trap for me. But at some point he just stopped his inquiry. I didn’t feel good about the exchange and thought he must have thought I was an idiot. So, the next day, after I successfully defended the dissertation, I emailed him explaining how I should have answered. He responded by saying that he thought the dissertation was great and would make an excellent book. He had already contacted a publisher on my behalf and told me to email them. Within a week I had my first book contract. To be honest, I’m not sure it was good for my psyche to jump directly from writing and defending my dissertation to working on a book. I could have used a break. But I was extremely grateful for the opportunity! I guess, in the end, he didn’t think I was an idiot.  

What were your fellow grad students like?

There was a great cohort of students at the CUNY Graduate Center at the time. We were all good friends and hung out together a lot. I remember organizing a reading group on qualia and the explanatory gap with Josh Weisberg, Barbara Montero, and a number of others. I also had my free will reading group. But I was probably closest with the people in the cognitive science group. We went out for drinks together every week after out meeting. There was no shortage of people to talk philosophy with and people were generally supportive of each other.

Who did you hang out with and what did you do to unwind?

I mainly hung out with Josh Weisberg, Mark McEvoy, Liz Vlahos, Maureen Eckert, Rob Talisse, Richard Brown, Pete Mandik, Andrew Hathaway, Roblin Meeks, Fritz McDonald, Daniel Leafe, Jared Blank, Mark Zelcer, Bill Seeley, Rick Repetti, Bana Bashour, Elly Vintiadis, Rob Tempio, and others I am no doubt forgetting. We hung out at dive bars and drank a lot. One of our frequent haunts was Rudy’s—a no-frills bar in Hell’s Kitchen that served free hot dogs. I spent many a night in that bar.  

In grad school, how did you change, philosophically?

Philosophically, my views on free will all started to come into focus. In my dissertation, I defended a form of hard incompatibilism, which maintains that the sort of free will required for basic desert moral responsibility is incompatible with both the causal determination of our actions by natural factors beyond our control and the kind of indeterminacy in action required by the most plausible versions of libertarianism. I became convinced that who we are and what we do is ultimately the result of factors beyond our control and because of this we are never morally responsible for our actions in the basic desert sense. Initially, I thought I would spend a few years working on free will and then circle back to my interests in philosophy of mind. But that never happened. Once I went down the rabbit hole, one thing led to another. I started to become more and more interested in the practical implications of free will skepticism and what it meant for morality, meaning, and the law. My career continues to be preoccupied with these issues.

Personally, how’d you evolve?

Personally, I grew a lot as well. New York has a way of sucking you in. Let’s just say, I partied a lot during my grad school years. But then, when I was ABD, I met my wife. She saved me from sliding off the edge. 

How’d you meet your wife? How’d she save you?

I met my wife through a dating app. We lived in the same neighborhood in Astoria, Queens and agreed to meet for dinner at a local restaurant. At the time, she was working in the cover art department of a major publisher. We hit it off immediately and were married within a year and a half. I would say that she saved me from myself. At the time, I was drinking and partying a lot. I was also struggling with the dissertation and didn’t know if I wanted to continue. She gave me a reason to grow up and refocused my efforts. I am extremely lucky to have met her. She is my rock. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her. We’ve now been married for eighteen years and have a fourteen-year-old who’s about to enter high school. The two of them are my everything.   

Low points? High points?

There were a lot of both. Graduate school was a psychological roller coaster. While I generally handled the pressure well, there were times I doubted myself and my abilities. I think everyone experiences imposter syndrome at some point in grad school. The real low point, however, was completing my dissertation. As I said, I came very close to quitting. On the other hand, I learned a lot and met lots of great people. I really enjoyed my grad school years.

What was your first-time teaching in the classroom like?

I loved it from the get-go. I dedicated a lot of time and energy into preparing my classes, which was probably another thing that prevented me from completing my dissertation quickly. Once I got passed my masters, and I was eligible to teach, I landed a position at Brooklyn College as a graduate teaching fellow. It was a wonderful experience. I really loved it there. The student body was extremely diverse, which I loved. I also got along well with the faculty. They treated me as an equal and not just an adjunct. The funny thing is that one could go through graduate school without receiving any training in how to be a good teacher. I had a friend, for instance, who completed his PhD and didn’t teach his first class until after he defended his dissertation. Once he did, he realized he hated it so much that he decided to go to law school instead. For me, it was the opposite. Being in the classroom felt natural. It was something I really enjoyed. I taught at Brooklyn College for three years before moving to John Jay College of Criminal Justice, where I taught for two years. Then I went back to Brooklyn College for one more year as a full-time, non-tenure-track, Assistant Professor.

How did you end up at SUNY Corning?

I applied for and got my job at SUNY Corning before I had completed my dissertation. It was a Hail Mary Pass for me. My wife and I wanted to stay in New York and I was struggling with the dissertation, so I thought to myself: “If I get this job I’ll stay in academia, and if I don’t I’ll leave it altogether.” While I’m not sure I would have stuck to that, it was how I felt at the time. The thing that helped me the most, I think, was that by that stage I already had several years of teaching experience, since graduate students at CUNY were given lots of opportunities to teach at the various CUNY campuses, and Corning is a teaching-centered institution. That said, I was extraordinarily lucky to get the job. In fact, much of my success has been pure luck. I was lucky in college to meet a group of like-minded students interested in philosophy. I was lucky to get into the CUNY Graduate Center. I was lucky to get my first book contract. And I was lucky to land my current position.

What would you have done outside of academia?

I have no idea! Perhaps publishing. 

Since grad school, what have been your 5 proudest philosophical accomplishments?

That’s a tough question. I guess I would say my five authored books. I worked really hard on those. And the one I’m most proud of would have to be Rejecting Retributivism: Free Will, Punishment, and Criminal Justice, which just won the APA’s 2022 Joseph B. Gittler Award for an outstanding scholarly contribution in the field of the philosophy of one or more of the social sciences. That book represents the most comprehensive statement of my view to date and defends a novel public health approach to addressing criminal behavior that prioritizes prevention and social justice. I’m also really proud of my debate book with Daniel Dennett, Just Deserts: Debating Free Will, as well as Moral Responsibility Reconsidered, which I coauthored with Derk Pereboom.

Beyond the books, though, I’m extremely proud of my work with the Justice Without Retribution Network, which I do-direct with Elizabeth Shaw, Derk Pereboom, and Farah Focquaert. The network brings together leading scholars and promising early career researchers from law, philosophy, psychology, and neuroscience to investigate whether non-retributive approaches to criminal behavior are ethically defensible and practically workable. I’m also extremely proud of the fact that my work has gained traction outside of the philosophical community and is being discussed by lawyers, judges, criminologists, and public policy advocates.

How would you describe your views in a nutshell?

I’m a free will skeptic who maintains that who we are and what we do is ultimately the result of factors beyond our control (whether those be determinism, indeterminism, or luck) and because of this we are never morally responsible for our actions in the basic desert sense—the sense according to which agents deserve the harm or pain of blame or punishment just because they acted wrongly, given that they were aware or should have been aware that the action was wrong. My own route to free will skepticism presents arguments that target the three leading rival views—event-causal libertarianism, agent-causal libertarianism, and compatibilism—and then claims the skeptical position is the only defensible position that remains standing. In brief: Against the view that free will is compatible with the causal determination of our actions by natural factors beyond our control, I argue that there is no relevant difference between this prospect and our actions being causally determined by manipulators. Against event causal libertarianism, I object (among other things) that on such accounts agents are left unable to settle whether a decision occurs and hence cannot have the control required for moral responsibility. I further maintain that non-causal accounts of free will suffer from the same problem. While agent-causal libertarianism could, in theory, supply this sort of control, I argue that it cannot be reconciled with our best philosophical and scientific theories about the world and faces additional problems accounting for mental causation. Since this exhausts the options for views on which we have the sort of free will and moral responsibility at issue, I conclude that basic desert moral responsibility skepticism is the only remaining position

Can the debate between compatibilists and incompatibilists ever be settled? I sometimes wonder...

I’m not sure but I think a big part of the problem is that people are not always clear on what they mean by “free will.” For me, free will is the control in action required for basic desert moral responsibility. Understood this way, free will is a kind of power or ability an agent must possess in order to justify certain kinds of desert-based judgments, attitudes, or treatments—such as resentment, indignation, moral anger, and retributive punishment—in response to decisions or actions that the agent performed or failed to perform. These reactions would be justified on purely backward-looking grounds—that is what makes them basic—and would not appeal to consequentialist or forward-looking considerations.

Thus defined, I maintain that manipulation arguments against compatibilism are convincing and that both hard- and soft-line attempts to respond to them fail. Manipulation arguments maintain that, if an agent is causally determined to act by, say, a team of scientists who unbeknownst to them manipulate their brain, then they are not morally responsible for that action in the basic desert sense even if they satisfy all the prominent compatibilist conditions of moral responsibility. The argument then continues and maintains that there is no relevant difference between such manipulated agents and their ordinary deterministic counterparts that can justify the claim that manipulated agents are not morally responsible in the basic desert sense while determined agents are. Hence, the argument concludes, if agents are not free and morally responsible in the basic desert sense under conditions of manipulation, then they are also not free and morally responsible in conditions of ordinary determinism.

But I mean, there are people who clearly understand these arguments as well as you, and still just disagree. What do you think this disagreement is rooted in?

I think it’s rooted in the strong desire to preserve the ability to hold agents morally responsible via various desert-based attitudes, judgments, and treatments. We have a strong and natural strike-back emotion that’s hard to shake. In the face of wrongdoing, we often feel moral anger and think the wrongdoer deserves to be blamed and/or punished. I think many find it hard to question these moral responsibility practices, but once you do you find that they hard to justify. In fact, despite the image many have of philosophy as being radical and willing to challenge our core beliefs, most contemporary philosophers are rather conservative and want to preserve most of our everyday beliefs and practices. Some are even willing to bend over backwards to do so. This is why my good friend Bruce Waller called the moral responsibility system stubborn, since close examination reveals that belief in basic desert moral responsibility is stronger than the philosophical arguments presented in its favor. In fact, recent empirical work by Cory Clark and others has shown that a key factor promoting belief in free will is a fundamental desire to blame and hold others morally responsible for their wrongful behaviors. There is good reason to think, then, that desire to blame and hold others morally responsible comes first and drives our belief in free will, rather than the other way around.

I'm sympathetic to free will skepticism, but realistically, do you think people will ever really reject the idea we are morally responsible for our actions in say, the retributivist sense?

I hope so! I contend that life without belief in free will and basic desert moral responsibility is not only possible, but preferable. The notion of just deserts is too often used to justify punitive excess in criminal justice, to encourage treating people in severe and demeaning ways, and to perpetuate social and economic inequality. Resentment, indignation, and moral anger are also often counterproductive and corrosive to our interpersonal relationships. By abandoning belief in free will and the notion of just deserts, we can look more clearly at the causes and more deeply into the systems that shape individuals and their behavior, and this will allow us to adopt more humane and effective practices and policies.

So, you are not just an academic, but an activist of sorts. How does a free will skeptic help somebody who might understand the arguments intellectually, get behind the ideas, emotionally? How do you help people get over their reactive attitudes in the worst of the worst cases?

I think it’s important to distinguish between narrow-profile and wide-profile reactive attitudes. Narrow-profile attitudes are local or immediate emotional reactions to situations, whereas wide-profile responses are not immediate and involve rational reflection. While we may be unable to appreciably reduce narrow-profile retributive reactions in some cases, it is open for us to diminish or even eliminate retributive reactions in wide-profile cases. If I am hurt in an intimate personal relationship, for example, it may be beyond my ability to resist feeling resentment or anger. But when it comes to the law, which involves wide-profile rational reflection, we can indeed disavow retributivism in the sense of rejecting any force it may be assumed to have in justifying a harmful response to wrongdoing.

Is there a case that brings out your inner retributivist? How do you deal? How might we help people overcome these attitudes?

Sure, many cases of violent crime bring out my inner retributivist but I always remind myself of the all-encompassing role luck plays in our lives. First, there is the initial lottery of life or luck of the draw, over which we have no say. Whether we are born into poverty or affluence, war or peace, abusive or loving homes, is simply a matter of luck. It is also a matter of luck what natural gifts, talents, predispositions, and physical traits we are born with. Beyond this initial lottery of life, there is also the luck of what breaks one encounters during one’s period of self-formation, and what environmental influences are most salient to us. Combined, these matters of luck determine what Thomas Nagel famously calls constitutive luck­—luck in who one is and what character traits and dispositions one has. Since our genes, parents, peers, and other environmental influences all contribute to making us who we are, and since we have no control over these, it seems what who we are is at least largely a matter of luck. And since how we act is a function of who we are, the existence of constitutive luck entails that what actions we perform depends on luck.

How do your views of free will influence your life, and vice versa?

I think my views on free will have altered how I parent and how I interact with others. I try not to give in to moral anger. And instead of seeking revenge for wrongdoing, I focus instead on moral exchanges that aim at reconciliation and moral formation.

It’s important to note that while free will skeptics deny that agents are morally responsible in the basic desert sense, they do not deny that agents are responsible in other important senses. This is because, even if an agent fails to be morally responsibility in the basic desert sense, it may remain legitimate to say that they have take-charge responsibility, role responsibility, liability responsibility, and the kinds of responsibility associated with attributability and answerability, since these in no way presuppose or depend upon desert.

Additionally, on Derk Pereboom’s forward-looking account of moral responsibility, which I also endorse and defend, when we encounter wrongdoing, it is perfectly legitimate to engage in moral protest and ask the agent, “Why did you decide to do that?” or “Do you think it was the right thing to do?” If the reasons given in response to such questions are morally unsatisfactory, we regard it as justified to invite the agent to evaluate critically what their actions indicate about their intentions and character, to demand an apology, or to request reform. Engaging in such interactions is reasonable in light of several forward-looking considerations. A first is the right of those harmed or threatened to protect themselves from immoral behavior and its consequences, thereby securing safety. Second, we might have a stake in reconciliation with the wrongdoer, and calling them to account in this way can function as a step toward realizing this objective. Third, on both a personal and societal level we have an interest in the moral formation of the wrongdoer, and the address described functions as a stage in that process. Lastly, such interactions are also justified by the good of the recovery and restoration of victims harmed by wrongdoing. On this forward-looking account of moral responsibility, then, moral protest and exchange is grounded, not in basic desert, but in forward-looking non-desert-invoking desiderata, such as protection, reconciliation, moral formation, and recovery and restoration of victims.

Philosophical projects on the horizon? Long term philosophical goals?

I’m currently working on a short book on Neurolaw, which is an area of interdisciplinary research on the meaning and implications of neuroscience for the law and legal practices. The book will address the potential contributions of neuroscience to criminal justice decision-making and policy, with special emphasis on criminal responsibility. It will distinguish between three different areas and domains of investigation in neurolaw: assessment, intervention, and revision. The first concerns brain-based assessments, which may be used for predicting future violence, mind reading, judging legal insanity, and the like. The second concerns potential treatments and other interventions that aim at the prevention of crime. The third investigates the ways that neuroscience may impact the law by changing or revising commonsense views about human nature and the causes of human action.

After that, I’m thinking about write a book on prisons that would defend a qualified abolitionist view, one that allows for the use of non-punitive institutions of incapacitation when absolutely necessary but argues against prisons as punitive institutions. 

In general, how do you see the future of philosophy?

I know a lot of people on twitter and social media complain about the current state of philosophy but I tend to be an optimist. I think the future of philosophy is strong. There is more interesting and diverse work being done today in philosophy than perhaps ever before. In fact, I can barely keep up with all the excellent work being done in areas of philosophy that never previously existed. The days of philosophy being dominated by one or two figures (or methodologies) at a time is over, and I think that’s a good thing. Let a thousand flowers bloom, as they say. If I have any fears, they are not about philosophy itself but with direction of higher education, which has been moving away from providing students with a well-rounded liberal arts education and toward vocational training. This trend is bad, not only for the discipline of philosophy but for society as a whole.   

Best living philosopher you agree with?

That would be a three-way tie between Derk Pereboom and Neil Levy, who are both skeptics of basic desert moral responsibility like myself (also, Bruce Waller, who died recently). I also agree a lot with Owen Flanagan, especially his views on moral psychology, anger, and cross-cultural moral philosophy.

Best living philosopher you deeply disagree with?

I’m going to cheat again and say it’s a tie between Daniel Dennett, John Martin Fischer, Robert Kane, and Al Mele—all people I respect immensely and have learned a ton from. One of the great things about the free will community, at least in my experience, is that everyone gets along well and is supportive of each other, even if we strongly disagree on the philosophical issues. It just shows that you can disagree with people without being disagreeable.

What work would you want saved if everything else were erased from human memory?

Probably the works of Plato and Aristotle along with the teachings of Buddha. Not because I agree with them all, but because they would provide us with lots to think about and mull over.

What music are you listening to nowadays?

I listen to all kinds of music but I always come back to jazz. I have a huge collection of jazz CDs and records. If, however, I was only allowed to keep one artist’s discography, it would be Miles Davis. I think his two classic quintets, the first from 1955-59 (with John Coltrane, Red Garland, Paul Chamber, and Philly Joe Jones) and the second from 1964-68 (with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams), where probably the best ever arranged.

I have to ask about the glasses. Why the tiny lenses?

I just like the way they look. For some reason, I’ve always worn funky frames. It probably has something to do with my personality, but I’m not in a position to psychoanalyze myself.  

Last meal?

My mother’s red beans and rice. It was my favorite meal growing up. Although I’m Italian, my father was born in New Orleans and moved to Brooklyn when he was a child. My grandmother passed down her red beans and rice receipt to my mother, who made it for me all the time.

If you could ask an omniscient being a single question and get an honest answer, what would it be?

Given your question above, perhaps I should ask why I like tiny lenses and funky frames.

 Ha! Thanks, Gregg.

 [interviewer: Cliff Sosis]