Four Arguments for the Nonexistence of Free Will

[NOTE TO READER: This essay has been updated. Please read the more recent version (scroll up).]

“The only reason, for example, that you are not a rattlesnake is that your mother and father weren’t rattlesnakes. You deserve very little credit for being what you are – and remember, the people who come to you irritated, bigoted, unreasoning, deserve very little discredit for being what they are.” — Dale Carnegie, How to Win Friends and Influence People

Bending Intuition

Knowledge comes through many channels. It can be acquired by conscious effort, per academic ways of learning. It can accumulate unconsciously, seeping in through exposure to various cultures and contexts. It can arise suddenly, via flashes of insight produced by the veiled churnings of the subconscious mind. Or it can develop over aeons of natural trial and error, resulting in dispositions suited for survival in an oft-unforgiving world. But for all its different modes and forms, every bit of knowledge shares one crucial requisite: a dependence on intuition.

Without intuition to guide us, we could not learn anything. Our worldviews—from our likes and dislikes to our impressions of truth and falsehood—are inseparable from intuition. Whatever our convictions, whether we’re liberal or conservative, Buddhist, Christian, or nonreligious, none of us can escape intuition’s persuasive gravity. Intuition leads us to our most irrational beliefs and our most informed knowledge. After all, unless we can intuit that something is true (or false), we cannot incorporate it into our worldviews.

Though it often misleads us, only by intuition’s light can we be led to truth and better ways of thinking. We’ve managed to cobble together an impressive wealth of knowledge, thanks to countless individuals who’ve found ingenious ways to push human intuition into new areas. And by using clever tools to string intuition along in a step-wise fashion, we’ve transferred this valuable knowledge to others. Learning, of any kind, is the process of bending intuition down new avenues of thought and feeling; where intuition is absent, learning is impossible.

For example, consider what’s required to grasp the precise logic behind Einstein’s general relativity. To fully understand the theory, our intuition must be able to track advanced mathematics. But we cannot bring intuition to bear on complex maths until we’ve first trained it, sequentially, with simpler maths. And until we’ve gone through rote memorization of basic rules—to get an intuitive sense of addition, multiplication, etc.—we can do no maths at all. Regardless of subject matter or practice, all knowledge forms by bootstrapping intuition to ever-higher levels.

Since intuition props up both our best knowledge and most backwards beliefs, it can be hard to discern fact from fiction—which, of course, is a judgment ultimately left to intuition itself. The stronger our intuitions, the more difficult this challenge becomes. And intuitions are rarely stronger, or more rigid, than when associated with our sense of self. Consequently, we struggle to see ourselves clearly. Over the generations we’ve shifted our view of our place in the universe, the age of the cosmos, the origins of species, and even the limits of what’s physically possible, but we’ve clung to outdated notions about our soul-like human natures.

Perhaps the most deep-rooted intuition of all is the conviction that we exist as agents, capable of standing aside from the causal flow of events to act autonomously upon the world. If we hope to fully understand ourselves, we must shake this mistaken belief in free will.

Mistaken Agents

It makes evolutionary sense that we feel in control of our thoughts and actions; to feel in control is to feel important. If our ancestors had felt indifferent towards themselves, they would not have survived for long. Where conscious organisms have an intuitive sense of autonomy—rather than an intuitive appreciation of the causal interdependence of all events—they’re more likely to feel self-concern and a range of emotions that encourages survival (such as possessiveness, jealousy, and feelings of social responsibility). Evolutionary pressures have made us feel free but despite our instinctive feelings, our widespread belief in free will is wrong.

Free will is a mirage, which withstands neither introspective nor logical scrutiny. No tiny controller resides within our heads, independently orchestrating behaviour from behind the scenes. This strikes most people as overwhelmingly counterintuitive, but it’s possible to actually feel the nonexistence of free will: by paying sufficient attention to experience, the sense of being in control vanishes, as we watch thoughts, emotions, and intentions all arise and pass away of their own accord.[1]

However, we need not actually experience the absence of free will to understand that it cannot exist. We regularly hold knowledge in mind that is inaccessible—or even disputed—through sensory experience. For instance, each day the sun appears to rise and set. Although our senses show a sun moving around us, we know, logically, that sunrise and sunset are actually ‘earth-turn’ (and not some geocentric orbit of the sun).[2] In a similar way, we can know that we do not have free will, despite what our senses suggest.

In fact, we’ve already made significant progress towards a coherent self-view that’s stripped of free will. Psychologists are continually uncovering the natural forces that move our mental lives.[3] As we understand in more detail why we act as we do, free will shall become increasingly impotent as a means of explaining thoughts and behaviour. Like the God rendered superfluous by our understanding of the natural world, free will loses its explanatory hold as we uncover the natural forces behind mental processes.

Future scientific breakthroughs need not occur, though, for us to appreciate the non-existence of free will. Although our intuitions about free will run strong, they can be interrupted. By thinking about free will from a variety of angles, we can repeatedly invert intuition until the non-existence of free will seems plausible (or even probable).

Incoherent Understanding

When we believe in free will, its existence seems so self-evident that it warrants no explanation. But when we loosen our intuitions around the matter, to the point where explanation seems justified, we find that good explanations are surprisingly elusive. Most people struggle to even offer a coherent definition of free will. When pressed, they commonly define it as meaning that they could have thought or acted otherwise, were the same situation to occur again. As we will see, this definition is untenable.

Given enough thought, we can come to realize that the very idea of free will—irrespective of its non-existence—makes no sense. To understand why this is so, let’s examine free will in a number of ways. We’ll begin by inspecting the common assumption that, if we could rewind time, we could have acted differently.

Rewinding Time

Think of a time when you did something that you later regretted. Maybe you said something stupid, screwed up at work, or just squandered valuable free time. Whatever the scenario, your regret was probably accompanied by the desire to have acted differently. When regretful, we often wish that we could go back in time to remedy our blunders. And though we know that we cannot actually rewind time, we generally believe that if we could, we could then behave differently. This thought—that we could have behaved differently—is emblematic of our confusion about free will.

It’s true that when similar scenarios arise in life, we can behave differently each time; in one instance we may be better rested, in another we might be less stressed, and in yet another we might have learned from past mistakes. But if identical scenarios occurred (as would be the case if we rewound time), then, by definition, we would behave exactly the same in each. Were we to rewind time, everything in the universe would be arranged as it previously was. From the relative motions of galaxies down to the spins on every quirk and quark, nothing would differ, including the state of our nervous systems and mental activity. This means that our thoughts, emotions, inclinations, and physiologies would be indistinguishable from how they once were. Given such a scenario, how could we possibly behave differently? To believe that we could, we must trade rational, naturalistic thought for irrational, magical thinking.

Few people would deny that previous states of the universe cause subsequent states to exist; objects fall when previously dropped, fires burn when previously ignited, and water evaporates when previously heated. And few nonreligious people would deny that humans are a natural part of the universe subject to natural law; we are soulless animals composed of the same stuff that burns in stars and suffuses our cosmos. In such a world, there is no room for free will. The flow of causation is inevitable and we cannot help but be along for the ride. We’re unable to step outside of the present to influence events from some privileged perspective.

To legitimately believe in free will, one must either abandon their belief in causation or reject the notion that humans are natural processes constrained by natural law. For most reasonable people, neither option is attractive.

Trading Places

We all have, at some point, imagined being someone else. Such imaginings can provide insight about the felt experience of others, or can simply be great fun. In fact, we are so adept at imagining others’ mental states that we rarely notice when we’re doing so.[4] For instance, during face-to-face interactions we constantly tweak our tone of voice, topic of conversation, body language, and facial expression based on how we imagine the other person thinks and feels. As social animals, this ability to ‘mind read’ is important. If we couldn’t place ourselves in others’ shoes, we would be socially inept, unable to reap the rewards of cooperation.

However, this important ability leads us astray when thinking about free will. As we try to inhabit others’ minds, we often imagine how, if we traded places, we would act differently. Essentially, we believe that if we led the life of another, we’d have the free will to do whatever’s best. But such thinking is nonsensical. If any of us were another person, we’d behave exactly as they do. Were we somehow to wake up one morning as somebody else—with their nervous system, memories, family life, social ties, work commitments, etc.—we could only do what they would have done anyway. We would be that person, and be none the wiser.

That said, obviously it’s impossible to trade places with someone else. Even if we swapped brains, we’d still be mostly ourselves. Fantasizing about being another person may be valuable, but is also preposterous. By appreciating just how preposterous such fantasies are, we can better understand the absurdity of belief in free will.

What do we mean when we think, “If I were him, I wouldn’t have done that”? Basically, we’re implying that somehow, if we could transplant our essence into the mind of another, they’d be different yet still be the same. Such claptrap is akin to saying, “If that tree were that rock, then that rock would be more tree-like.” This is nonsense. Needless to say, if a rock traded places with a tree, we’d still have one rock and one tree, and nothing in the universe would be different. Likewise, if two people swapped places, we’d still have the same two people—with the same experience—and everything in the universe would be exactly as it was. If we were another person, we would not be free to behave differently—where’s the free will there?

Evolution, Intelligence & Awareness

We generally assume that free will corresponds with intelligence and awareness. It seems reasonable that fully functional adults, with more developed brains, would have more free will than children or people with cognitive deficits. But if free will is produced by intellect and awareness, we face some strange issues. Under this view, monkeys have more free will than dogs, which have more free will than fish, which have more than insects, which have more than bacteria. However, would anyone argue that bacteria, insects, fish, or even dogs have any free will? By thinking about the biological evolution of free will, we can grasp how we’ve mistaken complexity of anatomy and experience for freedom of will.

Through evolution, simple life can transform into complex organisms. We know, beyond any doubt, that our heritage stretches back billions of years to the simplest cells and protocells.[5] During this time, some lines of rudimentary organisms gradually accumulated variations, becoming successively more complex. This conservation of variation across generations produced every biological feature that has ever existed, from blood to bones to brains. If free will exists, it must have arisen through this same process.

But while it’s easy to understand that simplicity can give rise to complexity, it’s tough to fathom how free will could arise from non-free precursors. How could an organism evolve the ability to act independently of past conditions and present context, when the production of that ability depends upon those very conditions and contexts? What single mutation could have kicked off free will, and why would it even be favoured in the first place?[6] We can only survive in relation to our environment, so wouldn’t an ability to act wholly independently of context make us less likely to survive (and thus less likely to pass on such a trait)?

Our brains are some of the most complex lumps of matter in the known universe, giving us incredible abilities to imagine, adapt to, and thrive in various circumstances. We’ve explained our versatility with recourse to free will, which is unnecessary—the powerful hardware between our ears can do the heavy lifting on its own. We are natural phenomena so awed by our complexity that we suppose ourselves exempt from physical law. But our mental lives are the emergent property of causal relationships, past and present, and to believe otherwise is to subscribe to supernatural thinking.

Everyday Life

The previous arguments may be compelling, yet be too far removed from personal experience to seem persuasive. Therefore, let’s look at felt experience to consider how free will does not exist in our own lives.

Most people assert that they are free to behave as they desire, but ignore the fact that nobody chooses their desires. Our likes and dislikes, which greatly influence behaviour, are determined by forces beyond our control. None of us truly choose our favourite movies, foods, friends, or activities; rather, these things are chosen by our likes and dislikes. Likes and dislikes often lead us to make poor choices and to suffer. If we were truly in control of our minds, wouldn’t we simply re-order our wants to make for the best possible lives?

To believe in free will is to believe that we are the conscious directors of thought and behaviour, but for most of our waking lives we don’t even notice what we’re doing. We go through life lost in thought, whether driving, walking, exercising, eating, showering, or conversing. In fact, we’re so pervasively lost in thought that few of us even notice our lack of awareness. If free will existed, wouldn’t we need to take a more active role in our lives? Shouldn’t we be consciously tending to action and deliberately creating the impulses that lead to action? And if we actually do consciously craft our behaviour, why aren’t we frequently paralyzed under a mountain of possibilities, consciously scanning through countless options before selecting each impulse. How can we possibly call ourselves free, when we barely pay attention to behaviour and rarely notice the impulses that move us?

Some would allege that they do choose their impulses, just as they choose their thoughts and actions. Even if this is true, it does not save free will. A short experiment shows why:

Take a moment to think of something. It can be of any size, shape, or category that you please. Once you’ve thought of it, read on.

Now, in thinking of this something, you likely felt free to choose anything. But did you think of a toenail clipping? Likely not. And if you did not think of a toenail clipping, then were you really free in that moment to choose to think of one? In any moment, we’re only free to think whatever we actually happen to think (or to choose whatever we happen to choose). Because there are an infinite number of things that never occur to us in any moment, we’re never truly free to think anything in any moment. In light of this fact, what could free will possibly mean?

Seeing Clearly

By now, we know that each of us is simply the universe doing its thing. This is a profound insight, which we only partially appreciate. Though we accept that we’re outgrowths of the natural world, we rarely acknowledge that our experience—including our thoughts, emotions, and actions—is also part of the natural world. Everything that exists is inertia from the first cause, including ourselves and our mental lives.[7] Essentially, to believe in free will one must believe that we are not an integrated part of this universe.

Our species has long been unwilling to view ourselves within a natural context, but as we gain knowledge we see ourselves more clearly. Given time, belief in free will shall be retired, relegated to the pantheon of misguided ideas that have historically cleaved us from reality (including belief in a personal God, creationism, and the soul). Until our lack of free will becomes widespread knowledge, though, we must rejig our intuitions around the issue. We can do this by paying attention to experience or merely by thinking logically about the problems posed by free will. With enough thought, free will’s complications become obvious. But, ultimately, whether we believe that free will exists or not is outside of our control.

[1]Applying enough attention to witness experience in this way generally requires some training in meditation; for most people, simply deciding to pay better attention is insufficient.

[2]This was Buckminster Fuller’s preferred way of referring to sunrise—a small attempt to combat our habitually self-centred viewpoint.

[3]For an excellent overview of such sober-minded thinking, see Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman.

[4]In this case, “we” refers to non-autistics more so than autistics.

[5]By “heritage”, I mean biological heritage. Our existential heritage stretches back to the beginning of causation, and if there was never a beginning, then we can say that our heritage stretches back forever.

[6]People might argue that felt experience could not have arisen gradually either, but despite this, it obviously evolved. However, unlike free will, nothing we know about felt experience contradicts knowledge about physical reality and causation.

[7]And if there was no first cause, it’s simply inertia that’s been going forever.