Chapter 5.The Illusion of Free Will

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In sceptical circles, you are unlikely to find advocates of unconditional free will. The prevailing divide is generally between various forms of determinism, broadly categorised into two main groups: soft determinists (or compatibilists) and hard determinists.

Hard determinism posits that a conscious being's decisions are entirely governed by external and internal processes. In other words, under determinism, there is no space for free will—we are mere puppets of chemical processes.

Compatibilism, however, holds that free will and determinism are not mutually exclusive, suggesting that one can logically believe in both.

Paradoxically, even among the majority of religious individuals, there is a recognition that absolute free will is untenable, as they acknowledge their dependence on material reality, unlike God.

Upon careful analysis of all debates and discussions on this topic, it becomes evident that they essentially revolve around defining the concept of free will itself.

Hard determinists, however, often define free will in terms that approach omnipotence. In their view, true freedom of choice would require a person to be entirely unconditioned by anything. To underscore the impossibility of such free will, they argue it would demand independence even from one's omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence. This implies the paradoxical possibility of simultaneously knowing and not knowing, existing and not existing at the same moment (to avoid being limited by one's own immortality or reliance on one's omniscience). Thus, they reduce the conventional idea of free will to absurdity.

A vivid illustration of this perspective is Sam Harris's thought experiment, in which one is asked to name a random city or country. During this exercise, you might observe that your choice is influenced by various factors but not by pure will. Indeed, you cannot choose anything beyond what is stored in your memory. Typically, this includes recent, vivid, or enduring impressions. This highlights not only the limitations of our physical ability to process all available information or memory constraints but also the reality that the city that comes to mind is triggered by external or internal factors rather than genuine volition. The sole exception is the moment when one selects from several options already present in memory.

This conclusion may appear obvious or even banal. It is widely recognised that our access to information is limited by personal empirical experience and that the analysis of such information is influenced by our biological processes and external stimuli. Yet, as we shall see, the concept of free will can indeed exist within these physical confines.

Determinism holds that every thought, belief, and decision we make is shaped by factors such as genetic heritage, physical and cultural environment, diet, species-specific traits, and even the atomic arrangements governed by the laws of physics since the Big Bang. Though it may sound quasi-religious, it is also quite rational. I, leaning towards compatibilism, intend to demonstrate that even within the framework of physical processes, there exists a space for what we define as free will.

If you’re tempted to stop here, convinced that free will is impossible, I encourage you to conduct an experiment: read this book to its conclusion and challenge yourself to see if your perspective shifts—despite your molecular predispositions.

Demarcation of Determining Factors

To begin, we must establish a fundamental distinction between two types of determining processes:

1.   Physical Information

2.   Abstract Information

These processes are not linear or strictly “bottom-up”—where consistent determinism progresses from simple physical factors to complex systems. At a certain stage, they can be seen as reversible or even predominantly descending, where complexity begins to influence simplicity after a specific phase in the development of physical reality.

Consider physical reality as an informational structure: all organic matter operates through a form of information (e.g., DNA and RNA), while inorganic matter adheres to physical laws—cyclical and, at times, chaotic—that it itself conditions. This reveals a gradation of informational systems capable of transformation through the layering of physical processes.

As a result, alongside physical information, we have acquired abstract information—ideas and concepts. While some might dismiss abstract ideas as illusory, these concepts, born of physical processes, can influence and even govern those same physical processes. Acknowledging this interplay between different levels of information necessitates expanding the traditional classification of "external and internal factors" to include physical determinism and informational determinism.

I emphasise again that although one type of determinism arises from the other, it can, in turn, reshape and influence its original cause.

Premise 1. Hypothetical Possibility

Let us revisit the factors of physical determinism that shape our behaviours and thoughts. To minimise these influences, consider the example of identical twins. Aside from potential DNA methylation (changes that influence how genes are ‘turned on’ or ‘off’ throughout life and depend on factors like environment, lifestyle, and other external influences), we observe near-complete identity in factors affecting identical twins since the time of the Big Bang. While specific preferences may highlight certaindifferences, these alone cannot account for the stark divergences often observed between identical twins. For instance, they may develop different sexual preferences, gender identities, worldviews, or interpretations of events. It is not uncommon for one twin to feel more aligned with a neighbour than with their own sibling.

Certainly, one might argue that ‘a subtle shift of molecules could produce such outcomes.’ However, we are justified in conducting a hypothetical analysis based on identical nutrition, exposure to external information, or even imagining the sudden appearance of a cloned duplicate. Such clones, possessing identical analytical abilities and tendencies toward similar decisions,might still choose opposite courses of action in specific situations, ultimately leading their lives in entirely different directions.Notably, this abstract desire to be unique largely motivates twins to make distinct choices and, over time, triggers differences in methylation.

Hypothetically, this scenario is possible — suggesting that they possess the capacity to transcend physical determinism by making opposing choices, even if they lack the desire to do so and perhaps never will.

One could conclude that this agreement itself becomes a factor fostering resistance to physical determinism, creating a new dominant desire to counteract other pre-existing ones. At this stage, informational influence, rather than physical causation, emerges as the primary determinant.

Let us now consider further domains in which abstract information can modify—or at least challenge—the dictates of physical determinism.

Premise 2. Factual Data

a)   Physical Impact on the Brain

Physical trauma to the brain undoubtedly alters behaviour and, in severe cases, mental capacity, potentially resulting in clinical brain death. However, characteristic behaviours associated with damage to specific brain regions can be mitigated or intensified by the type of abstract information influencing this traumatic determinism.

For example, if we examine the behaviour of patients with similar brain injuries or conditions, such as tumours in comparable areas of the brain, we can observe significant variations in their responses based on beliefs, psychological dispositions, and sociocultural factors. Teachers working with children, for instance, might develop tendencies towards paedophilia, while social workers may exhibit tendencies towards violence. However, individuals in these professions who hold deep religious convictions or strong moral frameworks may instead experience self-directed aggression—manifesting as self-criticism, self-harm, or severe depression—rather than externalising such impulses. This suggests that even identical physical impacts can be moderated or redirected by informational and personal factors.

(It is worth noting that such data is sometimes dismissed on the grounds of potential variations in brain morphology caused by external informational influences. Ironically, this reasoning affirms the very claim it denies—that abstract information shapes brain structure and behaviour).

The case of Phineas P. Gage (1823–1860)[i] provides a notable example. Gage's skull was famously pierced by a metal rod, damaging his left prefrontal cortex and parts of the limbic system, leading to temporary changes in his behaviour during recovery. In the 19th century, phrenologists claimed that Gage's mental changes—such as his increased profanity—resulted from the destruction of his so-called "organ of Benevolence" (associated with kindness and social order) and possibly the adjacent "organ of Veneration" (associated with religion and respect for authority). However, these interpretations failed to account for the brain's capacity to reassign functions and compensate for damaged areas over time.

Gage's family noted some amnesia after his injury, but these effects were not evident to those who did not know him well. Contrary to Dr Harlow's descriptions of his supposed irritability during hospitalisation, his relatives did not corroborate such reports. Similarly, rumours regarding Gage's alleged change in attitude towards religion lack reliable evidence. No historical accounts from his family, friends, or colleagues mention religious practices and claims of blasphemous remarks remain unverified. These myths appear to have been fabricated later to bolster phrenological theories rather than being based on factual observation.

Testimonies from close friends, Dr Harlow, and references from employers suggest that Gage's core character traits largely persisted after the injury. He was described as "a worthy worker with the most valuable qualities," aside from occasional delirium during recovery. That said, it is improbable that an injury of this magnitude left him entirely unchanged—much as the complete loss of one's head would erase all personal characteristics. At the very least, Gage developed epilepsy as a direct consequence of his trauma.

b)      Effects of Medicinal and Psychoactive Substances

The effects of medications and psychoactive substances on the brain closely resemble those of traumatic injuries, as they produce universal impacts across different brain regions. However, individual factors—such as sociocultural background and personal beliefs—result in a wide diversity of behavioural responses. These variations persist until the point where an individual loses complete control over their actions. Beyond this threshold, behaviours become relatively uniform, limited to reflexive responses and basic reactions to stimuli. This universal boundary is marked by the loss of meaningful speech.

c)   The Influence of Chemical Determinism During Adolescence

Chemical determinism exerts its strongest influence on the human body during adolescence, typically between the ages of 12 and 15. This period is characterised by heightened sensitivity to criticism and a pronounced desire to conform to the prevailing norms of one's community or peer group. During this time, a teenager's worldview becomes particularly robust, though not entirely immutable.

Interestingly, behavioural differences during adolescence can vary significantly based on the values and principles instilled in individuals. These variations can be so profound that the intense "chemical storm" often associated with this stage may pass almost unnoticed for some. Even individuals with similar temperaments can exhibit markedly different behaviours, largely due to disparities in social status, responsibilities, belief systems, and educational background.

d)   Dreams as Indicators of Belief Influence

Dreams provide a fascinating example of how beliefs shape our reactions and behaviour, even in the absence of conscious bodily control. While physical factors—such as overeating or hormonal fluctuations—directly affect the content of dreams, our responses to dream scenarios are governed by our deeply held beliefs and temperament.

For instance, if you were a staunch perfectionist, radical pacifist, vegan, or puritan at a given time, and had not entertained any compromising thoughts, then dreams involving scenarios that violate these convictions would likely be perceived as nightmares, provoking intense inner conflict and resistance.

e)   The Impact of Disinformation on Reflexes

The effect of information on reflexes is evident in situations where individuals follow harmful advice or misinformation. For example, when one burns a finger, the natural reflex is to cool the burn to reduce pain and minimise tissue damage. However, if someone is instructed not to wet or shake the burn but instead to apply baking soda, they might suppress this natural protective response in favour of the so-called "expert advice."

This type of informational determinism, driven by trust in an "authoritative" source, can override the body's innate reflexes and common sense. Blindly adhering to such misguided instructions can not only fail to alleviate the situation but may also result in further harm.

f)    The Ultimate Reach of Informational Determinism

The pinnacle of informational determinism is exemplified by humanity's ability to influence internal chemical processes and reshape the world through abstract ideas—perhaps the only case where "molecules came to their senses," as might be seen in climate activists or pacifists.

Obviously, determinism, in its broadest sense, unifies all contributing factors under the principle of predetermination. However, the focus here is on demonstrating the dominance of informational determinism over chemical determinism, as information and knowledge often prove to be more influential in shaping processes and events than chemical mechanisms alone.

Physics offers a comparable concept: in certain complex systems, feedback loops and non-linear dynamics create situations where consequences influence their causes, resulting in intricate patterns that defy straightforward logical predictions. Similarly, epigenetics—the study of changes in gene expression without altering DNA—provides compelling evidence for the "nurture" side of the enduring "nature versus nurture" debate. This research highlights that life experiences and external informational influences often outweigh biological predispositions in shaping personality and behaviour.

g)              The "Hungry Judge" Effect - A Refutation

In 2011, researchers from Columbia University and Ben-Gurion University conducted a fascinating study analysing 1,112 rulings delivered by eight Israeli judges over 50 workdays spanning ten months. The study suggested that a judge's level of hunger or satiety influenced their decisions: in the mornings, 65% of rulings favoured the accused, but this figure dropped sharply before lunch, with almost all decisions going against them. After lunch, the likelihood of favourable rulings returned to approximately 65%.

However, this phenomenon can be readily explained, rendering it effectively debunked. Judges follow a structured daily programme of cases. They do not learn about cases only at the moment of trial, just as defendants do not arrive in court immediately after detention or receiving fines. Cases are pre-assigned, with the daily schedule determined in advance. Judges, lawyers, or court staff typically prioritise simpler, more straightforward cases early in the day, as these often yield positive outcomes.

The second group comprises cases that are clearly unfavourable for the accused, where evidence is overwhelming, guilt has been admitted, or the accused lacks legal representation. While these cases are straightforward, they demand particularly careful handling as errors are much harder to correct than in positive cases. These cases are dealt with later but often resolved more quickly.

The third group comprises complex and ambiguous cases, demanding extensive deliberation and often taking longer to resolve. These cases tend to be influenced by the analysis of the contrasting first two groups and can significantly impact the judge's reputation and career trajectory, as mistakes here may have lasting consequences. Judges typically lean towards acquittals until the case is appealed, supplemented with additional arguments, and eventually categorised into one of the two obvious groups from the first half of the day.

This system of case organisation, however, does not guarantee decisions based solely on such intuitive sorting. That's where the expertise of lawyers on both sides and the persuasiveness of witness testimony come into play, particularly within the third group of complex cases. Notably, the results remained consistent for judges who were on diets or who snacked at each break.

Subsequent observations and simulations of the "hungry judge" effect found no correlation with hunger. Yet why individuals tend to sort tasks in this particular way remains intriguing. Through inquiries with acquaintances familiar with numerous judges, it became clear that this method of case sorting is not only characteristic of the Soviet system that "emigrated" to Israel but represents a logically sound and intuitive approach common to all corporations, offices, and anyone focused on workplace efficiency. The principle is simple: you "warm up," develop, and improve your skills in identifying and solving problems before tackling the most challenging ones.

Psychologist Daniël Lakens presented a compelling critique of the ''impossibly large''[ii] effect proposed by the hungry judge study. He logically demonstrated that if hunger truly impacted mental resources to this extent, society would fall into minor chaos every day around 11:45. At the very least, our society would have organised itself around this incredibly strong effect of mental depletion. Clearly, if such an effect truly existed, it would have been apparent centuries ago, prompting measures like mandatory emergency snacks or collective isolation before meals—measures which, fortunately, have never been needed.

Premise 3: The Logical Foundation of the Concept.

To argue that a logical law reveals a contradiction to logic, we must first verify the accuracy of our initial conditions and confirm that each premise corresponds to reality. Yet, the physical system used to evaluate free will is so complex that logical laws cannot be applied directly. This is because we lack complete and precise information about all the parameters governing consciousness.

To explore this further, let us consider how consciousness might have emerged through evolution:

From the earliest emergence of ''needs'' in organic life, beginning with RNA—a phenomenon science still struggles to fully understand—organisms began acquiring behavioural information in response to external factors. This information is related to fundamental survival actions: obtaining nutrients, avoiding dangers, seeking favourable conditions, regulating metabolism and oxygen exchange, maintaining homeostasis, reproducing through binary fission, and transmitting behavioural knowledge to offspring.

Initially, these processes were facilitated by primary receptors that detected changes in the chemical and physical environment. These receptors functioned through basic molecular interactions. For example, when a chemical stimulus bound to a receptor, it triggered a signalling cascade that altered cell behaviour. This, in turn, changed the movement of flagella or other locomotion structures, guiding the organism towards nutrients or away from toxins. Some early organisms may also have had photoreceptors or thermoreceptors.

Over time, these processes became encoded into the genome through mutations that triggered genetic recombination and natural selection. In other words, they somehow formed interconnected layers of information: about needs, methods for fulfilling those needs, and an entire cluster of mechanisms required to implement all of this. Later, organisms began to use chemical signals and receptors to interact with their environment and communicate with other bacteria—a phenomenon known as quorum sensing. It’s a fascinating, albeit daunting, topic—one we’ll wisely avoid diving into here.

The movement model of the simplest organisms, known as chemotaxis, was specifically designed to react to chemical stimuli. For example, when chemical gradients were weak, bacteria used random movement patterns to search for food while simultaneously avoiding predictability, which could expose them to predators. This randomness in microorganism movement reflects a combination of random molecular processes. However, in the presence of a strong stimulus, such as a nutrient gradient, the organism moved directly towards the source.

Stimulus recognition was likely the primary process, with movement serving as a secondary response. Randomness could have been derived from initial molecular processes as a way to resolve system deadlocks. Such deadlocks occurred when several food options at equal distances appeared within the sensor's range. When two equal impulses entered the system, hesitation could lead to losing both options.

To prevent stasis, the system may have incorporated molecular chaos into a random impulse, utilising its energy to designate one signal as dominant. However, the randomness mechanism alone was inefficient, as it would cause the system to wander aimlessly, ignoring sensory impulses.

As systems became more complex, conflicting stimuli grew more frequent, leading randomness in some systems to evolve into a stable function. A clear example is the chaotic movement of flies when in danger.

Thus, we observe both deterministic behaviours, driven by dominant impulses, and random responses in situations of equal stimuli, guided by a fundamental survival instinct. This instinct exists even in organisms without nerve receptors, where concepts like pleasure and pain do not apply.

One exception includes complex cellular structures like B-cells, which can self-destruct to preserve the entire system, following a specific genetic programme. This demonstrates that the drive to survive underpins the organic world, with pleasure serving merely as an evolved incentive to promote life. It is highly improbable that the desire for pleasure preceded the emergence of living organic matter.

Nevertheless, the randomness mechanism that emerged in organic matter is not inherently efficient. It is merely a means to escape situations where identical impulses might lead to system stasis or failure. For instance, a prey animal dodging in a random direction might still err, while a predator using random manoeuvres might fail to catch its prey. Over time, randomness combined with an accumulated database of environmental properties, encoded in the genome at each stage of evolution, improving system efficiency and adaptability.

However, the narrow set of genomes in nerve cells responsible for generating impulses could not continuously record changes in environmental data. Such an approach would lead to genomes of unmanageable size, increasing indefinitely with every new piece of information. Maintaining these extensive "programmed instinct" genomes in constant activity would be both impractical and energetically unsustainable.

To overcome this limitation, the system evolved to repurpose certain nerve nodes as specialised repositories for new information. These nodes no longer simply executed instinctive behaviours encoded in the genome but instead acted as dynamic storage centres, enabling greater adaptability to changing environments.

Initially, the mechanism of resolving conflicting impulses relied on random restructuring. For example, when two stimuli of equal strength were detected, the system would randomly select one to avoid inaction. Over time, this basic mechanism was enhanced by a superstructure capable of not only reading instinctive scripts in impulse-generating nodes but also integrating additional information stored in memory regions.

As data volumes grew, so did the number of equal impulses, leading to a transformation of the randomness mechanism. The genome of impulse switching evolved to include the preliminary comparison of impulse groups, effectively reformatting competing impulses into a sequence of dominants—an ordered priority system.

This mechanism, while efficient, represents an exception to the standard instinctive scripts. It is primarily observed in mammals and is activated in situations where conflicting stimuli arise, showcasing the integration of deterministic instincts with memory-based adaptability.

This hypothesis aligns with findings from a 2021 study by neurobiologists at the University of California, San Francisco, published in Nature Neuroscience[iii]. Using advanced optogenetic methods, they observed individual neurons in mice's prefrontal cortex during decision-making and noted ""neural noise""—chaotic brain activity not aligning with any pattern—just before a decision, which generated uncertainty and subsequently allowed a decision to crystallise.

Yet, scanning and restructuring impulses is not the apex of efficiency. The ideal model would consider all data in the Universe, but even the most advanced systems have limited perception. Thus, the most efficient model within current constraints is one that abstracts beyond the narrow set of immediate impulses.

This appears to be what happened in the human nervous system. With an expanded database and regular balancing of impulses in response to external and internal processes, the system transformed genes responsible for impulse switching and scanning into specialised neuron clusters capable of generating their own impulses. This shift allowed for a more refined and adaptive response to stimuli through abstraction from primary impulses.

These abstract nodes assumed dominant decision-making roles, analysing and restructuring equal impulses while producing stronger, more focused responses based on primary signals, memory data, and, at times, a spark of randomness. This evolutionary innovation marked a significant leap in complexity, enabling the nervous system to achieve more autonomous and efficient control overreactions.

By moving beyond instinct-driven responses, this system integrated randomness with accumulated knowledge, paving the way for advanced cognitive functions. This balance of determinism and flexibility is a defining feature of the human nervous system, allowing for both rapid decisions and long-term adaptability.

This capacity may have led to abstract thought—where data are compared, combined, and stored, extending beyond personal or species survival. Similar to previous transformations, when the first proteins began signalling needs, the genome adapted the randomness function into an energy switch, then into a sophisticated scanner, and ultimately into a processor with significant autonomy. This evolutionary process created a mechanism capable of finding ideal arguments (generated impulses) in the realm of abstract information while also sending derived data to memory departments for integration into the system.

The genome that filled the database with abstract information learned to output necessary archives or information as frequency codes (electrical signals or chemical impulses) to almost all brain regions. Through certain totalitarian mechanisms, it convinces all impulses of the correctness of its decision through impulse dominance, controlling everything beyond biological and unconditional reflexes, and partly even those.

We may not have fully identified this remarkable genome, but a strong candidate is FOXP2—unique to humans. It is responsible for cognitive functions and information generation, particularly linguistics, as an extension of information exchange between neurons. Neurons equipped with this new autonomous function form special synaptic structures, where molecular signal transmission is controlled by "modulating neurotransmitters" that await signals for decisions orchestrated by new genes.

Collectively, cells that compare data from memory archives with signals from internal and external environments while forming their own dominant impulses create a sense of self-awareness. The system then expands data through forecasting, which generates new connections, additional memory data, and new dilemmas—equivalent impulses arising from different scenarios. After the struggle of "analysis genes" for the dominance of one impulse, they engage ancient randomness genes with a developed "choice" mechanism to avoid system hang-ups—provoking the common dialogue: "Why did you do that?" - "I don't know!"

Such total control necessitated the development of neuroplasticity, which extends beyond mere structural changes. It includes the brain's ability to redistribute functions between different areas, particularly evident in recovery from brain injuries when healthy areas assume the functions of damaged ones. Neuroplasticity suggests that we are active agents shaping the architecture of our brains through our impulses—thoughts, decisions, and actions. Every choice, every act of volition leaves its "imprint" on the neural network, creating a feedback loop between our decisions and brain structure.

If identical stimuli states (50/50) had never arisen, maintaining a consistent dominance, the evolution of consciousness may never have been necessary. It would have remained a rudiment, distracting the system from the timely activation of patterns, instincts, and programmes. This paradox of an ''agent'' arbitrating conflicts led to the emergence of a brain model centred around what we now term ''the will"—a process that continues to evolve.

Although this was initially a genetic "malfunction" involving genes responsible for decision-making, alternately inhibiting and stimulating external stimuli in what was once a linear reaction to stimuli driven by the programme to live, it has now evolved into an autonomous innovation with a unified centre in the prefrontal cortex. This centre is capable of abstract thought and meta-analysis (thinking about thoughts and causes) and contains processes that are, at least partly, superdeterministic, determining even how impulses will influence them.

As a result, the logical law of "excluded middle" cannot apply to such complex systems because they encompass a third emergent option: a distinct process that coexists with determinism and randomness. This new option is not merely a hybrid of determinism and randomness but represents an independent layer of processing that evaluates and integrates impulses from both. For example, when conflicting stimuli arise, this mechanism can prioritise one signal while retaining an element of randomness to adapt to unforeseen circumstances.

For simplicity, we could encapsulate the phenomenon of consciousness formation in a formula reflecting its complex, multifaceted nature, combining determinism, randomness, and self-regulation.

Figure 1. Formula of consciousness formation

Detailed Formula

When examining molecular processes through the lens of quantum phenomena or comparing them with the most complex known system—consciousness—it is essential to acknowledge the limitations of such analogies. In inorganic and fully determined systems (strictly causally conditioned), opposing forces of equal strength can lead to failure or even breakdown, as observed in electrical engineering. Complex systems like computers, however, are programmed to perform the simplest of simultaneously set tasks when facing this scenario, yet their output remains predetermined, as they lack a higher-level autonomous decision-making system.

Some may argue that a 50/50 scenario is impossible within an organic system. Yet this is to overlook a logical probability that may one day be proven by a device capable of not just recording brain impulses but also measuring hundreds of simultaneous impulses, recording chemical concentrations and voltage strength. Such technology could help unravel the paradox of self-awareness, revealing how external and biological stimuli are processed (stimulated, suppressed, redirected) by genes responsible for meta-determination, optimising self-aware consciousness according to the most extensive synaptic base.

Heisenberg’s ‘uncertainty principle’ can also be seen as an indirect supporter of the idea that processes governed by quantum randomness can give rise to stabilized, statistically predictable patterns at higher levels of complexity. This suggests the possibility of novel configurations emerging within complex systems.

In this context, objections are to be expected, arguing that these are two distinct levels of systems—where, at the molecular level, a new deterministic pattern emerges that opposes the randomness of the quantum level, and no evidence of their intersection or the formation of a third-level system has been observed (as a group of genetic programs remarked, glancing around nervously). Nevertheless, I remain confident that empirical data supporting this concept is merely a matter of time and technological progress.

Of course, no one is suggesting that the simple combination of quantum randomness and molecular determinism offers the solution to the emergence of consciousness. Quantum randomness is unrelated to conscious choice, implying that if it functioned identically within the brain, consciousness would amount to nothing more than unpredictable energy fluctuations. However, attempts to appeal to these systems as independent, non-integrated processes are no more convincing than claiming you cannot imagine a table because you cannot fully reproduce all its components in your mind.

“Compatibilism” represents a more progressive position for science, as it defines consciousness as a composite systemthat incorporates randomness when resolving equivalent stimuli, evaluates all relevant determinative factors and their controlled functions, and includes the ability to generate abstract impulses—such as imagination, creativity, planning, and the creation as well as the analysis of non-existent concepts. This integration fosters the autonomy essential for self-awareness, which fundamentally depends on the capacity to choose.

These genetic capacities are passed down hereditarily, designed with plasticity and adaptability to preserve self-awareness genes' function. Here, my term "self-aware genes" is merely symbolic, pointing to potential carriers. We cannot isolate such a complex system from its overall intricacy any more than we could expect to identify quarks responsible for water's macroscopic structure or gas at the quantum level.

Nevertheless, we can substantiate this theory of consciousness with practical examples of its functioning. In real life, we often find ourselves with an overriding instinct to achieve a goal. For instance, I once faced the decision to "save" a drowning girl despite my inability to swim. In the critical moment of deciding whether to jump or not, I experienced a powerful conflict between empathy and self-preservation. My body responded chaotically—my legs moving back and forth—while my brain activated an emergency analysis system, weighing the potential consequences. The tension was so evenly balanced that it temporarily paralysed me in a state of indecision.

This varied response to stimuli is universal; while the strength of impulses varies among individuals due to unique formative factors, everyone experiences moments of tension when conflicting impulses align. These moments often resemble a kind of internal "dance"—whether pacing in front of the refrigerator, hesitating between two romantic interests, or grappling with countless other "dance floors" that life presents. If these "dances" of indecision remain unresolved, the system risks stagnation or even failure to progress.

As for my story, it ended well—albeit dramatically. I jumped in, calculated to take in as much air as possible, and, resembling something between a pufferfish and a dolphin, managed to push the girl towards the steep shore. Of course, I spent most of the ordeal submerged, and this story wouldn't be nearly as entertaining if I had actually drowned—which, fortunately, I didn't, thanks to the intervention of other 'systems' that pulled us both ashore and resuscitated me afterwards.

Assuming these actions were merely driven by a subconscious desire to avoid being "indifferent" is a superficial analysis. It suggests the impulse either arose suddenly or was predetermined long before the event, leading to an inevitable action. However, this perspective overlooks the phenomenon of uncertainty—a distinct, autonomous decision-making process that generates a specific impulse. In reality, the equivalent processing of competing impulses at different levels of consciousness rarely results in a clear preference, even after extended deliberation. This process, which could be seen as a mechanism for optimising random choice, eventually culminates in an independent decision.

Whatever impulse ultimately prevails, there exists a fleeting interval where equal impulses vie for dominance, and energy or chemical signals are arbitrarily redirected toward one of the action stimulators. At that moment, I was free to obey both the ancient impulse of self-preservation and the newer, abstract impulses formed in the prefrontal cortex. Alongside these, a multitude of other impulses suggested by neurons from memory and forecasting regions also competed for attention.

Before committing to a single course of action, I reacted to nearly all of them: "Call for help" "Avoid the steep shore so as not to fall," "Jump and die a hero," "What heroes? With my death, the world ceases to exist, but if I stay alive, my conscience will remain unburdened—for I am a nihilist," "Take a leap out of curiosity and see what your brain comes up with as it synthesisesmemory and skill connections across factual and abstract levels.”

Ultimately, my brain's decision-making mechanism activated the randomness function, and with a resigned "come what may," I leapt into the water. The immediate regret—"What have I done, you idiot?"—underscores the absence of a predetermined outcome. If all human impulses were strictly dictated by determinism, we would not observe vacillation, sudden changes in decisions, or impulsive actions taken on a whim or reluctantly.

In the organic world, the simpler the system, the fewer fluctuations it experiences. Such systems operate almost entirely on instinct and fixed behavioural patterns. However, the increasing complexity of neural networks and the evolution of generator genes have introduced a new stage in physical reality—one capable of restructuring its environment through abstract processing.

Even as I write these words, I feel the tension of choosing terms that are equally precise yet hopelessly inadequate. The process of navigating between meaning and imagery, striving for the most accurate expression, exemplifies the essence of consciousness—a constant pursuit of clarity and resolution amid competing options.

This interplay of impulses highlights how dominant signals emerge, stabilising behavioural patterns until new information disrupts the neural dynamic. This continuous re-alignment of impulses—processing the multifaceted cascade of internal and external stimuli—consumes significant energy and forms a cohesive consciousness: a sustained state of choice. To conserve resources, the brain, as an autonomous system, strives to transfer as many processes as possible into unconscious mechanics. It resists reconfiguring established patterns, often perceiving complex changes as highly disruptive and demanding significant energy. The reluctance grows as the complexity of the reconfiguration increases.

With this super-determined consciousness, we observe the divergence of worldviews, intellectual inertia, bias, and the relentless race to influence young minds—whose still-forming neural archives are more pliable and easier to reshape. This resistance to change serves to avoid the energy-intensive task of confronting stimuli that could destabilise existing systems, a process that induces significant stress.

In this defensive reaction, facts often become tools of preservation rather than ends in themselves. If their distortion does not undermine the dominance or foundational stability of a worldview, the brain readily accommodates it. (Indeed, this book itself serves as an experiment to explore the intricate challenges of shifting paradigms.)

Premise 4. The Blind Spots of Hard Determinism

It is essential to acknowledge that hard determinism, much like solipsism, is impervious to refutation. It functions much like horoscopes with their vague predictions, where any life event can be interpreted to fit within a broad forecast. No matter how much you deliberate, change your views, or shift your preferences, every outcome is ultimately attributed to "chemical fatalism."

The assertion that every decision, desire, or action arises from chemical processes does not negate the existence of will. On the contrary, will is both an integral part of these processes and a regulator capable of influencing and even controlling significant bodily functions. This includes reflex actions typically carried out when consciousness is lost and even functions that persist for a time after clinical brain death—those rare moments when pure physical determinism finally, and unopposed, takes the stage.

Hard determinism, as previously discussed, fails to account for numerous observable phenomena, including indecision, prolonged deliberation, hesitation in choice, rationalisation of harmful habits, disregard for facts, self-suggestion, and even the deliberate transformation of temperament or desires. Psychology, for instance, recognises purposeful changes in temperament as processes driven primarily by motivation or goal-setting.

While external factors and biological impulses undeniably shape behaviour, their influence is fluid and often overshadowed by the profound impact of abstract ideas—manifestations of consciousness that guide decision-making and long-term planning.

To claim that chemical processes operate ‘independently’ of human influence is as reductive as the oft-repeated assertionthat ‘money rules the world.’ In the context of this chapter, it is worth revisiting the progression of motivational stages in human history. Freud initially posited sexual instinct as the primary driver of behaviour, a notion later refined by Alfred Adler, who argued that this instinct evolved into an autonomous desire for dominance. More recently, Viktor Frankl’s widely recognised theory suggested that goal-setting can, at times, transcend even the urge for dominance. In essence, abstract ideas—those offering neither fame nor legacy—can supersede biological impulses, revealing the extraordinary influence of consciousness on human behaviour.

Yet, as you may have noticed, the arguments presented thus far against hard determinism do not directly address its central premise: desire. Often regarded as the sole driver of human action, desire is undoubtedly rooted in chemical processes. However, to properly engage with this argument, it is essential to first define ‘desire’—a term encompassing a broad spectrum of impulses. Many of these impulses are malleable, subject to conscious control, and frequently shaped by what might be called informational determinism—that is, the influence of abstract ideas.

Let us examine the impulses that humans can consciously influence to varying degrees. For example, one can choose to starve themselves to death, bring themselves to the brink of dehydration, tolerate a painfully full bladder, or voluntarily stop breathing. However, at the point of acute oxygen deprivation, consciousness dulls, and motor control is lost. At this stage, breathing becomes an entirely deterministic process once again, governed by the autonomic nervous system. (Note: This example is purely theoretical. Attempting oxygen deprivation is extremely dangerous and can result in severe brain damage.)

Humans also exhibit an impressive ability to regulate other physiological and emotional responses. For instance, with effort, individuals can influence their heart rate, suppress tears, manage feelings of sadness, and even adjust positive emotions or mood. This capacity extends to controlling sexual desires and, through self-regulation and psychological conditioning, even altering aspects of sexual orientation.

Remarkably, human adaptability means that what begins as deliberate effort—whether enduring discomfort or suppressing impulses—can eventually become habitual. Under the right circumstances or with principled goal-setting, humans demonstrate an extraordinary ability to reshape not only their behaviours but also their desires. What we become accustomed to, we eventually come to desire.

It is worth noting, however, that the volitional component of such changes is highly debated. While there is a growing percentage of individuals who have altered their sex, sexuality, or gender identity—sometimes more than once—and surveys show an increasing number of people identifying along the middle of the Kinsey scale (which measures sexual orientation on a spectrum from 0 to 6), this data is often dismissed. Critics argue that highlighting such findings could harm minorities, creating a bias against studying this aspect of human adaptability.

Yet, it is equally possible that such data, when presented objectively, could reveal the broader potential for human change and benefit society as a whole. The denial of this data stems largely from fears of radical ideological interpretations rather than scientific inquiry. Under the right circumstances—whether artificially created or pursued through individual initiative—humans may indeed have the capacity to reshape deeply ingrained behaviours or preferences.

This adaptability reflects not only our ability to survive but also our capacity to redefine ourselves, even in ways that challenge conventional biological or societal expectations.

Among the most intriguing aspects of what we classify as desires is the striving for abstract thought. For many, this pursuit brings the greatest pleasure as it aids the "autonomous system" in its process of self-improvement.

And here's where it gets truly fascinating: when we choose to read, watch, comprehend, discuss, or engage in various activities, we act based on desires that are generated by pre-processed information. In other words, the need for serotonin and dopamine drives desire, but these neurotransmitters are not produced during the initial stage of desire itself. Instead, their release occurs during the process of decision-making, shaping and sustaining our actions as we navigate through choices.

This analytical process not only shapes our desires but also generates cascading neurochemical responses. By regulating impulses and fostering adaptability, the brain demonstrates an extraordinary capacity for self-directed growth—a hallmark of human cognition.

Groundbreaking research led by Dan Bang at University College London has illuminated the neurological processes behind these behaviours. Collaborating with psychologists, neurobiologists, and neurosurgeons in the USA and UK, the team studied patients with Parkinson's disease and essential tremors to better understand the role of neurotransmitters.

In a controlled computer-based experiment, participants were shown arrays of dots moving with varying levels of randomness and asked to identify the predominant direction of movement. It turned out that reactions associated with the production of neurotransmitters like dopamine and serotonin are released not only during decision-making but also during earlier stages of analysis and hypothesis-building. This includes forming mental representations of potential solutions, such as matching trajectories or recognising frequency patterns. While smaller volumes of these mediators are used during problem-solving, their release intensifies at the critical moment of determining a solution.

The production of dopamine, serotonin, and other neurotransmitters begins with a stage where the mind processes information from both internal sources (such as instinctual drives) and external stimuli (like sensory input or social context). For instance, this stage involves analysing a task and comparing it with stored memories or immediate observations. In this way, desire emerges as a refined outcome of processing and resolving these factors.

This mechanism also applies to choices involving conflicting motivations. Internal impulses, such as the drive to "consume everything myself or share with a fellow tribesman," may clash with external abstract ideas. These abstract concepts often have no direct connection to internal drives and can form intricate or impractical constructs, such as "destroy bananas in the name of sacred hunger, cleansing the planet of life."

Rational ideas that conflict with irrational ones in the mind often align with certain internal impulses. Typically, this alignment favours empathy, promoting collective well-being and group survival. However, this is not always the case. Hedonistic ideas may align with selfish impulses but be reframed to appear as serving the common good to gain group acceptance.

Regardless of which ideas a person ultimately reconciles with—whether antagonistic or rational—the conflict between internal impulses persists (a topic we will explore further in the fifth premise of this chapter).

The volitional act is not merely a generalised dualism, as described by Harry Frankfurt—a choice between external and internal stimuli—nor is it even limited to my concept of “squared dualism,” which refers to the intersection of the dualism of internal impulses with the dualism of external factors. “In human consciousness, it is common for two distinct biological impulses and two opposing abstract ideas to collide simultaneously.”

The volitional act represents the process that precedes the choice itself—the moment where consciousness determines which of these competing forces to align with, whether internal or external, biological or abstract. This process ultimately gives rise to the dominant desire. It is this pivotal act of conscious determination that we define as free will.

Some might observe that we have reduced the discussion to a simple "analysis." In a sense, they are correct because this is where choice begins. It is at this stage that a random spark transforms into a more complex process of autonomous choice, expanding through analytical structures. Even though dominant biological impulses and randomness still influence our thought processes, the system's higher levels can exert control over them. For example, while we cannot always control spontaneous thoughts, we can consciously direct our thinking toward a specific subject—and voilà.

Without the function of analysis, consciousness would inevitably regress to something akin to a primitive nerve node, where the influence of physical determinism would become unmistakably apparent. In this context, the abundant release of serotonin and dopamine within the brain's reward system is preceded by an analysis of potential choices. This process of analysis stimulates neurotransmitters, which subsequently generate desire.

Of course, consciousness itself operates through chemical and electrical impulses, but why these signals are not always conditioned by external or internal stimuli—or, more intriguingly, why they are sometimes capable of overriding them—remains a mystery. This leaves us, as it does me, with only hypotheses to propose.

Certainly, if one were to break consciousness down into its components, one might describe it as a collection of molecular particles—or, if being particularly meticulous, quarks. Determinists, when reducing everything to chemical elements, often disregard the processes that emerge from these components, effectively oversimplifying the phenomenon of "desire" into an irrefutable argument. On the surface, it might seem that to alter our attitude towards something undesirable and see it as desirable, we must first desire that change, whether out of curiosity about the result or some other necessity.

If we ignore the process of analysing information and reshaping desire, this determinist view appears valid; however, if we dare to metaphorically compare human relationships in society to the workings of neurons in the brain—where verbal communication functions as a neurotransmitter, uniting scattered "neurons" into a social structure, healing damaged ones, and resolving systemic failures—it would compel us to recognise the creative autonomy of these interactions within the physical world.

This is where the FOXP2 gene comes into play. Often associated with meaningful communication rather than simple sounds or signals, this gene seems to have taken the bold step of expanding the function of neurotransmitters beyond the brain. It transforms them into mediators of abstract information, akin to horizontal gene transfer, not merely determined by physical determinism but rather exploiting it for its own ends. This unique mechanism carved the path from hardwired instincts to creativity.

Modern society has developed mechanisms to control, activate, and inhibit the chemical reward system in both individuals and groups, primarily through the establishment of goals and the promotion of standards. This effort is reflected in initiatives such as education, which instils values and fosters habits that counteract the regressive tendencies of determinism. By cultivating healthy lifestyles, society prevents the "passive neurons" in our reward systems from defaulting to the pursuit of effortless pleasure—a goal that, while inherently appealing, does not always benefit the individual or the collective.

However, when the regression of individual or collective desires becomes pervasive or infectious, posing a threat to societal well-being and safety, intervention becomes necessary. In such cases, regulation, isolation, or even the elimination of carriers of such detrimental ideas or desires may be required, as demonstrated by anti-smoking campaigns. These efforts exemplify how modern society transforms a regressive curve of determinism into a positive vector, steering both individuals and the system as a whole toward healthier, more constructive outcomes.

The problem with determinism is that, under its framework, we cannot justly punish or even condemn individuals, as they cannot be held accountable for the chemical randomness within their bodies. Yet even when we consider informational determinism as dominant over the chemical, the right to judge becomes equally questionable.

Can we, for instance, pass judgment on those who lack sufficient information about the consequences of their actions? This includes isolated tribes with questionable traditions, nations shaped by aggressive cultures imposed through propaganda, or teenagers who internalise the behaviours of dysfunctional parents. It also encompasses individuals deprived of educational opportunities.

More broadly, there are those who cannot be categorised as having minimal or zero responsibility—those who, due to their circumstances, may still be closer than others to purely physical determinism: for instance, the mentally ill, whose brain dysfunctions may be pathological or acquired, or children, whose consciousness is still in the process of forming. 

To transcend these limitations, we must identify something universal, a principle that unites us under a shared responsibility. This unifying framework must elevate us beyond not only physical determinism but also informational determinism, fostering collective accountability that allows for ethical judgment and meaningful progress.

Premise 5: The Presence of Universal Criteria

Let us consider three foundational pillars, or universal criteria, essential for discerning truth across any abstract concept—be it rationality, justice, well-being, or the ideal. These criteria serve as guiding principles that transcend individual and cultural boundaries, forming a framework for evaluating ideas and actions. While exceptions and prioritisation may occur, in the realm of pure reasoning, none of the following can be disregarded:

1.   Epistemological data (commonly referred to as physical data), acquired through empirical observation and sensory perception.

2.   Consistency of thought - principles of reasoning or in general - logic.

3.   Universal intuitive morality, often referred to as conscience, which reflects an innate sense of ethical awareness.

For an evolutionist, the last two phenomena (logic and morality) stem from the first, having developed as behavioural models that aided our species' survival. However, this does not negate the fact that they have become universal criteria for understanding moral distinctions. For example, we all recognise that helping an elderly person across the road is not the same as pushing them under a car. In the case of Amazon tribes, you might replace the car with a river teeming with piranhas, but the moral distinction remains intact.

One may challenge the "evolutionary implementation" theory of these cognitive traits or question their resilience under cognitive scrutiny. Such doubt is reasonable, yet cognition does not entirely abolish these traits; rather, it seeks to overlay or substitute our perception of them. For example, various tribes, including some today, have practised certain unsettling rituals—pre-marital beatings, various interpretations of the "right of the first night," including group rape of the bride in Polynesian tribes, tooth filing and removal, cannibalism, and humiliating processions involving the pouring of slops. No group viewed these practices as inherently positive but instead as a necessary hardship believed to stave off something worse in the future. For instance, no one in Scotland would consider it normal to randomly drench a passerby in waste, though an older tradition of pouring slops over newlyweds has either diminished or become less disturbing to the couple's psyche and gag reflexes.

Thus, we observe that cognitive influence has not erased intuitive morality but instead masked it, producing internal dissonance. Under the sway of information, this can readily revert to rational alignment. Members of tribes with inhumane practices might, by applying logic and observing empirical, psychological, and biological data, feel dissonance and disapproval. However, flouting communal norms would be an irrational choice, inviting even graver psychological repercussions than internal conflict. A tribe can live with this sense of discomfort, fearful of challenging a well-entrenched cultural belief and instilled concept.

This principle holds for our species today; much depends on those who steer the public narrative. Those who control such agendas may also feel dissonance within their own narrative, often deterred by the risks of diminishing authority or the illusion that others support the current paradigm. So, what may seem like an absence of universal intuitive standards is merely their suppression aimed at preserving the nervous system. (This topic will be explored further in upcoming chapters.)

Even without considering the influence of informational determinism, we know that humans inherently recognise when they have prioritised personal comfort over an objective good—because they feel it. This shared awareness forms the foundation of universal phenomena such as condemnation, dissent, admonition, and persuasion, where individuals demonstrate how personal informational determinism can diverge from discovered moral truths. If morality were merely a human invention—a construct of informational determinism—then the existence of such universal norms would be highly improbable, and we would lack any moral authority to critique the social structures or individual actions of others.

Now to the controversial definition of logic, which is traditionally divided into classes based on its application and the derivation of regularities within specific spheres. In reality, however, logic is nothing more than sequential analysis, universal in all areas of life. Through logic, we determine the proper sequence of actions according to specific physical regularities—such as washing clothes before ironing them.

If logic were to somehow vanish from a person's consciousness, their entire understanding of reality would become useless. Such a person would likely make fatal decisions, like crossing the road before a car passes instead of after. In the most literal sense, logic is the primary tool for survival. Moreover, the presence of this mechanism is integral to any worldview, whether it emerged through evolution or was introduced by an external force.

The ability to envision situations beyond personal experience has fostered a mechanism for comparing abstract ideas, enabling logic to function with any input data, whether real, hypothetical, or fictional. For example, a child might logically compare werewolves and vampires by evaluating their respective strengths: one possesses great power, the other speed and manoeuvrability. The child may conclude that strength if it consistently misses its target, offers no advantage—a perfectly logical deduction.

As we can see, logical coherence does not necessarily equate to truth. Yet, if a concept or idea fails to meet the standard of logic, it is not worth examining further—neither for its moral implications nor for its alignment with reality.

Imagine someone positing that food provides energy, energy equates to life, and therefore more food means more life. A person may not notice a violation of logic here, but this reasoning inevitably collides with the physical consequences of overeating, where empirical evidence exposes the flaw. Whatever kind of determinism inclines you to justify the philosophy of self-lenience, you will encounter physical consequences, logical analysis, and even internal moral conflict in the form of responsibility for setting a bad example.

One must exercise caution in attributing absolute truth to any single criterion, as even the "facts" of physical reality are not always immediately apparent. Our comprehension of reality has evolved gradually, with new premises consistently reshaping conclusions. Empirical data alone cannot always ensure accuracy—not merely due to human sensory and cognitive limitations but because of inherent biases. These biases can lead to the ignoring, concealing, or manipulation of facts, particularly when data is translated into hypotheses or theories or when opportunities for replication and verification are restricted.

Though empirical data is often the most reliable criterion for determining truth, relying solely on it risks distortion through selective interpretation or dishonest observation, leaving most people unable to verify conclusions independently. Logic, too, proves imperfect when isolated from the tandem of universal criteria. Consider the liar's paradox, where meaning becomes trapped in a semantic loop between true and false statements, disconnected from factual data:

After his speech, Plato said, "Everything Socrates says after me will be false." Socrates then rose and stated, "Everything Plato said is true." While Socrates did not refute all of Plato's reasoning, his clever wordplay earned him a standing ovation.

Logic, when divorced from factual data and moral intuition, becomes two-dimensional. Yet each of these three criteria—empirical data, logic, and moral intuition—can independently serve specific, narrow purposes: data collection, error detection, or disorder containment, they do not independently account for the larger process of worldview formation.

Regardless of the determinisms that shape us—molecular, informational, or otherwise—our encounter with the universal laws of physics, logic, and internal morality gives rise to the unique phenomenon of free will. This grants us a choice: to align with the harmony of life or risk self-destruction by disregarding these principles in favour of the contradictory informational determinism, or even bare impulses and instincts.

Personally, I might propose an additional criterion for resisting informational determinism: the feeling of love. However, in our time, the meaning of love has become so ambiguous that calling my concept 'three and a half whales' risks turning it into a zoological paradox rather than a philosophical proposition.

What people experience under the influence of love, though undeniably shaped by chemical processes, has a remarkable ability to override numerous other determining factors. Those in love often feel unworthy of their ideal (the object of their affection) and strive for self-improvement, cultivating virtues such as generosity, sharing, giving, uplifting others, and spreading joy. Empathy intensifies as love draws individuals to live through another's thoughts, identifying with and deeply caring for them. Many describe this as a universal love that extends to all people and even the world itself, often without the intrusion of physical intimacy. This is supported by surveys of those who have experienced profound love (as opposed to fleeting passion or lust) and by testimonies from individuals with conditions such as frigidity, reduced sexual sensitivity, or congenital absence of libido.

To wish happiness for another despite one's own desires undoubtedly approaches the realm of platonic love. Yet, this selfless love lays the groundwork for a deeper, more enduring form that often emerges with parenthood. It fosters a profound sense of responsibility—not just for one's partner or child but for humanity as a whole—a feeling that expands and strengthens as love continues to evolve.

Though fleeting, love represents a powerful counterbalance to informational determinism. By inspiring selflessness and empathy, it teaches individuals to align with universal moral principles, offering a glimpse of the harmony.

The readiness to suffer for others, even to sacrifice one's life for "one's own kind" (a deliberately vague term, as these feelings often extend to broader attitudes toward others and society), represents one of humanity's most profound traits. Most importantly, it elevates individuals beyond the simple pursuit of instinctual satisfaction. Though fleeting, this explosion of emotions often leaves behind a lasting warmth—principles and attachments to the one who awakened these feelings—commonly regarded as true love.

Unfortunately, unlike the first three criteria, this pillar has been significantly weakened by informational determinism. Modern conditions increasingly deprive people of the time to truly fall in love with a personality, as they are relentlessly bombarded by instinctual stimuli.

Even proponents of hard determinism—who may view informational determinism as dominant over physical determinism and accept the correction of both through the three pillars of truth alignment and correction—might dismiss this interplay as nothing more than a gradation of determining factors. However, one cannot deny that in individuals with a healthy and developed consciousness, these processes inherently conflict and continuously influence and change one another throughout life. It is precisely this superposition of determining yet conflicting forces that forms the foundation of what we define as free will.

It is within this tension that humanity finds its choice: to align with the harmony of universal principles or risk destruction through the neglect of these foundational truths.

Premise 6. Experimental Data

You might recall Benjamin Libet's 1980 laboratory experiment, which recorded an EEG (electroencephalogram) signal 300 milliseconds before a conscious action. Before delving into the analysis of this experiment, let's review the fundamental principles of how we think:

According to general data, the brain of a newborn contains approximately 150–200 billion neurons, a number that reduces by half in adulthood. Neurons either form connections, strengthening these neural networks, or die off. Brain mass increases only through the formation and strengthening of neural connections. A neural connection—a synapse—forms when a child gains new experiences, information, and stimuli. In the first years of a child's life, up to 700 synapses are created in the brain each second. However, for these neural connections to persist, the child must experience these encounters multiple times.

In a newborn's brain, synapses form rapidly, driven by the child's interactions with objects, people, and phenomena through the five senses. Initially, the brain expends enormous energy memorising and reproducing these images as complex energy patterns—"pictures"—adding characteristics such as chemical reminders, sensations, and experiences. Over time, to conserve energy, the brain converts these images into schematic associations (shorter energy signals) to avoid re-engaging imagination with each recall.

A similar process occurs in adults. When we encounter a new image, we associate it with properties and definitions, including verbal associations. For example, the word "feijoa" recently entered my linguistic set. I understand conceptually that it's some exotic fruit, yet I lack a clear image or taste memory of it. More frequently, I associate this fruit with the memory of the person who mentioned it, and since I rarely encounter this fruit's name, I may not immediately recall this chain of connections (from source to the definition provided).

My brain might instead associate the term with a wildflower with a similar name or even an echidna, as our brain attempts to match unfamiliar sounds with images from similarly unstable concepts. This differs markedly from my image of a lemon, where the synapses are stable, and the channels are wide, with well-established connections to colour, taste, and size. However, when thinking of either feijoa or lemon, the brain doesn't reproduce a precise image—these have become what we call concepts, something like templates or schematic sketches that, nevertheless, contain the compressed, stored image.

Due to specific brain dysfunctions, people can lose the ability to "unpack" images within their imagination (visualising mental images). For example, in aphantasia, there is a disconnect between mental and actual visualisation, where a person cannot create or perceive visual images in their mind. Similarly, "apractognosia" describes an impairment in recognising and visualising objects or their parts. Notably, even with such conditions, people continue to think in images since we acquire information empirically.

Even those who are born blind or lose sight in early childhood think using the same archived images (concepts) and also employ unpacked images in their imagination (visualisation), collecting information about reality through other perception channels. Blind individuals utilise tactile visualisation techniques or form mental images based on auditory, gustatory, and olfactory sensations. For example, they can form abstract representations of colours based on other sensory inputs and descriptions they encounter. Such individuals can imagine colours through associations with warmth, texture, or other tangible and auditory characteristics.

In light of our general understanding of thought processes, let us examine the experiment itself:

In the original Libet experiment, subjects were instructed to periodically bend their wrists and to recall the moment they felt ready to perform this action. The timing of their awareness of intention was recorded based on their reports: subjects observed a point moving along a clock-like display and identified the point's position at the moment they felt the urge to bend their wrist. The precise moment of the final decision was then determined by the reading from a sensor attached to the subject's wrist.

The experiment was repeated several times at various intervals. While some conditions varied, the general procedure was as follows:

Test Condition 1: Tracking a moving object. Participants faced a dial with a black dot moving clockwise. Their task was to point with a finger to the dot's location at the moment they chose.

Test Condition 2: Pressing a button. Participants fixed their gaze on the clock hand. When they decided to initiate movement, they pressed a button. The exact moment of pressing was recorded.

Test Condition 3: Choosing letters. Letters (serving as visual stimuli) appeared randomly on a monitor in front of the participant. Their task was to select a particular letter or perform an action in response to the appearance of a stimulus. The time between the stimulus's appearance and the participant's reaction was measured.

Results:

a)          Deciding which hand and finger to use for an action took at least 30 ms (according to Trevena and Miller).

b)          Planning the action itself and measuring the "readiness potential" required between 300 to 500 ms. Approximately 200 ms before performing the action, participants already felt the urge to act, yet they could cancel their decision (in cases where they were instructed to prepare but refrain from action as the hand approached a certain point).

c)          The act of performing the action itself was recorded at 0 ms, although it exceeded 10 ms in some experiments with different participants.

These results demonstrated the presence of a "readiness potential" in the brain before any actual movement or button pressing occurred.

It is particularly noteworthy that the impulse preceding decision-making is a result of a conscious inclination towards a specific choice, which forms in the mind after processing the received information. After all, before making a choice, we must weigh the available information and the alternatives from which we choose.

However, the experiment was specifically focused on analysing neural activity that inherently precedes either physical actions (such as movement or finger-pointing) or verbal responses. Consequently, differing time intervals were observed for various tasks, measured within a certain range of milliseconds.

However, a notable issue with this experiment lies in the subject's advanced readiness and awareness, as they already knew what action to perform. You might smile wryly at the idea of conducting an experiment without setting a task. Yet, any neurobiologist knows that once a task is stated, the brain begins analysing the process of action, where we literally imagine it as we think in images. Do not confuse this with imagination in the sense of seeing vivid, detailed images; this is how we think in categories of the new. After repeated representation of an action or object, the brain translates everything into a schematic association for energy saving, allowing us to process sound combinations lightning fast.

When confronted with a complex or unfamiliar image, you may feel tension in your brain as it struggles to reconcile the input. In these moments, your brain cannot rely on its typical pattern-splitting or unpacking mode (short energy signals). Instead, it is forced to engage complex and voluminous chemical signals, activating the imagination—a far more energy-consuming process.

For instance, if someone suddenly asks you about a specific street or address or utters unfamiliar words, confusion ensues—your brain becomes the unwitting donor to the "Charity of the Confused Pedestrians." It is forced to work in the categories of the new, engaging energy-intensive imagination. If you spend an entire day in such a mentally taxing state, you might find yourself needing to sleep like a baby just to recover.

A less demanding reverse scenario occurs when you cannot recall a word: you have a clear mental image of what you wish to express, but the connection to the appropriate word momentarily vanishes.

Each time we prepare for a task, our brain activates images, mentally rehearsing the action by triggering the same areas or neuron groups responsible for the choice, even if the task is monotonously repeated. Only when this cyclicity persists over time, typically 21 days to several months, does energy conservation take effect, and the action shifts to reflex mode (similarly to how robots use inertia to move controllers while keeping motors idle). In this case, the gap between task-related activity and refleximpulses becomes minimal, with a different group of neurons now engaged.

In Libet's experiment, participants focus, for example, on a stopwatch hand or a monitor displaying letters on either side. Each time, they not only pre-imagine the action but also make an advance selection at the point of visualisation. If the experiment required participants to guess an action spontaneously from randomly scattered letters on the screen without prior knowledge of the task, only the first trial would capture the true speed of a spontaneous decision. In subsequent trials, the participants would inevitably begin pre-selecting a letter—perhaps visualising a familiar keyboard layout in their minds—before locating the letter on the screen.

Even if explicitly instructed not to prepare for a choice, at best, participants would focus mentally on a specific area of the screen or create a mental image of the keyboard. Our brains simply cannot perform actions without retaining a mental representation of the task we are instructed to complete. This inherent limitation demonstrates how preparation influences even ostensibly spontaneous decisions.

To assert that chemical processes in the brain determine our choice prior to our awareness is valid only if these processes make the decision for us before we even begin to comprehend the task requiring a choice. (Such a phenomenon would result in a complete inability to engage in any form of interaction.)

Each of you can conduct Libet's experiment in a simplified format right now: imagine the letter "a" on the right and the letter "b" on the left. For those accustomed to reading Latin script from left to right, this may feel more challenging than for those who see these merely as symbols. Now, count to three and spontaneously choose one of the letters.

Even in this scenario, you may notice yourself mentally trying on the choice of one option or the other for a split second before focusing on a letter. This happens even before your eyes physically tense to focus on a letter, signalling a confident choice. If you repeat the experiment, even after promising yourself not to pre-choose, you’ll find it nearly impossible to avoid this tendency. Such is the nature of how our brains function.

Even if you trick yourself by quickly changing your choice at the last moment, your brain has already tested the options and expended energy—a fact that would be evident on a brain activity monitor. More importantly, you can observe this process yourself, demonstrating that "pre-choice" is not only conscious but also controlled.

Notice that before you feel the figurative focus to the right or left—manifesting as subtle tension—you are already making a pre-choice. Adding physical actions, like actual eye movement or hand-raising, only widens this gap. A slightly different effect appears with cyclic repetition, such as "a, b, a, b, a, b," but even here, if you introduce randomness, like "a, a, b, a, b, b, b, a," you'll notice yourself slowing down, making that same pre-choice before pronouncing the next letter.

Some may dismiss these observations as anecdotal or claim they do not experience anything similar. They might argue that the statements of countless others who report this are mere self-suggestion. Yet, no one can deny that the impulse required to initiate a hand movement, verbal response, or eye focus takes measurable time.

Benjamin Libet himself, who conducted lifelong experiments to disprove free will, eventually shifted his view, as expressed in his 2004 book, "Mind Time: The Temporal Factor in Consciousness" (Harvard University Press). Subsequently, in 2008, physiologist John-Dylan Haynes and colleagues extended his work using magnetic resonance imaging (MRI). In their experiment, participants were shown letters appearing randomly on a screen and instructed to press one of two buttons, recording which letter was visible when they chose which button to press. The researchers identified two brain areas that indicated the choice up to 7–10 seconds before conscious decision-making.[iv]

This new experiment raises questions about potential bias. It is likely that the letters were presented with this specific time gap, as when tasked with pressing any button upon the appearance of symbols, participants would decide on the next button immediately after pressing the previous one, and might even imagine a pattern in advance. Conducting the same experiment with half-second intervals between symbols would allow the task to be performed but would eliminate the possibility of observing a 10-second gap.

The maximum number of action sequences a person can evaluate can be illustrated through chess. In just one second, an experienced player can consider one to three move combinations. Although tracking this process on a monitor is challenging, you can observe it by engaging in a "bullet game," which lasts only a minute.

If your game pace is more moderate, you can consult with grandmasters—as I myself did. While analysing my own games, I discovered that attempting to count the number of calculated combinations per second distracted me from properly thinking through the combinations themselves. Therefore, if you try to combine these processes, be prepared to lose your "bullet game."

Sam Harris’s statement that we cannot foresee the actual future—or, as he puts it, ‘we do not know what our next thought will be’—appears to transcend the boundaries of physical reality. Chess, however, offers an interesting counterpoint: at least in the game, you can often anticipate what your next thought will be about. This small triumph of foresight underscores a broader truth—humans possess a remarkable ability to solve problems generated by reality in real time. When you attempt to predict a thought that has not yet appeared, you are, in fact, creating it in that very moment, shaped by the task you set for yourself. This is how we navigate our thoughts, using a unique forecasting ability to envision potential futures—events that have not yet occurred and, in many cases, may never come to pass.

This effect in Haynes experiments can be amplified: imagine instructing a person to focus on a monitor or arrow, then performing an action after a signal while artificially slowing the arrow's approach or the appearance of symbols on the screen. The readiness potential would increase in proportion to this delay.

It doesn't matter how far in advance you set the task—whether an hour or even a day before the action. While awaiting the signal or timing, a person will mentally picture the action, activating neurotransmitter accumulation in the relevant neurons. Without this mental preparation, they simply wouldn't be able to perform it.

Consider a task involving raising one's leg at the right moment. When first understanding the task, the subject might visualise raising a leg, typically the right one for a right-handed person, which would appear in brain activity monitoring. However, if they interpret the task as requiring periodic but unpredictable leg raises, they'll visualise a sequence of actions. This neuron activity, though harder to detect, is theoretically observable.

Due to the nature of brain function, a person cannot bypass the need to imagine an action before choosing to perform it—go ahead and try completing a task without mentally picturing it first—good luck with that!

To illustrate this, we can model dozens of amusing scenarios of the so-called "7-second phenomenon" in real life. Imagine a footballer intercepting a ball from an opponent with a supposedly pre-determined leg movement—allegedly decided by "molecular determinism" seven seconds before visually identifying the ball's location. For context, a ball takes an average of five seconds to fly across the field, and it moves even faster between a player's legs.

Now, picture such a scenario on the pitch (let's leave Manchester United out of it for now!). Yes, our brain creates a leg movement pattern based on accumulated knowledge and skills, predicting where the ball will be. Yet, countless variables—such as an opponent's feints, sudden changes in speed, or unexpected movements—often lead to inaccurate leg positioning. But these errors and their corrections occur in mere fractions of a second or even faster.

Even reflexive actions and intuitive decisions stem from accumulated experience and information, processed semi-consciously meaning in a way distinct from deliberate thought, as the brain shifts these processes to the reflexive area for energy efficiency. Yet, even here, there is no fatalistic inevitability. You retain the ability to control, halt, ignore, or even consciously isolate yourself from certain experiences and information to prevent specific reflexes from forming in particular areas. For instance, by choosing not to play chess, you could avoid developing chess intuition—an ironically useless skill in this game. Such intuition might occasionally assist a drunk grandmaster too lazy to analyse his moves, but if he were to collapse face-down on the table, it might sustain him for no more than a couple of semi-conscious moves. These moves would rely solely on visual memory of piece positions and hypothetical opponent responses. Without fresh input for decision-making, this intuition would quickly fizzle out.

But even if, by some miracle, this semi-conscious effort resulted in a decisive checkmate, we could hardly attribute it to determinism. It would still stem from the knowledge he consciously accumulated for such a triumphal moment.

For those tempted to indulge in circular reasoning, arguing that past influences from parents or school friends predetermined their choices, I recommend revisiting the fifth premise on the "three pillars." There, it becomes clear that we always possess the capacity to disregard the stimuli of "informational determinism" and actively shape our own paths.

Significantly, Haynes acknowledged that his experiments do not rule out the possibility that free choice could alter a brain-prepared decision at the very last moment—a "loophole" for free will that Libet also hypothesised during his experiments. Both scientists appear to refer to patterns that are difficult to detect as distinct signals or neural activity. For example, when a decision changes three or more times, the pattern becomes indistinguishable, leading to inaccurate predictions by the observer.

Consider Prescott Alexander's experiment, which challenges Libet's conclusions: "The emergence of readiness potential 300 ms before does not determine action. And if there is readiness potential, but no action, then it does not indicate a decision to act without human will."[v] Eric Emmons from the University of Iowa's Department of Neurology offers similar explanations.

Notably, in 2019, a group of scientists from the USA and Israel failed to detect anticipatory brain activity in conscious actions, particularly in decisions about charitable donations. This finding suggests the presence of habitual patterns and unambiguous certainty—essentially, pre-made choices transferred to the realm of intuitive reflexes.

Even setting aside previously discussed factors, we encounter the fundamental principle of emergence—a phenomenon in which complex systems exhibit properties not inherent in their individual components. In this realm, molecules in specific configurations form diverse elements that conflict, interact, and combine to create novel patterns at their level. While these elements owe their origin to initial materials, they manifest entirely new properties and, in a sense, break free from the behavioural constraints of their individual components. Though the particles themselves remain bound by their nature, as structural complexity increases, the autonomy of the system—its freedom to improvise—expands.

When qualitatively new properties emerge—ones that cannot be directly deduced from the characteristics of their constituent parts—it suggests that free will itself might be viewed as an emergent property. Human consciousness, with its unparalleled complexity, transcends the rigid molecular dictates that once governed it, forming a new network of factors. This network determines each individual determinant as well as the sum of all determining structures, giving rise to consciousness, built upon the foundation of this volitional system. Remarkably, this system can not only fully regulate its basic components but also, paradoxically, influence ongoing physiological processes beyond its own boundaries.

A puppet capable of pulling its own strings deserves the title of the puppeteer.

We can equally propose that free will is either a by-product of physical determinism or a property intentionally embedded into existence by some cosmic Engineer. Both hypotheses hold theoretical validity without invoking Occam’s razor. However, logic and empirical observation leave no room for hard determinism. When distinct determining factors coalesce into a complex structure, they give rise to phenomena that surpass physical and chemical impulses yet remain composed of them and exert control over their own derivatives. The existence of such phenomena compels us to acknowledge what we term free will.

Let us now outline two components upon which the volitional mechanism operates:

1.              A unifying criterion of objective choice for all:

a.               A shared physical environment and the empirical perception of physical laws.

b.              Logic, which prevents unproductive, harmful, or fatal actions.

c.               Internal impulses to correct desires—beneficial for social interaction—manifesting as intuitive morality.

2.              An alternative to empirical data, logic, and morality: Informational determinism, which can be polarised and often generates a kind of dichotomy.

At the same time, physical and chemical processes remain a constant influence, varying with the functionality of consciousness. Physical determinism also forms part of the alternative, often opposing the three integrated criteria of choice and the positive aspects of informational determinism.

Even if someone stubbornly insists that all of the above does not conflict within an individual personality and is entirely predetermined by their molecular ‘fate,’ they cannot ignore one critical point: either the position of hard determinism or my abstract concept of a ‘cascade of dual impulses’ (generating an emergent volitional mechanism) fails to align with physical data, logic, or moral responsibility for the consequences of misinformation influencing human consciousness and progress. By doing so,they inadvertently validate my concept. After all, phenomena such as denying the coherence of physical evidence, logical reasoning, and moral accountability only serve to strengthen the argument for the emergent complexity of free will.

Thus, let us confront reality: within the closed loop of physical processes, everyone who has developed an undisturbed capacity for reasoning retains the ability to choose what is most beneficial for universal well-being. Equally, they bear the responsibility if their choice favours the contrary.

Premise 7: Incorporating Free Will into the Concept of God

The critical point is not merely that this concept can include God but that He cannot be contained within any other framework.

A perfect God must necessarily be immaterial; if He were bound by matter, He would be constrained by it, rendering matter, rather than God, the ultimate source of authority. Naturally, for beings like us—bound by material existence—such a notion seems inconceivable. The eternal quantum fields represent the furthest extent of our capacity to comprehend active existence.

Yet, one might reason that if a creator exists, He would have left some indication of His nature—much like dotted lines that enable two-dimensional beings to infer the presence of a three-dimensional cube. Our consciousness might serve as precisely such a reference point for the incomprehensible. It can reflect on itself, envision itself in different places, circumstances, and times—past and future—while simultaneously analysing its own thought processes, transcending them in a way that defies simple explanation.

Though all of this remains part of physical processes—just as dotted lines belong to the two-dimensional plane—the illusion persists that consciousness is pure, non-material information. If this were intended as an allegory to help beings within a closed physical system grasp something beyond it, then it has fulfilled its purpose remarkably well.

Moreover, a condition of maximally conceivable perfection must include omnipresence—that is, freedom from spatial constraints. However, the option of localised manifestation must remain available to God for interaction with His creation.

God must be entirely self-sufficient, requiring no creation to actualise His inherent information or knowledge. If this information remains inactive, an inactive God would either be meaningless or effectively dead—a logical paradox we shall address separately.

God must contain within Himself something that entirely precludes dependence on creation; His existence and vitality cannot hinge on anything external. At the same time, like any positive phenomenon known to humanity—whether tangible or conceivable by the human mind (and here we must recall that we are deducing the concept of a rational God)—He must inherently possess the property or capacity to propagate. Without the potential to share or manifest, nothing can be truly positive. Potential that is predetermined to remain inactive is functionally indistinguishable from nonexistence.

Consider an individual with extraordinary musical talent who neither plays nor intends to play, refusing to share or express their potential. In such a case, their ability becomes meaningless or, at best, ceases to be positive.

Thus, if we are to conceive of a living God—rather than a lifeless, inert repository of information and potentiality—and if such a God is good, then by the very definition of positivity, He must necessarily desire to multiply the recipients of goodness.

However, omnipresence presents a particular challenge: within such a God, it becomes impossible to create something similar to Himself without merging it into His own being. Primarily, the creation of multiple infinities is logically impossible, as this would result in their mutual limitation, where each individually would fail to encompass the others. If anything exists outside infinity, then infinity ceases to be infinite. While it remains logically permissible to clone consciousnesses within infinity, this would merely result in multi-consciousness within a single entity. Moreover—and herein lies our impasse—should this process ever occur, the newly created duplicate consciousness would, by definition, be inferior to the beginningless original, automatically rendering the entire indivisible entity limited, no longer entirely beginningless. When considering absolute perfection, we cannot adopt an optimistic perspective that views indivisible infinity as a glass half full rather than half empty.

Since the creation by an infinite God of His complete analogue proves logically contradictory—even given the desire of all people to become His equals (which, incidentally, represents another necessary condition for an absolutely good entity)—only one solution to this dilemma of conflicting "necessary conditions of perfection" presents itself:

He may accomplish this by allocating new entities within Himself through localisation in something akin to material structure, thereby creating a parallel dimension within Himself. Thus, creation comes to resemble God more closely than attempts to create infinite finiteness or perfect limitedness.

We have now arrived at the realisation that even the ideal form of theism cannot avoid determinism, as creation will invariably be conditioned by its source of life. However, were God to maintain created entities merely as a menagerie of puppets, He would simply be entertaining Himself rather than sharing goodness, as He would fail to endow them with the property of comparison—from which analysis and the sense of meaning arise. Such a God would not only fail to fulfil the requirement of desiring to multiply what He experiences to the fullest extent possible in creation but would also expose a lack of omnipotence within the framework of life-giving non-contradiction.

A perfect God has only one viable option—to grant His creations the right to reject existence itself. To achieve this, God must have endowed the created receivers of information not only with regularities that bestow good but also with the right to be free from these regularities and, consequently, freedom from the source of life itself. Logically, free will/consciousness becomes activated only upon the emergence of alternative option.

Indeed, you did not choose life; your entire reality and the matter of which you consist, including thinking mechanisms such as logic and conscience (serving as corrective mechanisms), are nothing more than generated information. However, you now possess a choice in the form of information about an alternative. While you need not exercise this choice, you must possess this right to become like God, who maintains the potential to create the opposite of positive yet actively chooses good, thereby manifesting the primary quality of personality—meaningfulness.

Premise 8: Unsuccessful Refutations of Free Will within the Concept of God

One of the most often dismissed arguments against free will is the notion of "theological fatalism," which claims that omniscience and free will cannot coexist. This argument suggests that if God knows all human actions in advance, those actions must be predetermined to align with His foreknowledge, thereby rendering free will illusory.

This argument, however, collapses under several key refutations articulated by thinkers such as C.S. Lewis, Alvin Plantinga, and William Lane Craig:

a)              Foreknowledge is not the same as predetermination: Knowing that an event will occur does not mean causing or compelling it—a critical distinction often overlooked.

b)              Omnipresence implies timelessness: God does not "foresee" events as we understand them—in a linear sequence—but perceives them all at once, beyond the constraints of time.

c)              Omniscience involves knowledge of all possible outcomes: Like a chess program calculating countless potential moves, God perceives every possible scenario without dictating the player's choices in any of them.

A variation of this argument, often termed "divine determinism," extends the claim further, suggesting that God's omniscience robs Him of free will, compelling Him to act strictly in line with His plans. While sophisticated in presentation, this claim is logically flawed: the very existence of a plan presupposes intentionality and volition. Refusing to adhere to an ideal plan would indicate not only a lack of free will but also a lack of purpose or coherence in action.

Consider a simple analogy: a parent planning to pick up their child from school. They know they will do so today, tomorrow, and the day after. Yet, this knowledge does not eliminate their ability to change the decision—they could delegate the task, delay it, or even disregard it entirely and provide an explanation later. Their foreknowledge of the plan does not compel them to act. Rather, as a responsible parent, they choose to fulfil their intention, not because of compulsion but because it aligns with their values and purpose.

Let us summarise the theistic definition of free will: it is the presence of a meaningful desire for good, shaped by reflection and self-awareness, combined with the capacity to choose its opposite. Logically, this framework can even accommodate conflicting desires. However, what truly negates the concept of free will is the notion of a sustained equality between polar desires or their total absence. Paradoxically, determinists construct their arguments in a way that hinges on discovering precisely this state—an equilibrium of opposing desires or their absence—as proof of free will's existence. Yet, in reality, such a state would signify nothing more than complete inertia, a condition closer to non-being than any demonstration of volitional action.

A desire that you can comprehend is equivalent to self-awareness, and the presence of an alternative which you are able to consider is equivalent to freedom. However, only together do they form a complete personality. 

[i] Damasio, H., Grabowski, T., Frank, R., Galaburda, A. M., & Damasio, A. R. (1994). The return of Phineas Gage: clues about the brain from the skull of a famous patient. Science, 264(5162), 1102-1105. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1126/science.8178168

[ii] Lakens, D. (2017). Impossibly Hungry Judges. The 20% Statistician blog

[iii] Nature Neuroscience, 2021; DOI: 10.1038/s41593-021-00791-y

[iv] Soon, C. S., Brass, M., Heinze, H. J., & Haynes, J. D. (2008). Unconscious determinants of free decisions in the human brain. Nature neuroscience, 11(5), 543-545. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1038/nn.2112

[v] Alexander, P., Schlegel, A., Sinnott-Armstrong, W., Roskies, A. L., Tse, P. U., & Wheatley, T. (2016). Readiness potentials driven by non-motoric processes. Consciousness and Cognition, 39, 38-47. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.concog.2015.11.011

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Faith bows before reason—or does it? If Atheists Created God takes a bold look at the moral and philosophical questions that shape humanity.

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