Chapter 6. The Interplay of Free Will and Personality
- Andrew Mytaf
- Feb 13
- 18 min read
Updated: Mar 19
The existence of free will and its relationship to personality formation is one of the most enduring and contentious topics across philosophy, psychology, and neuroscience. This chapter explores the intricate relationship between free will and personality, drawing on recent scientific discoveries and philosophical discussions.
To begin, we examine studies that demonstrate how belief in free will influences self-perception and behaviour. Research led by Elizabeth Seto at Texas A&M University demonstrates a significant link between belief in free will and self-awareness. Their findings indicate that reduced confidence in free will diminishes an individual's sense of control over their actions and heightens self-doubt. This study, published in the journal Social Psychological and Personality Science, highlights the critical role of free will in shaping and maintaining personality.
Earlier studies have also shown that doubting the existence of free will can lead to negative behaviours, including deception, aggression, and ingratitude. Experts further suggest that such doubt affects self-perception, potentially leading to anxiety, depression, and life dissatisfaction. Conversely, confidence in free will enhances self-esteem and a sense of personal significance.
To explore why even minor doubts or ideological denials of free will lead to such effects, we must examine this issue from a neurophysiological perspective.
First, let us define 'personality' in psychology, as it is the primary object of study in this field. Personality is defined as a collection of habits, preferences, mental attitudes, sociocultural experiences, and acquired knowledge. It is a set of psychophysical characteristics that shape an individual's everyday behaviour and their connection with society and the environment. Personality also manifests through various 'behavioural masks' tailored to different situations and social interactions.
However, personality is not merely a collection of information and psychophysical reactions. The psycho-emotional complex aligns us with most animals, differing primarily in its manifestations. For instance, we do not wag our tails when happy; we smile. Information, by itself, holds no inherent meaning—either when it remains unused or when its application becomes impossible for some reason (as we will explore later using the example of frontal lobe damage).
Activity implies an individual’s capacity to perform certain actions, and decisions to act are often volitional—though not always fully conscious —for example, innate protective reflexes or spasms during unconsciousness are such examples. To understand where volition begins, we must examine how the brain processes incoming information through a complex, distributed network of neurons engaged in multi-level, parallel processing.
This process includes several stages:
1. Perception: Sensory organs (sight, hearing, touch, etc.) detect external stimuli, converting them into electrical signals that are transmitted to the brain.
2. Processing in primary areas: Information is directed to specialised brain regions, such as the primary visual cortex (V1) for vision or the primary auditory cortex for hearing. This processing begins at the level of sensory receptors and ganglia before the information even reaches the cortex.
3. Integration: Various brain regions interact to combine information into a holistic perception. This includes matching external sensory data with internal memory (derived from prior experience) and primary impulses that reflect the organism's fundamental needs. For example, when you see an apple, the brain identifies it based on previous experiences and connections. It analyses its structure, density, temperature, aroma, potential flavour profile, and other characteristics. This information is then compared with past associations, such as how the apple satisfied nutritional needs or cravings. Similarly, when the body signals a need for specific nutrients or components, the brain begins unpacking the cause-and-effect relationships to address this requirement.
The amygdala, in conjunction with other brain structures, assigns emotional weight to these perceptions. This rapid signalling of need reflects the body's recognition of a deficit, such as energy or specific nutrients. However, this signal alone does not constitute a fully formed desire for food—it lacks the integration of additional data, such as sensory input and associative memory, which link the abstract need to the process of eating or to a specific object. Only after these additional factors are processed—balancing competing priorities and contextual considerations—does a decision emerge.
4. Transmission to higher areas: Information enters higher brain regions, such as the prefrontal cortex, where data from sensory and associative areas is integrated and analysed. The prefrontal cortex, working alongside other frontal lobe areas, governs higher cognitive functions, including planning, evaluating options, and decision-making.
5. Regulation and goal activation: Based on the conclusions of this analysis, information undergoes final processing in the frontal lobes, where the brain forms decisions through goal-setting or immediate reactions (verbal or motor). At this stage, the brain performs complex actions: implementing decisions, analysing their outcomes, and incorporating the results into memory or reflex systems. This ensures that insights and experiences are consolidated into beliefs or volitional principles. The conscious experience of desire and decision-making arises from the coordinated activity of structures such as the prefrontal cortex, basal ganglia, amygdala, and others.
Thus, information undergoes a sophisticated path of processing and integration, forming the foundation for our actions and decisions. While some processes occur consciously, others are automated for efficiency, shaped by the dynamic interaction of prior experiences, contextual data, and internal impulses.
At the same time, as previously established, interactions between neural networks occur through chemical signals derived from the same physical reality comprising chemical components, which themselves consist of atoms. However, as the system becomes more complex, the constituent elements serve as a medium rather than a determinant. With increased complexity, the influence of primary components becomes less direct, and the more intricate the system, the less dominant the role of its basic structures. Conflicts that emerge within complex systems give rise to another super-complex 'autonomous' system – in our case, consciousness, complete with a will mechanism.
Attempts to equate consciousness with the most complex systems in observable reality are fundamentally flawed. Even if we assume that the universe is more complex due to consciousness emerging as one of its derivative components—and because we are, in turn, part of this physical matter—this assumption falters when confronted with a unique distinction: we possess the capacity to conceive of the universe, whereas the universe cannot conceive of us. Rather, this analogy underscores the minimal influence we, as a material component of the universe, have on the larger system—just as molecular processes within the brain do not, in isolation, dictate the phenomenon of consciousness.
Personality as a Definition of Uniqueness
What makes a personality truly unique, rather than reducing it to one of the four main temperaments or the 24 intermediate emotional types identified in Pavlov's classifications, is the individual's system of internal beliefs, guiding principles, and personal goals, combined with their ability to exercise self-control. It also encompasses the stable habits, distinctive abilities, and behavioural reflexes that are cultivated on this foundation. We differentiate personalities by the depth and strength of the traits they can govern—measured, in essence, by their distance from primal instincts and automatic reflexes, such as fear, the instinct for self-preservation, aggression, appetite, or laziness driven by the need to conserve energy. For the activation of such instinctive responses, a functioning nervous system and appropriate sensory receptors suffice; a consciousness as complex as ours is not required.
Voluntary actions, however, are fundamentally different. They demand the active engagement of consciousness—goal-setting, advance planning, careful execution, and analysis of both circumstances and potential consequences. Such actions rely on willpower, a trait defined by the readiness of an individual's inner resources—moral, intellectual, and physical—to engage in purposeful activity. This process is guided by a consciously defined goal, a carefully considered strategy for achieving it, and an anticipated outcome.
If you reflect on what makes you value a person, you will notice that everything you list in your mind when thinking about specific individuals revolves around what they have achieved, what they have overcome, how they have shaped themselves, their goals, principles, attitude towards others and the world around them, and, fundamentally, their worldview.
However, it cannot be said that a person ceases to be a personality if their memory is entirely erased. More precisely, what we define as personality is the essence of the human type, encompassing both the potential for future personal qualities and evidence of previously demonstrated potential. In essence, personality is a descriptive term for the qualities inherent to our species that go beyond basic functions and instincts.
Imagine a reality where it was a 100% verified rule—proven over millennia—that every third human being was born as a biological organism lacking consciousness, with a neural structure comparable only to that of insects. In such a world, we would likely not attribute the term "personality" to these beings. Instead, they might be considered an evolutionary reserve of biological material, akin to the concept of junk DNA.
But what if a person merely lost their memory? Of course, it is challenging to conceive of someone losing their memory entirely, as reflexive and muscle memory—which stores highly regularised processes, such as holding a spoon or articulating meaningful sounds—would remain intact. Yet even at the level where someone entirely loses a sense of their own identity, we encounter a critical condition.
Now imagine a scenario where someone you know has completely lost all personal qualities developed through decision-making—those aspects where the person at least understood why they acted in a certain way. In such a case, the individual standing before you might look familiar and respond to their usual name but would no longer be the person you once knew. Even with the erasure of personal memory, self-awareness would persist, allowing the individual to develop the traits of a new personality.
But what if we somehow restricted their capacity for self-awareness, depriving them of autonomy, freedom of action, and even, to some extent, control over their thoughts and reactions? Even if we were to reveal this limitation in a moment of confessional honesty, it is likely they would not care, as they would lack the capacity for a voluntary reaction. Such a state of self-awareness would lose its meaning, for this individual would have virtually no control over their actions, functioning solely according to a pre-set programme, much like a computer. Most would hesitate to describe such a being as possessing personality in any meaningful sense.
Now consider another scenario: what if we merely convince someone that they are such a being? In this case, they would not lose their personality traits, but their behaviour would likely change significantly. To avoid a collapse of their personal manifestations under the weight of such a bizarre process of depersonalisation, they would be forced to reassign meaning and purpose to their former self. This process would likely occur intuitively, as their sense of self-awareness remains intact. However, this would only hold true if the individual's personality were already well-developed, resilient, and free from the burden of psychological stress—ideally, untouched by such pressures in the past and safeguarded against them in the future.
This scenario bears a resemblance to recruitment tactics, where you control what a person values while leaving them with the illusion of being able to utilise those values freely. In one case, the individual may align themselves with external directions, while in another, they follow internal ones. The less developed or more weakened a personality is—whether due to lack of formation or external pressures—the more rudimentary the instructions for this "recruitment" become.
Without delving into the consequences, advocates of denying the concept of a 'free personality'—or 'will'—seek to preserve their sense of uniqueness through the supremacy of their ideas, often at the expense of dismantling the identities of others. Having elevated their own personalities to the level of abstract thought, they undermine the developing identities of those who have yet to reach such cognitive maturity—and may never do so. If this ideology were to infiltrate education as uncontested scientific truth, it could have profound consequences.
The notion that we do not belong to ourselves and lack control over what we desire carries no practical value beyond serving as a platform for the self-promotion of its advocates. Proponents of this trendy ideology assert, "You'll simply come to terms with this harsh truth and become free and honest with yourself!" Yet, even without such ideas, raising children in today's world is already a formidable challenge.
Take, for example, my son. At seven years old, he began outright refusing schoolwork and extracurricular activities we had introduced—piano lessons, French studies, and chess—declaring that no one had the right to compel him to do anything. School assignments, he argued, were merely suggestions, while grades were purely symbolic, recorded nowhere and holding no real consequence. When I proposed transferring all purchases of toys and treats into a rewards system, he accused me of blackmail and even threatened to lodge a complaint against us as parents.
His rebellion took on a philosophical edge after learning at school that we live in a world of myths where laws are arbitrary. He had been enlightened to believe that no one could dictate eating habits, that chocolate was actually good for the heart, and, most notably, that gender identity was entirely fluid. This last revelation inspired half his class to announce their intention to change their gender identity.
While certain aspects of progressive education—such as discussions on drug policy, guidance on preventing pregnancy, and gender identity—have undeniable merit, we ultimately decided, after much deliberation, to move him to a private school. The change proved transformative.
In his new school, there were no allocated "be yourself" sessions or daily BBC news broadcasts for social adaptation. Instead, the curriculum prioritised rigorous intellectual engagement, demanding standards, and a collective focus on achievement. The cognitive workload increased significantly, and conversations among students revolved around science and academic pursuits. My son began requesting scientific books, voluntarily joined sports activities (as participation was expected of all students), opted into mountaineering, and started competing in French and piano—motivated by the fact that every child at the school studied multiple languages and played at least one instrument.
The rebellion and apathy that had previously defined his attitude evaporated entirely, replaced by a new sense of purpose and belonging, fuelled by the collective narrative of his peers and the school's culture.
The introduction of ideas into schools suggesting that humans lack control over their actions and that desires are entirely predetermined is unlikely to pass unnoticed. Equally naive is the belief that adults who adopt such ideas will develop greater compassion towards individuals who provoke negative feelings or reactions. For instance, expecting them to stop criticising an inexperienced or arrogant driver—on the grounds that their behaviour is environmentally programmed rather than chosen—misunderstands the nature of psycho-emotional reactions to irritants. In reality, such individuals are more likely to compound their criticisms with dehumanising remarks rather than exercise restraint.
Similarly, this mindset would not lead to more empathetic treatment of criminals. On the contrary, it risks stripping away the belief in the possibility of change or rehabilitation. Criminals may instead be dismissed as irreparable, "broken machinery"—or worse, subjected to invasive interventions analogous to lobotomies, framed as solutions to their perceived defects.
This worldview particularly fails society's more complex or challenging members—in other words, the majority, who at some point breach interpersonal ethics, humanitarian principles, or social norms. The very motivations to change, improve, or even experience guilt could erode entirely under such a deterministic framework. In the most extreme scenarios, proponents of these ideas, under favourable circumstances, might go so far as to advocate for converting "dangerous biomaterial" into practical resources, reducing individuals to mere utility.
This concern is especially pertinent when these beliefs are coupled with ideologies that blend moral relativism and utilitarianism. For those who view life as more than a malleable social construct, the necessity of reforming human behaviour through informational determinism becomes a moral imperative. To succeed in this endeavour, however, it is essential to systematically reject such pseudo-scientific notions, as they represent one of the greatest obstacles to fostering meaningful change in human motivation and behaviour.
Personality Formation
Personality forms gradually, alongside the growth of synapses, consciousness, and will. Consciousness does not emerge due to 'informational determinism' (that is, the belief systems imparted by parents and society). Rather, consciousness, like logic, functions as a tool with a set of capacities that operate with any input. This mechanism is analogous to a computer system that, while operating with default software, can be enhanced through additional programs, applications, or internet access—each significantly broadening its functionality and expanding its informational scope.
The potential for will and the mechanisms of consciousness exist in all individuals without congenital or acquired abnormalities in brain structure. However, the frequency of using these innate functions (brain regions) may vary, leading to the development of qualities such as processing speed, imagination, abstract thinking, and volitional traits like courage, stress tolerance, and responsibility.
Advanced intellectual qualities and volitional traits, shaped by the growth of synaptic connections, can influence gene expression and be passed to offspring without altering the DNA sequence. This process creates predispositions toward specific abilities, inclinations, and behavioural tendencies.
For example, neither of my parents displayed any artistic ability. However, eight years before having children, my mother attended drawing classes with a friend, an experience that required her to expand her imagination and develop a photographic memory. Remarkably, all her children later exhibited artistic talent, seemingly at a genetic level. Among them, one pursued this ability further, becoming a skilled portraitist.
This principle similarly applies to tendencies toward various forms of addiction, giving rise to a specialised scientific field in genetics—epigenetics. Epigenetics explores changes in gene expression that do not alter DNA structure. Influences from the environment, lifestyle, or other factors can cause these changes, affecting inherited traits without modifying gene sequences.
Even genetically transmitted neuron structures, however, do not guarantee activation, highlighting a paradox in neuronal function. During the transmission of nerve impulses through synapses, signal strength and frequency may fluctuate. Signals may weaken, fade to undetectable levels, or fail to activate entirely. In such cases, neurons lacking adequate stimulation or not integrated into the nervous system undergo programmed cell death—a process known as apoptosis or neuronal pruning. This process is vital for maintaining a healthy nervous system, helping it adapt to changing conditions.
Will and consciousness are evident even in so-called Mowgli children—those raised by wild animals—as demonstrated by their capacity to make choices, hesitate, compare, and analyse previously unfamiliar information. While consciousness in such children operates at a primitive level, volitional traits may be more developed due to their harsh living conditions, which demand resilience. In contrast, children whose needs are continually met and who face few challenges may experience a stunted development of personal qualities.
Addiction weakens the will, paralleling the decline of consciousness. Under the influence of psychotropic substances, individuals may experience a partial or total loss of willpower, reducing their behaviour to basic instincts or essential bodily functions.
Personal qualities can be disrupted by stress, apathy, illness, or conditions such as 'abulia'—a disorder marked by a loss of initiative, decision-making capacity, and purposeful action. In severe cases, abulia resembles a coma, with patients requiring feeding via a catheter. Such conditions can stem from physical damage or lesions in the frontal lobes, especially where no healthy areas remain to take over essential functions.
The will can also be externally suppressed through overprotection, which stifles a child's autonomy and volitional expression. Such individuals may remain dependent on their parents indefinitely, leading to psychological conditions ranging from infantilism and psychosis to schizophrenia and hypobulia. The extent of personality degradation is often tied to how severely the will was suppressed.
A poignant example of the relationship between will and personality can be seen in World War II concentration camps, where prisoners were subjected to meaningless tasks, such as endlessly moving piles of rubbish. These repetitive and purposeless actions stripped individuals of their sense of purpose, leading to profound behavioural and cognitive deterioration. Many lost the will to live, with some hurling themselves at electrified fences, while others lost their sanity altogether.
Limiting or removing the volitional component leads to the breakdown of personality and the deactivation of consciousness.
Hypothetical Divine Intervention
In the context of physical reality, performing a lobotomy on the will would inevitably compromise the full functioning of consciousness and personality. But what if an omnipotent being could remove the capacity for negative, harmful, or fatal choices from the function of will, leaving its core mechanism intact?
Such a notion might seem conceivable under the premise of omnipotence, but it belongs only in the realm of verbal or conceptual oxymorons—akin to "wet dryness," "bright darkness," or "meaningless meaning." In practice, if God were to enact this, free will would cease to be truly free and would lose its very definition of perfection. This would undermine the principle of likeness to a perfect God, where attributes such as meaningfulness, unlimited potential, and absolute freedom of choice are essential components of any concept of perfection. What follows is a domino effect: the erosion of sincerity, kindness, love, rationality, and everything we define as good. This concept is explored further in the chapter "The Dilemma of Natural Evil".
It might seem more humane for God to create limited beings intentionally avoiding the widespread suffering He foresaw. He could have designed them so that only He knew of their imperfections and lack of freedom. Yet, the price for such a reality would be either deception or the removal of critical functions—curiosity, analytical abilities, or even the capacity to process incoming information. True, this would eliminate suffering, but at what cost?
Imagine if we, as parents, were given the power to decide which functions to remove from our children to ensure their obedience. Would we choose to strip them of independence, meaningful actions, and the occasional falsehoods that accompany such "free will"—all for the sake of their happiness or perhaps our own? Would we be content with a wooden Pinocchio who mirrors us in form but never suffers, always smiling, never blinking, and forever by our side? Something tells us that many would ultimately choose the path where the puppet becomes as alive as the parents themselves—just as in the tale of Pinocchio. A being capable of making conscious decisions—choosing honesty and goodness, understanding good and evil, and genuinely desiring what is good—would grow to resemble its creators more closely. Undoubtedly, such Pinocchios will have to carve their way through many challenges along this path, but even so, all will experience the benefit of autonomous thought and self-awareness.
If you were in the role of a cosmic Geppetto, creating countless puppets and deciding whether to breathe autonomous self-awareness into them—knowing that most would prefer not to emulate you and would naturally succumb to wood beetles and dampness (a hypothetical environment where beings could feel entirely free, unburdened even by the awareness of the Carpenter's very existence itself)—would you still grant them the experience of being like you? Would you give them this chance, despite the wretched environment and sad consequences, hoping that some might intuitively seek the laws of life, objective good, and ultimately find infinite happiness?
Let us consider a more realistic scenario: we, as parents, decide not to have children, knowing that they will inevitably face burdensome old age, followed by a painful death (from oxygen deprivation in the brain during cardiac arrest, akin to the sensation of drowning). Such a decision might seem noble and logical—we could take solace in knowing they would never endure the disappointments, failures, and physical pain that life entails. They would also contribute nothing to environmental degradation, as one human equals one not-so-eco-friendly car. But would we be happier? Would we not be haunted by a sense of inadequacy and unrealised potential, of failing to multiply those who might experience the joy of self-awareness after us, and of shirking the simple responsibility to preserve our unique species? Even contemplating such a decision would strip us of the perception of goodness already at the decision-making stage.
Whoever programmed the struggle for life within us—be it evolution or an invisible Engineer—clearly did not favour antinatalism. Beyond humans, no earthly creature concerns itself with the planet's future beyond its own existence. Yet we strive not only to preserve the environment for future generations but also to ensure that life and its inherent beauty endure. We are fundamentally hardwired to see life itself as an intrinsic good.
But why couldn't God configure human consciousness to accept conditions as given while retaining personality, as millions of office workers and factory employees do? The key distinction lies in awareness and choice. In this analogy, no one loses awareness of the possibility of breaking the rules; they simply choose not to or fear the consequences. When fear dominates, we call this routine—a state that generates a spectrum of negative feelings: dependence, dissatisfaction, limitation, fear, and even hatred. Yet, no one in such a state loses awareness of their potential. They remain internally free, living within an artificial reality that helps them abstract from suffering.
If a person were stripped of this awareness and understanding—by cutting options and restricting thought—their self-awareness would also vanish. This would trigger a cascade of further limitations. They would no longer know what they want or do not want, lacking alternatives and the ability to understand why they desire what they did not choose. This differs significantly from the experience of a philosopher-determinist. While they acknowledge that everything is predetermined, they still perceive alternative paths, retain the potential for experimentation, and manoeuvre within constraints. The philosopher-determinist lives in a world of contrasts, understanding the reasons behind their desires and their role in the process. Most importantly, they possess metacognition—the ability to reflect on their own thoughts and consciously alter them according to chosen principles.
The only way out of this divine surgery would be to remove even the concept of desire. But this would reduce consciousness to a level below animal instincts, to something resembling a plant.
If everything God created illustrates the progression of life from non-existence to perfection—expressed through self-awareness, meaningfully choosing good and being—it would be paradoxical to curtail the potential for the greatest good. If, in such a hypothetical world, you suddenly gained self-awareness, you might conclude that God is limited, selfish, or irrational. The unwillingness to share or multiply the experience of goodness—even without dependence on this act—would contradict the very definition of good as we understand it. For me, as a sceptic striving to derive the maximum possible good and perfection, this is a central consideration.
In response to the common theistic argument that "the human mind cannot comprehend God," it is worth noting that this limitation can only apply to infinite content, not to the concept itself. Otherwise, we could not even articulate ideas such as infinity (the absence of limits), goodness (the desire to share goodness), or the concept of God (a personal prime source).
Conclusion:
1. Free Will: Free will arises from the coordinated functioning of the prefrontal cortex and frontal lobes, driven by a genetic programme for cognitive and empathic abilities. When the frontal lobes are entirely damaged or removed, the capacity for meaningful, deliberate activity is lost.
2. Personality: Personality is best understood as the inherent human potential—whether rooted in past expressions or future possibilities—for meaningful volitional action. It encapsulates the capacity to act with purpose and autonomy.
3. Personality Development: Personality evolves alongside default brain functions, serving as a "tool" that allows an individual to engage with both empirical and abstract information, thereby cultivating unique personal traits and characteristics.
4. Impact of Information on Personality: Empirical and abstract information can partially deconstruct aspects of personality but cannot entirely eliminate it. Even with extensive physical damage to the brain regions responsible for decision-making (including overlapping or redundant areas), self-awareness often persists. Complete degradation of personality can only occur with the loss of the awareness of reality and self as an autonomous being.
5. Suppression of Personality: Personality can be suppressed through simpler mechanisms, such as restricting volitional expression (freedom of action or thought) by instilling a fear of social rejection or by fostering subservience to primal impulses and reflexive behaviours.
6. Interconnection of Will and Personality: Will and personality are deeply interconnected and, in many respects, conceptually synonymous. Personality is the tangible manifestation of will, and will cannot exist without some expression of personality.
7. Divine Will and Personality: Within a rational hypothesis of God, it is logically impossible to curtail will without simultaneously eroding personality—unless we redefine the concepts of personality and will entirely. However, for a rational God, it would be illogical to create beings with less than what we understand as essence. To do so would align more closely with the notion of an imperfect Demiurge rather than a perfect, rational Creator.
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