I don’t seem to choose my thoughts and feelings…
They seem to choose me– and take me along for the ride.
And so, I wonder…
Is it possible that free will is just a grand delusion?
Is it possible that free will is nothing more than my self-conscious brain playing tricks on itself?
Is it possible that free will is just a desperate attempt to make sense of an absurd existence? An emotional rejection of determinism? A conceited attempt to feel more special than I really am?
Then again, free will may be the most infinitely precious thing in the entire cosmos.
No matter how I ask the question about the meaning of my existence, the mere suggestion that life can mean something gives birth to an idea that’s as terrible as it is wonderful: a thing called FREEDOM.
I want to be more than a survivor in a dog-eat-dog world.
I want to be more than a sheepish, cowering herd animal.
I want to be more than a rat in some mad scientist’s maze.
I want to be more than just another link in the food chain.
I want to be more than just a bundle of primitive reflexes… primed to freeze, flee, or fight.
And so, I refuse to accept a universe so cruel that it would grant me such aspirations without also providing me the time and means for achieving them– or at least the chance to find meaning in the trying.
And so, I begin this quest for meaning by declaring such freedom to be not just a scientific possibility, but a moral necessity.
My first act of faith is to commit myself to FREEDOM.
And I commit myself to FREEDOM not on logical, but on moral grounds.
I commit myself to FREEDOM because I refuse to be a mere effect in an indifferent universe.
I commit myself to FREEDOM because, without it, all talk of character, virtue, ethics, and love is nonsense.
I commit myself to FREEDOM because rejecting it relinquishes my dignity and power.
I commit myself to FREEDOM because every attempt to escape from freedom causes me pain.