Letters from Tomis

An ongoing series of reflections of my thoughts on historical materialism after reading What is Marxism: An Introduction into Marxist Theory by Rob Sewell and Alan Woods. The thoughts, opinions, and any errors are mine alone.

The question of whether we possess free will, that much-beloved and vaunted bastion of human self-conception, is one that has bedeviled philosophers, theologians, and neuroscientists for centuries. It is a query with such philosophical heft that it almost buckles under its own importance, yet it remains insistently unresolved.

Free will, at its heart, posits that we are agents of our actions, unshackled by the deterministic chains of biology, physics, or divine predestination. Yet, as one examines this premise, it becomes increasingly difficult to avoid a certain cynicism—or at least a grim smirk—at the staggering arrogance of such a claim. Humanity, perched precariously on a minor speck in the vast, indifferent cosmos, insists that it alone is exempt from the forces that govern the rest of reality. How quaint.

Take, for instance, the religious interpretation of free will, a notion so drenched in contradiction it might drown if subjected to anything resembling scrutiny. We are told by various faiths that an omniscient deity endowed us with free will so that we might freely choose to adore Him (for it is invariably a Him). This, of course, presupposes that an all-knowing being created us with full knowledge of our every action, decision, and failure. Is this free will, or merely a cosmic theater, its script already written? If God knows what I shall do tomorrow, how free am I to choose otherwise? The idea collapses under its own absurdity.

The secular perspective, for all its intellectual rigor, fares little better. Neuroscientists increasingly suggest that our decisions are less the product of conscious deliberation than of subconscious processes and neural determinism. The “self,” that cherished centerpiece of individual identity, appears more like a puppet, its strings pulled by genetics, environment, and random chance. How dispiriting to think that our grand deliberations might amount to little more than chemical inevitabilities.

And yet, I can hear the protestations of those who refuse to surrender this cherished illusion. “Surely,” they cry, “there is a difference between deciding to have tea or coffee and being swept away by a tsunami!” And they are correct in pointing out that some choices feel more deliberate than others. But feelings, alas, are not arguments. To claim agency merely because one feels like an agent is to mistake the echo of a voice for its origin.

Still, before we consign ourselves to determinism’s iron grip, let us pause to consider a curious paradox. Even if free will is an illusion, it is a profoundly useful one. Societies thrive on the presumption of individual responsibility. Laws, ethics, and the arts—all are premised on the idea that humans can choose rightly or wrongly. Acknowledging determinism may not absolve us of the need to act as though our choices matter.

In the end, the question of free will may be less about metaphysics and more about psychology. Perhaps the real inquiry is not whether we have free will, but why we so desperately need to believe that we do. Are we afraid of insignificance, of becoming mere cogs in a vast and impersonal machine? Or is it simply that the alternative—existence as preordained puppets—strikes us as too bleak to bear?

The absence of free will does not absolve us of moral responsibility, nor does it diminish the grandeur of human endeavor. Whether we are free agents or exquisitely complex automatons, our actions resonate in ways that transcend their origins. And perhaps, in the face of uncertainty, we should be less concerned with answering the question of free will than with ensuring that, illusion or not, our choices make the world a little less cruel, a little more just, and infinitely more interesting.