There Is No Such Thing as Free Will—And That’s a Good Thing

Manousos A. Klados
Jun 6
4 min read

A few months ago, stuck in traffic and running late for a meeting I didn’t want to attend in the first place, I found myself rehearsing the same internal monologue I’ve had a hundred times before: “You should have left earlier. You knew there’d be traffic. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” The guilt was oddly comforting. It suggested that I could have done better—that I chose this. But what if I didn’t?

What if none of us ever truly chooses anything?

It’s a question that sounds like philosophical performance art. But it isn’t. Neuroscience has been inching us toward this unsettling conclusion for decades. And contrary to what many fear, this doesn’t plunge us into nihilism. On the contrary, it opens up a gentler, more honest, and ultimately more compassionate way to live.

The Puppet Show of the Mind

Let’s start with the science. In a now-famous series of experiments in the 1980s, neuroscientist Benjamin Libet found that the brain begins preparing for a movement—say, flicking your wrist—before you become consciously aware of your intention to do it. This “readiness potential” suggested that what we experience as a conscious decision might actually be the brain’s after-the-fact explanation of an action already set in motion.

Since then, studies using more sophisticated tools (like fMRI and EEG) have found similar patterns. In some cases, researchers can predict a person’s choice several seconds before they report making it. It’s as though your brain is a skilled illusionist, letting you believe you’re in control while it quietly pulls the strings backstage.

The implications are both profound and, for some, terrifying. If our decisions are the result of unconscious processes—genetics, environment, neural chemistry—then what happens to accountability? To morality? To the idea that you could have done otherwise?

Free Will’s Real Job Was Never What We Thought

But here’s the twist: free will was never doing the job we thought it was.

Most people imagine free will as a little homunculus in the brain—some mini-me that pulls the levers of action independently of biology and environment. But that’s not how anything in nature works. Our thoughts and decisions emerge from a cascade of prior causes—some neural, some cultural, some so complex we may never fully trace them.

Yet life doesn’t grind to a halt without this ghost in the machine. Responsibility, justice, creativity, love—these don’t vanish in a deterministic world. In fact, they may become more grounded.

Take justice. If we accept that people act according to causes beyond their control, the focus of punishment can shift—from retribution to rehabilitation. Instead of asking “Did they deserve this?” we ask, “What conditions led to this, and how can we change them?” That shift alone could make our society more humane.

And personally? Accepting the absence of free will can be oddly liberating. That same traffic jam spiral—the guilt, the blame, the shame—fades when you realize that you literally couldn’t have done otherwise given the brain, body, and situation you had. That doesn’t mean you don’t want to improve or plan better. But it does mean you don’t need to marinate in self-hatred to get there.

This idea is not an excuse to abdicate responsibility. It’s an invitation to reconceive it. You’re still responsible in the sense that your actions have consequences and you’re a locus of influence in the world. But you’re not a god trapped in a meat suit. You’re a complex system embedded in other systems, responding as best you can with what you’ve got.

And once you see yourself that way, you can extend the same grace to others. The driver who cut you off. The friend who ghosted you. Even the family member whose politics make your blood boil. If their choices, too, are not truly free, then maybe—just maybe—you can stop expecting them to be someone else.

The Freedom in Knowing You’re Not Free

Here’s the irony: rejecting free will can make you feel more free. Not in the libertarian, “I’m in charge of my destiny” way, but in the Buddhist, “I am not my thoughts” way. You can observe your mind with curiosity instead of clinging to the illusion of authorship.

You didn’t choose your genes, your parents, your culture, your past experiences, your trauma, your desires, or your fears. And yet, here you are, trying to make sense of it all. That effort—this awareness—is beautiful. And it matters.

Because while you may not be free in the traditional sense, you are still capable of insight, of growth, of kindness. Not because you will yourself to be, but because the right causes come together to make it so.

And maybe that’s enough…