In Defense of Free Will: How Modern Materialism and Determinism Are Mistaken

By Leandro Castelluccio

Introduction

In the intricate fabric of human existence, the concept of free will has long been a cornerstone of philosophical inquiry and existential reflection. However, as the arms of science delve deeper into the mysteries of our minds and the universe, an increasingly entrenched deterministic view seems to cast a shadow over our once firm belief in the autonomy of choice.

Both in culture and science, deterministic perspectives have gained significant traction, reshaping our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. From the microscopic dance of particles to the macroscopic movements of celestial bodies, the intricate web of causes and effects appears to govern every aspect of our reality.

The rise of neuroscience, with its incisive research into the neural mechanisms underlying human behavior, has further strengthened this deterministic paradigm, suggesting that our thoughts, actions, and decisions may be predetermined by neuronal activity and biochemical processes within our brains.

As we delve deeper into the mechanisms of the mind, the notion of free will is increasingly challenged. Studies exploring phenomena such as subconscious conditioning, implicit biases, and the predictability of human behavior paint a picture of individuals who may not be in control of their choices as once believed. Our seemingly spontaneous decisions governed by free will may be influenced by a myriad of factors, from environmental cues to entrenched social norms, casting doubt on the notion of true autonomy.

Furthermore, cultural shifts have also played a role in undermining our belief in free will. The proliferation of social and psychological theories emphasizing the influence of upbringing, socioeconomic status, and genetic predispositions has fostered a deterministic mindset, suggesting that our lives unfold along predetermined paths shaped by forces beyond our control.

One of the prominent current authors in the media who has extensively argued against free will is Sam Harris. Harris challenges the traditional notion of free will and argues that our decisions are determined by factors beyond our control, such as genetics, upbringing, and environmental influences, in addition to neurobiological processes. He believes that the concept of free will is an illusion since our actions are ultimately dictated by these preceding factors. Harris suggests that understanding this can have profound implications for how we view morality, responsibility, and the justice system.

Harris argues that if we truly understand the deterministic nature of our minds, our judgments of guilt and innocence must evolve. He suggests that even the most heinous criminals are products of their genetics, upbringing, and brain states, with no capacity for true free will. This challenges our instinctive desire for retribution and raises profound questions about the nature of justice and personal identity.

However, amidst the rising tide of determinism, pockets of resistance still remain. Philosophers continue to debate the nature of free will, exploring its implications for ethics, morality, and personal responsibility. And within the scientific community, dissenting voices advocate for a more nuanced understanding of agency, recognizing the complexity of human consciousness and the limits of our current scientific knowledge.

In this changing landscape of thought, the question of free will looms large, inviting us to grapple with the profound implications of our evolving understanding of choice, responsibility, and the nature of being. As we navigate the corridors of determinism, we are faced with a fundamental inquiry into the essence of what it means to be human and to what extent we hold the reins of our own destiny.

In this essay, I challenge some of the current deterministic positions that challenge free will, by presenting different arguments against them, and I maintain that a radical form of free will could indeed exist.

Arguments against free will

Harris begins his exploration by delving into the findings of neuroscience. In recent decades, advances in brain imaging techniques have provided an unprecedented insight into the neural mechanisms underlying human behavior. Studies using technologies like functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) have revealed correlations between specific patterns of brain activity and decision-making processes. These findings suggest that our actions are determined by neuronal activity in our brains, implying a deterministic framework for human behavior.

Building upon neuroscientific evidence, Harris scrutinizes the concept of conscious will. He argues that our sense of agency, or the feeling that we control our actions, is illusory. Harris refers to experiments such as those conducted by Benjamin Libet and others, which demonstrate that the brain initiates actions before individuals consciously perceive the intention to act.

In Libet’s experiments, participants were asked to perform simple actions, such as pressing a button, while their brain activity was monitored. The results indicated that neural activity associated with the action began before participants reported being aware of their decision to act. This phenomenon challenges the notion that our decisions arise from a conscious and deliberative process and suggests instead that they are influenced by subconscious neural processes.

Furthermore, Harris highlights the role of genetics and environmental factors in shaping human behavior. He argues that our genes and early life experiences play a significant role in predisposing us to certain traits and behaviors. Studies with twins have shown strong genetic influences on personality traits, indicating that aspects of our behavior may be predetermined to some extent. Additionally, socioeconomic factors, cultural upbringing, and chance events beyond our control can influence the choices we make. Harris suggests that if these factors exert considerable influence on our behavior, the scope of genuine free will becomes increasingly limited.

Addressing the philosophical position of compatibilism, Harris offers a critique of attempts to reconcile free will with determinism. Compatibilists argue that free will can coexist with a deterministic understanding of the universe, defining it as the ability to act in accordance with one’s desires and motivations, even if those desires are ultimately determined by previous causes.

However, Harris maintains that this conception of free will does not address the fundamental issue of agency. Although our actions align with our desires, he argues, the question remains: are we truly the authors of those desires? Harris suggests that our desires themselves are shaped by factors beyond our control, such as genetics, upbringing, and social influences. Therefore, even if our actions align with our desires, they are still determined by external factors, undermining the notion of genuine free will.

Harris’s critique of free will has profound implications for our understanding of morality and justice. If individuals are not ultimately responsible for their actions due to the absence of genuine free will, then concepts such as guilt, punishment, and reward lose their moral justification. Harris advocates for a pragmatic approach to ethics and justice based on empirical evidence and the goal of minimizing harm.

Instead of seeking retribution against individuals who are themselves products of various circumstances, he suggests focusing on understanding the causes of behavior and implementing strategies to prevent harmful actions. This perspective challenges traditional notions of moral responsibility and advocates for a more compassionate and evidence-based approach to addressing social issues.

Thus, Sam Harris’s argument is deeply rooted in the understanding that every action, thought, and decision can be traced back to neural activity and biochemical reactions in the brain. According to Harris, this deterministic view of the universe undermines the notion of free will as traditionally conceived.

To illustrate his point, Harris often employs the analogy of a puppet controlled by strings. In this metaphor, our conscious experience resembles the puppet’s awareness of its movements, while the strings represent the underlying neuronal processes that govern our actions. Just as the puppet cannot choose its own movements independently of the puppeteer’s control, Harris suggests that we are equally limited by the deterministic functioning of our brains.

By comparing human consciousness to the puppet’s consciousness and neuronal processes to the strings controlling its movements, Harris encapsulates the essence of his deterministic view of the world. Our conscious experience, akin to the puppet’s awareness of its movements, creates the illusion of agency and free will. We perceive ourselves as the authors of our actions, unaware of the numerous unconscious processes that shape our decisions.

In this way, Harris argues that our consciousness is distinct from the underlying neuronal processes driving our actions. Although we may feel that we are making autonomous decisions, in reality, our decisions are predetermined by the causal chain of events that precede them.

Moreover, the puppet analogy highlights the hierarchical nature of control. Just as the puppeteer has ultimate authority over the puppet’s movements, Harris suggests that the brain exerts influence over human behavior. Every thought, action, and decision originates in neuronal activity, which is in turn influenced by a complex interplay of biological, psychological, and environmental factors.

Harris goes so far as to assert that free will does not even seem to be experienced at the level of consciousness. He posits that upon closer examination of our subjective experience, we find a lack of autonomy or genuine agency in decision-making.

To delve into this concept, it is essential to understand how consciousness operates in the context of decision-making. Consciousness, in this context, refers to our subjective awareness of our thoughts, feelings, and experiences. It is the stream of consciousness that accompanies our cognitive processes, including deliberation, reflection, and decision-making.

Harris argues that when we introspect and examine our conscious experience, we find no evidence of free will operating within it. Instead, what we discover are thoughts, desires, and intentions that simply arise, seemingly out of nowhere, without our conscious initiative. These mental phenomena emerge spontaneously, influenced by subconscious processes and external stimuli, rather than being consciously willed into existence.

Consider a moment of decision-making: when faced with a choice, we often experience a deliberative process in which various options are weighed, and eventually a decision is reached. However, Harris suggests that even this deliberative process is not indicative of free will. Rather, it is the result of deterministic neural processes unfolding within the brain, leading to a particular outcome.

Furthermore, Harris points out the phenomenon of “mental dialogue,” the continuous flow of thoughts and impulses that arise in consciousness. He argues that this mental activity is not under conscious control but is instead a product of the brain’s spontaneous activity. Just as we cannot control the thoughts that arise in our minds, similarly, we lack control over the underlying neuronal processes that generate those thoughts.

Moreover, Harris emphasizes the role of emotions and desires in shaping our decisions, often outside of consciousness. Our desires and preferences are influenced by a multitude of factors, including genetics, upbringing, and past experiences, which collectively determine the trajectory of our decision-making. In light of these observations, Harris concludes that free will is not an experiential reality at the level of consciousness. Rather, our subjective experience simply reflects the unfolding of deterministic processes within the brain, giving rise to the illusion of agency.

In defense of free will

My issue with Harris’s stance and other authors in his line of thought begins with the flawed presumption that conscious experience is equivalent to or solely depends on prior brain activity. Until we have a fully developed conceptual framework and theory explaining how subjective conscious experience exists or emerges from brain activity, we cannot assert that our intent to do something relies solely on prior brain activity or that consciousness lacks a primary causal force on the brain.

While neuroscience has made significant strides in correlating certain aspects of consciousness with brain states, the question of how subjective conscious experience arises from physical processes remains a profound mystery. Without a comprehensive conceptual framework connecting brain activity and subjective experience, it’s premature to affirm a direct causal relationship between the two. At the heart of this problem lies the philosophical conundrum known as the “hard problem of consciousness,” as famously articulated by philosopher David Chalmers.

This problem concerns the subjective aspect of consciousness, the “what it’s like” to experience something, which appears fundamentally different from the brain’s objective and measurable processes. While neuroscience can identify neural correlates of consciousness and map brain activity associated with certain mental states, it still struggles greatly to explain why and how these neuronal processes give rise to subjective experience.

Sam Harris’s argument against free will largely relies on neuroscientific findings suggesting that our decisions are determined by neuronal activity in the brain. However, this perspective presupposes a materialistic framework in which consciousness is reducible to brain states, a position known as “physicalism” or “materialism.” While physicalism is a dominant paradigm in contemporary neuroscience and philosophy of mind, it faces significant challenges in accounting for subjective experience, especially the “hard problem.”

To date, there’s no compelling explanatory conceptual bridge that most authors agree upon, leading from brain activity to subjective experience, capable of resolving this major dilemma in neuroscience and philosophy of mind.

A critique of Harris’s position would then be that it confuses correlation with causality. While it’s true that neuroscientific studies have identified correlations between brain activity and conscious experience, establishing a causal relationship is much more complex. Correlation doesn’t imply causation; the fact that certain neuronal processes occur alongside conscious experiences doesn’t necessarily mean they are the cause of those experiences.

Furthermore, the relationship between brain activity and consciousness may be more nuanced than a simple direct causal connection. Consciousness could be an emergent phenomenon arising from the complex interactions of neuronal networks rather than being reducible to specific brain regions or processes.

This view aligns with the notion of “panpsychism,” which posits that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of the universe present at all levels of organization, including the brain.

Additionally, Harris’s argument overlooks the possibility of non-materialist explanations for consciousness, such as dualism or idealism. Dualism proposes that consciousness is distinct from physical matter and cannot be fully explained solely through neuroscience. On the other hand, idealism suggests that consciousness is primary and the physical world arises from it, rather than the other way around.

In light of these philosophical considerations, it becomes evident that Harris’s argument against free will is based on assumptions about the nature of consciousness that are far from resolved. Without a robust theoretical framework that takes into account the subjective aspect of consciousness and its relationship with brain activity, the assertion that our intentions are solely determined by previous neuronal processes remains speculative.

And although we might be tempted to draw conclusions and argue that consciousness is equivalent to brain processes, given our current scientific and materialistic view of things, I want to argue here that there are actually good and reasonable arguments for why this may not be the case, and that consciousness could transcend brain activity, and how the actual “substance” of consciousness could allow for a radical form of free will.

Consider, for example, how we move a hand or try to remember a word; this is, in fact, exactly how an experience of free will would be experienced at the level of consciousness.

Critics like Harris would say that when we decide to raise our hand, it seems like we are exerting our will to initiate the action. However, according to this author, neuroscientific research suggests that the neural activity underlying this movement begins before we are aware of our decision to move. Studies using techniques such as fMRI have shown that specific regions of the brain associated with motor planning and execution are activated long before conscious intention to move arises. This would imply that our perception of agency in initiating the movement may be illusory since the decision to move is predetermined by neural processes beyond our conscious control.

Similarly, when we try to remember a word, it may feel as if we are actively searching our memory and making an effort to retrieve the desired information. However, research in cognitive psychology indicates that memory retrieval is governed by automatic processes influenced by factors such as priming, association, and context. Although we can consciously direct our attention towards recalling the word, the actual process of retrieval occurs spontaneously, guided by unconscious mechanisms operating within the brain.

However, despite the deterministic underpinnings of our actions, the subjective experience of agency and genuine voluntary control may still remain intact. Let’s consider the example of Libet mentioned earlier.

We could argue that while it’s true that Libet’s research suggested that neural activity associated with actions begins before individuals report awareness of their intentions, he also proposed the concept of a “veto power” of consciousness over motor actions.

In Libet’s experiments, participants were effectively asked to perform simple actions, such as pressing a button, while their brain activity was monitored. The results showed a readiness potential, an “accumulation” of neural activity in the motor cortex, which preceded conscious intention to act. This phenomenon seemed to challenge the traditional view of free will, suggesting that our actions could be initiated by subconscious processes rather than conscious deliberation.

However, Libet himself proposed an interpretation that allowed for the possibility of conscious intervention in the decision-making process. He suggested that although the brain may initiate preparations for action unconsciously, there still exists a window of opportunity for consciousness to exert control over the final outcome. This is what he called the “veto power” of consciousness. In other words, while neuronal processes may initiate readiness potential and prepare for action, consciousness has the ability to intervene and either allow the action to proceed or inhibit it altogether.

This interpretation acknowledges the role of conscious decision-making in the execution of actions, even if it occurs after the initial neural activity has begun. Furthermore, the neural activity observed before consciousness can be better understood as preparation for action rather than the intention itself. It’s akin to the brain gearing up for potential actions, awaiting conscious input and decision-making. This preparatory activity doesn’t necessarily negate the role of conscious intention but sets the stage for it to act.

Therefore, while Libet’s experiments shed light on the temporal relationship between neural activity and conscious awareness, they don’t necessarily refute the existence of free will or conscious control over actions. Instead, they highlight the complex interplay between subconscious processes and conscious decision-making, suggesting that the relationship between the two may be more nuanced than previously assumed.

I believe that a precise contemplation of consciousness, such as that developed in meditation, with which Harris, I believe, would agree, makes us aware of a certain ambivalence that doesn’t provide us with too much clarity regarding the fundamental possibility of free will or lack thereof.

On one hand, experiences arise, things emerge in the field of consciousness, seemingly without any kind of control. On the other hand, some experiences appear to be examples of a free consciousness causing effects in the rest of our organism, for example, when we want to remember a word. We also don’t know how we move, for instance. We believe we are in control, but when we examine conscious experience, we notice that things simply seem to arise without our intervention, and what we do, we simply do, without knowing how. How can we then integrate these aspects into a coherent explanation?

First, we must understand that there may be room for the existence of a fundamental personal identity, which we could call the ego in an expanded and essential conception, that is, consciousness itself, with which we identify. And given the unique qualities of consciousness, it is possible that what we often experience is more of an example of free will rather than its absence, based on a consciousness that may be somewhat spontaneous, although it has a determined form, and has the power to determine our behavior.

Let’s consider, as we mentioned, the experience of wanting to remember a word. When we want to remember something, we don’t exactly know how we do it; we just know that we want to recall a specific word, and then, as if by magic, the word emerges into our consciousness.

What’s happening here? This could very well be an example of the level of consciousness causing an effect on the brain system, which processes under an unconscious level. The spontaneous appearance of an intention or the experience of wanting something in particular and acting upon it could be examples of how free will would be experienced at the level of our consciousness, rather than evidence of its absence.

Isn’t it curious that the activity of the brain’s motor regions doesn’t have an associated subjective experience? They are neurons just like in the rest of the brain regions, although they vary in type, the number of motor neurons is just as large as in other brain regions. Why doesn’t their activity imply conscious experience? Could it be that it’s unnecessary since consciousness influences motor neurons to act, which would make perfect sense?

Fundamentally, how does the brain “know” once the word emerges, if that’s truly the one we were seeking? When we try to remember a word, often similar ones emerge, but we know they’re not the one we’re looking for. When the sought-after word emerges, we know it. Yes, the brain can associate a word with the image of an object, for example, or with the semantic network that encodes a concept about a particular object, but how does the brain know that this word emerging associated with the object is truly the name of the object and not another?

The meaning and understanding of language, although sustained by a complex network of brain processing, only seem possible in their ultimate sense thanks to the existence of subjective consciousness because truly understanding it requires this. It is in subjective consciousness where we can ascertain that the word that emerged in consciousness is the one we were looking for and not the similar ones that arose.

Therefore, the current understanding of language in artificial intelligence more closely resembles the thought experiment of the Chinese Room (Searle, J. R. (1980). “Minds, Brains, and Programs.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 3(3), 417-424). In this experiment, the idea is proposed that someone who doesn’t speak Chinese is locked in a room and receives instructions in Chinese but doesn’t understand the language at all. However, they have access to a large number of books containing detailed rules on how to combine Chinese symbols in response to the instructions they receive. By following these rules, the person can produce seemingly coherent responses in Chinese despite their lack of real understanding of the language.

The paradigm lies in the question of whether this person inside the room truly understands Chinese or simply follows mechanical rules without genuine comprehension. Searle argues that this situation is analogous to how computers work in strong artificial intelligence: they can process information and give seemingly intelligent responses without having genuine understanding or consciousness.

The point I want to make here is to note that the brain, from a purely physicalist perspective, also cannot understand language and comprehend meaning (it’s literally a Chinese room); this can only occur with the assistance of subjective consciousness, which in such a case would seem to have a non-physical nature.

To better understand this point, let’s take a step back: what is the overarching argument of determinism against free will? As we’ve seen, it’s often expressed something along these lines: we are human beings conditioned by our biology, environment, genetics, hormones, neurotransmitters, various events throughout our childhood, prenatal life, and so on, to the extent that inevitably our actions are rooted in causes and processes beyond our control, therefore, we lack free will.

But this argument against free will is as nonsensical as saying that water and oil lack free will because they cannot freely mix. It’s equivalent to saying that humans lack free will because they are biologically conditioned to walk rather than fly.

Of course, everything we do and cannot do at any given moment belongs to our nature, just as the behavior of water or oil follows a process according to their nature. But this doesn’t mean we lack free will; it simply means we have a nature that, as an identity, represents something concrete in the real world.

Arguing that we lack free will because we cannot do X thing due to a determined biological, genetic, environmental, etc., structure is precisely expecting a contradiction in the world.

When one asserts “we have free will,” the someone referred to by “we” is an entity conformed by something, be it biology, environment, etc. And it’s this structure that has free will; there’s an additional step.

There can perfectly well exist a free will that chooses to act or not from an undetermined plane, agency, which is the final point of all brain processing.

In other words, consciousness is structured by the brain, but from consciousness, there can be a choice that is pure will, which is itself uncaused, that emerges as such, and that we can identify with our being itself, that’s what we are, and we act in the world knowing and choosing, that’s consciousness.

Otherwise, if the nature of our being were absolutely determined, there would be no need for consciousness, why would we need it? We would simply be zombies in the style proposed by Chalmers. This author introduced the concept of “philosophical zombies” to explore the nature of consciousness and the hard problem it represents. The idea of mental zombies suggests that it is conceivable for beings that are identical to humans in all physical and functional aspects, but completely lack consciousness. This possibility reinforces the idea that consciousness is a phenomenon that cannot be explained solely by the physical and functional processes of the brain.

If subjective consciousness, like experiencing red when we see something of that color, serves no function, one might speculate that human cognitive and emotional qualities could exist without subjective consciousness. In fact, today we are witnessing how artificial intelligence is capable of executing complex processes without an apparent subjective experience, completely unconsciously.

However, we do have subjective consciousness. So, what is consciousness doing for us then?

The most plausible reason for its existence, as we mentioned, is because the brain needs it to truly understand the world; without it, there is no genuine understanding. Through consciousness, the world is understood, and as such, it is the only place from which a voluntary decision can be made about what to do with the information coming from the senses.

Building on what we’ve discussed earlier, we can say that we are conscious beings who experience things as consciousness from within consciousness. This consciousness is shaped by our brain, which is molded by biology, genetics, the environment, and so on. But this merely outlines the structure that forms our identity. Once the brain informs us, for example, about the external world, it falls upon our identity as consciousness to determine behavior based on a voluntary choice that emanates from consciousness. We could argue that we have that power.

In other words, what informs our senses can perfectly well be conditioned and naturally guides us to one of the options we consider for choice. But this doesn’t mean that the choice itself is determined by the brain. Rather, it’s more like what our consciousness receives informs us that choice A seems more suitable compared to choice B, so we’ll go with choice A. However, that choice can perfectly well emerge from an uncaused plane, which is our pure conscious will. Determinists argue that even this free (uncaused) choice doesn’t exist and is merely a result of a determined process in the brain.

However, it’s for this reason that we feel like we do have free will. That experience of deciding on a choice is the action of will from our consciousness.

Therefore, when the assertion is made that we don’t control our underlying brain impulses or our biology in general, I have to ask, who is that “I” that doesn’t control the underlying brain factors in our behavior? When it’s said “I am my brain,” who is that “I” that would be equivalent to the brain?

Perhaps we are talking about our identity. But what exactly is that identity? What do I identify with? With the occipital and temporal lobes that process the color red if I’m seeing something of that color? Or perhaps with the Wernicke and Broca areas that allow me to understand and verbally say that the color I perceive is red? These are all different parts of the brain; which one am I really? Which one are we?

If there’s one thing that neuroscience has made clear over the years, it’s that there’s no center in the brain that “perceives” and receives all the information from all processing areas; there’s no ego or self in the brain.

Furthermore, as I like to specify in my writings, the brain is “atomic,” meaning it’s divided into parts connected only in temporal terms. That is, one neuron triggers changes in another, one neuronal group activates another, but in no way does the color red processed in the occipital and temporal lobes transmit to the language areas of the brain; each center handles its processing relatively independently.

So, how can the Wernicke area understand what the color red processed in another brain area is? It can’t. Because the brain is a great Chinese room, as in Searle’s aforementioned experiment.

This is a crucial insight; the brain, from a physicalist and deterministic point of view, is a Chinese room. It connects things following “instructions” inherent in the bio-physicochemical structures that compose it, but it doesn’t truly understand what’s happening. That requires an entity that sees the big picture, a consciousness, from which true understanding arises.

The problem is that at the level of the brain, there’s no place or network from which everything is perceived. This is exactly how the brain is; each area doesn’t understand the other, integration is only temporal, not spatial. But there’s something that does understand, and that’s subjective consciousness, which truly feels things.

When we talk about that “self,” which represents an integrated experience of different things, perceptions, and semantics, this can only ultimately be consciousness. However, given the atomic qualities of the brain and its nature as a Chinese room, this can only be non-physical information beyond the brain, irreducible to it.

In my new book, Esto es Todo, I expand upon my theoretical developments on consciousness elaborated in my previous book, Proposiciones, where I delve into the role of subjective consciousness in cognitive capabilities and complex behavior. It is not the intention of this article to go into detail about the various aspects of my theoretical conceptions of consciousness, or my criticisms of current models, such as the theory of consciousness as integrated information, or even the theory of consciousness as an electromagnetic field, which I consider misguided, or what my underlying explanation of subjective consciousness and its relationship with the brain is. But as we have seen, I argue that there are reasonable grounds to make us think that this could be non-physical information irreducible to the brain. A more comprehensive view of my developments on consciousness can be found in both books if you’re interested in delving into it

What I would like to discuss here is how we tie the above to the role of consciousness, to its function in relation to the brain and our person as a whole. If the nervous systems of all living beings share fundamental properties, it is likely that subjective experience exists universally among sentient creatures, albeit with different modes of consciousness. While consciousness lacks an inherent material purpose, it serves as a hub for complex phenomena crucial for complex life forms, including humans. Despite advancements in artificial intelligence capable of reproducing complex tasks, a key idea is that they lack true conscious apprehension or emotional experience, which prevents them from having genuine understanding, as we have mentioned. For example, articulating emotions about beauty or art requires a neural basis, however, the genuine appeal of such experiences transcends mere brain chemistry, effectively residing in the intangible realm of the mind. The brain can articulate perceived beauty through speech centers, implying a partial engagement in subjective experience. However, the aforementioned atomic nature of the brain prevents direct consciousness of specific experiences, challenging explanations based solely on brain processes. Subjective experience, even if non-physical, is influenced by brain function, shaping individual realities. But despite efforts to connect subjective reflection and brain activity, the atomic nature of the brain hinders direct translation. Recognizing that subjective experience encompasses non-physical aspects crucial to human behavior and existence offers a path toward understanding this complex phenomenon and paves the way for radical free will. For example, dopamine release and neuronal activity influence the material aspects of reward experience, yet this process likely operates at a non-physical level. The brain lacks awareness of reward solely through material phenomena like dopamine release.

As we’ve mentioned before, the brain consists of different parts and isn’t spatially connected; that is, the brain is made up of multiple separate parts that influence each other sequentially. So, let’s imagine a teacher and a class. He’s explaining these brain qualities to his students and argues that Juan is the brain area processing semantic meaning, while Pedro, on the other hand, is the area processing color. So, the teacher asks: how does Juan understand what Pedro sees, for example, the color red, if Pedro has no idea what red subjectively is? Pedro can talk to Juan and try to explain what he sees, but Juan only processes semantics, not visual color. Juan has never experienced color and has no idea what it is. Pedro “activates” Juan, as if giving him a signal to think about the word red or blue, depending on the color Pedro perceives, giving him different hand signals for each color, but still, Juan never really understands color; he just mechanically responds to Pedro’s signals.

Well, the brain is just like that. The Wernicke’s area and the color perception area may influence each other, but they process different things, and each “doesn’t know” what the other processes. Moreover, the brain’s language is only chemical products and brain molecules; these things are not subjective experiences, so how does the brain know what beauty is? How does reward truly feel? What are color and smells? The brain doesn’t know.

A clever student tells the teacher that a third entity, a consciousness, might be able to connect both Juan and Pedro and capture what they both process. But the teacher responds: okay, imagine I am that consciousness, that’s what I am, and if this consciousness is equivalent to the brain or a part of it or a brain process, then I must ask, with whom do I identify? With Juan? With Pedro? Juan and Pedro are two different people, and they are the ones who process color and semantics; I need to be them, but logically, I can’t be simultaneously Juan and Pedro.

This is the problem with saying that subjective experience is equal to the brain or brain states and processes; each brain area processes a different aspect of experience and isn’t aware of the other, and there simply isn’t a center in the brain that can make sense of everything and the subjective quality of things. Consciousness can’t be multiple parts at the same time because we can’t be both A and B at the same time.

Well, one could argue, in a final attempt to give consciousness something more tangible, as in the theory of consciousness as an electromagnetic field generated by the brain, that this is the substrate of consciousness, where things finally integrate spatially.

However, electromagnetic fields represent the effects of electric charges and currents, including electrical and magnetic aspects. They operate as waves, like light and radio waves, without a physical substance like atoms or molecules. Instead, they are properties of space around moving electric charges, lacking a tangible entity that could be the substrate of subjective consciousness.

So, the electromagnetic field is an abstract representation of the influence exerted by electric charges and currents, rather than being a tangible thing; it’s more of a property of the space surrounding moving electric charges.

Therefore, no material reality in the brain, including a potential electromagnetic field generated by it (given its mathematically abstract nature), possesses the capacity to be the substrate of this non-physical information that is consciousness. Consequently, considering the absence of a better candidate, I propose the possibility that consciousness represents a non-material reality with the property of being a unique entity, which is, I argue, what we truly are.

So, subjective experience provides crucial information beyond brain encoding, shaping reward-based behaviors and avoiding suffering, for example, relying on non-physical aspects. This suggests that the brain utilizes a non-physical reality, irreducible to the brain, to enhance adaptability and account for real complex behavior such as that which humans are capable of having.

Understanding things like the subjective nature of pain and reward is essential, as attributing neuronal activity related to suffering solely to neuronal patterns is insufficient. Deliberate actions in the face of pain require an awareness of its subjective quality, distinguishing conscious decisions from automatic impulses.

And thus, artificial intelligence lacks the inherent ability to respond based on subjective qualities, generating algorithmic responses without genuine understanding or emotional depth. AI’s statements of beauty lack intrinsic comprehension.

The meaning of language is deeply linked to subjective consciousness, enabling genuine understanding and discernment, distinguishing intended words from alternatives.

The Chinese Room experiment, mentioned earlier, questions whether it’s possible to understand language without genuine comprehension, which would be achieved through consciousness, as I’ve mentioned. Reflecting the operations of an AI, the key idea is to understand that the brain is a Chinese room, at least from a purely materialistic and physicalist conception. Genuine understanding requires subjective consciousness, indicating that it’s of a non-physical nature.

Touching a wall reveals a paradox where materiality clashes with the non-material essence of subjective experience. This interaction operates on a non-material plane separate from brain processes and physical reality. Conscious states challenge material characteristics, suggesting that consciousness transcends the realm of the material.

The influence of this non-material plane, where subjective consciousness would reside, on brain activity poses a challenge that reminds us of ancient dualistic perspectives. This challenges deterministic views of consciousness, suggesting the potential for a radical form of free will.

Considering the non-physical dimension as uncaused, non-spatial, and outside of time, but influenced by temporal encoding through brain processes, this picture suggests that consciousness could determine aspects of the physical realm, including our brains. While external reality and content encoded in the brain influence consciousness, it provides an ultimate space for radical free will.

Consequences for ethics

Reaching the final point of this article, I would like to briefly address the issue of the conclusions reached by authors like Sam Harris regarding issues such as moral responsibility and punishment in modern societies, as a consequence of their rejection of free will.

I will not delve into the implications of understanding that if there is indeed free will, as I have argued, the conclusions of these authors about responsibility and morality would not be entirely correct. However, I do not deny that there are naturally factors beyond our control that influence and push us in one direction or another in our decisions, as I have mentioned; this is something we genuinely must take into account, but this does not mean that we do not fundamentally have genuine free will.

What I will propose next is that even considering a deterministic stance, the conclusions about responsibility and morality reached by these authors are not entirely correct.

If we reflect on the position of Sam Harris and others within his stream, which embraces absolute determinism, the question arises: to what extent can we truly hold accountable, in an essential sense, those who perpetrate harmful actions against their fellow beings? This does not imply that we should neglect the protection of individuals from such acts; however, the notion of imposing punishment based on a supposed free choice seems to lack any sense. By understanding the depth of this ethical proposition, it becomes evident that retaliation under the prism of free will would be totally illogical.

However, this does not imply that retaliation or punishment lacks logic under other criteria, which must be explored more deeply nowadays. Author Sam Harris has outlined in several of his podcast interventions an intriguing idea about punishment and free will. He urges us to imagine a scenario in which there exists a pill capable of eradicating evil in people. In the event that such a pill existed, denying those who have committed a crime the possibility of consuming it would, essentially, be an act of punishment, which would be devoid of meaning, according to Harris.

Acknowledging that a person has acted driven by a series of causes over which they have no control, and considering that the pill solves this problem, the sensible thing would be to allow them to take it and thus “cure” their evil. Harris suggests that the function of punishment seems to be, then, totally irrational in a deterministic world. While prison, for example, is considered important as a means to protect society from dangerous individuals, it should not be conceived as an instrument of punishment.

However, it is pertinent to reflect more deeply on the function of prison and the concept of punishment. According to Harris, the main function lies in preventing a dangerous person from causing further harm to society, which is understandable. The dilemma arises when many people confuse the human need for punishment with the desire for revenge. In this sense, instead of “punishment,” the more appropriate term could be “reparation.”

Let’s imagine a heinous crime and suppose we have a device that allows us to see the future and assures us that the person who committed it will not reoffend in their life and that was their only criminal act. From Sam Harris’s perspective, in principle, we should release that person and allow them to reintegrate functionally into society and see them happily interacting with others and carrying out their life as if nothing had happened. However, this does not seem fair. How could we accept that someone who has taken the life of a loved one could be released without further consequences, when the life of their victim, with all their emotional ties, goals, and desires, has been painfully taken away, just because we know that person will not reoffend? Could we really live with such resulting moral grievance?

Suppose that there existed that pill that could cure evil and a person thought, “well, I will commit the crime now and then take the pill, and I can justify not having taken it earlier because I am under the influence of my evil that has not yet been cured.” This also does not seem fair.

Therefore, prison does not seem to have solely the function of protecting society from dangerous individuals, but it also seems to serve a function of punishment or reparation, which now seems quite more reasonable, at least in essence, to repair the moral harm of knowing that someone who caused great suffering is not freely in society while the victims and their loved ones suffer the consequences of their actions.

Thus, the issue of free will, even considering the possibility of its absence, and the question of punishment/reparation, and how they integrate with goodness and compassion, present numerous nuances and are not as simple as they seem.

One last criticism I would like to make is when talking about the truth of determinism and the idea that we lack free will as a liberating fact for the human being.

For example, in a recent conversation of the StarTalk podcast between Robert Sapolsky and Neil deGrasse Tyson about free will, they mention the example of when schizophrenia was believed to be the fault of what a mother did or unconsciously believed about her child until the genetic and neurobiological factors of the problem were discovered.

This would be an example of how liberating it is to understand that we don’t have genuine control over things in a world determined by endless factors. However, there’s a mistake here in confusing genuine understanding about a disorder with the belief that determinism itself is liberating for our psyche. In fact, believing that we have no control over what we do, over our lives and circumstances, pushes us to adopt a passive and despairing view of life and inhibits us from taking action that can generate changes and improvements in our lives.

For example, we blame others and passively wait for others to take care of our problems. We adopt an analytical but nihilistic view of the world, overwhelmed by our inability as individuals to change large factors such as the economy, politics, culture, and other social aspects. If we believe that we have no control over our lives, we risk losing all incentive to act and seek positive changes. The belief in the inevitability of poverty can lead entire generations to resign themselves to their fate, without seeking opportunities for improvement. The notion that social problems are too big for an individual to solve can lead to apathy and lack of civic engagement. And in this way, based on a false belief, we destroy the power that free will has to change our lives.

It is true that there are great forces beyond our individual control, such as the economy, politics, and culture. However, this does not mean that we are completely powerless against them. In fact, it is precisely through action and commitment that we can influence these fundamental aspects of our society.

By understanding the underlying causes of the problems we face, we can address them more effectively and proactively. Instead of adopting a passive and despairing view of life, we must recognize the power we have as individuals to generate significant changes, both personally and socially. But I believe that we achieve this when we genuinely believe in free will; the alternative leads us to a cynical and discouraging mindset.

So, while it’s important to understand the forces that shape our world, we must not fall into the trap of believing that we are simply pawns in a game determined by causes larger than ourselves, and even less so believe that this is liberating. Ultimately, it will lead us to passivity and resentment, to demanding from the supposed authority of the moment what we consider to be owed to us. This passivity can also lead us down the dark path of resentment, believing that what others have and I don’t is always an absolute injustice resulting from theft or exploitation by those in power.

These forces and motivations, captured by collectivist philosophies and movements, cause the degeneration of a free and elevated culture and result in poverty and societal decay. By recognizing our potential for action and change, we can genuinely liberate ourselves from paralyzing nihilism and work towards a more promising and meaningful future, both individually and socially.