For those who reject the notion of free will, our experience of making our own decisions is nothing more than a deep-seated illusion. “The reality is,” insists biologist Anthony Cashmore, “not only do we have no more free will than a fly or a bacterium, in actuality we have no more free will than a bowl of sugar.”

Those who argue for the nonexistence of free will often do so on scientific grounds. And those who offer a scientific “proof” against free will point to one type of experiment more than any other—namely, those done and inspired by neurobiologist Benjamin Libet.

In 1983, Libet seemed to prove that the unconscious processes of the brain—the interaction of molecules, electrical discharges, and the like, which are associated with decision-making—are ultimately in control. In other words, our voluntary decisions begin unconsciously in the brain. So it is the brain, not the person, that decides the actions we “feel” to be voluntary.

Libet-style experiments involve having a subject carry out a simple prescribed behavior (flexing the wrist, bending a finger, etc.) whenever he feels the urge to do so. Watching a special clock while he executes his movement, the subject notes the specific time at which he decided to move. The goal of the researchers is to plot a timeline of averages, noting the typical sequence of brain activity (e.g., by EEG), muscle activity (e.g., by EMG), and conscious urging (by subjective reporting). The expectation is that if our intentional actions are truly free, associated brain activity will follow the moment of decision. But this is not what Libet found.

Why does this matter? Well, it has obvious implications for the truth of the Catholic worldview. It also concerns human nature and how we understand ourselves as human beings. For if we don’t have free will, then this may dramatically change how we govern ourselves and interact with others. Much of how we operate as individuals, communities, states, and institutions presuppose that we are personally responsible for our actions. But if it were proven that we are not, this would entirely undermine our rationale for structuring and governing society on the assumption that we are free creatures.

So did these experiments really succeed in proving that free will is an illusion? They did not.

First of all, the experiments look exclusively at spontaneously willed behavior with brain activity. Participants were asked to act when they felt the urge. These experiments, then, say little about choices resulting from rational planning. At most, they suggest the nonexistence of free will in the restricted case of willful spontaneity. The voluntary actions with which they are concerned are barely more than split-second reactions. As some critics have observed, such studies tell us more about “picking” than “choosing.”

But even that conclusion might be overly hasty, for the concept of free will is not as plain as often presumed. Free will is a spiritual appetite for the intellectually known good. A decision, moved by free will, is not a quantifiable event like a neuronal discharge. Nor is it reducible to an instantaneous impulse or urge. And a willed movement is not always a purely linear cause-then-effect event like a cue ball striking an eight-ball into action. The activity of the will is more “smoothed out” and pervasive than an impulse. And it is enacted in layers. Thus, even in a setting like the Libet-style experiments, the free will cannot be isolated as cleanly as many assume.

For each study participant, in carrying out the prescribed movement, the will to move in this way at this time is nested within a multiplicity of other intentions motivating the same action. A singular act of wrist flexion is driven also (presumably) by the will to participate in the study; by the desire to follow the specific instructions given; by the desire to contribute to neuroscientific advancement; and in the will to do something for the common good. Additionally, the subject may bend his wrist because he desires to fulfill a class requirement—a class he desires to pass—or because he thinks it will hold the attention of the attractive research assistant across the room. The point is this: due to the complex integration of intentions involved in a single choice to move a body part, these studies cannot account for all the reasons that cause a person to conduct a singular movement. There is a sense in which the free decision of the research subject to flex his wrist “now” originated even before he entered the research lab.

We find ourselves here at an important juncture. It shows that once we have started making claims about free will’s reality or unreality, we have turned from all observation, measurement, and data analysis. We have reached the far side of the physical and have (perhaps unwittingly) thrust ourselves into the realm of philosophy.

Let’s turn to some further considerations. The Libet experiments relied on machines to capture brain and muscle activity. But it must be noted that neither EEG nor fMRI, nor any other form of advanced imaging, can capture the qualitative content of brain activity. When researchers carry out Libet-style experiments, they note the onset of brain activity and compare it to that of muscle activity and, more importantly, the time when the subject reports consciously willing the prescribed movement. But there is no precise way for scientists to know—even when the subject acts on an urge—whether the brain activity recorded or observed is representative of decision, or decision-making, or planning to make a decision.

In fact, more recent research shows the same brain activity believed to induce conscious decision-making is also found in subjects even when they do not make a conscious decision. Libet’s initial conclusion was “that cerebral initiation even of a spontaneous voluntary act . . . can and usually does begin unconsciously.” But these recent studies call such a conclusion into serious question.

There are several other critiques and limitations that have a significant impact on how much (or little) Libet-style studies actually prove. For an excellent detailed discussion of these limitations and their philosophical implications, read Alfred Mele’s little book Free.

At most, Libet-style experiments prove that a constrained subset of willed behaviors is not as freely executed as we are inclined to assume. But as we have seen, they hardly prove even that much. As far as Catholics traditionally conceive human freedom, such experiments pose little threat—and thus, the human person has every reason to believe that he remains infinitely more free than a bowl of sugar.

Throughout Sean Carroll's best-selling book, The Big Picture: On the Origins of Life, Meaning, and the Universe Itself (Dutton, 2016), Carroll seems comfortable holding two apparently contradictory views. This has been show throughout our review series. For example, he's fine both believing that causality is illusory (at the fundamental level of reality) and true (at the macroscopic level.)

We see this again in the chapter he dedicates to free will, which begins with this assessment (emphasis mine):

"There's a sense in which you do have free will. There's also a sense in which you don't. Which sense is the 'right' one is an issue you're welcome to decide for yourself (if you think you have the ability to make decisions.)" (378)

Carroll lets us know which view he holds: he thinks free will is fundamentally an illusion, and the only reason we use "free will" language is because it's useful. And why do we find it useful? Later he writes, "The unavoidable reality of our incomplete knowledge is responsible for why we find it useful to talk about the future using a language of choice and causation" (380). In other words, free will is false at the fundamental level of reality and we only use "free will" language at higher levels because we lack a complete knowledge of the current state of the universe. If, like Laplace's Demon, we knew the positions and velocities of all the particles in the universe, understood all the forces they are subject to, and had sufficient computational power to apply the laws of motion, then we would not use "free will" language—we would agree that everything is determined.

(NOTE: In a previous post, I showed why the Laplace's Demon idea comes up short.)

We find the same tension elsewhere in the chapter:

"A poetic naturalist says that we can have two very different-sounding ways of describing the world, a physics-level story and a human-level story, which invoke separate sets of concepts and yet end up being compatible in their predictions concerning what happens in the world." (381)

Setting aside the strange description of "physics-level" stories contra "human-level" stories—doesn't physics include human-level phenomena? Carroll probably means "quantum-level" stories—there's still a big problem. Notice that Carroll only defends these two descriptions as being predictively compatible. In other words, both descriptions are acceptable since both make accurate and/or useful predictions about the world.

What he didn't say is whether it's fine to hold these two views even if they contradict. It's not difficult to find contradictory views of the world that nevertheless make similarly accurate predictions. For example, both Newtonian and quantum theories can accurately predict the motions of human-sized objects. So on Carroll's view, they would both be acceptable. However, at the quantum level, Newtonian physics breaks down. It's simply no longer accurate. At best, it offers a good approximation of macroscopic phenomena, but it's fundamentally inaccurate when you consider reality as a whole.

But that doesn't bother Carroll so much. His poetic naturalism permits him to embrace inaccurate accounts of reality so long as they prove useful in daily life. Carroll writes (emphasis mine):

"There is no such notion as free will when we are choosing to describe human behavior as collections of atoms or as a quantum wave function. But that says nothing about whether the concept nevertheless plays a useful role when we choose to describe human beings as people. Indeed, it pretty clearly does play a useful role." (379)

In essence, Carroll's position is that at the quantum level, everything is determined. But at the level of everyday life, the concept of free will is useful. So poetic naturalists hold both views—both "stories"—in tension.

In fairness to Carroll, he doesn't say that the concept of free will is true on a macroscopic level, only that it's useful. But the implication is that he's fine holding erroneous views so long as they're useful—another example of his instrumentalism, which was examined in a previous post.

There are several problems with Carroll's rejection of free will. First is that it's clearly self-contradictory. Look at the above quote. Carroll twice talks about choosing a description of reality. But if we legitimately choose something, free will must exist. If we aren't able to choose something, then its outcome is determined. Thus we can't choose to deny the reality of free will without falling into contradiction.

A second problem, one Carroll admits, is the haunting fact that it seems as if we have free choice. Day to day, it seems as if we freely choose when to get out of bed, what to have for breakfast, how to start our day, what tasks to engage in, who to talk to, when to do home, etc. The common sense view is that each of us make millions of free decisions every day, some conscious and many unconscious.

Carroll actually agrees (emphasis mine): "The concept of choice does exist, and it would be difficult indeed to describe human beings without it" (379). In fact, in the very next chapter, which concerns meaning, Carroll notes several times how we choose what kind of life to live and how we choose to "expand our horizons, to find meaning in something larger than ourselves" (393). Without free will, it's hard to see how anyone could choose their own meaning or purpose.

A third problem is that if determinism is true, and none of our thoughts, conclusions, or actions are freely derived, then there's no reason to believe our views actually correspond to reality. On determinism, a set of elementary particles in my brain interacted to produce a thought such as, "Free will is false." But if the origin of that thought was determined and involved no free thinking on my end, then I can't trust that thought is true! I was determined to arrive at that conclusion, regardless of whether it accurately describes reality. I may believe that "free will is false," but I have very little confidence that's true.

A fourth problem is that if determinism was true, Carroll would not be writing books attempting to persuade people of that fact. If reality is fundamentally determined, why would he spend time trying to convince readers to freely change their minds, to freely adjust their understanding of the world to align with poetic naturalism? Even if I, a theist, read Carroll's book and become convinced that poetic naturalism was true, I couldn't freely reject my theism, no matter what I chose or how hard I tried—I'm simply determined to believe what I believe.

A fifth and very significant problem is human responsibility. If free will is fundamentally an illusion, then what do we do with praise and blame? Do criminals really shoulder moral blame for their actions? Do heroes really deserve praise? In both cases, the actors were just doing what their elementary particles determined them to do. We should neither praise or blame them any more than we would a tree for growing or the rain for falling.

To his credit, Carroll recognizes this final problem as a serious challenge for determinists. He writes:

"At extreme levels of free-will denial, the idea of 'responsibility' is as problematic as that of human choice. How can we assign credit or blame if people don't choose their own actions? And if we can't do that, what is the role of punishment or reward?" (383)

How does Carroll answer this challenge? He writes:

"Poetic naturalists...don't need to face up to these questions, since they accept the reality of human volition, and therefore have no difficulty in attributing responsibility or blame." (383)

Remember the passage quoted earlier where Carroll affirmed that, "There is no such notion as free will when we are choosing to describe human behavior as collections of atoms or as a quantum wave function". In other words, at the fundamental level of reality, free will is an illusion—everything is determined. But in the passage above, Carroll also affirms "the reality of human volition". Once again, the reason Carroll dismisses the challenge of human responsibility is because he has no problem holding two contradictory views.

Carroll closes his chapter on free will with a chilling look at what the future holds if determinism does prove true:

"To the extent that neuroscience becomes better and better at predicting what we will do without reference to our personal volition, it will be less and less appropriate to treat people as freely acting agents. Predestination will become part of our real world."

Most people will find this vision frightening. It seems Carroll is advocating something like The Minority Report, where citizens are punished for what they appear determined to do in the future.

Thankfully, Carroll doesn't think this will ever actually happen, not because it's a bad idea but because the "complexity of cognitive functioning [makes] predicting future actions infeasible in practice" (384). But such a society nevertheless follows in principle from Carroll's other commitments. There's nothing in principle stopping Carroll and others from punishing thought crimes, or even physical crimes years before they occur. It's not a huge leap to envision killing young children who seem determined to make bad choices in the future. For what on Carroll's view would prevent this?

We have just two more posts left in this series. Next time we'll look at Carroll's chapter on morality, then finally his “Ten Considerations” for naturalists. Stay tuned!

In his Philosophical Investigations, Ludwig Wittgenstein complained that “in psychology there are experimental methods and conceptual confusion.” What he meant is that academic psychologists too often interpret empirical evidence in light of unexamined and dubious metaphysical assumptions. What is presented as good science is really just bad philosophy.

The recent spate of neuroscientific and psychological literature claiming to show that free will is an illusion provides a case in point. Philosopher Alfred Mele’s new book, Free: Why Science Hasn’t Disproved Free Will (Oxford, 2015), is a brief, lucid, and decisive refutation of these arguments. Mele demonstrates that scientific evidence comes nowhere close to undermining free will, and that the reasoning leading some scientists to claim otherwise is amazingly sloppy.

Perhaps the best known alleged evidence against free will comes from the work of neurobiologist Benjamin Libet. In Libet’s experiments, subjects were asked to flex a wrist whenever they felt like doing so, and then to report on when they had become consciously aware of the urge to flex it. Their brains were wired so that the activity in the motor cortex responsible for causing their wrists to flex could be detected. While an average of 200 milliseconds passed between the conscious sense of willing and the flexing of the wrist, the activity in the motor cortex would begin an average of over 500 milliseconds before the flexing. Hence the conscious urge to flex seems to follow the neural activity which initiates the flexing, rather than causing that neural activity. If free will requires that consciously willing to do something is the cause of doing it, then it follows (so the argument goes) that we don’t really act freely.

As Mele shows, the significance of Libet’s results has been vastly oversold. One problem is that Libet did not demonstrate that the specific kind of neural activity he measured is invariably followed by a flexing of the wrist. Given his experimental setup, only cases where the neural activity was actually followed by flexing were detected. Also, Libet did not check for cases where the neural activity occurred but was not followed by flexing. Hence we have no evidence that that specific kind of neural activity really is sufficient for the flexing. For all Libet has shown, it may be that the neural activity leads to flexing (or doesn’t) depending on whether it is conjoined with a conscious free choice to flex.

There’s a second problem. The sorts of actions Libet studied are highly idiosyncratic. The experimental setup required subjects to wait passively until they were struck by an urge to flex their wrists. But many of our actions don’t work like that—especially those we attribute to free choice. Instead, they involve active deliberation, the weighing of considerations for and against different possible courses of action. It’s hardly surprising that conscious deliberation has little influence on what we do in an experimental situation in which deliberation has been explicitly excluded. And it’s wrong to extend conclusions derived from these artificial situations to all human action, including cases which do involve active deliberation.

Even if the neural activity Libet identifies (contrary to what he actually shows) invariably preceded a flexing of the wrist, it still wouldn’t follow that the flexing wasn’t the product of free choice. Why should we assume that a choice is not free if it registers in consciousness a few hundred milliseconds after it is made? Think of making a cup of coffee. You don’t explicitly think, “Now I will pick up the kettle; now I will pour hot water through the coffee grounds; now I will put the kettle down; now I will pick up a spoon.” You simply do it. You may, after the fact, bring to consciousness the various steps you just carried out; or you may not. We take the action to be free either way. The notion that a free action essentially involves a series of conscious acts of willing, each followed by a discrete bodily movement, is a straw man, and doesn’t correspond to what common sense (or, for that matter, philosophers like Wittgenstein or Aquinas) have in mind when they talk about free action.

Other arguments against free will are no better. For example, in psychologist Stanley Milgram’s famous obedience experiments, participants were instructed to administer what they falsely supposed were genuine electric shocks to people who gave incorrect answers to questions put to them. Many participants reluctantly obeyed these commands even when they seemed to be causing severe pain. As with the neuroscientific evidence, some have argued that such data casts doubt on free will. But as Mele says, it’s difficult to see “exactly what the argument is supposed to be.” Is the claim that Milgram’s experimental setup made it inevitable that participants would obey? That can’t be it, because not every participant obeyed the commands. Is the idea merely that situations exist in which people find it difficult to disobey authority figures? If so, what defender of free will ever denied it?

Mele’s book shows that, if anyone has been too quick to follow authority, it’s those who swallow dubious philosophical claims merely because they are peddled by scientists.

Originally posted in the City Journal. Used with permission.
(Image credit: Templeton)

Alexander Wissner-Gross, a physicist at Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Cameron Freer, a mathematician at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, have developed an equation to describe intelligent or cognitive behaviors. They suggest that intelligent behavior can be explained as an impulse to control events in the environment.

The mathematics are rooted in the theory of thermodynamics. The model relies on entropy, the mathematically-defined thermodynamic quantity accounts for the flow of energy through a thermodynamic process. Entropy predicts that isolated systems spontaneously evolve towards thermodynamic equilibrium – the state of maximum entropy. The rotting of dead bodies is an thermodynamically driven process, for example.

The software simulates a physical process of “trying to capture as many future histories as possible” to analyze a complete set of possible future outcomes. “Causal entropic forces” are the motivation for intelligent behavior, they propose.

In simpler words, they are suggesting that living things try to keep as many options open as possible and that’s how intelligence evolved. Man learned to walk upright and use tools, for example, to allow himself more possibilities.

On a brief tangent, I reject that intelligence can ever be mathematically modeled. Why? Because of free will. The test of a mathematical model is its predictive ability. We model what happened so we can predict what will happen next. If the model has no predictive value, then it’s wrong because lack of predictive ability indicates the natural system was modeled incorrectly. Can models predict human behavior? Only in large generalities for isolated behaviors, but not absolutely. The stock market has made that abundantly clear. (So does raising a two-year-old.)

But all of that aside, here’s the line that concerns me in the popular Live Science magazine write up.

“Wissner-Gross suggested that the new findings fit well within an argument linking the origin of intelligence to natural selection and Darwinian evolution — that nothing besides the laws of nature are needed to explain intelligence.”

This fundamental, yet unproven, idea that intelligence is a function of atoms colliding should concern all of us. It means that man’s thoughts and choices are no more mental than marbles colliding as they fall off a table, and love is just chemicals in the brain. Nothing new really, but seriously de-humanizing. How can we really be held responsible for our choices if we are slaves to physics?

And this fundamental premise is self-defeating in a monumental way.

If a person argues that he can mathematically model intelligence because that intelligence came from atoms colliding with each other as the laws of nature dictates, then how does that person know that what he argues is true?

How does anyone know what is true? What is truth?

Such a proposal demolishes the idea of intelligence altogether and renders it something mechanical and meaningless.

I doubt that the people purporting this fundamental premise as possibly true would agree, but even if they were right and intelligence is a matter of preserving as many future histories as possible, wouldn’t declaring that man is just a genetic slave of his environment mean that the number of possibilities is already predetermined?
 
 
(Image credit: Tumisu via Pixabay)

Recently there was an excellent question in the Strange Notions comment boxes from Rob Tish. He wanted to know what the Bible means when it says God created man in His own image: "If God is so fundamentally and essentially different from us, then in what sense are we made in His image?"

In a word: We are free-thinkers.

Since invoking that word requires some explanation, the response is three-fold. First is the answer to Rob's question, with explanation and reference to the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Second is a summary of atheists' views on this matter, with explanation and reference to popular atheist scientists. Third are some questions.

First: What Made in God's Image Means

 
The Christian doctrine of free-thinking is tied to the revelations of the Holy Trinity and the Incarnation, and it explains why humans have intellect and free will, that is, the ability to freely decide what to think.

Some background: In trying to understand the revelation of the Holy Trinity, theologians had to define the word "person" more precisely. Historically, the Latin word “persōna,” after the corresponding use of the Hellenistic Greek πρόσωπον (prosopon), meant a mask on a character in a play or a juridical entity. Christian theology clarified the meaning of "person" dating back to the third century writings of Tertullian (Adversus Praxean) and the sixth century writings of Boethius (De Duab. Nat. as referenced by St. Aquinas, ST I.29.1.1).

"Person" was defined as “an individual substance of a rational nature” and the theologians applied it to an understanding of the Holy Trinity, One God and three Persons. Since the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit share fully in the Divine Nature, yet each is an individual, then they are Persons, each "an individual substance with a rational nature" but also united as One God.

Theologians also worked out the order of the processions of the Three Persons of the Trinity, and it has significance for the understanding of humans. The Son proceeds from the Father as an act of divine intellect, somewhat like a word is conceived in the mind. Christ is the Word, the Logos, the Truth personified. From the Father and Son together as one substance the Holy Spirit proceeds as an act of divine will, Love personified. The Three Persons are in perfect, eternal communion.

In Genesis, God said, "Let us make man, wearing our own image and likeness." This divine image is, thus, present in humans, and the human person is "an individual substance of a rational nature" too. The creature is not equal to the Creator though. Humans are rational, but they are not omniscient, almighty, or able to create out of nothing.

"The divine image is present in every man. It shines forth in the communion of persons, in the likeness of the unity of the divine persons among themselves." (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1702)

Because we bear this likeness, we bear a natural yearning for the organization of the Holy Trinity. We have the spiritual powers of intellect and will, which instill in us the natural reciprocal desires to love and be loved, to know and be known, to learn and make choices, to seek what is good and to abhor what is evil.

We also naturally desire to belong to our families and communities—many persons united as one entity. The more people freely give, receive, and search for good, the more they are united, the more they learn, the more the human race progresses.

"By virtue of his soul and his spiritual powers of intellect and will, man is endowed with freedom, an 'outstanding manifestation of the divine image.'" (CCC 1705)

Families are the most intimate reflection of the Holy Trinity, two become one and born of their love is a new person. This is the basis of arguments against laws of man that break these natural, divine laws. They are disordered laws that break the unity of people, families, and societies, and diminish the freedom and dignity of each person.

"By his reason, man recognizes the voice of God which urges him "to do what is good and avoid what is evil." Everyone is obliged to follow this law, which makes itself heard in conscience and is fulfilled in the love of God and of neighbor. Living a moral life bears witness to the dignity of the person." (CCC 1706)

The Second Person of the Blessed Trinity became man to heal the union of mankind with God. That redemption is available to anyone who freely chooses to accept it.

"It is in Christ, 'the image of the invisible God,' that man has been created 'in the image and likeness' of the Creator. It is in Christ, Redeemer and Savior, that the divine image, disfigured in man by the first sin, has been restored to its original beauty and ennobled by the grace of God." (CCC 1701)

This means we are made to search for God, as every human culture in recorded history has done. It means we are made to form communities and to seek just laws, as cultures also sought to do even though they all have failed to do it perfectly. This also means that we are made to search for what is true and good, and to be united with God in Heaven where we find perfection. Not only is there a logic to this doctrine, there is a primal beauty.

"Endowed with 'a spiritual and immortal' soul, the human person is 'the only creature on earth that God has willed for its own sake.' From his conception, he is destined for eternal beatitude.
 
The human person participates in the light and power of the divine Spirit. By his reason, he is capable of understanding the order of things established by the Creator. By free will, he is capable of directing himself toward his true good. He finds his perfection 'in seeking and loving what is true and good.'" (CCC 1703-1704)

Of course, because we possess the power of free will and intellect, humans can make the choice to reject faith in what God has revealed and turn away from it.

Second: Atheism and Free-Thinking

 
Most people probably think "free-thinking" is an atheist term, but the idea was more or less borrowed. It emerged in the 1700's among groups who rejected Christianity. The rationalist sect, prominent from the early 18th century, typically capitalized the word as a label for themselves. "Free-thinker" is defined today as a label for a person who professes independence of thought, withholds assent to widely held beliefs or ideas, and refuses to submit his or her reason to the control of authority in matters of religious belief. (Oxford English Dictionary)

The James Hastings 2003 Encyclopedia of Religion says that Free-thinkers strive to build their opinions on the basis of facts, scientific inquiry, and logical principles, independent of any logical fallacies or the intellectually limiting effects of authority, confirmation bias, cognitive bias, conventional wisdom, popular culture, prejudice, sectarianism, tradition, urban legend, and all other dogmas.

While all of that sounds impressive on the surface, the rejection of Christian doctrine has its logical implications. Without acknowledging the soul of man created in the image of God, there is no basis to acknowledge the spiritual powers of intellect and free will. Some of the most respected modern atheists have followed atheism to its logical conclusion and admitted as much.

"The facts tell us that free will is an illusion." (Sam Harris, neuroscientist)
 
"Since, as far as physics is concerned, we are all just particles, then this would seem to make free will an illusion indeed." (Dr. Victor Stenger, physicist)
 
"I would like to convince biologists that a belief in free will is nothing other than a continuing belief in vitalism (or, as I say, a belief in magic)." (Dr. Anthony Cashmore, biologist)
 
"It is hard to imagine how free will can operate if our behavior is determined by physical law, so it seems that we are no more than biological machines and that free will is just an illusion." (Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow, cosmologist and physicist)

There is, according to them, no supernatural realm and thus, no soul. There is only the physical body. The brain runs its program like a computer obeying the laws of physics, and consciousness, if there is such a thing, is an emergent and measurable property of the brain-machine.

Without the power for a person to freely chose what to think, there is no basis to claim the power of actual free-thought. That is not only an "intellectually limiting effect" (from authority figures nonetheless), it is a fatal contradiction of the atheistic free-thinking identity.

Third: Where Does That Leave You?

 
It gets back to Rob's question and the importance of the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, and the definition of "person" made in the image and likeness of God.

If free-thinking is an illusion, then aren't intellectual pursuits illusions too? Isn't searching for truth like trying to lift yourself up by your bootstraps? You are free to reach down and do it, tug and tug until you are exhausted, but you get nowhere except where the laws of physics land you if your feet move out from under you. Are your thoughts, then, in vain?

If free-thinking is a human power of the soul because the human person is made in the image and likeness of God, then aren't intellectual pursuits more like reaching for something beyond yourself while planting your boots firmly on the ground? Searching for truth, guided by an assent in faith, is a reasonable way to understand more about yourself, your world, your purpose, and your origin. Does that mean your thoughts, then, are imprisoned?

Perhaps an atheist will follow up with answers to these questions, including an explanation about how there can be actual free thought if free will is an illusion—with particular emphasis on why it is reasonable to believe the intellectual conclusions of scientists who claim to have no free will.
 
 
(Image credit: University of Michigan)