Lectio, pro acri animo.
Starting with this,
"I can make the world weep,
and I can walk away unscathed,
and I know this —
and still I choose."
A determinist outcome of a will to power, a haunting truth of my stance;
To create evil, one must be aware
To choose it, one must be free
To not blame it on trauma, culture, instinct or confusion but to own it that is will in its naked form.
Thus, I begin.
For those who have already their sovereignty to causality, here, I will not offer you comfort nor the romantic warmth of human exceptionalism. Instead, bring forth a blade and demand you to witness its edge.
It is true that neurons are firing in obedience and genes are whispering their silent commandments. A life orchestrated by accidents, dressed up as fate. Some parts of man is a sequence of reactions and our decisions, the mere illusion of choice played back to us with surgical precision.
I will not call you wrong, the machine is real. Yet, what you refuse to see, what you fear is that the machine is not your master. It is your instrument. You claim that we cannot act beyond our biology while forgetting that one thing, even more terrifying than chaos is order consciously defied.
Meanwhile there is evil, not because nature demanded it but because something knew the difference between wrong and right. As we have the ability to chose the former with lucidity and defiance. That place is where your equations falter. You can model instinct and you can simulate the need but you cannot replicate a human who knows that he breaks the system and proceeds with eyes open.
Do not speak of dopamine hierarchies, because they are once again the tool and do not retreat into brain scans and Pavlovian chains. Those will not save you.
I ride the iron tracks of fate with the audacity to derail it.
I have looked into the abyss, not to be swallowed but to name it. In that naming, I've seen something your tools cannot measure. The void is not empty, it is the very light of meaning where we can't see through darkness and I will try to map it now.
I do not deny the machine, I learn its rhythm while having the ability of choosing to dance or not. When the answers fail to satisfy, I set the structure ablaze and rebuild it from the ash of my refusal. World can call me determined, a vessel of genetic script, a sequence of learned reactions, a collection of instincts dressed in the illusion of self. You can name it as what you must. Provide me your laws, your neurons, your causality while letting me wield them against you. Because the truth you fear is already in front of you;
Free will is not the absence of determinism, it is its mastery.
Ask me if I can truly reject a need, as I will answer you by saying that I can not only reject it but I can sculpt it, starve it, shape it into something unrecognizable, then name the hunger holy. Desire is not the chain of mine, it is my canvas.
Do not retreat, ask me if I choose one desire over another or not.
Yes but who taught me to rank them? Who stood above instinct and authored the new priorities?
I. That authorship, that intrusion into the natural order is the mark of sovereignty.
Cling to systems, to equations that simulate man in the hope of understanding man. In the cathedral of cause and effect, where they worship the pre-defined seats of ideas after kneeling to the throne of their arguments.
Take a stand, architect your own thrones, do not seek freedom from nature but seek the power to bend it.
Let the machine whisper into your flesh, listen to it, then choose to override it. Deny the dopamine in its dominion, ache for something abstract, unrealistic, impossible.
Then you are no longer a product of simple causality instead, you became the rupture.
Let them call you irrational, as they turn their eyes away from the fact that irrationality is the birthplace of art, of revolution. Do not exist to be praised and accepted for your culture, family, friends or society. Seek for the truth.
So once again, I say;
I will not be your algorithm, I will not be your neuron's message, I refuse to be the echo of my environment. I am its contradiction, the aberration in system. The human who knows he is a machine and still acknowledges the source of its power, then weaponizing it by saying;
"No."
Not to convince, not to convert. To remind you, that the sword you forge from causality is already a toy of mine, which right now, turned against its former wielder.
Now awaken.
We've been fed a false dichotomy. That we must either believe in determinism or in free will as doing it murders the other. If you think you're unlike the rest, that you don't believe in comforting lies or recycled ideologies which are spoken through smiling mouths. Then well, you want the truth.
The truth is not beautiful, it is not kind, it is sharp and cold. It stares at you and waits for you to either kneel or to evolve.
I will carve out the wound in the illusion and make you stare into it with me.
Determinism is not the enemy of free will, it is its arena, it is the crucible, it is the grindstone.
What is the value of a choice made in the absence of consequences?
What weight does freedom hold if nothing is resisting it?
A choice must overcome something to mean anything. Determinism, the laws of motion, biology, habit, trauma. Those are the resistances, they are the walls and free will does not ignore that walls.
It breaks it.
In their ivory towers some thinkers claimed that we are nothing but a structure of stimuli and inherited script. Told us that our passions are predictable and the rebellion of freed was already calculated.
Our creativity is just complexity mistaken for autonomy, yet, let them speak as I show you the crack in their cathedral.
Who taught them to refuse what they were conditioned to want?
Who taught them to feel the instinct, then choose not to obey?
That moment, that sliver of hesitation before surrender. It's not a fluke, it is the throne.
That's where we sit in power, not in acting out our nature but in rewriting it. Beholding the secret none of them can explain. Not a knowledge but the space inside of us, untouched by programming, a silence where no cause echoes.
Our void.
In that place, nothing tells us how to act, how to write, how to love or how to destroy. With each step coming out of that palace of void, we write our own mythology and that is not randomness, that is not chaos.
That is authorship.
We were handed a script by our environment and burned it to write our own with our blood, our ideas but not with the ink they sell.
We broke the model they defined us to be, we broke the system.
Still, a monster that obeys instinct is still a beast. Yet, a monster that writes on it, refusing it, differentiates it is something else. It is a formidable creature. Not in the violence, you see, it's in the awareness of the violence and the will to wield it with purpose.
So too, purpose is not the child of comfort,
When one fasts in a world of hunger, that is biology but when one fasts in a feast, that is the beholder of will. That is not hope, not belief, instead dominion of determinism.
All of you determinists, you are not wrong yet uncomplete;
Your chains are real, yet, I learned to wield them as a sharp blade, as you can see, when I step onto the battlefield, I bring not only my weapons but every rule, cause, law that you wore to make them obey for me.
In the end, with the word of Cicero;
"Oratoris est docere, delectare, et movere."
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