“Free will is the ultimate human reality.”
My Uncle, Larry Gallagher Jr. mentioned this to me in our last exchange of emails and it has gotten me thinking. A flurry of counter questions meets this statement with a sense of cynicism and incredulity.
I believe it is, if the goal is to be synonymous with the journey, the struggle. I believe the pursuit of free will is the ultimate human reality. It is the ultimate defining principle of humanity, that which goes further to create us as us and you as you. Imagine the strife, the friction, the conflict, that exists both internally and externally over this pursuit of free will, or its more modern interpretation, freedom. Are our free wills inherently opposed? My pursuit of free will, indeed my free will itself, is a Houdini-like escape of all snares, of all restrictions, of commitment?
Is it an escape of death? I do believe it is an escape of death’s rapture over us. I accept that I will die, that my body will decay, but my soul, my spirit will never wither, never fade, will strengthen as I lay dying. That is the first step towards absolute free will, towards freedom. A recognition of the dualism of mind and body. I believe at times it is almost an inverse relationship. That my mind gets stronger because my body withers or weakens. I suppose a sense of conflict is even imbued in our relationship with ourselves.
Does death hold sway over everything we do? Would we do anything at all if not propelled by a sense of urgency, of legacy, or fear of death? Is this why we hate finality so much?
“Free will is the ultimate human reality.” It is a great quote and a great foundation for self-analysis. Will I be subject to the whims of others, the gusts of popular feeling that pass for public opinion, the trends? Will there approach to death, and subsequently life, dictate mine?
Just by answering no (regardless if it is Truth or just truth) do you begin to establish you as you.
You draw the lines in the sand and the friction, the resistance imposed upon you begins to establish your identity, like hands in clay.