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My own small intelligence quails to admit that it is imperfect. Thoughts think highly of themselves; they do not like to admit not only that they’re wrong, but that they can be wrong: thoughts cannot see how their being can be false. It takes a strange kind of meta-courage to acknowledge that one has no foundations: that thoughts merely arise like soap bubbles, from sources that have very little do with any kind of fundamental truth.
It’s not the case that free will is an illusion — it’s the case that the words ‘free’ and ‘will’ are metaphors for the feeling of choosing under conditions of extreme uncertainty. We have invented concepts to cover the experience of choosing, which feels like it is free. There is no little box or button called will, and there’s no mystical substance called freedom: there’s just us — US — unified fields of experience and experiencing.
