On Free Will, Creation, and Returning to the Source

There’s been this thought circling in my mind, weaving itself through my reflections on what it means to live with intention. I keep coming back to the idea that before anything was created, everything was... lawful. I don’t mean lawful as in rules and boundaries, but rather a state where every piece of existence simply was, completely aligned, without duality or conflict. It’s a kind of harmony I can barely imagine—one that feels both breathtaking and serene. It’s as if all creation, all possibility, was suspended in a quiet, unified balance, untouched by the weight of choice.

But then, here we are, living these lives where every decision—big or small—introduces choice and, with it, the possibility of duality. It’s strange to think that free will, something we often hold so dear, was the very thing that shifted everything. The moment humanity was created, with all our ability to choose, that primordial harmony opened up to something else: duality. We can’t simply “be” like creation was before us. Instead, we’re given the power, or maybe the burden, to either resonate with that original harmony or wander off, stirring up conflict and dissonance.

What intrigues me is that this doesn’t mean we’ve ruined creation’s essence. It’s like God designed free will knowing that we could align or deviate, that we’d experience the unity and the disruption. When I think about it this way, “good” and “bad” seem to be constructs that only come to life within our own choices. Before us, in that pre-creation state, such distinctions probably didn’t exist—they weren’t needed. But here and now, we feel the push and pull of what we call “good” or “bad” because our choices have weight, consequences that reach beyond ourselves.

Lately, I’ve also been wrestling with the idea of divine foreknowledge. I’ve come to realize that, if God truly knows every potential outcome, it’s not in a way that overrides our choices. Divine knowledge is vast, seeing every possibility that could unfold, but it doesn’t lessen the importance of what we decide. It’s like a parent watching a child, fully aware of how they might act in certain situations—not because the parent controls them but because they understand them deeply. God’s awareness, I think, is even more expansive. It sees every path, every twist and turn our free will could take, but it doesn’t diminish our autonomy. We still move forward in freedom, even as that all-knowing presence watches.

This thought has brought a strange comfort. We’re part of a story that’s already understood in its entirety, yet each of our choices is respected. It makes me wonder about the purpose of free will itself, that mysterious gift, which often feels as much a responsibility as it does a freedom. The more I reflect on it, the more I sense that free will was given as a means for us to grow, to know ourselves, and to realign with something higher through conscious choice. It’s not a test, exactly, but an opportunity—a pathway that brings us back to a state of harmony if we choose well.

Free will seems to ask us to actively participate in creation, to take up the task of aligning our lives with that original, lawful balance. When I think about making choices now, I see each one as a ripple in a much larger current, a chance to either disrupt or enhance the flow. If every choice is a return to harmony or a step away from it, then each moment carries an invitation to step closer to something profoundly unifying.

In writing this, I realize that free will is as delicate as it is powerful. God may foresee every path, but each of our choices is still meaningful, still alive with potential. And somehow, that potential calls us all back, eventually, to the same source.