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2. Human freedom

It is not easy to define freedom. Among the oldest philosophical attempts to do so there is Aristotle's phrase: "man is free when he is cause of himself". Cause of oneself: the formula contains real insights into the nature of freedom, but can also lead one seriously astray about its operation.

No one is an absolute cause of himself. No one causes himself to be, in a constitutive sense. Our life, our nature, our intellectual endowments, our temperament or artistic aptitudes, our free will, are given to us. They come with birth, they are not something we originate in ourselves. Nor, during infancy, can a child be said to be a subject of personal causality; he may be a physical cause of upsets or accidents, but is scarcely capable of actions that shape his life in any freely chosen way. But when infancy ends and we enter into a more personal possession of our faculties, then indeed - through the exercise of our freedom - we do cause ourselves to become rather than just to be. To become a better son or daughter or friend, or a worse one; a good student or a poor one; more truthful or more of a liar; more honest or more ready to cheat others; more generous or stingier; more in control of our passions or more under their domination. In this process of becoming we pass through different moments of being (one may be a sober person now, and in five years time have become a drunkard). Becoming implies new ways of being, that may themselves be temporary in nature, or settle into something stable and ingrained. In older years "becoming" seems to imply physical decline, which may nevertheless be accompanied by a balance and fullness of character never hitherto achieved.

In any case, rather than debate Aristotle's ideas further, we mean to settle for a more popular notion of freedom; i.e. 'the ability to choose between possible alternatives'. It is from this concept, without more justification, that we are going to work.

We also mean to avoid the issue of providing philosophical arguments to prove that man is free. If someone is not convinced that he is basically free, then what we write here will be of little interest or use to him. Human freedom is taken as a presupposition of the view of life we propose. Our thesis is that man is a free being and that it is in the exercise of his freedom that he develops and can fulfill himself - or not. Man is capable of free fulfillment; or of failure and frustration - also freely brought about.

The presence and operation of human freedom means that there is no such thing as automatic fulfillment for anyone. One's life, according to one's choices, can take different ways that lead to different results and destinations. One's experiences and responses can be enriching, or impoverishing. They can open one's horizons and widen one's understanding of values, of others, of the world; or close one's ambition and range of interests in on oneself, thus directing one's life down the dead end of personal insufficiency. One can grow toward happiness and fulfillment, or shrink toward misery and frustration.

Every thinking person at the threshold of life senses these alternatives: I may work out well, I may work out badly. The impression that few seem to "make it" can provoke an initial temptation to set one's sights low, so as to limit eventual disappointment at possible failure. Is it a wise precaution to act so? Is it prudence? Or faintheartedness?

The young person who deliberately aims low reduces the possibilities of his or her life from the outset. Given that, is it not better to set one's sights higher, following the natural human instinct of youth, wanting and expecting a lot from life? Yet, what about the experience of older people, many of whom give the impression of being more skeptical than anything else about what life can actually give? The life experience of many older people, if they could analyze it accurately, would probably offer two contrasting lessons. "Life did not live up to my expectations. I didn't get out of it what I had hoped. Life failed me". Or, "I didn't expect enough of life. It could have given me more, if I had started out with more courage and determination. Life didn't fail me; I failed life".

Whatever can be learned from the experiences of others, everyone must make his or her own choices; and, according to the choices made, each life will produce expected or unexpected results, some of them no doubt unwanted. Yet it does seem that the person who expects little is more likely to achieve little.

We have already stated that man is free but not autonomous. He is free but not "independent". As we have seen, he inescapably depends on so many things: light, air, water ... He is free, though not unlimitedly so. His own capacities limit him physically and psychically. He is not free to live without food or drink or to run at 100 miles an hour or to think that what he knows to be false is true. Nevertheless, every normal person is aware of the presence of freedom in his daily life: he can get up or not, go to work or not, vary his choices, buy this newspaper or that one, etc.

Freedom and commitment

The modern mood about freedom has become unsustainably paradoxical and, in the end, self-defeating: wanting freedom, but not wanting commitment, wanting to be able to choose, but not wanting to be bound by any choice. Such an approach cannot work; it implies a rejection of real freedom and in the end can only lead to its destruction.

Every free decision, every choice, excludes all options except the one chosen. Curiously, the inevitability of this aspect of our power to choose can become a cause of suffering for certain personalities. The French writer, André Gide, remarked, "I always found the need for choosing unbearable, because to choose seemed to me not so much to select, as to reject what I had not chosen" [1]. Freedom can indeed seem a burden for those who fail to resolve the paradox of this mood [2].

If a person is on a trip and arrives at a crossroads, he is free to continue along any one of the roads before him. It is clear that to choose one means to leave the others behind. The more decidedly he goes ahead on the road chosen, the more he departs from the other roads. If the thought crosses his mind that he is endangering his freedom in this way, that he is even losing (rather than exercising) it, he may yield to the temptation to turn back, perhaps also because the difficulties of the way are beginning to make themselves felt (every way has its own difficulty), perhaps simply because it seems more important to him to maintain - to preserve - his freedom uncompromised.

The ultimate consequence of yielding to such a way of thinking is obvious. Whoever allows himself to be overcome by the fear of committing himself, keeps returning time and again to his point of departure. He remains stuck at the crossroads - with a freedom that is "intact", but useless; and will thus become, little by little, incapable of any permanent and definitive choice [3].

Fear of commitment

There is a rightful insistence today that freedom is a particular requirement of the dignity of the person. Yet, not to want to engage oneself in any definitive decision, however noble it may be, remains a sign of freedom (an impoverished freedom, perhaps on its way to becoming totally bankrupt), but by no stretch of the imagination can it be considered an affirmation of personal dignity. To be unwilling to commit oneself to anything betrays a lack of human stature and worth. To be afraid of commitment is in the last analysis to be afraid of freedom itself. The modern philosophy of rights forgets the right to commit or bind oneself [4]: therefore it tends to see freedom and commitment as opposed.

Freedom can be overtaken by a creeping paralysis, when a person yields to the fear of any choice - since choosing involves a new situation open to what is unknown. Paradoxically, the uncertainty that accompanies every decision can then turn freedom itself into a sort of prison where, as Michael Ende illustrates in one of his stories, all the doors of choice are examined one by one, and rejected; and the person remains where he was. Nevertheless, it is clear that to refuse to choose is in itself also a choice; and leaves one equally open to the future, with that fundamental character of the unknown which it never loses. There is no way of knowing what your future holds for you. You can try to shape it; you cannot control it.

The burden of the past oppresses many people. The fear of the future can have an even more negative and depressive effect. No philosophy is adequate for facing life if it is not a philosophy also "of the future", which in some way endows the future with positive sense for me. The failure of Marxism illustrates how to work for an abstract future "collectivity" is not a goal that can satisfy the individual. Each one wants to be able to face a future with a personal meaning.

Freedom not to act

If it is true that freedom means the power to act, it must also involve the power not to act. To be free is to able to say Yes or No. "I am free to do this". But - are you free not to do it? If not, you are not free. Freedom implies retaining one's self-dominion in the face of alternatives. If one can only say Yes, or only say No, one no longer has freedom. Oscar Wilde made himself the object of his own irony when he quipped: "I can resist anything - except temptation". If that was really the case, then he was not free. But at least he realized it.

The most tremendous freedom man has is his power to commit suicide. Almost everyone at some time or other feels he would like to escape from life. Many people today commit suicide after a minor failure, in a situation of passing depression. No doubt that is a sign of their freedom, but it is a weak freedom unsustained by any solid system of values. There is greater and stronger freedom in the person who, in moments of stress, resists the immediate impulses of feeling, etc., and assesses more deeply what is involved in taking one more chance at life rather than in ending it.

Freedom and motivation

A common position among determinists is to hold that man can never be really free because he is always swayed by motives. In this view, motivation determines a person, taking from the autonomy that a truly free decision requires. This is confused thinking, based on "the false supposition that freedom implies the exclusion of all motivation" [5]. A person cannot decide between different options without having preferences; and his preferences must rationally correspond to considerations and conclusions, which are exactly what constitute motives. In fact, every decision or voluntary choice presupposes the existence of motives, to the extent that without any motive it could not be properly called a human decision.

There is a point which should be obvious but is nevertheless worth recalling. While it is true that every exercise of freedom - every decision or choice - must be motivated, this does not mean that all the motives which inspire a decision are necessarily univocal or unilinear, that is, all pointing in the same direction. It is the opposite which more often occurs, with pros and contras, reasons in favor of a particular decision and reasons against.

For instance, when pondering an exceptional offer of promotion in his work, a person can count a substantial increase in salary among the reasons for accepting; while at the same time, as reasons to refuse, he weighs the possible negative effect on his or her spouse's health or on their children's education, if the new position implies changing from one country to another with a worse climate or which is less developed materially.

When there are important arguments in favor of one way of acting but also important arguments against, it seems elementary that a mature and reasonable person should weigh the matter thoroughly and in full depth. Yet there are many decisions where even the mature person may find it hard to make a totally detached and rational examination of all the pros and cons. Prejudices (originating in the will more than in the mind) easily lessen the objectivity of our approach and incline us to the "easy" solution or decision as if it were necessarily the best. Few people, however mature or rational, are exempt from the tendency to center on arguments favoring what is immediately convenient to them. The less mature and reflective a person is, the stronger this tendency will make itself present.

It follows that not all the motives which should enter into the decision-making process are necessarily pleasing or welcome to the person deciding. Some can annoy him, as being considerations he would much rather not have to take into consideration. But, if they are in any way solid, they should have their place in the rational process that leads in the end to a decision. The person may feel as if these reasons were being imposed on him; but this will scarcely prevent him from heeding them.

"The idea of freedom is substantially identified with the capacity man possesses to determine himself in favor of one alternative in preference to others" [6]. If a person, even before having an initial contact with a matter requiring a decision, were determined to one eventual choice, he would not in fact be free. Therefore the first approach of a free person to any such matter must be one of indetermination.

On the other hand, if he continues to remain in such a position of indetermination or indifference, it is clear he will never come to a choice in the matter. A choice involves precisely a self-determination, a free commitment of oneself, in a definite direction. A will which is permanently undetermined is paralyzed; it is unable to choose, or it ends up making haphazard and aimless "choices" that have nothing to do with the true exercise of human freedom. "Freedom is not in fact something anarchical or irrational; it does not consist in the absence of causality or of motivation ... The indetermination which must be introduced into freedom has nothing in common with that other indetermination characterizing freedom of indifference, i.e. a reasonless choice, a motiveless willing. Freedom of indifference is something non-sensical" [7].

It is through a process of discovering motives that a person abandons his position of indifference, and is enabled to come to a choice for or against a particular action, thus exercising his freedom. It is an elementary mistake therefore to think that because a choice is motivated, it is less free. No one makes a true human choice without a motive. Actions without motives would not be free; they would be irrational, the actions of a sleepwalker or of an idiot.

Freedom and responsibility

Motivation precedes human action; consequences follow it. The exercise of freedom cannot fail to consider the possible consequences of each choice: for oneself and for others. In fact, this foreseeing of the consequences is normally a part of motivation itself.

Viktor Frankl maintains that "consciousness of responsibility is the foundation of human existence" [8]; and also suggests that fear of responsibility can provoke that flight from freedom which we have already noted [9].

No sense of personal freedom can be genuine if it is not accompanied by an equally personal sense of responsibility. Since every action has its consequences, anyone who feels free to direct his choices along one particular way rather than another must realize that he shares in the consequences for others which necessarily derive from his free choices. If I deliberately jump a red light, I make myself liable to a fine or responsible for an accident. The more likely the consequence, the more I should foresee it, and act responsibly. The less foreseeable the consequence, the less the responsibility.

The sense of responsibility serves to confirm the awareness of being personally free. The action is mine; and precisely for this reason, I am at least a partial cause of the consequences. The person who will not accept responsibility does not understand the true scope and meaning of his freedom, is not fully in possession of it, or is perhaps afraid of it. The sense of responsibility also brings out the participative meaning of social life. I can freely produce positive consequences for the life of others ...

Today the gravest threat to freedom may well be a generalized lack of responsibility. It has been remarked that there are few dangers greater to society than "the presence in it of people with nothing to lose". Feeling free without at the same time feeling responsible makes people destructive. A society hardly merits the name of a free society and may not long survive as one if its members are not responsible. Responsibility no less than freedom has become the test of a truly human society. And of course it is not just society alone that can suffer harm from those who think they have "nothing to lose". They, despite their frame of mind, do have something to lose and in that mental state are quite likely to lose it.

There is a widespread tendency today to speak of freedom as something we simply have (or should have), without any apparent awareness that it is also and especially something we must achieve and secure, and consequently something we can lose. In fact, the self-inflicted loss of personal freedom is one of the most striking phenomena of modern times. When we describe freedom as an "inalienable right", we are asserting a philosophical principle or perhaps staking a claim. But neither the right nor the claim is likely to be safeguarded unless I realize that the greatest threat to my freedom lies inside; it comes from myself, for it is through my own actions I can end up most irremediably deprived of freedom.

Love

When speaking of freedom, we cannot avoid referring to love, since love has every title to be regarded as the maximum expression of freedom. It is in fact only if the free aspect of love is stressed that its dignity is safeguarded. This ultimately means saving our dignity, as beings capable not only of giving or receiving love but also of understanding and appraising different types of love, that is, the various possibilities of loving that are presented in life, and of reacting according to our criterion of choice toward a concrete love.

The common sense of humanity has always considered love to be an absolutely necessary element of happiness. The person who does not know how to love, or who is not loved by anybody, is truly unfortunate and unhappy. If this is so, it confirms the anthropological presupposition we are following: man does not fulfill himself alone; he needs a complement. If he does not understand the true nature of love, if he cannot distinguish between love and its counterfeits, if he is unable to love, he will not find fulfillment.

Love involves an attraction between two persons which unites them in a desire to share major aspects of life. There is the love of friendship by which, if it is genuine, each friend not only enjoys the companionship of the other but also desires what is good for him or her. The love of friends is so characterized, but does not call for any further special commitment. Some friendships last a lifetime; others are temporary. Married love, in contrast, goes much farther. The person who marries chooses not only to love, but to do so with a distinctive love that is committed, exclusive and permanent. We shall take a closer look at this later on.

"Love is a centrifugal tendency that moves from inside to outside, but which needs an external stimulus to begin its movement. Therefore loving someone means coming out of oneself and being prepared to share. To be loved is to be treated as an exception, with special consideration" [10]. When love is reciprocated, we can speak of two freedoms that meet in a movement toward mutual gift and acceptance of each other.

To fall in love means to realize that one is incomplete, and cannot be whole or happy without the loved one [11]. And to want to fall in love, even when one does not yet feel attracted to any concrete person, is equally a sign of the sense of incompleteness.

To fall in love produces a number of paradoxical consequences. The person who begins to love can no longer feel self-sufficient [12]. His need for someone else is experienced in too deep a way. But this very dependence opens the person's horizons as the conviction grows that life promises even more than he or she had first sensed. Gordon Allport, former Professor of Psychology at Harvard University, writes: "Hitherto self-sufficient, the lover finds himself no longer so. The welfare of another is more important than his own. In this way" - Allport adds - "the self is extended" [13]. The importance of this last conclusion cannot be exaggerated. When a person loves, the closed circle of the individual is broken, opening not only toward the person loved but, if the love is real, toward the whole outer world.

For the lover, life begins to move around a new center of interest. A person on his own can be dogged by the sense of being a poor specimen of humanity, but if he loves and is loved, the conviction springs up that his life has become endowed with extraordinary richness. Love can be the only way out of that narrow and obsessive self-awareness which is the wretched prison of many. One of George Eliot's characters reflects: "Nothing but complete and intense love could have initiated me into that enlarged life which grows and grows by appropriating the life of others; for before, I was always dragged back from it by ever-present painful self-consciousness" [14].

Life and the world take on new radiance for the lover: "love does not make one blind but seeing - able to see values" [15]. A sign of true love is the new joy toward life that it induces. "The enthusiasm that love awakens is capable of renewing even what seemed totally sunk in inertia. Love gives meaning to life. The human being who discovers genuine love is often said to have been reborn, to have changed, or to have recaptured the meaning of everything. Without love it is as if a decisive and harmonizing component were missing in this puzzle of life and happiness, a component capable of leading the person to make sense of the maze of contradictions in which each of us seems caught" [16].

Love and freedom: "free love"

Don Juan, the hero-villain of plays, novels, and poems, is the prototype of the unrepentant libertine. The original Spanish legend tells how he seduces a girl of noble family and then kills her father, who tried to avenge her. Later, seeing the funerary statue on the father's tomb, he mockingly invites it to dine with him. The stone ghost duly arrives and, coming to life, seizes the defiant Don Juan and drags him down to hell.

The 17th-century dramatist, Molière, is among the best known of those who put the story on the stage. As a good Frenchman, Molière has Don Juan explain his philosophy of "free love". He feels he will "lose" his freedom in a committed love, and is not prepared to place his heart under such restrictions: "I love freedom in love, and I could never resign myself to enclosing my heart within four walls" [17]. There is a strong modern tendency to echo or absorb this idea of Don Juan; but those who do so show that they have failed to understand true love or to find it. Real love reasons differently. The heart in love wants indeed to be bound to the other: but does not thereby feel enclosed, but rather open - to everything and everyone. Konstantin Levin, one of the main characters in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, goes to a stag party the day before his wedding. His friends there pull his leg - that he is about to lose his freedom. He accepts the charge, turning it into a claim of happiness: "Just the contrary: I am happy at this loss of freedom" [18]. What the person in love fears is not the loss of freedom but the loss of love. It is not so much that love is seen as a greater value than freedom, but rather that freedom "feels freer" in choosing to love.

This "freedom of love" must be understood also in order to clarify the relationship between love and feelings, or (as one goes deeper into the analysis of love) the relationship between feelings and will. It is true that love is normally accompanied by feeling. But, more importantly, it is always - if it is authentic - an operation of the will [19]: "therefore it can be corrected, increased, perfected. This conclusion is not in fashion: nevertheless it is based on reality. If love were only a feeling, an inner sense of the variations of joy or exaltation, etc., one would have to say that love goes and comes as it wants, that we are not free in its regard, since it overpowers us and we can do nothing to defend ourselves from it" [20].

If love were no more than a feeling, then those would be right who hold that once feeling has disappeared, love has necessarily gone with it. This modern argument is often the cloak of selfishness. Others may have no claim on my good feelings, nor may I be able to summon them up, since feelings are seldom forthcoming as one wishes. But I can always give good will, all the more so where good will is due; as, in humanity if not in legal justice, it is due to all my fellowmen. A society not prepared to accept this principle gradually becomes inhuman. Now in many situations love, in the precise sense of wishing well to another, is due in strict justice [21]. Thus parents have a duty to love their children, just as children owe love to their parents; affection that is "felt" may dwindle or disappear, but love - as Aristotle defines it: "to love is to wish good to another" [22] - can and ought to be maintained. We will return to this in our chapter on marriage.

A strongly felt attraction toward another can be easily mistaken for an outward-going and truly donative or self-giving love, whereas all it may want is its own satisfaction, without being prepared for any commitment that could break the bonds of attachment to self - a necessary condition if one is to experience the liberating openness of true love. "Love can assume a debased form in which all the powers of devotion are bent to serve the ends of a limited ego. That debasement springs from timid self-defense against the shock of the greater, deeper world that can be entered only by the one who truly loves" [23].

Limited egos often imagine themselves marked out for great destinies. But they may be incapable of passing from the petty world of virtual greatness to that real self-giving love without which a person never truly grows. Henry James' polished characters are almost all painfully small and egotistic, though few seem to realize it. This lends all the more interest to his well-known story, The Beast in the Jungle. There he shows how a vain and mindless obsession with being called to "something great" can enclose a man within himself, thus making him blind to the one love which could have been his and which, as he understands too late, might have filled "the sounded void of his life" [24].

Doing someone else's will

Understanding how love and freedom relate can also help to dispel many frequent but mistaken notions about the relationship between freedom and obedience: the idea, for instance, that to obey - which implies doing someone else's will - means to renounce your own will, and reveals an immaturity of character by which you let yourself be placed in an alienating situation of inferiority and dependence.

But is this always so? Is immaturity shown by the team player or the soldier who follows the indications of his captain? Coaches of sports teams frequently discard talented players because they find them too immature - too self-centered or too preoccupied with their own "independence" - to fit in with others.

An enforced commitment (for instance, that of a slave to his master) is degrading and does violence to freedom. A commitment inspired by love is uplifting and allows a constant exercise of freedom charged with a sense of fulfillment. Here it is not even an adequate analysis to say that love makes it easy to "do someone else's will". Behind this, there can still be the idea that a commitment calls on a person to renounce his own will. That is not so. In a certain sense, it could not legitimately be so; for no one can be called on to abdicate the exercise of his will without thereby giving up one of his titles to full humanity. The fact is that a commitment is a determination of a person's own will. I do not "abandon" my own will to do someone else's. I exercise my will - for good and personal reasons - in choosing what someone else has also chosen. Here there is not absence, but rather a stronger presence, of personal choice. I will to make someone else's will my own.

There can be opposition between two wills, or there can be perfect, mutual, and willed identity. A person in love wants to do the will of the loved one: he wills to do it. The other person's will is what his will yearns for; he comes out of himself so as to find what he wants.

True love, while wanting to be united to the other, not only respects him or her, but is uplifted and opened out to other people and to all values. When the opposite occurs, love has been more egoistic than real. A classic example is offered by Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff's love for Catherine, just as hers for him, is not reciprocal and donative love that can unite them in a participative way. It is possessive love of the other, over whom each feels a total and even bitter claim. So too, it has no purifying effect on relations with others, but leads only to increasing rejection and hatred.

In Anna Karenina, as we noted earlier, the final reflections of Anna herself show how everything and everyone appear as hateful to the person whose last sense of love has died. Konstantin Levin offers the counterbalance to Anna. In chapters 14 and 15 of Part IV of his work, Tolstoy gives a fine portrayal of how, to the person who has just fallen in love, everything and especially everyone appear to be endowed with a new aura of goodness. Toward the end of his other masterpiece, War and Peace, he shows Peter Bésoukhow with that same new appreciation which the lover acquires: "the radiance of his soul, throwing its light on all who came in his way, enabled him to detect at once what there was of good or kindness in each" [25]. Are these just subjective impressions induced by a certain state of mind, or are we really dealing with a keener positive perception that love indeed gives that ability to "see values" which Frankl notes? Whatever the answer, it does seem that the opening out from self involved in true love, enables a person to see not just the loved one but others too with new appreciation, while the absence of love darkens and warps a person's outlook toward life and his fellow creatures.

To be bound by love to someone else can give a needed sense of completion, and a new happiness. It is true that the bond with the other links you also with his or her sorrows, and so enlarges your possibilities of suffering. However, while allowing that Freud is therefore correct when he says, "we are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love" [26], it must be added that this new capacity for com-passion is also a personal enrichment.

The essentially volitional aspect of love - the irreplaceable role of the will in all genuine love - has special importance in the evaluation of certain statements which are not infrequently heard: for instance, "I cannot love this person" ... This may be a handy formula which in the end simply means, "I am not prepared to make the effort, if not to love, at least to accept or forgive him or her". One can allow that acceptance or forgiveness may be difficult in such a case [27]; but then it is a difficulty, not an impossibility, which one is faced with. This can also be true in the case of an apparently opposite affirmation: "I cannot help loving this person", used perhaps as a justification for a relationship that is considered immoral (love for someone already married; certain ways of expressing love in extra-matrimonial relations, etc.). Unless a person knows how to govern love, he or she cannot claim the power to love and will not be capable of persevering in love.

Love has many types, and many counterfeits. In the end, it is the most definitive measure of personal worth, since the person is most genuinely revealed in the kind of love he is capable of: "each one is worth what his love is worth" [28].

Freedom and authority

But how can human freedom be preserved in the face of the massive and impersonal business or political forces of the modern state which so dominate the individual? Is there any way of keeping a sense of freedom when the individual is enmeshed in the legal restraints of modern life? Yes - if the laws correspond to justice, and if people have been grounded in love for justice itself, considered as a basic inter-personal value on which the whole of social life needs to be built [29].

Social or legal authority suggests "rules" - rules and regulations which, by inexorable tendency, seem to multiply indefinitely. The hankering after an existence free from institutional or corporate regulations underlies many currents of modern thought. Popular works of social criticism [30] argue for a new way of life that will be more spontaneous, more natural, more unregulated. To a large extent, this radical reaction is understandable. Modern man is so exasperated at having so long had to obey soulless forces - government, business corporations, etc. - , so fed up with being regulated, that he now does not want to have any rules or to obey anyone other than himself.

Nevertheless, both social and personal living need rules. The completely unregulated society tends to disintegration: and so does the unregulated self. "Obeying self" often means following the whims of the moment; and that too tends to be soulless, or soul-destroying. Not a few of our impulses can enslave us more than any bureaucracy or police force, and alienate us from others.

A society seeks to protect itself with equitable rules, and with some system of enforcing their compliance. An individual needs to do something similar in his own inner life, i.e., in that mixture of mind, will, passions, and prejudices which, if not harmonized and molded into some sort of unity, gives rise to growing interior chaos. Self-dominion is no easy matter; yet if a person cannot rule himself, something else or someone else will.

Freedom, the sensation and the reality of personal freedom, does not depend on having no regulations, no directions, no goals - just drifting - , but on self-regulation in the search for worthwhile values, and in the free choice and steady ability to respond to those values.

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"The power to choose is at the service of the power to complete yourself ... Each person is a reality given and a reality to be achieved" [31]. What matters is not so much what you choose, but who you become as a result of your choices. This is not to say that what you choose is unimportant. On the contrary, the value of what you choose, just as the value of what you love, has a decisive bearing on the personal worth that you acquire as a result of your choices. So we pass on to consider the question of "values".

Notes
[1] Nourritures Terrestres: in: Jean Mouroux, Le Sens Chrétien de l'Homme, Paris, 1953, p. 136.
[2] Gide's mood here is close to that of his compatriot Jean-Paul Sartre. "Sartre uses the term 'anguish' to describe this consciousness of one's own freedom. Anguish is not fear of an external object but the awareness of the ultimate unpredictability of one's own behavior" (Leslie Stevenson and David L. Haberman: Ten Theories of Human Nature, 1998, p. 177). In theory, only people of weak will would regard their future conduct as unpredictable and hence be subject to this anguished appreciation of freedom, while the strong-willed person, sure of the direction of his or her future choices, would be free from any such anguish. In practice, even very strong-willed people at times make surprising choices which they cannot explain or which they feel ashamed of. This may turn out to be a salutary experience leading to a more modest appraisal of the strength of their will. It is not evident that it should give rise to the sort of anguish Gide or Sartre felt.
[3] This applies to the realm of thinking even before that of acting. What is the point of "freedom of thought" if the mind no longer believes in meaning, that is, in the truth or validity of an idea or a conclusion? The thoughts that the mind is then free to think appear less and less worth thinking, for they lead nowhere. The mind wanders aimlessly. It has no "vistas", no avenues of discovery or growth. It stands at the crossroads of thought, free to choose any of the roads and less and less convinced that any is worth choosing.
[4] Cf. Chesterton's remark in Orthodoxy: "I could never conceive or tolerate any Utopia which did not leave to me the liberty for which I chiefly care, the liberty to bind myself".
[5] R. Zavalloni: La libertà personale. Psicologia della condotta umana, Milan, 1973, p. 66.
[6] ibid. p. 358.
[7] ibid. pp. 231, 237.
[8] The Doctor ..., p. 141.
[9] ibid. xvi.
[10] Enrique Rojas: Una Teoria della Felicità. p. 92.
[11] Cf. R. Yepes: Fundamentos de Antropología: un ideal de la excelencia humana, Pamplona, 1996, p. 273.
[12] The self-sufficient person has never known, or has long forgotten, what it is to love someone else. To fall in love, perhaps against one's deliberate will, can release him or her from the trap of self-sufficiency.
[13] G. W. Allport: Personality: a Psychological Interpretation, p. 217.
[14] The Mill on the Floss, Bk. VII, Ch. 3. I confess that the notion here of "appropriating", with its one-sided and individualistic overtones, leaves me less than content. Better if it had been expressed as "opening up to and assimilating".
[15] V. Frankl: The Doctor ..., p. 107.
[16] Rojas, op. cit., p. 92.
[17] Dom Juan, Act III, Sc. 5.
[18] Anna Karenina, Part V, ch. 2.
[19] Cf. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, q. 41, art. 2.
[20] Rojas, op. cit., p. 94.
[21] That love may at times call on the individual to subordinate his needs and interests (and especially his emotional requirements) to those of others, is simply unacceptable to modern psychotherapy. "'Love' as self-sacrifice or self-abasement ... strike(s) the therapeutic sensibility as intolerably oppressive, offensive to common sense and injurious to personal health and well-being. To liberate humanity from such outmoded ideas of love and duty has become the mission of the postFreudian therapies and particularly of their converts and popularizers, for whom mental health means the overthrow of inhibitions and the immediate gratification of every impulse": P. Lasch: The Culture of Narcissism, p. 13.
[22] Rhet. ii, 4.
[23] Joseph Pieper: Leisure, the Basis of Culture, p. 74.
[24] Selected Tales of Henry James, pp. 219-267.
[25] War and Peace, vol. III, ch. 50.
[26] Civilization and its Discontents, p. 82.
[27] Being unable to overlook or forgive is a clear though frequent sign of psychological immaturity, and can totally block a person's growth in humanity. Vindictiveness makes a person live in an enclosed world. Few things so obsess and impoverish the mind as the "I'll get even with them" mentality.
[28] "Talis est quisque, qualis eius dilectio est": St. Augustine, In Ep. ad Parth., II, 14.
[29] Cf. chapter eight.
[30] Such as, for instance, Charles Reich's The Greening of America, New York, 1970.
[31] Mouroux, Sens Chrétien ... p. 131.