The Illusion of Total Bodily Autonomy

Our culture holds few beliefs as sacred as this one: "It’s my body. I can do what I want with it." We hear it in debates over abortion, gender identity, drug use, euthanasia, and even lifestyle choices. Autonomy over the body is presented not just as a right but as the foundation of human dignity. To question it is to risk being labeled oppressive or out of touch.

But what if this belief, so deeply woven into modern life, is not just misguided but fundamentally incoherent? What if the idea of total bodily autonomy is not only unrealistic, but also isolating, self-defeating, and ultimately destructive?

The Myth of Control

Let’s start with the most basic observation: if bodily autonomy means control over your body, no one has it. We don’t choose our bodies. We don’t choose our genetics, our limitations, or our mortality. We get sick. We grow tired. We bleed. We break. We age. We die. No one who has battled cancer, chronic illness, or sudden injury still believes they have total command over their body. If you had full bodily autonomy, you would choose not to suffer. You would not be subject to infertility, hunger, pain, or the inevitability of death.

We are not sovereign over our bodies. We are stewards.

The Social Illusion

The illusion of autonomy becomes even more dangerous when it is used to justify acts that harm others. The claim to bodily autonomy is often used to silence moral objections: "What I do with my body is none of your business." But this is never truly the case. Our bodies exist in relationship. They are not self-contained bubbles. What we do with our bodies affects our children, our families, our communities, and even the environment.

We do not live in isolation. And this is not a design flaw. It is a reflection of our deepest nature.

Created for Communion

Modern people often think of relationships as things we choose to add to our lives. But that’s not how human nature works. Relationship is not optional. We are not simply individuals who happen to relate to others. We are relational beings.

To be a person is to be from someone, for someone. Even God is not a solitary being. We say that God is love because within God there is relationship. The Father is not the Son. The Son is not the Spirit. Yet they are one God. To be in the image of God is to reflect this truth: we are made for communion. We are not born free-floating. We are born into a family. Sometimes that family is broken, but the relational nature of our being remains. We cannot un-need one another.

The idea of total bodily autonomy, then, is not just wrong. It is anti-human.

The Will and Its Limits

Even if we set aside the body and focus on the will, the illusion persists. We speak as though we are masters of ourselves, free to shape our identity and purpose without constraint. But here, too, we find limits. We are not fully transparent to ourselves. We are conflicted. We want contradictory things. We make promises and break them. We disappoint ourselves. We are wounded, and our desires are disordered by sin and suffering.

Freedom is not the ability to do whatever we want. That kind of freedom leads to addiction, emptiness, and fragmentation. Real freedom is the ability to do what we ought – to choose the good, even when it is difficult. And that kind of freedom requires formation. It requires love, truth, and grace.

The Christian View: Stewardship, Not Sovereignty

Christianity does not teach that the body is a cage or an idol. It teaches that the body is a gift. We are not owners, but caretakers. We do not belong to ourselves. As Saint Paul says, "You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore glorify God in your body." (1 Cor 6:19-20)

This is not degrading. It is liberating. Because when we understand that our bodies have meaning, that they were created for love and communion, then we begin to see them not as tools of self-expression but as instruments of self-gift.

The world says: "My body is mine, and no one can tell me what to do with it." The Church says: "My body is not mine alone. It was made to be given in love."

Toward Real Freedom

The idea of total bodily autonomy is a comforting fiction – until reality intrudes. And reality always does. We are finite. We are dependent. We are not sovereign. And that’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s something to embrace.

Real dignity comes not from pretending to be gods, but from living as beloved creatures. Real freedom comes not from denying our limits, but from discovering how those limits are ordered toward love.

What if peace isn’t found in mastering the body – but in learning how to give it?

Addendum: On Bodily Autonomy

Some may object to the phrase “total bodily autonomy,” arguing that it is not a claim to supernatural control, but a legal or ethical principle about consent and self-determination.

That objection is understandable. In many contexts, bodily autonomy refers to the right to make personal decisions about health, risk, or medical intervention. That is not what I am objecting to.

What I am responding to is the deeper cultural and moral claim that the belief that the body is morally neutral, that we are our own ultimate authority, and that no one, not even God, has a claim on it. That is where autonomy becomes a lie.

If the body has meaning, if it was created, ordered, and destined for love, then our choices must align with that meaning. True dignity comes not from doing whatever we want with the body, but from offering it rightly, in truth.

Autonomy that ignores this is not liberation. It is illusion. And in the end, it harms both the person and the relationships we were made to cherish. To affirm human dignity is to affirm our moral structure, not deny it. Agency, conscience, and love are not licenses to do whatever we feel. They are the means by which we offer ourselves rightly. The fact that we are limited, even overwhelmed, does not give us moral exemption. It calls us to deeper dependence on others, and on God. To act against our nature, especially in the taking of innocent life, is not freedom. It is slavery dressed in the language of compassion.