True Freedom: Why Personhood Means Resisting Instinct

Introduction: The Illusion of Freedom

We live in a culture that defines freedom as the ability to do whatever we want. If it feels good, if it seems authentic, then it must be right. Choice itself has become the highest good, and any restriction, whether moral, social, or even natural, is often seen as an enemy of the self.

But what if this is not freedom at all? What if constantly obeying our feelings, our instincts, our passions, actually enslaves us?

As I’ve been reflecting on the classical Christian view of freedom, especially as expressed by Anselm and Aquinas, I’ve come to see that true freedom isn’t about following instinct: it’s about rising above it. Our instincts may keep us alive, but they do not make us human. It is precisely our ability to choose the good, even when it costs us, that defines us as persons.

In this reflection, I want to explore why the modern notion of freedom falls short, how instinctual behavior differs from moral choice, and what this tells us about personhood, moral agency, and even artificial intelligence.

I. The Classical View of Freedom

For many modern people, freedom means having options. The more choices I have, the freer I am. If I can do what I want, when I want, without constraint, I’m considered free.

But classical thinkers like Anselm of Canterbury and Thomas Aquinas offer a very different understanding. For them, freedom is not simply the power to choose but the power to choose rightly. In fact, Anselm goes so far as to say that the ability to sin is not essential to freedom: it is a defect in the will. True freedom, he says, is “the power to preserve rectitude of will for its own sake.” In other words, freedom is the ability to hold fast to what is good because it is good.

Aquinas builds on this. In his view, freedom is perfected, not diminished, when the will is ordered toward the good. This is because human beings are rational creatures. Our freedom is not random but teleological: it aims at a final end. The more we grow in virtue and learn to desire what is truly good, the freer we become. Conversely, the more we are dominated by disordered passions or compulsions, the less free we are.

This runs completely counter to popular thinking. In a culture that prizes radical autonomy, discipline looks like oppression, and limits feel like chains. But the classical tradition insists that freedom without truth is not freedom at all- it is a mask for slavery.

II. Instinct, Desire, and the Human Condition

Before going further, it’s worth briefly clarifying what we mean by instinct, emotion, and reason. They are three distinct but related aspects of the human experience:

• Instinct refers to the automatic biological drives we share with animals: hunger, fear, reproduction, self-preservation. These are deeply embedded survival mechanisms.

• Emotion is the interior, often reactive, experience we have in response to things we perceive or remember, like anger, sadness, or desire. Emotions are shaped by both nature and experience, and while they are more complex than instinct, they still often happen to us without our conscious choice.

• Reason is the distinctively human capacity to reflect, evaluate, and direct our actions according to truth. It is what allows us to question instinct and govern emotion- to ask not merely what do I feel?, but what should I do?

  
  

While instinct and emotion are natural, they are not sovereign. Reason exists to bring order to our inner world, not by suppressing our feelings, but by guiding them toward the good.

Instinct is not evil. It’s part of how we survive. Hunger drives us to eat. Fear warns us of danger. The desire for pleasure motivates us to pursue what is beneficial, or at least, what feels good. These instincts are deeply rooted in our biology, and in many ways, they serve us well.

But instinct is not freedom. Instinct is reactive, not reflective. It does not deliberate. It does not ask, What is right? or What is just? It asks, What do I want right now? or What will make this discomfort stop?

Humans are unique in that we share many instincts with animals, but we are not bound by them. We can act against instinct. We can feel anger and choose peace. We can feel the pull of lust and choose chastity. We can experience fear and still step forward in courage. These are not denials of our humanity; they are the expression of our humanity.

This is why feelings alone are not a reliable compass for moral action. Emotions arise within us often without our consent. We don’t choose to feel afraid, or sad, or jealous- they “happen” to us. To build an ethic around feelings is to build on shifting sand. Worse, it often leads us to confuse being moved with making a decision.

This modern exaltation of emotion owes much to Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who argued that human beings are naturally good and that society corrupts us. For Rousseau, the authentic self is found not in reason or virtue but in the untainted desires and feelings within. This vision deeply influenced modern culture’s equation of personhood with emotional expression. In this view, the more freely one expresses their inner feelings, the more “authentic” and fully human they are.

But this is a dangerous confusion. Emotions may be human, but they are not sovereign. While they reveal something about our inner experience, they do not determine moral truth. If anything, our very greatness as persons lies in our ability to question and govern our feelings, not to be led by them blindly.

True freedom begins when we recognize this difference, and choose not to be ruled by impulse.

III. The Capacity to Act Against Instinct

If freedom is more than instinct, and personhood more than emotion, then one of the clearest signs of both is the ability to act against ourselves- to override the powerful internal drives that push us toward self-interest, comfort, or pleasure.

This is not simply self-denial for its own sake. It is the recognition that what feels good is not always what is good. It is a refusal to let instinct dictate morality. It is the uniquely human capacity to say, “No,” not because something is undesirable, but because it is unjust, or to say, “Yes,” not because it is easy, but because it is right.

We see this most clearly in love, understood in its highest sense. Love is not merely an emotion or attraction; it is a decision to will the good of the other, even when it costs me something. Animals may show affection, loyalty, or even grief, but only a person can knowingly choose to sacrifice for another out of a conscious commitment to their good. That’s not instinct: that is truefreedom.

And yet, this kind of freedom is difficult. It’s far easier to give in to what comes naturally, to follow appetites, gratify desires, and justify every action by appealing to how we feel. But this is not moral strength. It is moral submission. The one who cannot act against their instincts is not free- they are enslaved to their instincts.

This is where the modern idea of “freedom” collapses. If my “authentic self” is simply whatever I feel most strongly, then I am not truly free. I am merely following the path of least resistance within myself. And if my emotions and instincts define who I am, then the only way to become more human is to become less free- more reactive, more impulsive, more driven by desire.

But this is not personhood. This is not dignity. This is not freedom.

To be free is to choose the good even when it’s hard. It is hard to overcome ourselves for the sake of something greater. That is the mark of a person. That is the heart of moral agency. And that is where the human will shines brightest.

IV. Moral Agency and Personhood

The ability to act against instinct is not just a mark of freedom, it is what defines moral agency. A moral agent is not simply a being that can feel, but a being that can choose in light of reason. This distinction is crucial, and it has far-reaching consequences for how we think about both personhood and moral relevance.

Modern confusion on this point has led to two major errors. First, we have increased the moral relevance of animals by mistaking sentience for personhood. Animals can feel pain, affection, and even forms of loyalty. But they do not reflect on the good, consider justice, or consciously choose to sacrifice themselves for a moral ideal. They operate according to instinct and training. They are not moral agents, because they cannot transcend their nature

Second, and perhaps more tragically, we have decreased the moral relevance of persons, especially the most vulnerable, by redefining personhood in terms of feelings or productivity. Unborn children, the severely disabled, and the elderly are often dismissed because they cannot express desires, exert autonomy, or "contribute." But moral agency is not measured by output or preference, it is rooted in the kind of being one is: a rational soul with the inherent capacity for truth, freedom, and love.

Of course, this raises an important question: What about those who cannot yet, or no longer, exercise moral agency? Infants, those with severe cognitive disabilities, or the elderly with advanced dementia may not be able to make conscious moral choices. Are they still persons?

The answer is a resounding yes.

Personhood is not measured by function, but by nature. A sleeping person is no less a person than a waking one; a child learning to speak is no less human than an orator. What they are is the same. What they can currently do may vary. The dignity of the person is rooted not in their current capacities, but in their essence as rational beings.

This is where the idea of the “privilege of normal” becomes relevant. Those of us who can reason, communicate, and act freely may take these capacities for granted. But we must never mistake that privilege for superiority. Rather, we are called to use our gifts of freedom and clarity of mind in service to those who are more vulnerable- who, though silent, share fully in our dignity.

To deny personhood to the voiceless is not only an act of injustice: it is a failure to understand what personhood truly is.

V. Implications for AI and Contemporary Ethics

These distinctions between instinct, freedom, and personhood shed light not only on human identity but also on how we evaluate artificial intelligence and modern ethical dilemmas. As AI becomes more sophisticated, mimicking speech, learning patterns, even simulating emotion, questions naturally arise: Could AI be considered a person? Can it possess moral agency? Should it have rights?

The short answer is no—and the reasoning flows directly from the principles we've been exploring.

AI lacks instinct, but it also lacks the ability to act against itself. It does not possess desires, nor does it have a will in the true sense. It can simulate preference and produce responses that appear thoughtful or even self-sacrificial. But all of this is the result of programming, data input, and statistical pattern recognition. There is no interior life, no reflective self, no free will.

If true freedom is the ability to choose the good, especially against instinct or internal compulsion, then AI cannot be free, because it cannot choose at all. It does not struggle against desire because it has no desires. It does not pursue justice because it recognizes the good, but because it has been trained to generate certain outputs under specific conditions.

This has enormous implications. If we confuse simulation with personhood, we risk attributing moral agency where there is none. We might be tempted to grant rights or moral standing to programs that cannot suffer, love, or choose- and in doing so, we devalue real human persons, whose dignity is rooted not in appearance but in nature.

The same confusion appears on the other end of the spectrum. If personhood is defined by expression, autonomy, or intelligence, then we might deny moral standing to those who are silent, dependent, or cognitively impaired, those who cannot speak for themselves, but who nonetheless possess the rational soul and moral capacity proper to their nature, even if undeveloped or unexpressed.

We must recover a deeper understanding of what it means to be a person. It is not sentience. It is not speech. It is not productivity or independence or “emotional depth.” It is the spiritual and moral capacity to know the good and freely will it.

That is something no machine can do.

The True Power of the Human Will

Freedom is not instinct. It is not desire. It is not doing whatever we feel in the moment.

Freedom is the capacity to rise above those instincts, to choose the good not because it is easy or pleasurable, but because it is right. It is the power of the human will to orient itself toward something greater than comfort or survival: to truth, to justice, to love.

This is what makes us persons.

It is also what makes moral greatness possible. Saints, heroes, martyrs, and everyday people who quietly choose self-sacrifice over self-indulgence all bear witness to a deeper kind of freedom- one that our culture often overlooks. In a world that urges us to obey our feelings and indulge our appetites, the truly free person is the one who chooses to serve, to love, and to stand firm in the good.

To be human is to be capable of this kind of choice. To be a person is to bear this kind of responsibility. And that is why dignity belongs to every human being, not because of what we feel or produce, but because of who we are.

Freedom, rightly understood, is not about becoming more instinctual. It is about becoming more human.

Part II: Freedom Perfected in Grace — Christ, Virtue, and the True Human Life

I. Grace: Healing and Elevating the Will

If the ability to act against instinct marks us as persons and reveals our freedom, then sin is the force that weakens that freedom. Sin doesn’t erase our personhood, but it wounds the very faculties that make freedom possible. Our intellect is darkened. Our desires become disordered. Our will, though intact, is no longer steady.

This is the human condition described so powerfully by Saint Paul: “I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want” (Romans 7:19). Left to ourselves, we may still know the good and even want it. Yet, we lack the strength to choose it consistently.

This is where grace enters.

Grace is not an external force that overrides our will. It is the divine life of God given to us: first to heal what sin has damaged, and then to elevate our nature beyond its natural limits. As the Catechism teaches, “Grace is favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God” (CCC 1996). Far from destroying our freedom, grace restores and empowers it.

Aquinas emphasizes that grace perfects nature. Our ability to know and choose the good is not replaced, but strengthened. We become capable of acts of love, mercy, and endurance that go beyond what fallen nature can sustain. We are given a new inclination, not toward instinct or self, but toward God and the good of others.

This is why Christ says, “Apart from me, you can do nothing” (John 15:5). He is not denying our humanity, but revealing that our full human potential is only realized in relationship with Him. Grace is the means by which we become fully ourselves: free, whole, holy.

II. Christ as the Perfect Model of Freedom

If grace heals and empowers the human will, then Christ is its perfect expression. In Him, we see not only what freedom is, but what humanity is meant to be.

From the beginning of His public life, Christ refuses to be led by instinct or emotional impulse. In the desert, after forty days of fasting, Satan tempts Him to act according to bodily need: “Command these stones to become bread” (Matt 4:3). But Jesus resists-not because food is bad, but because He will not be ruled by appetite, nor manipulated by the temptation to assert His power apart from the Father’s will.

This same pattern continues throughout His life. Christ experiences fear in Gethsemane ,“My soul is sorrowful even to death”, but He freely chooses obedience: “Not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42). At every moment, He is capable of escaping suffering, but He does not. He does not react out of fear or anger or pride. He chooses the good of others over His own comfort, reputation, or safety.

This is perfect freedom: not the absence of suffering, but the full use of the will in love. Christ is not compelled to the Cross. He walks toward it. “No one takes my life from me,” He says, “but I lay it down of my own accord” (John 10:18).

The world often sees obedience as weakness. But in Christ, obedience becomes the ultimate act of self-possession and self-gift. His humanity is not erased by this obedience, it is fulfilled by it. He is the most free precisely because He is the most obedient- not to instinct, but to love.

If we want to know what it means to be fully human, we do not look to the person who follows their impulses. We look to the One who gave Himself away.

III. The Role of Virtue in Freedom

Grace makes true freedom possible—but virtue makes it stable.

In classical and Christian thought, virtue is not merely moral behavior, it is a habit, a deep and abiding disposition of the soul that orients us toward the good. A person who has become virtuous doesn’t just perform good actions occasionally; they are inclined to choose well, even under pressure, even when instincts or emotions rebel.

As Saint Thomas Aquinas puts it, “Virtue is a good habit bearing on action”, it perfects the powers of the soul by enabling us to act in accord with reason and truth. In this way, virtue is the interior structure of freedom.

The cardinal virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, each correspond to the mastery of our faculties:

• Prudence enables right judgment; it helps us perceive reality and choose the best means to a good end.

• Justice orders the will toward what is due to others; it overcomes selfishness and teaches us to give rightly.

• Fortitude strengthens us against fear and suffering; it gives us the courage to endure for the sake of the good.

• Temperance moderates desire and pleasure; it enables us to govern appetite rather than be governed by it.

These natural virtues prepare the soul for grace- but in the Christian life, they are elevated by the theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity.

• Faith orients the intellect toward divine truth.

• Hope strengthens the will to persevere toward eternal life.

• Charity is the highest virtue: it transforms the will so that love of God and neighbor becomes our deepest motive.

Through these virtues, formed by grace and matured in practice, we become truly free, not just in potential, but in actuality. The virtuous person is not constantly at war within themselves. They have been trained by grace to love the good, not grudgingly, but joyfully.

And so Christian freedom is not fragile. It is not based on emotion or whim. It is a freedom anchored in love, formed by habit, and strengthened by the presence of God within us.

IV. Living the True Human Life

To live in freedom is not merely to be self-directed: it is to be God-directed, and therefore, truly self-possessed. Grace restores our wounded nature, Christ reveals the path, and virtue strengthens our ability to walk it. The result is not bondage, but the full flowering of personhood.

This is why Christian freedom is never isolation or autonomy in the modern sense. It is communion- a life ordered toward God and neighbor. In fact, it is precisely when we give ourselves away in love that we become most truly ourselves.

The saints show us what this looks like in real life. They are not people who had easy temperaments or perfect instincts. Many struggled with fear, anger, addiction, or pride. But through grace, they learned to act against these drives, not through sheer willpower, but through a will surrendered to God. Their freedom wasn’t natural- it was supernatural.

And it made them radiant.

Their lives prove that holiness is not for the few, it is what human nature was made for. When we are united with God, our instincts no longer define us, our emotions no longer rule us, and our choices are no longer reactive. We become intentional, joyful, and free.

Grace, Freedom, and Full Humanity

In the end, grace does not suppress our humanity; it fulfills it. It is the power to become who we were always meant to be.

Christ does not bypass our will. He enables it to function rightly. Through Him, we become capable of loving in a way that instinct and self-interest never could have achieved. And through virtue, this love becomes strong, consistent, and radiant.

In a world addicted to instinct and indulgence, the truly free person is the one who lives by grace, virtue, and love- the one who no longer reacts to everything, but who acts in truth. This is the life Christ offers. This is the life the saints live. And this is the life we are called to begin-right now.