Limits protecting freedom

I took my dog for a walk, restless and curious as always. In the condominium where I live, it's mandatory to keep pets on a leash. I knew this and usually followed the rule. However, that afternoon I stopped to pray before a beautiful sculpture of the Virgin Mary and thought about letting her off the leash. I hesitated for a few moments. Finally, I decided: as long as I stayed there, she could explore the surroundings without causing any trouble.

I was wrong. Barely a minute had passed when another little dog appeared, and mine attacked it. I ran to separate them and apologized. The owner of the attacked dog was furious; I didn't know where to hide. Both dogs ended up with minor injuries. My seemingly harmless decision had caused damage that could have been avoided.

Later, I reflected on boundaries and their purpose. My dog wants to run freely, but her impulses could lead her to hurt others or get hurt herself. The leash allows her and others to enjoy the shared space safely. That shared rule protected something my carelessness had jeopardized.

The comparison has its limits: we are people, capable of understanding, deliberating, and loving. God doesn't intend to treat us like pets. Precisely because of our dignity, He invites us to recognize good and choose it freely. But that domestic experience made me wonder how often we confuse freedom with the absence of all restrictions.

We can choose our actions; we cannot arbitrarily decide that their consequences disappear. Nor do we make something good simply by intensely desiring it. Freedom needs truth: about who we are, about the value of others, and about the good we share.

Saint John Paul II develops this relationship in Veritatis splendor. In paragraph 35, it explains that divine law protects and promotes freedom. God knows what is good for humanity and sets it forth in his commandments. His authority does not stem from the whim of the one who imposes prohibitions, but from the wisdom and love of the Creator. 

The Decalogue thus offers a grammar of coexistence: it protects life, fidelity, truth, the property of others, and our relationship with God. Its prohibitions safeguard positive values. Behind «Thou shalt not kill» lies a profound affirmation: your life matters, even when you are weak, dependent, or unable to defend yourself.

This does not mean that keeping the commandments guarantees a life without suffering. The righteous also suffer injustice, illness, and loss. It means that good is worth choosing even when it comes at a cost, and that no advantage legitimizes the destruction of another's dignity.

Saint Augustine condensed this moral depth in his famous «Love, and do what you will,» commenting on the First Letter of Saint John. He did not authorize just any behavior based on sentiment. He spoke of charity as the root of our decisions: when love is true, it seeks the good of the beloved and transforms what we desire.

Therefore, educating for freedom requires educating our desires. Those who need to satisfy every impulse immediately may retain many options and yet lose self-control. The repetition of decisions shapes our character: we can cultivate virtues or nurture habits that diminish our capacity to respond to what is good.

Pornography, drunkenness, or drug use can be presented as assertions of autonomy but become forms of subjugation. Those who suffer these bonds need closeness, help, and hope. Regaining freedom also means learning to ask for support and accepting a path of change.

Saint Josemaría Escrivá writes in Friends of God, Number 38: «Only when one loves can one attain true freedom.» Surrendering to God allows one to direct one’s will toward a love that liberates from selfishness. Christian obedience reaches its maturity when it springs from filial trust, sustained by grace. 

It is important to distinguish between the capacity to choose and the fullness of freedom. We can use our choices to harm ourselves, but that use does not perfect us. Being free to love requires learning, effort, and grace. The commandments point the way; Christ offers us his friendship and the strength to walk it, even after we fall.

This perspective also illuminates public life. Evangelium vitae, John Paul II warns against a freedom that ignores the other. Defending the unborn and accompanying the sick until their natural death express the same conviction: no life loses its dignity by being vulnerable. This defense demands concrete support, care, and mercy. 

Not all limits are just: some are oppressive and must be questioned. The criterion is whether they protect dignity and serve the common good. That is also why we need to cultivate conscience: to recognize both necessary limits and abuses of authority.

I put my dog back on her leash. I also needed to acknowledge my responsibility. My prayer to Mary had led to an uncomfortable lesson: loving includes accepting protective boundaries. True freedom matures when, with God's help, we learn to desire what is good and to be accountable for our decisions.