As it is currently understood, the notion of autonomy, both as something that belongs to human beings and human nature, as such, and also as the source or basis of morality (that is, duty), is bound up inextricably with the philosophy of Kant. The term “autonomy” itself derives from classical Greek, where (at least in surviving texts) it was applied primarily or even exclusively in a political context, to civic communities possessing independent legislative and self-governing authority. The term was taken up again in Renaissance and early modern times with similar political applications, but was applied also in ecclesiastical disputes about the independence of reformed churches from the former authority in religious matters of the church of the Roman popes. Kant's innovation consisted in conceiving of (finite) individual rational persons, as such, as lawgivers or legislators to themselves, and to all rational beings (or rather to all that are not perfect and holy wills), for their individual modes of behavior. For Kant, rational beings possess a power of legislating for themselves individually, according to which they each set their own personal ends and subject that selection, and their pursuit of the ends in question, to a universal principle, which is expressed in Kant's categorical imperative. The categorical imperative requires that one set one's own ends only within a framework that would warrant acceptance by all other such beings.

These epigraphs present us with part of the problem that is to be discussed in this essay. For Spinoza (1632–1677) there is no metaphysical freedom, except for God/Substance/Nature. The behavior of individual things, or modes, is completely a function of causes that bring about the behavior. This might suggest that there can be no autonomy in any meaningful sense either, thus aborting at the outset any talk of autonomy in Spinoza. To add to this problem, “autonomy” is somewhat anachronistic when applied to Spinoza. The philosophical theory surrounding the concept of autonomy seems to have developed later, perhaps mostly from Kant (1724–1804), which is not to say that it did not have parallels earlier. Kantian metaphysics is certainly different from Spinozistic metaphysics in allowing for freedom, if nothing else. But even if we ignore the metaphysics, the structure of a Kantian ethics is different from a Spinozistic one in its focus on duty and imperatives. One finds little of that in Spinoza. Consequently, on both metaphysical and historical grounds, it seems somewhat problematic to speak of Kantian autonomy in Spinoza.

We all know what Kant means by autonomy: “the property of the will by which it is a law to itself (independently of any property of the objects of volition)” (G, 4:440), or, since any law must be universal, the condition of an agent who is “subject only to laws given by himself but still universal” (G, 4:432). Or do we know what Kant means by autonomy? There are a number of questions here. First, Kant's initial definition of autonomy itself raises the question of why the property of the will being a law to itself should be equivalent to its independence from any property of objects of volition. It is also natural to ask, how does autonomy as Kant conceives it relate to more familiar notions of freedom. For example, consider Locke's conception of freedom as the condition of a person “to think, or not to think; to move, or not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind,” rather than according to the preference or direction of any other person. What is the relation between autonomy and this traditional conception of freedom as the liberty of an agent? And what is the relation of autonomy to the traditional conception of freedom of the will; that is, the condition that obtains, as G. E.

Autonomy generally is a valued condition for persons in liberal cultures such as the United States. We uphold autonomous agents as the exemplar of persons who, by their judgment and action, authenticate the social and political principles and policies that advance their interests. I will begin by examining the concept of autonomy in Section II of this essay. In Section III, I will explore the idea that autonomy is valued because autonomous agents are persons whose judgment and actions serve to advance their interests in a democratic society. But the focus of this essay is on the phenomenon, which is not implausible in a culture such as that of the United States, of being “blinded” by the ideal of autonomy. What happens if we value autonomy too much?

For the past three decades philosophical discussions of both personal autonomy and what it is for a person to “identify” with her desires have been dominated by the “hierarchical” analyses of these concepts developed by Gerald Dworkin and Harry Frankfurt. The longevity of these analyses is owed, in part, to the intuitive appeal of their shared claim that the concepts of autonomy and identification are to be analyzed in terms of hierarchies of desires, such that it is a necessary condition for a person to be autonomous with respect to (to identify with) a desire that moves her to act, that she desires that this desire so move her. (Conversely, on these analyses, a person will not be autonomous with respect to a desire that she is moved by, she will not identify with it, if she does not want to be so moved.) Despite the intuitive appeal of these analyses, however, Irving Thalberg has argued that they should be rejected. This is because, he argues, a person who is forced to perform an action by being subjected to duress of a certain degree of harshness will desire to be moved by her desire to submit. Thus, he continues, the proponents of hierarchical analyses of autonomy and identification will be forced to hold that such a person acted willingly, and did not suffer from any impairment in her autonomy. This, Thalberg concludes, is so counterintuitive as to justify rejecting hierarchical analyses.

In autonomous action the agent herself directs and governs the action. But what is it for the agent herself to direct and to govern? One theme in a series of articles by Harry G. Frankfurt is that we can make progress in answering this question by appeal to higher-order conative attitudes. Frankfurt's original version of this idea is that in acting of one's own free will, one is not acting simply because one desires so to act. Rather, it is also true that this desire motivates one's action because one desires that this desire motivate one's action. This latter desire about the motivational role of one's desire is a second-order desire. It is, in particular, what Frankfurt calls a second-order “volition.” And, according to Frankfurt's original proposal, acting of one's own free will involves in this way such second-order, and sometimes yet higher order, volitions.

Reason has co-opted our conception of autonomy. My purpose is to set autonomy free. Here is the problem: some philosophers, Kant most notably, have said that governing your life by reason or by being responsive to reason is the source of autonomy. But there is a paradox concealed in these plausible claims. On the one hand, a person can be enslaved to reason and lack autonomy because of this kind of bondage. On the other hand, if reason has no influence, then it appears that one would be the slave of one's passions, and, however eloquently Hume might have written about reason being the slave of the passions, there is something odd about the idea that a person who is enslaved by his passions is autonomous. The paradox, which I shall call the paradox of reason, is that if we are governed by reason in what we choose, then we are in bondage to reason in what we choose, and we are not autonomous. Yet, if we are not governed by reason, then we do not govern ourselves in what we choose, and again we are not autonomous.

Autonomy, we suppose, is self-regulation or self-direction. There is a distinct idea that is easily confused with self-direction, namely, self-expression, self-fulfillment, or self-realization. (I do not mean to suggest that the latter three terms are all synonymous. But in this essay, whatever differences there are among them play no role, so I will use them interchangeably.) Although it will turn out paradoxically that autonomy is neither self-regulation nor self-realization, it is reasonable to suppose that the former is a superior candidate. My teacher of Indian religion, Dr. Subodh Roy, blind from birth, chose not to undergo an operation that would have made him sighted because he believed, perhaps rightly, that the ability to see would interfere with his religious quest. He thereby chose not to realize one of his fundamental human capacities, one whose cultivation has produced some of the finest fruits of civilization. Joseph Raz describes a case in which a man places his life in jeopardy by undertaking a trip to deliver medical aid to a group of people in a distant place. Since he will be unable to secure food for several days, he, in effect, subordinates one of his own basic needs or interests to a goal that he deems more important. There is no reason to believe that, in refusing to express or realize a dimension of self, either Dr. Roy or Raz's philanthropist have failed to act autonomously.

The notions of autonomy and self-governance each capture something crucial about the moral dimensions of agents and actions. These notions are central to the ways in which we conceptualize ourselves and others. The concept of autonomy is especially crucial to understanding the distinct status of moral agents. For its part, self-governance has a significant relation to the evaluation of agents as individuals with particular characters, leading particular sorts of lives, and performing particular actions. Neither notion—autonomy nor self-governance—fully assimilates or dominates the other. Moreover, there are some important strains between them. There are certain forms of regard that the autonomy of an agent demands that are at odds with what an agent's exercise of self-governance merits. In this essay I plan to show this, and offer a diagnosis of why this is the case.

I will argue that the autonomy of a particular act of a particular person depends on the pattern of behavior in which it is embedded. I call this conditional autonomy. A person's act is conditionally autonomous or not, relative to other acts at other times. Consider an example of a person crossing the street. On the one hand, this act might not be done for its own sake, but may fit into some ongoing long-term behavioral pattern that is personally beneficial to the person crossing the street—such as regularly buying groceries in the supermarket (which happens to be across the street). On the other hand, crossing the street might be done simply for its own sake. If such an act were considered to be autonomous, regardless of its temporal context, its autonomy would be unconditional. However, I will argue that whereas conditional autonomy is a highly useful social concept, indeed a necessary concept, for any human society, unconditional autonomy is a useless concept that actually impedes our efforts to understand and explain human behavior.

This essay explores the prospects of developing a satisfying account of group autonomy without rejecting value-individualism. That is, I will examine whether one can adequately explain the moral reasons to respect a group's claim to self-determination while insisting that only individual persons are of ultimate moral value.

It is often thought that if a developing human being is considered a “person” from the beginning, then it would follow that abortion (at any time) would be impermissible. For, after all, a person has a stringent right to life, and because life is a prerequisite for enjoying any other goods, it is plausible that the right to life is a “basic” or “fundamental” one, not easily overridden by other considerations. The right to life, it would seem, could not be outweighed by another individual's preferences, even preferences about what should happen in or to her body.

I shall assume that a well-ordered state is one that promotes the freedom of its subjects. My question is what is the kind of freedom that the state ought to promote? This question is different from the question of what freedom is. It might be thought, for example, that freedom consists in the autonomous pursuit of valuable goals and projects, but that the state cannot directly promote this freedom. On this view, the state would not be able to make its citizens free. However, it might be able to do things that make it easier or more likely for them to be free. The freedom that the state promotes might be merely an aspect of or a condition for the freedom that really matters.