Existentialist philosophers believe that freedom is an instrument of human agency and action. To live as one wants it is essential to be free to do so. Is this freedom unconditional? Here is a folk tale that gives us an insight into this question, as only folk tales can.
A compassionate and enlightened sage empathised with the sorrow his wife felt about not having children. One day as he sat contemplating, a baby rat near him. The wise man had an idea. He decided to give his wife a surprise. Using the powers he had gained from contemplation, he transformed the rat into an adorable human infant and presented it to his wife. She was delighted and the couple reared the child who grew up to be a maiden of great beauty and intelligence.
Now, the wife wanted the sage to find a match for the girl. The indulgent father would have none but the best. The girl would, of course, have the freedom to choose from among those he considered worthy of her. His first option was the mighty sun, the sustainer, warm and bright. No, said the maiden, he is scorching. Then he considered the gusty wind. No, said the girl, he will blow me away. Perhaps, the strong and steady mountain he thought, and sounded the maiden out. Oh no, she wailed, he is so huge and rough. All the contemplation had not given him any clue to the woman’s mind.
Finally, he took the problem to his wife. The lady now wanted to know more about the child’s origin. As the sage confessed proudly, the worldly-wise woman smiled and gave him a solution. He found a handsome mountain rat with fine whiskers and a shiny coat. The maiden trembled with joy, blushed and said, yes.
Even when there is no other fetter, all freedom comes with its boundaries. The well being in a choice is determined as much by the freedom to choose as by the desire for what one chooses. Desires, in turn, are shaped by perceptions, objective, subjective, or even delusional. And all freedom is limited by what one desires. Even as we live in a world where a woman need not take a manly pseudonym to write – as the Bronte sisters did in the nineteenth century – the freedom would not mean very much if we do not want to write.