The Philosophy of Spiritual Activity
GA 4
I. Conscious Human Action
[ 1 ] Is man,1Since English has not yet produced a neutral word for what we are (even “human being” has the word “man” in it), one must still ask the reader to remove any connotations of gender from such words.
—Translator in his thinking and doing, a spiritually free being, or does he stand under the compulsion of an iron necessity of purely natural lawfulness? Upon few questions has so much keen thought been focused as upon this one. The idea of the freedom of human will has found warm adherents as well as stubborn opponents in great number. There are people who, in their moral fervor, pronounce anyone narrow-minded who can deny so evident a fact as inner freedom. These are opposed by others who see it as eminently unscientific for someone to believe that the lawfulness of nature is interrupted in the sphere of human action and thinking. One and the same thing is here pronounced just as often to be the most prized possession of mankind as it is to be the worst illusion. Endless ingenuity has been expended to explain how human freedom can be compatible with the working of nature to which, after all, man also belongs. No less pains have been taken from another side to attempt to make comprehensible how such a delusion could have arisen. That we have here to do with one of the most important questions of life, of religion, of praxis, and of science—this anyone feels in whom the opposite of thoroughness is not the most outstanding feature of his character. And it is one of the sad indications of the superficiality of contemporary thinking that a book, which wants to formulate from the result of recent research into nature a “new belief” (David Friedrich Strauss, The New and the Old Belief ),2Der alte und neue Glaube contains nothing about his question except the words: “We do not have to go into the question here of the freedom of human will. The supposedly neutral freedom of choice has always been recognized as an empty specter by every philosophy worthy of the name; the moral evaluation of human actions and attitudes, however, remains untouched by that question.” I do not quote this passage here because I believe that the book in which it stands has particular significance, but rather because it seems to me to express the opinion to which the majority of our thinking contemporaries is able to raise itself with respect to the matter in question. Everyone who claims to have outgrown his scientific childhood seem to know today that being free could not consist in choosing, wholly at will, one or the other of two possible actions. There is always, it is declared, a very definite reason why a person carries out just one particular action from a number of possible ones.
[ 2 ] That seems obvious. Nevertheless, right to the present day, the main attacks of the opponents of freedom direct themselves only against freedom of choice. Herbert Spencer for one, who lives in opinions that are becoming more widespread with each day, says in his Principles of Psychology:3Part IV, Chap. IX, par. 207. “But that every one is at liberty to desire or not to desire, which is the real proposition involved in the dogma of free will, is negated as much by the internal perception of every one as by the contents of the preceding chapters.” Other also start from the same point of view in combating the concept of free will. In germinal form all the expositions relating to this are to be found already in Spinoza. His clear and simple argument against the idea of freedom has been repeated innumerable times since then, but cloaked, for the most part, in the most hair-splitting theoretical doctrines, so that it becomes difficult to discern the plain thought process which alone matters Spinoza writes in a letter of October or November 1674: “I call a thing free, namely, which exists and acts out of the pure necessity of it nature, and I call a thing compelled which is determined in its existing and working by something else in a definite and fixed way. So, for example, God exists, although with necessity, still freely, because he exists out of the necessity of his nature alone In the same way, God knows himself and everything else freely, because it follows out of the necessity of his nature alone that he knows everything. You see, therefore, that I place freedom not in a free decision but rather in a free necessity.”
[ 3 ] “But let us come down to created things which are all of them determined by outer causes to exist and work in a fixed and definite way. In order to see this more distinctly let us picture to ourselves something completely simple. Let us say a stone, for example, receives from an external cause propelling it, a certain quantity of motion with which afterward, when the impact of the external cause has ceased, the stone necessarily continues to move itself along. This perseverance of the stone in its motion is compelled and not necessary, because it must be defined through the impact of an external cause. What here holds good for the stone, holds good for every other single thing, no matter how complex and versatile it may be, namely, that everything is determined with necessity by an external cause to exist and work in a fixed and definite way.”
[ 4 ] “Please suppose now that the stone, while moving along, is thinking, and knows that it is striving as hard as it can to continue in motion. This stone, which is only conscious of its striving and is not at all indifferent to what it is doing, will believe that it is completely free and that it is continuing in its motion for no other reason than because it wants to. This, however, is that human freedom which everyone claims to possess and which consists only in the fact that people are conscious of their desires, but do not know the cause by which people are determined. Thus the child believes that it is free in desiring milk, and the angry boy is free in demanding revenge, and the coward free in his flight. Furthermore, the drunken person believes it to be his free decision to say now what he would rather not have said when sober again; and since this biased view is innate to all people, one cannot easily free oneself from it. For although experience teaches us well enough that people are the least able to moderate their desires and that, when moved by two opposing passions, they see the better and do the worse, even so they consider themselves free, because in fact they do desire many things less strongly and many a desire can easily be restrained by the memory of some other preoccupation of theirs.”
[ 5 ] Because an opinion is here put forward that is clearly and definitely expressed, it is also easy to uncover the basic error that lies within it. One supposes that man carries out an action, when driven to it by some reason or other, with the same necessity as a stone carries out a definite motion after an impact. Only because man has a consciousness of his action does he consider himself to be the free originator of it. In doing so he overlooks, however, the fact that a cause is driving him which he must follow absolutely. The error in this thought process is soon discovered. Spinoza, and all who think like him, overlook the fact that man does not only have a consciousness of his action, but can also have a consciousness of the causes by which he is led. No one will dispute the fact that the child is unfree when it desires milk, that the drunken person is so, when he says things which he later regrets. Both know nothing of the causes that are active in the depths of their organism and under whose irresistible compulsion they stand. But is it right to lump together actions of this kind with those in which man is conscious not only of his action, but also of the reasons which move him? Are the actions of men of one and the same kind then? May the act of the soldier on the battlefield, that of the scientific researcher in his laboratory, of the statesman in complex diplomatic affairs be placed scientifically on the same level with that of a child when it desires milk? Certainly it is true that it is best to attempt the solution of a problem where the matter is at its simplest. But the lack of ability to make distinctions has often caused endless confusion. And it is after all a far-reaching difference whether I know why I do something, or whether that is not the case. At first sight this seems to be an entirely obvious truth. And yet it is never asked by the opponents of freedom whether, then, a stimulus to action which I know and understand signifies for me a compulsion in the same sense as the organic process which causes the child to cry for milk.
[ 6 ] Eduard von Hartmann maintains in Phenomenology of Moral Consciousness4Phaenomenolgie des sittlichen Bewusstseins that human willing depends upon two main factors: upon the stimulus to action and upon one's character. If one looks upon human beings as all identical or at least upon their differences as negligible, then their willing appears as though determined from outside, that is, by the circumstances that come to meet them. Of one considers, however, that different people make a mental picture into a stimulus to action only if their character is such that it is moved by the corresponding mental picture to desire something, then the human being appears to be determined from within and not from without. Because he now, according to his character, must first make a mental image forced upon him from outside into a stimulus for action, the person believes that he is free, that is, independent of outer stimuli to action. The truth however is, according to Eduard von Hartmann, that: “Even if we ourselves, however, must first raise mental pictures into motives, still we do not do this arbitrarily, but rather according to the necessity of our characterological disposition, therefore anything but freely.” Here also no attention is paid to the difference that exists between stimuli to action which I first let work upon me after I have permeated them with my consciousness, and those which I follow without possessing a clear knowledge of them.
[ 7 ] And this leads us directly to the standpoint from which the subject is to be considered here. May the question of the freedom of our will be asked at all by itself, in a one-sided way? And if not: with what other question must it necessarily be linked?
[ 8 ] If there is a difference between a conscious stimulus to my action and an unconscious urge to do it, then the first will also bring with it an action that must be judged differently than one out of blind impulse. The question as to this difference will therefore be the first. And what this question yields will then determine what position we have to take with respect to the action question of inner freedom itself.
[ 9 ] What does it mean to know the reasons for one's action? One has given this question too little attention, because unfortunately one has always torn into two parts what is an inseparable whole: the human being. One differentiated between the doer and the knower, and only the one who matters the most was left out: the one who acts out of knowledge.
[ 10 ] One says that man is free when he stands only under the dominion of his reason and not under that of his animal desires, or that inner freedom means to be able to determine one's life and action according to purposes and decisions.
[ 11 ] Absolutely nothing is gained by assertions of this kind, however. For that is in fact the question, whether reason, whether purposes and decisions, exercise a compulsion on the human being in the same way animal desires do. If without my cooperation a rational decision rises up in me with exactly the same necessity as hunger and thirst, then I can only follow it by necessity, and my inner freedom is an illusion.
[ 12 ] Another form of expression runs: To be free does not mean to be able to want what one wants to, but rather, to be able to do what one wants to. The poet-philosopher Robert Hamerling has characterized this thought in sharply outlined words in his Atomistic Theory of Will:5Atomistik des Willens “The human being can, to be sure, do what he wants to—but he cannot want what he wants to, because his wanting is determined by motives!—He cannot want what he wants to? But let us consider these words again more closely. Is there a reasonable sense in them? Freedom of will would therefore have to consist in the fact that one could want something without reason, without motive? But what then does wanting mean other than having a reason for preferring to do, or to strive after, this rather than that? To want something without reason, without motive, would mean to want something, without wanting it. With the concept of wanting, the concept of motive is inseparably linked. Without a determining motive the will is an empty capability: only through the motive does it become active and real. It is therefore entirely correct that the human will is not “free” inasmuch as its direction is always determined by the strongest of its motives. But it must on the other hand be admitted that it is absurd, in the fact of this “unfreedom,” to speak of a conceivable “freedom” of the will which would end up being able to want what one does not want.”
[ 13 ] Here also, only motives in general are discussed, without taking into consideration the difference between unconscious and conscious ones. If a motive works upon me and I am compelled to follow it because it proves itself to be the “strongest” of its kind, then thinking about inner freedom ceases to make any sense. How should it be of any significance for me whether I can do something or not, if I am compelled by the motive to do it? The point here is not whether, when the motive has worked upon me, I can then do something or not, but rather whether there are only such motives that work with compelling necessity. If I must want something, then, under certain circumstances, it might be of the greatest indifference to me whether I can also do it. If, because of my character and because of circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is forced upon me that to my thinking shows itself to be irrational, then I would even have to be glad if I could not do what I want to.
[ 14 ] The main point is not whether I can carry out a decision made, but rather how the decision arises in me.
[ 15 ] That which distinguishes man from all other organic beings is based on his rational thinking. Activity he has in common with other organisms. Nothing is gained by searching for analogies in the animal kingdom to elucidate the concept of freedom for the actions of human beings. Modern natural science loves such analogies. And when it has succeeded in finding something among animals that is similar to human behavior, it believes it has touched upon the most important question of knowledge about the human being. To what misunderstandings this opinion leads, is shown for example, in the book The Illusion of Free Will6Die Illusion der Willensfreiheit by P. Rée. 1885, who says the following about freedom: “That it seems to us as though the motion of the stone were by necessity, and the willing of the donkey were not be necessity, is easily explainable. The causes which move the stone are of course external and visible. The causes, however, by virtue of which the donkey wills, are internal and invisible: between us and the place of their activity the donkey's skull is to be found ... One does not see the causal dependence, and supposes therefore that it is not present. The will, one explains, is indeed the cause of the donkey's turning around, but the willing itself is independent; it is an absolute beginning.” So here too actions of the human being in which he has a consciousness of the reasons for his action, are again simply passed over, for Rée explains: “Between us and the place of their activity the donkey's skull is to be found.” To judge already from these words,—Rée has no inkling of the fact that there are actions not of the donkey, to be sure, but certainly of people—for which the motive that has become conscious lies between us and the action. He also proves this one again a few pages later through the words: “We do not perceive the causes by which our willing is determined; therefore we suppose that it is not causally determined at all.”
[ 16 ] But enough of examples which prove that many fight against freedom without knowing at all what freedom is.
[ 17 ] It is entirely obvious that an action which the doer performs, without knowing why he does it, cannot be free. But how does the matter stand with the kind of action whose reasons are known? This leads us to the question: What is the origin and the significance of thinking? For without knowledge about the thinking activity of the soul, a concept of knowing about anything, including an action, is not possible. When we know what thinking in general signifies, then it will also be easy to become clear about the role of thinking in human action. “Only with thinking does the soul, with which the animal is also endowed, first become spirit,” says Hegel rightly, and therefore thinking will also give to human action its characteristic stamp.
[ 18 ] This is not to assert by any means that all our action flows only out of the sober deliberations of our intellect. To set forth only those actions as in the highest sense human which issue from abstract judgment, is very far from my intention. But the moment our action lifts itself up out of the area of the satisfaction of purely animal desires, what moves us to act is always intermixed with thoughts. Love, compassion, patriotism are mainsprings of action which do not let themselves be reduced into cold concepts of the intellect. One says: The heart, the Gemüt7We have no word for Gemüt in English. It points more to the totality of man's inner being than “heart” does.
—Translator's note. come here into their own. Without a doubt. But the heart and the Gemüt do not create what it is that moves us to act. They presuppose it and take it into their domain. Within my heart compassion appears when, in my consciousness, the mental picture arises of a person who arouses compassion. The way to the heart is through the head. Even love is no exception to this. When it is not the mere expression of the sex drive, it is then based upon the mental pictures which we make for ourselves of the loved one. And the more idealistic these mental pictures are, the more blissful is the love. Here also the thought is father to the feeling. One says: Love makes us blind to the weaknesses of the loved one. The matter can also be grasped the other way round and it can be maintained that love opens the eye in fact for precisely the good qualities of the loved one. Many pass these good qualities by without an inkling, without noticing them. One person sees them, and just because he does, love awakens in his soul. What has he done other than make for himself a mental picture of something of which a hundred others have none. They do not have the love because they lack the mental picture.
[ 19 ] We may grasp the subject however we want: it must become ever clearer that the question about the nature of human action presupposes the other about the origin of thinking. I will turn, therefore, first of all to this question.
I. Das bewußte menschliche Handeln
[ 1 ] Ist der Mensch in seinem Denken und Handeln ein geistig freies Wesen oder steht er unter dem Zwange einer rein naturgesetzlichen ehernen Notwendigkeit? Auf wenige Fragen ist so viel Scharfsinn gewendet worden als auf diese. Die Idee der Freiheit des menschlichen Willens hat warme Anhänger wie hartnäckige Gegner in reicher Zahl gefunden. Es gibt Menschen, die in ihrem sittlichen Pathos jeden für einen beschränkten Geist erklären, der eine so offenkundige Tatsache wie die Freiheit zu leugnen vermag. Ihnen stehen andere gegenüber, die darin den Gipfel der Unwissenschaftlichkeit erblicken, wenn jemand die Gesetzmäßigkeit der Natur auf dem Gebiete des menschlichen Handelns und Denkens unterbrochen glaubt. Ein und dasselbe Ding wird hier gleich oft für das kostbarste Gut der Menschheit wie für die ärgste Illusion erklärt. Unendliche Spitzfindigkeit wurde aufgewendet, um zu erklären, wie sich die menschliche Freiheit mit dem Wirken in der Natur, der doch auch der Mensch angehört, verträgt. Nicht geringer ist die Mühe, mit der von anderer Seite begreiflich zu machen gesucht wurde, wie eine solche Wahnidee hat entstehen können. Daß man es hier mit einer der wichtigsten Fragen des Lebens, der Religion, der Praxis und der Wissenschaft zu tun hat, das fühlt jeder, bei dem nicht das Gegenteil von Gründlichkeit der hervorstechendste Zug seines Charakters ist. Und es gehört zu den traurigen Zeichen der Oberflächlichkeit gegenwärtigen Denkens, daß ein Buch, das aus den Ergebnissen neuerer Naturforschung einen «neuen Glauben» prägen will (David Friedrich Strauß, Der alte und der neue Glaube), über diese Frage nichts enthält als die Worte: «Auf die Frage nach der Freiheit des menschlichen Willens haben wir uns hierbei nicht einzulassen. Die vermeintlich indifferente Wahlfreiheit ist von jeder Philosophie, die des Namens wert war, immer als ein leeres Phantom erkannt worden; die sittliche Wertbestimmung der menschlichen Handlungen und Gesinnungen aber bleibt von jener Frage unberührt. Nicht weil ich glaube, daß das Buch, in dem sie steht, eine besondere Bedeutung hat, führe ich diese Stelle hier an, sondern weil sie mir die Meinung auszusprechen scheint, bis zu der sich in der fraglichen Angelegenheit die Mehrzahl unserer denkenden Zeitgenossen aufzuschwingen vermag. Daß die Freiheit darin nicht bestehen könne, von zwei möglichen Handlungen ganz nach Belieben die eine oder die andere zu wählen, scheint heute jeder zu wissen, der darauf Anspruch macht, den wissenschaftlichenKinderschuhen entwachsen zu sein. Es ist immer, so behauptet man, ein ganz bestimmter Grund vorhanden, warum man von mehreren möglichen Handlungen gerade eine bestimmte zur Ausführung bringt.
[ 2 ] Das scheint einleuchtend. Trotzdem richten sich bis zum heutigen Tage die Hauptangriffe der Freiheitsgegner nur gegen die Wahlfreiheit. Sagt doch Herbert Spencer, der in Ansichten lebt, die mit jedemTage an Verbreitung gewinnen (Die Prinzipien der Psychologie, von Herbert Spencer, deutsche Ausgabe von Dr. B. Vetter, Stuttgart 1882): «Daß aber jedermann auch nach Belieben begehren oder nicht begehren könne, was der eigentliche im Dogma vom freien Willen liegende Satz ist, das wird freilich ebensosehr durch die Analyse des Bewußtseins, als durch den Inhalt der vorhergehenden Kapitel (der Psychologie) verneint.» Von demselben Gesichtspunkte gehen auch andere aus, wenn sie den Begriff des freien Willens bekämpfen. Im Keime finden sich alle diesbezüglichen Ausführungen schon bei Spinoza. Was dieser klar und einfach gegen die Idee der Freiheit vorbrachte, das wurde seitdem unzählige Male wiederholt, nur eingehüllt zumeist in die spitzfindigsten theoretischen Lehren, so daß es schwer wird, den schlichten Gedankengang, auf den es allein ankommt, zu erkennen. Spinoza schreibt in einem Briefe vom Oktober oder November 1674: «Ich nenne nämlich die Sache frei, die aus der bloßen Notwendigkeit ihrer Natur besteht und handelt, und gezwungen nenne ich die, welche von etwas anderem zum Dasein und Wirken in genauer und fester Weise bestimmt wird. So besteht zum Beispiel Gott, obgleich notwendig, doch frei, weil er nur aus der Notwendigkeit seiner Natur allein besteht. Ebenso erkennt Gott sich selbst und alles andere frei, weil es aus der Notwendigkeit seiner Natur allein folgt, daß er alles erkennt. Sie sehen also, daß ich die Freiheit nicht in ein freies Beschließen, sondern in eine freie Notwendigkeit setze.
[ 3 ] Doch wir wollen zu den erschaffenen Dingen herabsteigen, welche sämtlich von äußern Ursachen bestimmt werden, in fester und genauer Weise zu bestehen und zu wirken. Um dies deutlicher einzusehen, wollen wir uns eine ganz einfache Sache vorstellen. So erhält zum Beispiel ein Stein von einer äußeren, ihn stoßenden Ursache eine gewisse Menge von Bewegung, mit der er nachher, wenn der Stoß der äußern Ursache aufgehört hat, notwendig fortfährt, sich zu bewegen. Dieses Beharren des Steines in seiner Bewegung ist deshalb ein erzwungenes und kein notwendiges, weil es durch den Stoß einer äußern Ursache definiert werden muß. Was hier von dem Stein gilt, gilt von jeder andern einzelnen Sache, und mag sie noch so zusammengesetzt und zu vielem geeignet sein, nämlich, daß jede Sache notwendig von einer äußern Ursache bestimmt wird, in fester und genauer Weise zu bestehen und zu wirken.
[ 4 ] Nehmen Sie nun, ich bitte, an, daß der Stein, während er sich bewegt, denkt und weiß, er bestrebe sich, soviel er kann, in dem Bewegen fortzufahren. Dieser Stein, der nur seines Strebens sich bewußt ist und keineswegs gleichgültig sich verhält, wird glauben, daß er ganz frei sei und daß er aus keinem andern Grunde in seiner Bewegung fort fahre, als weil er es wolle. Dies ist aber jene menschliche Freiheit, die alle zu besitzen behaupten und die nur darin besteht, daß die Menschen ihres Begehrens sich bewußt sind, aber die Ursachen, von denen sie bestimmt werden, nicht kennen. So glaubt das Kind, daß es die Milch frei begehre und der zornige Knabe, daß er frei die Rache verlange, und der Furchtsame die Flucht. Ferner glaubt der Betrunkene, daß er nach freiem Entschluß dies spreche, was er, wenn er nüchtern geworden, gern nicht gesprochen hätte; und da dieses Vorurteil allen Menschen angeboren ist, so kann man sich nicht leicht davon befreien. Denn wenn auch die Erfahrung genügend lehrt, daß die Menschen am wenigsten ihr Begehren mäßigen können und daß sie, von entgegengesetzten Leidenschaften bewegt, das Bessere einsehen und das Schlechtere tun, so halten sie sich doch für frei und zwar, weil sie manches weniger stark begehren und manches Begehren leicht durch die Erinnerung an anderes, dessen man sich oft entsinnt, gehemmt werden kann.»—
[ 5 ] Weil hier eine klar und bestimmt ausgesprochene Ansicht vorliegt, wird es auch leicht, den Grundirrtum, der darin steckt, aufzudecken. So notwendig, wie der Stein auf einen Anstoß hin eine bestimmte Bewegung ausführt, ebenso not wendig soll der Mensch eine Handlung ausführen, wenn er durch irgendeinen Grund dazu getrieben wird. Nur weil der Mensch ein Bewußtsein von seiner Handlung hat, halte er sich für den freien Veranlasser derselben. Er übersehe dabei aber, daß eine Ursache ihn treibt, der er unbedingt folgen muß. Der Irrtum in diesem Gedankengange ist bald gefunden. Spinoza und alle, die denken wie er, übersehen, daß der Mensch nicht nur ein Bewußtsein von seiner Handlung hat, sondern es auch von den Ursachen haben kann, von denen er geleitet wird. Niemand wird es bestreiten, daß — das Kind unfrei ist, wenn es die Milch begehrt, daß der Betrunkene es ist, wenn er Dinge spricht, die er später bereut. Beide wissen nichts von den Ursachen, die in den Tiefen ihres Organismus tätig sind, und unter deren unwiderstehlichem Zwange sie stehen. Aber ist es berechtigt, Handlungen dieser Art in einen Topf zu werfen mit solchen, bei denen sich der Mensch nicht nur seines Handelns bewußt ist, sondern auch der Gründe, die ihn veranlassen? Sind die Handlungen der Menschen denn von einerlei Art? Darf die Tat des Kriegers auf dem Schlachtfelde, die des wissenschaftlichen Forschers im Laboratorium, des Staatsmannes in verwickelten diplomatischen Angelegenheiten wissenschaftlich auf gleiche Stufe gestellt werden mit der des Kindes, wenn es nach Milch begehrt? Wohl ist es wahr, daß man die Lösung einer Aufgabe da am besten versucht, wo die Sache am einfachsten ist. Aber oft schon hat der Mangel an Unterscheidungsvermögen endlose Verwirrung gebracht. Und ein tiefgreifender Unterschied ist es doch, ob ich weiß, warum ich etwas tue, oder ob das nicht der Fall ist. Zunächst scheint das eine ganz selbstverständliche Wahrheit zu sein. Und doch wird von den Gegnern der Freiheit nie danach gefragt, ob denn ein Beweggrund meines Handelns, den ich erkenne und durchschaue, für mich in gleichem Sinne einen Zwang bedeutet, wie der organische Prozeß, der das Kind veranlaßt, nach Milch zu schreien.
[ 6 ] Eduard von Hartmann behauptet in seiner «Phänomenologie des sittlichen Bewußtseins» (5. 451), das menschliche Wollen hänge von zwei Hauptfaktoren ab: von den Beweggründen und von dem Charakter. Betrachtet man die Menschen alle als gleich oder doch ihre Verschiedenheiten als unerheblich, so erscheint ihr Wollen als von außen bestimmt, nämlich durch die Umstände, die an sie herantreten. Erwägt man aber, daß verschiedene Menschen eine Vorstellung erst dann zum Beweggrund ihres Handelns machen, wenn ihr Charakter ein solcher ist, der durch die entsprechende Vorstellung zu einer Begehrung veranlaßt wird, so erscheint der Mensch von innen bestimmt und nicht von außen. Der Mensch glaubt nun, weil er, gemäß seinem Charakter, eine ihm von außen aufgedrängte Vorstellung erst zum Beweggrund machen muß: er sei frei, das heißt unabhängig von äußeren Beweggründen. Die Wahrheit aber ist, nach Eduard von Hartmann, daß: «Wenn aber auch wir selbst die Vorstellungen erst zu Motiven erheben, so tun wir dies doch nicht willkürlich, sondern nach der Notwendigkeit unserer charakterologischen Veranlagung, also nichts weniger als frei». Auch hier bleibt der Unterschied ohne alle Berücksichtigung, der besteht zwischen Beweggründen, die ich erst auf mich wirken lasse, nachdem ich sie mit meinem Bewußtsein durchdrungen habe, und solchen, denen ich folge, ohne daß ich ein klares Wissen von ihnen besitze.
[ 7 ] Und dies führt unmittelbar auf den Standpunkt, von dem aus hier die Sache angesehen werden soll. Darf die Frage nach der Freiheit unseres Willens überhaupt einseitig für sich gestellt werden? Und wenn nicht: mit welcher andern muß sie notwendig verknüpft werden?
[ 8 ] Ist ein Unterschied zwischen einem bewußten Beweggrund meines Handelns und einem unbewußten Antrieb, dann wird der erstere auch eine Handlung nach sich ziehen, die anders beurteilt werden muß als eine solche aus blindem — Drange. Die Frage nach diesem Unterschied wird also die erste sein. Und was sie ergibt, davon wird es erst abhängen, wie wir uns zu der eigentlichen Freiheitsfrage zu stellen haben.
[ 9 ] Was heißt es, ein Wissen von den Gründen seines Handelns haben? Man hat diese Frage zu wenig berücksichtigt, weil man leider immer in zwei Teile zerrissen hat, was ein untrennbares Ganzes ist: den Menschen. Den Handelnden und den Erkennenden unterschied man, und leer ausgegangen ist dabei nur der, auf den es vor allen andern Dingen ankommt: der aus Erkenntnis Handelnde.
[ 10 ] Man sagt: frei sei der Mensch, wenn er nur unter der Herrschaft seiner Vernunft stehe und nicht unter der der animalischen Begierden. Oder auch: Freiheit bedeute, sein Leben und Handeln nach Zwecken und Entschlüssen bestimmen zu können.
[ 11 ] Mit Behauptungen solcher Art ist aber gar nichts gewonnen. Denn das ist ja eben die Frage, ob die Vernunft, ob Zwecke und Entschlüsse in gleicher Weise auf den Menschen einen Zwang ausüben wie animalische Begierden. Wenn ohne mein Zutun ein vernünftiger Entschluß in mir auftaucht, gerade mit derselben Notwendigkeit wie Hunger und Durst, dann kann ich ihm nur notgedrungen folgen, und meine Freiheit ist eine Illusion.
[ 12 ] Eine andere Redewendung lautet: Freisein heißt nicht wollen können, was man will, sondern tun können, was man will. Diesen Gedanken hat der Dichterphilosoph Robert Hamerling in seiner «Atomistik des Willens» in scharf-umrissenen Worten gekennzeichnet: «Der Mensch kann allerdings tun, was er will — aber er kann nicht wollen, was er will, weil sein Wille durch Motive bestimmt ist! — Er kann nicht wollen, was er will? Sehe man sich diese Worte doch einmal näher an. Ist ein vernünftiger Sinn darin? Freiheit des Wollens müßte also darin bestehen, daß man ohne Grund, ohne Motiv etwas wollen könnte? Aber was heißt denn Wollen anders, als einen Grund haben, dies lieber zu tun oder anzustreben als jenes? Ohne Grund, ohne Motiv etwas wollen, hieße etwas wollen, ohne es zu wollen. Mit dem Begriffe des Wollens ist der des Motivs unzertrennlich verknüpft. Ohne ein bestimmendes Motiv ist der Wille ein leeres Vermögen: erst durch das Motiv wird er tätig und reell. Es ist also ganz richtig, daß der menschliche Wille insofern nicht ‹frei› ist, als seine Richtung immer durch das stärkste der Motive bestimmt ist. Aber es muß andererseits zugegeben werden, daß es absurd ist, dieser ‹Unfreiheit› gegenüber von einer denkbaren ‹Freiheit› des Willens zu reden, welche dahin ginge, wollen zu können, was man nicht will.» (Atomistik des Willens, 2. Band 5. 213 f.)
[ 13 ] Auch hier wird nur von Motiven im allgemeinen gesprochen, ohne auf den Unterschied zwischen unbewußten und bewußten Rücksicht zu nehmen. Wenn ein Motiv auf mich wirkt und ich gezwungen bin, ihm zu folgen, weil es sich als das «stärkste» unter seinesgleichen erweist, dann hört der Gedanke an Freiheit auf, einen Sinn zu haben. Wie soll es für mich eine Bedeutung haben, ob ich etwas tun kann oder nicht, wenn ich von dem Motive gezwungen werde, es zu tun? Nicht darauf kommt es zunächst an: ob ich dann, wenn das Motiv auf mich gewirkt hat, etwas tun kann oder nicht, sondern ob es nur solche Motive gibt, die mit zwingender Notwendigkeit wirken. Wenn ich etwas wollen muß, dann ist es mir unter Umständen höchst gleichgültig, ob ich es auch tun kann. Wenn mir wegen meines Charakters und wegen der in meiner Umgebung herrschenden Umstände ein Motiv aufgedrängt wird, das sichmeinemDenken gegenüber als unvernünftig erweist, dann müßte ich sogar froh sein, wenn ich nicht könnte, was ich will.
[ 14 ] Nicht darauf kommt es an, ob ich einen gefaßten Entschluß zur Ausführung bringen kann, sondern wie der Entschluß in mir entsteht.
[ 15 ] Was den Menschen von allen andern organischen Wesen unterscheidet, ruht auf seinem vernünftigen Denken. Tätig zu sein, hat er mit anderen Organismen gemein. Nichts ist damit gewonnen, wenn man zur Aufhellung des Freiheitsbegriffes für das Handeln des Menschen nach Analogien im Tierreiche sucht. Die moderne Naturwissenschaft liebt solche Analogien. Und wenn es ihr gelungen ist, bei den Tieren etwas dem menschlichen Verhalten Ähnliches gefunden zu haben, glaubt sie, die wichtigste Frage der Wissenschaft vom Menschen berührt zu haben. Zu welchen Mißverständnissen diese Meinung führt, zeigt sich zum Beispiel in dem Buche: «Die Illusion der Willensfreiheit» von P. Rée, 1885, der (5. 5) über die Freiheit folgendes sagt: «Daß es uns so scheint, als ob die Bewegung des Steines notwendig, des Esels Wollen nicht notwendig wäre, ist leicht erklärlich. Die Ursachen, welche den Stein bewegen, sind ja draußen und sichtbar. Die Ursachen aber, vermöge deren der Esel will, sind drinnen und unsichtbar: zwischen uns und der Stätte ihrer Wirksamkeit befindet sich die Hirnschale des Esels... Man sieht die kausale Bedingtheit nicht, und meint daher, sie sei nicht vorhanden. Das Wollen, erklärt man, sei zwar die Ursache der Umdrehung (des Esels), selbst aber sei es unbedingt; es sei ein absoluter Anfang.» Also auch hier wieder wird über Handlungen des Menschen, bei denen er ein Bewußtsein von den Gründen seines Handelns hat, einfach hinweggegangen, denn Rée erklärt: «Zwischen uns und der Stätte ihrer Wirksamkeit befindet sich die Hirnschale des Esels.» Daß es, zwar nicht Handlungen des Esels, wohl aber solche der Menschen gibt, bei denen zwischen uns und der Handlung das bewußt gewordene Motiv liegt, davon hat, schon nach diesen Worten zu schließen, Rée keine Ahnung. Er beweist das einige Seiten später auch noch durch die Worte: «Wir nehmen die Ursachen nicht wahr, durch welche unser Wollen bedingt wird, daher meinen wir, es sei überhaupt nicht ursachlich bedingt.»
[ 16 ] Doch genug der Beispiele, welche beweisen, daß viele gegen die Freiheit kämpfen, ohne zu wissen, was Freiheit überhaupt ist.
[ 17 ] Daß eine Handlung nicht frei sein kann, von der der Täter nicht weiß, warum er sie vollbringt, ist ganz selbstverständlich. Wie verhält es sich aber mit einer solchen, von deren Gründen gewußt wird? Das führt uns auf die Frage: welches ist der Ursprung und die Bedeutung des Denkens? Denn ohne die Erkenntnis der denkenden Betätigung der Seele ist ein Begriff des Wissens von etwas, also auch von einer Handlung nicht möglich. Wenn wir erkennen, was Denken im allgemeinen bedeutet, dann wird es auch leicht sein, klar darüber zu werden, was für eine Rolle das Denken beim menschlichen Handeln spielt. «Das Denken macht die Seele, womit auch das Tier begabt ist, erst zum Geiste», sagt Hegel mit Recht, und deshalb wird das Denken auch dem menschlichen Handeln sein eigentümliches Gepräge geben.
[ 18 ] Keineswegs soll behauptet werden, daß all unser Handeln nur aus der nüchternen Überlegung unseres Verstandes fließe. Nur diejenigen Handlungen als im höchsten Sinne menschlich hinzustellen, die aus dem abstrakten Urteil hervorgehen, liegt mir ganz fern. Aber sobald sich unser Handeln herauferhebt aus dem Gebiete der Befriedigung rein animalischer Begierden, sind unsere Beweggründe immer von Gedanken durchsetzt. Liebe, Mitleid, Patriotismus sind Triebfedern des Handelns, die sich nicht in kalte Verstandesbegriffe auflösen lassen. Man sagt: das Herz, das Gemüt treten da in ihre Rechte. Ohne Zweifel. Aber das Herz und das Gemüt schaffen nicht die Beweggründe des Handelns. Sie setzen dieselben voraus und nehmen sie in ihren Bereich auf. In meinem Herzen stellt sich das Mitleid ein, wenn in meinem Bewußtsein die Vorstellung einer mitleiderregenden Person aufgetreten ist. Der Weg zum Herzen geht durch den Kopf. Davon macht auch die Liebe keine Ausnahme. Wenn sie nicht die bloße Äußerung des Geschlechtstriebes ist, dann beruht sie auf den Vorstellungen, die wir uns von dem geliebten Wesen machen. Und je idealistischer diese Vorstellungen sind, desto beseligender ist die Liebe. Auch hier ist der Gedanke der Vater des Gefühles. Man sagt: die Liebe mache blind für die Schwächen des geliebten Wesens. Die Sache kann auch umgekehrt angefaßt werden und behauptet: die Liebe öffne gerade für dessen Vorzüge das Auge. Viele gehen ahnungslos an diesen Vorzügen vorbei, ohne sie zu bemerken. Der eine sieht sie, und eben deswegen erwacht die Liebe in seiner Seele. Was hat er anderes getan: als von dem sich eine Vorstellung gemacht, wovon hundert andere keine haben. Sie haben die Liebe nicht, weil ihnen die Vorstellung mangelt.
[ 19 ] Wir mögen die Sache anfassen wie wir wollen: immer klarer muß es werden, daß die Frage nach dem Wesen des menschlichen Handelns die andere voraussetzt nach dem Ursprunge des Denkens. Ich wende mich daher zunächst dieser Frage zu.
I. Conscious human action
[ 1 ] Is man a spiritually free being in his thoughts and actions or is he under the compulsion of a purely natural law of iron necessity? Few questions have been addressed with as much acumen as this one. The idea of the freedom of the human will has found both warm supporters and stubborn opponents in abundance. There are those who, in their moral pathos, declare anyone to be of a limited mind who is able to deny such an obvious fact as freedom. They are opposed by others who regard it as the height of unscientific thinking if someone believes that the laws of nature are interrupted in the area of human action and thought. One and the same thing is declared here as often the most precious good of mankind as the worst illusion. Infinite subtlety has been expended to explain how human freedom is compatible with the workings of nature, to which man also belongs. No less effort has been made by others to explain how such a delusional idea could have arisen. That we are dealing here with one of the most important questions of life, of religion, of practice and of science, is felt by everyone in whom the opposite of thoroughness is not the most prominent trait of his character. And it is one of the sad signs of the superficiality of contemporary thought that a book that wants to shape a "new faith" from the results of recent natural research (David Friedrich Strauß, Der alte und der neue Glaube) contains nothing about this question other than the words: "We do not have to get involved in the question of the freedom of the human will here. The supposedly indifferent freedom of choice has always been recognized as an empty phantom by every philosophy worthy of the name; the moral determination of the value of human actions and attitudes, however, remains unaffected by this question. I cite this passage here not because I believe that the book in which it appears has any special significance, but because it seems to me to express the opinion to which the majority of our thinking contemporaries are capable of rising in the matter in question. That freedom cannot consist in choosing one or the other of two possible actions at will seems to be known today by everyone who claims to have outgrown their scientific infancy. There is always, it is claimed, a very specific reason why, of several possible actions, one particular one is carried out.
[ 2 ] This seems plausible. Nevertheless, to this day, the main attacks of the opponents of freedom are only directed against freedom of choice. Says Herbert Spencer, who lives in views that are becoming more widespread with every passing day (The Principles of Psychology, by Herbert Spencer, German edition by Dr. B. Vetter, Stuttgart 1882): "But that any one can desire or not desire at will, which is the real proposition lying in the dogma of free will, is of course as much denied by the analysis of consciousness as by the contents of the preceding chapters (of psychology)." Others proceed from the same point of view when they combat the concept of free will. The germ of all statements in this regard can already be found in Spinoza. What he clearly and simply put forward against the idea of freedom has been repeated countless times since then, only usually wrapped up in the most subtle theoretical doctrines, so that it becomes difficult to recognize the simple train of thought that is the only thing that matters. Spinoza writes in a letter of October or November 1674: "I call that thing free which exists and acts from the mere necessity of its nature, and forced I call that which is determined by something else to exist and act in a precise and firm manner. Thus, for example, God, although necessary, exists freely, because he exists only out of the necessity of his nature alone. In the same way, God recognizes himself and everything else freely, because it follows from the necessity of his nature alone that he recognizes everything. You see, then, that I place freedom not in a free decision, but in a free necessity.
[ 3 ] However, let us descend to created things, which are all determined by external causes to exist and operate in a fixed and precise manner. To see this more clearly, let us imagine a very simple thing. For example, a stone receives a certain amount of motion from an external cause that pushes it, and when the push from the external cause has ceased, it necessarily continues to move. This persistence of the stone in its motion is therefore a forced and not a necessary one, because it must be defined by the impact of an external cause. What is true here of the stone is true of every other single thing, no matter how composed and capable of many things, namely that every thing is necessarily determined by an external cause to exist and act in a fixed and precise manner.
[ 4 ] Suppose now, I pray you, that the stone, while it is moving, thinks and knows that it is endeavoring, as much as it can, to continue in the moving. This stone, which is only conscious of its striving and is by no means indifferent, will believe that it is quite free and that it continues in its movement for no other reason than because it wants to. But this is that human freedom which all claim to possess, and which consists only in the fact that men are conscious of their desires, but do not know the causes by which they are determined. Thus the child believes that he freely desires milk, and the angry boy that he freely desires revenge, and the fearful one flight. Furthermore, the drunken man believes that he speaks freely what he would not have spoken if he had been sober; and since this prejudice is innate in all men, it is not easy to free oneself from it. For though experience sufficiently teaches that men are least able to moderate their desires, and that, moved by contrary passions, they see the better and do the worse, yet they think themselves free, and that because they desire some things less strongly, and some desires are easily restrained by the memory of others, of which they often remember."-
[ 5 ] Because this is a clearly and definitely expressed view, it is also easy to uncover the basic error contained therein. Just as necessarily as the stone performs a certain movement on an impulse, so necessarily should man perform an action if he is driven to do so by some reason. It is only because man has a consciousness of his action that he considers himself the free initiator of it. But he overlooks the fact that he is driven by a cause which he must follow without fail. The error in this train of thought is soon found. Spinoza and all who think like him overlook the fact that man not only has a consciousness of his action, but can also have a consciousness of the causes by which he is led. No one will deny that - the child is unfree when it desires milk, that the drunkard is so when he speaks things which he later regrets. Both know nothing of the causes that are at work in the depths of their organism and under whose irresistible compulsion they are. But is it justifiable to lump actions of this kind together with those in which man is not only conscious of his actions but also of the causes that motivate them? Are people's actions of the same kind? Can the actions of the warrior on the battlefield, the scientific researcher in the laboratory, the statesman in intricate diplomatic affairs be placed on the same scientific level as those of the child when it craves milk? It is true that the solution to a task is best attempted where the matter is simplest. But a lack of discernment has often led to endless confusion. And there is a profound difference between knowing why I am doing something and not. At first, this seems to be a self-evident truth. And yet the opponents of freedom never ask whether a reason for my actions, which I recognize and understand, is a compulsion for me in the same sense as the organic process that causes a child to cry for milk.
[ 6 ] Eduard von Hartmann claims in his "Phenomenology of Moral Consciousness" (5. 451) that human volition depends on two main factors: motives and character. If one regards all human beings as equal, or at least their differences as insignificant, then their volition appears to be determined from outside, namely by the circumstances that approach them. But if we consider that different men only make an idea the motive of their action when their character is such as to be prompted to a desire by the corresponding idea, then man appears to be determined from within and not from outside. Man now believes that he is free, that is, independent of external motives, because, in accordance with his character, he must first turn an idea imposed on him from outside into a motive. The truth, however, according to Eduard von Hartmann, is that: "But even if we ourselves first elevate ideas to motives, we do not do so arbitrarily, but according to the necessity of our characterological disposition, thus nothing less than freely". Here, too, the difference between motives that I allow to affect me only after I have penetrated them with my consciousness, and those that I follow without having a clear knowledge of them, is not taken into account.
[ 7 ] And this leads directly to the point of view from which the matter is to be considered here. Can the question of the freedom of our will be posed unilaterally? And if not, with which other question must it necessarily be linked?
[ 8 ] If there is a difference between a conscious motive for my action and an unconscious impulse, then the former will also entail an action that must be judged differently from one that is the result of blind urge. The question of this difference will therefore be the first. And what it results in will determine how we have to approach the actual question of freedom.
[ 9 ] What does it mean to have a knowledge of the reasons for one's actions? Too little consideration has been given to this question because, unfortunately, we have always torn into two parts what is an inseparable whole: the human being. A distinction has been made between the doer and the knower, and only the one who matters above all others has been left empty-handed: the one who acts out of knowledge.
[ 10 ] Man is said to be free if he is only under the rule of his reason and not under that of animal desires. Or also: freedom means being able to determine one's life and actions according to purposes and decisions.
[ 11 ] But nothing is gained by assertions of this kind. For that is precisely the question of whether reason, whether purposes and resolutions exert a compulsion on man in the same way as animal desires. If a rational decision arises in me without my intervention, with the same necessity as hunger and thirst, then I can only follow it out of necessity, and my freedom is an illusion.
[ 12 ] Another saying goes: To be free is not to be able to want what you want, but to be able to do what you want. The poet-philosopher Robert Hamerling characterized this idea in his "Atomistics of the Will" in sharply outlined words: "Man can indeed do what he wants - but he cannot want what he wants, because his will is determined by motives! - He cannot want what he wants? Take a closer look at these words. Is there any rational meaning in them? Freedom of will would therefore have to consist in the fact that one could will something without reason, without motive? But what does willing mean other than having a reason to do or strive for this rather than that? Wanting something without a reason, without a motive, would mean wanting something without wanting it. The concept of will is inextricably linked to that of motive. Without a determining motive, the will is an empty capacity: only through the motive does it become active and real. It is therefore quite true that the human will is not 'free' insofar as its direction is always determined by the strongest of the motives. But, on the other hand, it must be admitted that it is absurd to speak of a conceivable 'freedom' of the will in the face of this 'lack of freedom', which would be to be able to will what one does not want." (Atomistics of the Will, 2nd volume 5. 213 f.)
[ 13 ] Here, too, we speak only of motives in general, without taking into account the difference between unconscious and conscious motives. If a motive has an effect on me and I am forced to follow it because it proves to be the "strongest" of its kind, then the thought of freedom ceases to have any meaning. How can it have any meaning for me whether I can do something or not if I am forced to do it by the motive? What matters first of all is not whether I can do something or not when the motive has acted on me, but whether there are only such motives that act with compelling necessity. If I must want something, then under certain circumstances it is highly indifferent to me whether I can actually do it. If, because of my character and the circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is forced upon me that proves unreasonable to my thinking, then I would even have to be happy if I could not do what I want.
[ 14 ] What matters is not whether I can carry out a decision I have made, but how the decision arises in me.
[ 15 ] What distinguishes man from all other organic beings rests on his rational thinking. Being active is something he has in common with other organisms. Nothing is gained by looking for analogies in the animal kingdom to shed light on the concept of freedom for human action. Modern natural science loves such analogies. And if it has succeeded in finding something similar to human behavior in animals, it believes it has touched on the most important question of human science. The misunderstandings to which this opinion leads are shown, for example, in the book "The Illusion of Freedom of Will" by P. Rée, 1885, who (5. 5) says the following about freedom: "It is easy to explain why it seems to us that the movement of the stone is necessary, while the will of the donkey is not. The causes that move the stone are external and visible. But the causes by virtue of which the donkey wills are inside and invisible: between us and the place of their activity is the donkey's braincase... One does not see the causal conditionality and therefore thinks it does not exist. The will, it is explained, is indeed the cause of the rotation (of the donkey), but it itself is unconditioned; it is an absolute beginning." So here, too, man's actions, in which he has a consciousness of the reasons for his actions, are simply passed over, for Rée explains: "Between us and the place of their effectiveness is the brain-shell of the donkey." Rée has no idea, judging by these words, that there are actions, not those of the donkey, but those of human beings, in which the conscious motive lies between us and the action. He proves this a few pages later with the words: "We do not perceive the causes by which our volition is conditioned, therefore we think that it is not causally conditioned at all."
[ 16 ] But enough of examples that prove that many fight against freedom without knowing what freedom actually is.
[ 17 ] It goes without saying that an act cannot be free if the perpetrator does not know why he is doing it. But what about an act whose reasons are known? This leads us to the question: what is the origin and meaning of thought? For without recognizing the thinking activity of the soul, a concept of knowledge of something, thus also of an action, is not possible. If we recognize what thinking means in general, then it will also be easy to become clear about the role that thinking plays in human action. "Thinking makes the soul, with which the animal is also endowed, into a spirit," says Hegel rightly, and therefore thinking will also give human action its peculiar character.
[ 18 ] No claim should be made that all our actions flow only from the sober deliberation of our intellect. It is far from my intention to consider only those actions that arise from abstract judgment as human in the highest sense. But as soon as our actions rise above the realm of the satisfaction of purely animal desires, our motives are always interspersed with thoughts. Love, compassion, patriotism are driving forces of action that cannot be dissolved into cold intellectual concepts. It is said that the heart and the mind take over. Without doubt. But the heart and the mind do not create the motives of action. They presuppose them and take them into their realm. Compassion arises in my heart when the idea of a compassionate person appears in my consciousness. The way to the heart is through the head. Love is no exception to this rule. If it is not the mere expression of the sexual instinct, then it is based on the ideas we have of the loved one. And the more idealistic these ideas are, the more blissful love is. Here too, thought is the father of feeling. It is said that love blinds us to the weaknesses of the loved one. The matter can also be approached the other way round, claiming that love opens the eye precisely to the advantages of the loved one. Many pass by these advantages without noticing them. One person sees them, and that is precisely why love awakens in his soul. What else has he done but form an idea of what a hundred others have no idea of? They do not have love because they lack imagination.
[ 19 ] We may approach the matter as we wish: it must become ever clearer that the question of the nature of human action presupposes the other question of the origin of thought. I will therefore turn to this question first.