Philosophy of Spiritual Activity
GA 4
I. Conscious Human Action
[ 1 ] Is man in his thinking and acting a spiritually free being, or is he compelled by the iron necessity of natural laws? There are few questions on which so much ingenuity has been expended. The idea of the freedom of the human will has found enthusiastic supporters and stubborn opponents in plenty. There are those who, in their moral fervour, label anyone a man of limited intelligence who can deny so patent a fact as freedom. Opposed to them are others who regard it as the acme of unscientific thinking for anyone to believe that the uniformity of natural law is broken in the sphere of human action and thought. One and the same thing is thus proclaimed, now as the most precious possession of humanity, now as its most fatal illusion. Infinite subtlety has been employed to explain how human freedom can be consistent with the laws working in nature, of which man, after all, is a part. Others have been at no less pains to explain how such a delusion as this could have arisen. That we are dealing here with one of the most important questions for life, religion, conduct, science, must be felt by anyone whose most prominent trait is not the reverse of thoroughness. It is one of the sad signs of the superficiality of present-day thought, that a book which attempts to develop a new faith out of the results of recent scientific research (David Friedrich Strauss, Der alte und neue Glaube), has nothing more to say on this question than these words: “With the question of the freedom of the human will we are not concerned. The alleged freedom of indifferent choice has been recognized as an empty illusion by every philosophy worthy of the name. The moral valuation of human action and character remains untouched by this problem.” It is not because I consider that the book in which it occurs has any special importance that I quote this passage, but because it seems to me to express the view to which the thinking of the majority of our contemporaries is able to rise in this matter. Everyone who has grown beyond the kindergarten-stage of science appears to know nowadays that freedom cannot consist in choosing, at one's pleasure, one or other of two possible courses of action. There is always, so we are told, a perfectly definite reason why, out of several possible actions, we carry out just one and no other.
[ 2 ] This seems obvious. Nevertheless, down to the present day, the main attacks of the opponents of freedom are directed only against freedom of choice. Even Herbert Spencer, in fact, whose doctrines are gaining ground daily, says, “That everyone is at liberty to desire or not to desire, which is the real proposition involved in the dogma of free will, is negatived as much by the analysis of consciousness, as by the contents of the preceding chapter.” (The Principles of Psychology, Part IV, Chap. ix., par. 219.) Others, too, start from the same point of view in combating the concept of free will. The germs of all the relevant arguments are to be found as early as Spinoza. All that he brought forward in clear and simple language against the idea of freedom has since been repeated times without number, but as a rule enveloped in the most sophisticated doctrines, so that it is difficult to recognize the straightforward train of thought which is alone in question. Spinoza writes in a letter of October or November, 1674, “I call a thing free which exists and acts from the pure necessity of its nature, and I call that unfree, of which the being and action are precisely and fixedly determined by something else. Thus, e.g., God, though necessary, is free because he exists only through the necessity of his own nature. Similarly, God cognizes himself and all else freely, because it follows solely from the necessity of his nature that he cognizes all. You see, therefore, that for me freedom consists not in free decision, but in free necessity.
[ 3 ] “But let us come down to created things which are all determined by external causes to exist and to act in a fixed and definite manner. To perceive this more clearly, let us imagine a perfectly simple case. A stone, for example, receives from an external cause acting upon it a certain quantity of motion, by reason of which it necessarily continues to move, after the impact of the external cause has ceased. The continued motion of the stone is due to compulsion, not to the necessity of its own nature, because it requires to be defined by the thrust of an external cause. What is true here for the stone is true also for every other particular thing, however complicated and many-sided it may be, namely, that everything is necessarily determined by external causes to exist and to act in a fixed and definite manner.
[ 4 ] Now, pray, assume that this stone during its motion thinks and knows that it is striving to the best of its power to continue in motion. This stone which is conscious only of its striving and is by no means indifferent, will believe that it is absolutely free, and that it continues in motion for no other reason than its own will to continue. Now this is that human freedom which everybody claims to possess and which consists in nothing but this, that men are conscious of their desires, but ignorant of the causes by which they are determined. Thus the child believes that he desires milk of his own free will, the angry boy regards his desire for vengeance as free, and the coward his desire for flight. Again, the drunken man believes that he says of his own free will what, sober again, he would fain have left unsaid, and as this prejudice is innate in all men, it is difficult to free oneself from it. For, although experience teaches us often enough that man least of all can temper his desires, and that, moved by conflicting passions, he sees the better and pursues the worse, yet he considers himself free because there are some things which he desires less strongly, and some desires which he can easily inhibit through the recollection of something else which it is often possible to recall.”
[ 5 ] It is easy to detect the fundamental error of this view, because it is so clearly and definitely expressed. The same necessity by which a stone makes a definite movement as the result of an impact, is said to compel a man to carry out an action when impelled thereto by any reason. It is only because man is conscious of his action, that he thinks himself to be its originator. In doing so, he overlooks the fact that he is driven by a cause which he must obey unconditionally. The error in this train of thought is easily brought to light. Spinoza, and all who think like him, overlook the fact that man not only is conscious of his action, but also may become conscious of the causes which guide him. Anyone can see that a child is not free when he desires milk, nor the drunken man when he says things which he later regrets. Neither knows anything of the causes, working deep within their organisms, which exercise irresistible control over them. But is it justifiable to lump together actions of this kind with those in which a man is conscious not only of his actions but also of the reasons which cause him to. act? Are the actions of men really all of one kind? Should the act of a soldier on the field of battle, of the scientific researcher in his laboratory, of the statesman in the most complicated diplomatic negotiations, be placed scientifically on the same level with that of the child when he desires milk? It is, no doubt, true that it is best to seek the solution of a problem where the conditions are simplest. But lack of ability to see distinctions has before now caused endless confusion. There is, after all, a profound difference between knowing why I am acting and not knowing it. At first sight this seems a self-evident truth. And yet the opponents of freedom never ask themselves whether a motive of action which I recognize and see through, is to be regarded as compulsory for me in the same sense as the organic process which causes the child to cry for milk.
[ 6 ] Eduard von Hartmann, in his Phaenomenologie des sittlichen Bewusstseins (p. 451), asserts that the human will depends on two chief factors, the motives and the character. If one regards men as all alike, or at any rate the differences between them as negligible, then their will appears as determined from without, viz., by the circumstances which come to meet them. But if one bears in mind that men adopt a “representation”1Vorstellung, cf. Translator's Preface as the motive of their action, only if their character is such that this representation arouses a desire in them, then men appear as determined from within and not from without. Now, because a representation given to us from without, must first in accordance with our characters be adopted as a motive, men believe that they are free, i.e., independent of external impulses. The truth, however, according to Eduard von Hartmann, is that “even though we (must) first adopt a representation as a motive, we do so not arbitrarily, but according to the characterological disposition, that is, we are anything but free.” Here again the difference between motives which I allow to influence me only after I have permeated them with my consciousness, and those which I follow without any clear knowledge of them, is absolutely ignored.
[ 7 ] This leads us straight to the standpoint from which the subject will be treated here. Have we any right to consider the question of the freedom of the will by itself at all? And if not, with what other question must it necessarily be connected?
[ 8 ] If there is a difference between a conscious motive and an unconscious impulse of action, then those actions which result from the former should be judged otherwise than one springing from blind impulse. Hence our first question will concern this difference, and on the result of this inquiry will depend what attitude we ought to take up towards the question of freedom proper.
[ 9 ] What does it mean to have knowledge of the motives of one's action? Too little attention has been paid to this question, because, unfortunately, we have torn asunder into two parts that which is an inseparable whole: Man. The agent has been divorced from the knower, whilst he who matters more than everything else, viz., the man who acts because he knows, has been utterly overlooked.
[ 10 ] It is said that man is free when he is controlled only by his reason, and not by his animal passions. Or, again, that to be free means to be able to determine one's life and action by purposes and deliberate decisions.
[ 11 ] Nothing is gained by assertions of this sort. For the question is just whether reason, purposes, and decisions exercise the same kind of compulsion over a man as his animal passions. If without my doing, a rational decision emerges in me with the same necessity with which hunger and thirst happen to me, then I must needs obey it, and my freedom is an illusion.
[ 12 ] Another form of expression runs: to be free means, not that we can will what we will, but that we can do what we will. This thought has been expressed with great clearness by the poet-philosopher Robert Hamerling in his Atomistik des Willens. “Man can, it is true, do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills, because his will is determined by motives! He cannot will what he wills? Let us consider these phrases more closely. Have they any intelligible meaning? Does freedom of will, then, mean being able to will without ground, without motive? What does willing mean if not to have grounds for doing, or striving to do, this rather than that? To will anything without ground or motive would mean to will something without willing it. The concept of motive is indissolubly bound up with that of will. Without the determining motive the will is an empty faculty; it is the motive which makes it active and real. It is, therefore, quite true that the human will is not ‘free,’ inasmuch as its direction is always determined by the strongest motive. But, on the other hand, it must be admitted that it is absurd to speak, in contrast with this ‘unfreedom,’ of a conceivable ‘freedom’ of the will, which would consist in being able to will what one does not will.” (Atomistik des Willens, p. 213 ff.)
[ 13 ] Here, again, only motives in general are mentioned, without taking into account the difference between unconscious and conscious motives. If a motive affects me, and I am compelled to act on it because it proves to be the “strongest” of its kind, then the thought of freedom ceases to have any meaning. How should it matter to me whether I can do a thing or not, if I am forced by the motive to do it? The primary question is, not whether I can do a thing or not when impelled by a motive, but whether there are any motives except such as impel me with absolute necessity. If I am compelled to will something, then I may well be absolutely indifferent as to whether I can also do it. And if, through my character, or through circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is forced on me which to my thinking is unreasonable, then I should even have to be glad if I could not do what I will.
[ 14 ] The question is, not whether I can carry out a decision once made, but how the decision is brought about within me.
[ 15 ] What distinguishes man from all other organic beings is his rational thinking. Activity is common to him with other organisms. Nothing is gained by seeking analogies in the animal world to clear up the concept of freedom as applied to the actions of human beings. Modern science loves these analogies. When scientists have succeeded in finding among animals something similar to human behaviour, they believe they have touched on the most important question of the science of man. To what misunderstandings this view leads is seen, for example, in the book Die Illusion der Willensfreiheit, by P. Rée, 1885, where, on page 5, the following remark on freedom appears: “It is easy to explain why the movement of a stone seems to us necessary, while the volition of a donkey does not. The causes which set the stone in motion are external and visible, while the causes which determine the donkey's volition are internal and invisible. Between us and the place of their activity there is the skull cap of the ass ... The causal nexus is not visible and, therefore, thought to be non-existent. The volition, it is explained, is, indeed, the cause of the donkey's turning round, but is itself unconditioned; it is an absolute beginning.” Here again human actions in which there is a consciousness of the motives are simply ignored, for Rée declares, “that between us and the sphere of their activity there is the skull cap of the ass.” As these words show, it has not so much as dawned on Rée that there are actions, not indeed of the ass, but of human beings, in which the motive that has become conscious, lies between us and the action. Rée demonstrates his blindness once again, a few pages further on, when he says, “We do not perceive the causes by which our will is determined, hence we think it is not causally determined at all.”
[ 16 ] But enough of examples which prove that many argue against freedom without knowing in the least what freedom is.
[ 17 ] That an action cannot be free, of which the agent does not know why he performs it, goes without saying. But what of the freedom of an action about the motives of which we know? This leads us to the question of the origin and meaning of thinking. For without the recognition of the thinking activity of the soul, it is impossible to understand what is meant by knowledge of something or what is meant by action. When we know what thinking in general means, it will be easier to see clearly the role which thinking plays in human action. As Hegel rightly says, “It is thinking which turns the soul, common to us and animals, into spirit.” Hence it is thinking which we may expect to give to human action its characteristic stamp.
[ 18 ] I do not mean to imply that all our active doing springs only from the sober deliberations of our reason. I am very far from calling only those actions “human” in the highest sense, which proceed from abstract judgments. But as soon as our conduct rises above the sphere of the satisfaction of purely animal desires, our motives are always permeated by thoughts. Love, pity, and patriotism are springs of action which cannot be analysed away into cold concepts of the understanding. It is said that here the heart, the mood of the soul, hold sway. This is no doubt true. But the heart and the mood of the soul do not create the motives. They presuppose them and let them enter. Pity enters my heart when the representation of a person who arouses pity comes forward in my consciousness. The way to the heart is through the head. Love is no exception. Whenever it is not merely the expression of bare sexual instinct, it depends on the representation we form of the loved one. And the more idealistic these representations are, just so much the more blessed is our love. Here, too, thought is the father of feeling. It is said that love makes us blind to the failings of the loved one. But the opposite view can be taken, namely, that it is precisely for the good points that love opens the eyes. Many pass by these good points without notice. One, however, perceives them, and just because he does, love awakens in his soul. What else has he done except to have achieved a representation of what hundreds have failed to see? Love is not theirs, because they lack the representation.
[ 19 ] From whatever point we regard the subject, it becomes more and more clear that the question of the nature of human action presupposes that of the origin of thinking. I shall, therefore, turn next 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.