Chapter III, 7
Original German
Ich kann thun was ich will: ich kann, wenn ich will, alles was ich habe den Armen geben und dadurch selbst einer werden, — wenn ich will! — Aber ich vermag nicht, es zu wollen; weil die entgegenstehenden Motive viel zu viel Gewalt über mich haben, als daß ich es könnte. Hingegen wenn ich einen andern Charakter hätte, und zwar in dem Maße, daß ich ein Heiliger wäre, dann würde ich es wollen können; dann aber würde ich auch nicht umhin können, es zu wollen, würde es also thun müssen. — Dies alles besteht vollkommen wohl mit dem „ich kann thun was ich will“ des Selbstbewußtseins, worin noch heutzutage einige gedankenlose Philosophaster die Freiheit des Willens zu sehen vermeinen, und sie demnach als eine gegebene Thatsache des Bewußtseins geltend machen. Unter diesen zeichnet sich aus Hr. Cousin und verdient deshalb hier eine mention honorable, da er in seinem Cours d'histoire de la philosophie, professé en 1819, 20, et publié par Vacherot, 1841, lehrt, daß die Freiheit des Willens die zuverlässigste Thatsache des Bewußtseins sei (Vol. 1, p. 19, 20), und Kanten tadelt, daß er dieselbe bloß aus dem Moralgesetz bewiesen und als ein Postulat aufgestellt habe, da sie doch eine Thatsache sei: „pourquoi démontrer ce qu'il suffit de constater?“ (p. 50) „la liberté est un fait, et non une croyance“ (ibid.). — Inzwischen fehlt es auch in Deutschland nicht an Ignoranten, die alles, was seit zwei Jahrhunderten große Denker darüber gesagt haben, in den Wind schlagen und auf die im vorigen Abschnitt analysierte, von ihnen, wie vom großen Haufen, falsch aufgefaßte Thatsache des Selbstbewußtseins pochend, die Freiheit des Willens als thatsächlich gegeben präkonisieren. Doch thue ich ihnen vielleicht unrecht; indem es sein kann, daß sie nicht so unwissend sind, wie sie scheinen, sondern bloß hungrig, und daher, für ein sehr trockenes Stück Brot, alles lehren, was einem hohen Ministerio wohlgefällig sein könnte.
Es ist durchaus weder Metapher noch Hyperbel, sondern ganz trockene und buchstäbliche Wahrheit, daß, so wenig eine Kugel aus dem Billard in Bewegung geraten kann, ehe sie einen Stoß erhält, ebensowenig ein Mensch von seinem Stuhle aufstehen kann, ehe ein Motiv ihn wegzieht oder treibt: dann aber ist sein Aufstehen so notwendig und unausbleiblich, wie das Rollen der Kugel nach dem Stoß. Und zu erwarten, daß einer etwas thue, wozu ihn durchaus kein Interesse auffordert, ist wie erwarten, daß ein Stück Holz sich zu mir bewege, ohne einen Strick, der es zöge. Wer etwan dergleichen behauptend, in einer Gesellschaft hartnäckigen Widerspruch erführe, würde am kürzesten aus der Sache kommen, wenn er, durch einen dritten, plötzlich mit lauter und ernster Stimme rufen ließe: „Das Gebälk stürzt ein!“ wodurch die Widersprecher zu der Einsicht gelangen würden, daß ein Motiv ebenso mächtig ist, die Leute zum Hause hinaus zu werfen, wie die handfesteste mechanische Ursache.
Denn der Mensch ist, wie alle Gegenstände der Erfahrung, eine Erscheinung in Zeit und Raum, und da das Gesetz der Kausalität für alle diese a priori und folglich ausnahmslos gilt, muß auch er ihm unterworfen sein. So sagt es der reine Verstand a priori, so bestätigt es die durch die ganze Natur geführte Analogie, und so bezeugt es die Erfahrung jeden Augenblick, wenn man sich nicht täuschen läßt durch den Schein, der dadurch herbeigeführt wird, daß, indem die Naturwesen, sich höher und höher steigernd, komplizierter werden, und ihre Empfänglichkeit, von der bloß mechanischen, zur chemischen, elektrischen, reizbaren, sensibeln, intellektuellen und endlich rationellen sich erhebt und verfeinert, auch die Natur der einwirkenden Ursachen hiemit gleichen Schritt halten und auf jeder Stufe den Wesen, auf welche gewirkt werden soll, entsprechend ausfallen muß: daher dann auch die Ursachen immer weniger palpabel und materiell sich darstellen; so daß sie zuletzt nicht mehr dem Auge sichtbar, wohl aber dem Verstande erreichbar sind, der sie, im einzelnen Fall, mit unerschütterlicher Zuversicht voraussetzt und bei gehörigem Forschen auch entdeckt. Denn hier sind die wirkenden Ursachen gesteigert zu bloßen Gedanken, die mit andern Gedanken kämpfen, bis der mächtigste von ihnen den Ausschlag gibt und den Menschen in Bewegung setzt; welches alles in eben solcher Strenge des Kausalzusammenhanges vor sich geht, wie wenn rein mechanische Ursachen, in komplizierter Verbindung, einander entgegen wirken und der berechnete Erfolg unfehlbar eintritt. Den Augenschein der Ursachlosigkeit, wegen Unsichtbarkeit der Ursache, haben die im Glase nach allen Richtungen umherhüpfenden, elektrisierten Korkkügelchen ebensosehr wie die Bewegungen des Menschen: das Urteil aber kommt nicht dem Auge zu, sondern dem Verstande.
Unter Voraussetzung der Willensfreiheit wäre jede menschliche Handlung ein unerklärliches Wunder, — eine Wirkung ohne Ursache. Und wenn man den Versuch wagt, ein solches liberum arbitrium indifferentiae sich vorstellig zu machen; so wird man bald inne werden, daß dabei recht eigentlich der Verstand stille steht: er hat keine Form so etwas zu denken. Denn der Satz vom Grunde, das Prinzip durchgängiger Bestimmung und Abhängigkeit der Erscheinungen voneinander, ist die allgemeinste Form unsers Erkenntnisvermögens, die, nach Verschiedenheit der Objekte desselben, auch selbst verschiedene Gestalten annimmt. Hier aber sollen wir etwas denken, das bestimmt, ohne bestimmt zu werden, das von nichts abhängt, aber von ihm das andere, das ohne Nötigung, folglich ohne Grund, jetzt A wirkt, während es ebensowohl B, oder C, oder D wirken könnte, und zwar ganz und gar könnte, unter denselben Umständen könnte, d. h. ohne daß jetzt in A etwas läge, was ihm einen Vorzug (denn der wäre Motivation, also Kausalität) vor B, C, D erteilte. Wir werden hier auf den gleich anfangs aufgestellten Begriff des absolut Zufälligen zurückgeführt. Ich wiederhole es: dabei steht ganz eigentlich der Verstand stille, wenn man nur vermag ihn daran zu bringen.
Jetzt aber wollen wir uns auch daran erinnern, was überhaupt eine Ursache ist: die vorhergehende Veränderung, welche die nachfolgende notwendig macht. Keineswegs bringt irgend eine Ursache in der Welt ihre Wirkung ganz und gar hervor, oder macht sie aus nichts. Vielmehr ist allemal etwas da, worauf sie wirkt, und sie veranlaßt bloß zu dieser Zeit, an diesem Ort und an diesem bestimmten Wesen eine Veränderung, welche stets der Natur des Wesens gemäß ist, zu der also die Kraft bereits in diesem Wesen liegen mußte. Mithin entspringt jede Wirkung aus zwei Faktoren, einem innern und einem äußern: nämlich aus der ursprünglichen Kraft dessen, worauf gewirkt wird, und der bestimmenden Ursache, welche jene nötigt sich jetzt hier zu äußern. Ursprüngliche Kraft setzt jede Kausalität und jede Erklärung aus ihr voraus: daher eben letztere nie alles erklärt, sondern stets ein Unerklärliches übrig läßt. Dies sehen wir in der gesamten Physik und Chemie: überall werden bei ihren Erklärungen die Naturkräfte vorausgesetzt, die sich in den Phänomenen äußern, und in der Zurückführung auf welche die ganze Erklärung besteht. Eine Naturkraft selbst ist keiner Erklärung unterworfen, sondern ist das Prinzip aller Erklärung. Ebenso ist sie selbst auch keiner Kausalität unterworfen; sondern sie ist gerade das, was jeder Ursache die Kausalität, d. h. die Fähigkeit zu wirken, verleiht. Sie selbst ist die gemeinsame Unterlage aller Wirkungen dieser Art und in jeder derselben gegenwärtig. So werden die Phänomene des Magnetismus auf eine ursprüngliche Kraft, genannt Elektrizität, zurückgeführt. Hierbei steht die Erklärung stille: sie gibt bloß die Bedingungen an, unter denen eine solche Kraft sich äußert, d. h. die Ursachen, welche ihre Wirksamkeit hervorrufen. Die Erklärungen der himmlischen Mechanik setzen die Gravitation als Kraft voraus, vermöge welcher hier die einzelnen Ursachen, die den Gang der Weltkörper bestimmen, wirken. Die Erklärungen der Chemie setzen die geheimen Kräfte voraus, welche sich als Wahlverwandtschaften, nach gewissen stöchiometrischen Verhältnissen, äußern, und auf denen alle die Wirkungen zuletzt beruhen, welche durch Ursachen, die man angibt, hervorgerufen, pünktlich eintreten. Ebenso setzen alle Erklärungen der Physiologie die Lebenskraft voraus, als welche auf spezifische innere und äußere Reize bestimmt reagiert. Und so ist es durchgängig überall. Selbst die Ursachen, mit denen die so faßliche Mechanik sich beschäftigt, wie Stoß und Druck, haben die Undurchdringlichkeit, Kohäsion, Starrheit, Härte, Trägheit, Schwere, Elastizität zur Voraussetzung, welche nicht weniger, als die eben erwähnten, unergründliche Naturkräfte sind. Also überall bestimmen die Ursachen nichts weiter, als das Wann und Wo der Aeußerungen ursprünglicher, unerklärlicher Kräfte, unter deren Voraussetzung allein sie Ursachen sind, d. h. gewisse Wirkungen notwendig herbeiführen.
Wie nun dies bei den Ursachen im engsten Sinne und bei den Reizen der Fall ist, so nicht minder bei den Motiven; da ja die Motivation nicht im wesentlichen von der Kausalität verschieden, sondern nur eine Art derselben, nämlich die durch das Medium der Erkenntnis hindurchgehende Kausalität ist. Auch hier also ruft die Ursache nur die Aeußerung einer nicht weiter auf Ursachen zurückzuführenden, folglich nicht weiter zu erklärenden Kraft hervor, welche Kraft, die hier Wille heißt, uns aber nicht bloß von außen, wie die andern Naturkräfte, sondern, vermöge des Selbstbewußtseins, auch von innen und unmittelbar bekannt ist. Nur unter der Voraussetzung, daß ein solcher Wille vorhanden und, im einzelnen Fall, daß er von bestimmter Beschaffenheit sei, wirken die auf ihn gerichteten Ursachen, hier Motive genannt. Diese speziell und individuell bestimmte Beschaffenheit des Willens, vermöge deren seine Reaktion auf dieselben Motive in jedem Menschen eine andere ist, macht das aus, was man dessen Charakter nennt und zwar, weil er nicht a priori, sondern nur durch Erfahrung bekannt wird, empirischen Charakter. Durch ihn ist zunächst die Wirkungsart der verschiedenartigen Motive auf den gegebenen Menschen bestimmt. Denn er liegt allen Wirkungen, welche die Motive hervorrufen, so zum Grunde, wie die allgemeinen Naturkräfte den durch Ursachen im engsten Sinn hervorgerufenen Wirkungen, und die Lebenskraft den Wirkungen der Reize. Und, wie die Naturkräfte, so ist auch er ursprünglich, unveränderlich, unerklärlich. Bei den Tieren ist er in jeder Spezies, beim Menschen in jedem Individuo ein anderer. Nur in den allerobersten, klügsten Tieren zeigt sich schon ein merklicher Individualcharakter, wiewohl mit durchaus überwiegendem Charakter der Spezies.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the German, including the author’s notes and appendix. Source edition: Arthur Schopenhauers sämtliche Werke, vol. VII, Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, n.d. [1890s]), Internet Archive item arthurschopenha07schouoft
I can do what I will: if I will it, I can give everything I possess to the poor and thus become one of them—if I will it! But I am unable to will it, because the opposing motives have far too much power over me. If, on the other hand, I had a different character, different enough for me to be a saint, then I could will it; but then I could not help willing it, and would therefore have to do it. All this is perfectly consistent with self-consciousness saying “I can do what I will.” Even today, some thoughtless dabblers in philosophy imagine that they find freedom of the will in this statement and accordingly put it forward as a given fact of consciousness. Among them, Mr. Cousin stands out and deserves an honorable mention here. In his Cours d'histoire de la philosophie, professé en 1819, 20, et publié par Vacherot, 1841, he teaches that freedom of the will is the most reliable fact of consciousness (Vol. 1, p. 19, 20). He reproaches Kant for proving it merely from the moral law and setting it up as a postulate when it is, after all, a fact: “Why demonstrate what need only be recognized as a fact?” (p. 50); “Freedom is a fact, not a belief” (ibid.). Germany too has no shortage of ignorant people who throw to the winds everything great thinkers have said on the subject for two centuries. Insisting on the fact of self-consciousness analyzed in the preceding section—a fact they misunderstand just as the crowd does—they proclaim freedom of the will as something actually given. But perhaps I wrong them. They may not be as ignorant as they appear, merely hungry, and therefore ready to teach anything that might please a lofty ministry in return for a very dry piece of bread.
It is neither metaphor nor hyperbole, but plain and literal truth, that just as a ball on a billiard table cannot begin moving before it receives a blow, a person cannot rise from his chair before a motive pulls or drives him away. Once it does, his rising is as necessary and inevitable as the ball’s rolling after the blow. To expect someone to do something to which no interest whatsoever prompts him is like expecting a piece of wood to move toward me without a rope to pull it. Someone asserting this in company and meeting stubborn opposition could settle the matter most quickly by having a third person suddenly cry out, loudly and earnestly, “The beams are collapsing!” The objectors would thereby learn that a motive is as powerful in throwing people out of the house as the most solid mechanical cause.
For a human being, like every object of experience, is a phenomenon in time and space. Since the law of causality applies to all such phenomena a priori, and therefore without exception, a human being too must be subject to it. Pure understanding declares this a priori; analogy carried through the whole of nature confirms it; experience testifies to it at every moment, provided we are not deceived by the following illusion. As natural beings ascend and become more complicated, their receptivity rises and grows more refined—from the merely mechanical to the chemical and electrical, then to responsiveness to stimuli, sensitivity, intelligence and finally reason. The nature of the causes acting on them must keep pace, corresponding at each stage to the beings on which they are to act. Consequently, causes appear less and less tangible and material, until they are no longer visible to the eye but remain accessible to the understanding. In each particular case, the understanding assumes them with unshakable confidence and discovers them through appropriate inquiry. Here the effective causes have risen to mere thoughts, which fight with other thoughts until the strongest tips the balance and sets the person in motion. Everything proceeds with just as strict a causal connection as when purely mechanical causes, combined in a complicated way, oppose one another and the calculated result unfailingly occurs. Electrified little cork balls hopping about in every direction inside a glass appear just as causeless, because their cause is invisible, as human movements do. But judgment belongs not to the eye, but to the understanding.
If freedom of the will were assumed, every human action would be an inexplicable miracle—an effect without a cause. If we venture to picture such freedom of indifferent choice, we soon become aware that the understanding actually comes to a standstill: it has no form in which to think such a thing. The principle of sufficient reason—the principle of thoroughgoing determination and mutual dependence of phenomena—is the most general form of our faculty of knowledge, itself taking different forms according to the different objects of that faculty. Here, however, we are asked to think of something that determines without being determined, depends on nothing while other things depend on it, and produces A now without compulsion and therefore without a reason, although it could just as well produce B, C or D. It could do so entirely, under the same circumstances: nothing in A now gives it a preference over B, C or D, for such a preference would be motivation and hence causality. We are brought back to the concept of the absolutely contingent stated at the very beginning. I repeat: the understanding actually comes to a standstill here, if only we can bring it to that point.
But let us also recall what a cause is in general: the preceding change that makes the succeeding one necessary. No cause in the world brings forth its effect entirely or creates it from nothing. There is always something on which it acts. It merely occasions a change at this time, in this place, in this particular being, always in accordance with that being’s nature; the power for the change must therefore already have lain within it. Every effect thus arises from two factors, one inward and one outward: the original force of what is acted upon, and the determining cause that compels that force to manifest itself here and now. All causality, and every explanation through it, presupposes an original force. This is why explanation never explains everything, but always leaves something inexplicable. We see this throughout physics and chemistry. Their explanations everywhere assume the natural forces manifested in phenomena, and the whole explanation consists in tracing the phenomena back to those forces. A natural force itself is not subject to explanation, but is the principle of all explanation. Nor is it itself subject to causality: it is precisely what gives each cause its causality, its capacity to act. It is the common foundation of all effects of that kind and is present in each of them. Thus the phenomena of magnetism are traced back to an original force called electricity. Explanation stops there: it merely states the conditions under which such a force manifests itself, the causes that call its activity forth. The explanations of celestial mechanics presuppose gravitation as the force through which the individual causes determining the courses of celestial bodies act. Chemistry’s explanations presuppose the hidden forces manifested as elective affinities in certain stoichiometric proportions. All the effects that occur punctually when brought about by the specified causes ultimately rest on those forces. In the same way, every physiological explanation presupposes the vital force, which reacts in a determinate way to specific inward and outward stimuli. So it is everywhere, without exception. Even the causes with which readily intelligible mechanics deals, such as impact and pressure, presuppose impenetrability, cohesion, rigidity, hardness, inertia, weight and elasticity: natural forces just as unfathomable as those already mentioned. Everywhere, then, causes determine nothing beyond the when and where of the manifestations of original, inexplicable forces. Only on the assumption of those forces are they causes at all—that is, do they necessarily produce certain effects.
What is true of causes in the narrowest sense and of stimuli is no less true of motives. Motivation is not essentially different from causality, but is merely one kind of it: causality passing through the medium of knowledge. Here too, the cause merely calls forth the manifestation of a force that cannot be traced back to further causes and therefore cannot be further explained. This force, here called will, is known to us not merely from outside, like the other natural forces, but also inwardly and immediately through self-consciousness. The causes directed toward it, here called motives, act only on the assumption that such a will exists and, in the particular case, has a definite nature. This specifically and individually determined nature of the will, through which its reaction to the same motives differs in every person, constitutes what we call a person’s character. Because we know it not a priori but only through experience, we call it empirical character. It determines, in the first place, how different kinds of motives act on the given person. It underlies every effect produced by motives, just as general natural forces underlie effects produced by causes in the narrowest sense, and the vital force underlies the effects of stimuli. Like natural forces, it is original, unchanging and inexplicable. In animals it differs with each species; in humans, with each individual. Only in the very highest and cleverest animals does a noticeable individual character already appear, though the character of the species still overwhelmingly predominates.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Plain English translation, made independently and directly from the German, not from the Musean edition or a published English translation, including the author’s notes and appendix. Source edition: Arthur Schopenhauers sämtliche Werke, vol. VII, Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, n.d. [1890s]), Internet Archive item arthurschopenha07schouoft
I can do what I will. If I will it, I can give everything I own to the poor and so become poor myself—if I will it! But I am unable to will it, because the opposing motives have far too much power over me for me to do so. If, on the other hand, I had a different character, so different that I was a saint, then I would be able to will it. But then I would also be unable to avoid willing it, and so would have to do it. All this fits perfectly well with self-consciousness's statement “I can do what I will.” Even today, some thoughtless pretenders to philosophy imagine they see freedom of the will in this statement, and accordingly present that freedom as a given fact of consciousness. Mr. Cousin stands out among them and therefore deserves an honorable mention here. In his Cours d'histoire de la philosophie, professé en 1819, 20, et publié par Vacherot, 1841, he teaches that freedom of the will is the most reliable fact of consciousness (Vol. 1, p. 19, 20). He criticizes Kant for having proved it only from the moral law and put it forward as a postulate, when it is actually a fact: “Why demonstrate what it is enough to establish as a fact?” (p. 50) “Freedom is a fact, not a belief” (ibid.). Germany, too, has no shortage of ignorant people who dismiss everything great thinkers have said about this over the last two centuries. They insist on the fact of self-consciousness analyzed in the preceding section, which they misunderstand just as the general public does, and proclaim freedom of the will as a given fact. But perhaps I am being unfair to them. They may not be as ignorant as they seem, but merely hungry, and therefore willing, for a very dry piece of bread, to teach anything that might please a high government ministry.
This is neither a metaphor nor an exaggeration, but the plain, literal truth: just as a billiard ball cannot start moving before it receives a push, a person cannot get up from their chair before a motive pulls or drives them away. But then their getting up is as necessary and inevitable as the ball's rolling after the push. And expecting someone to do something that no interest whatever prompts them to do is like expecting a piece of wood to move toward me without a rope pulling it. If someone made such an assertion in company and met stubborn opposition, the quickest way out of the argument would be to have a third person suddenly shout in a loud and serious voice: “The beams are collapsing!” The opponents would then realize that a motive is as powerful in throwing people out of a house as the most tangible mechanical cause.
For a human being, like every object of experience, is a phenomenon in time and space. Since the law of causality applies to all such objects a priori, and therefore without exception, human beings too must be subject to it. Pure understanding tells us this a priori; analogy drawn through the whole of nature confirms it; and experience bears witness to it at every moment. We must simply not let ourselves be deceived by a misleading appearance. It arises because, as natural beings become more complex at higher and higher levels, their responsiveness rises and becomes more refined: from the merely mechanical to the chemical, electrical, responsive to stimuli, capable of sensation, intellectual, and finally rational. The nature of the causes acting on them must keep pace with this development and must, at each level, correspond to the beings they are to affect. Consequently, the causes also appear less and less tangible and material. In the end they are no longer visible to the eye, though still accessible to the understanding. In each individual case the understanding assumes them with unshakable confidence and discovers them through proper investigation. For here the effective causes have risen to the level of mere thoughts, which struggle with other thoughts until the most powerful one decides the outcome and sets the person in motion. All this takes place with a causal connection just as strict as when purely mechanical causes work against one another in a complex combination and the calculated result unfailingly occurs. Electrified little cork balls jumping about in every direction inside a glass give just as much of an appearance of having no cause, because their cause is invisible, as human movements do. But judgment belongs to the understanding, not to the eye.
If freedom of the will were assumed, every human action would be an inexplicable miracle—an effect without a cause. And if we try to imagine such a freedom of choice indifferent to its alternatives, we will soon find that the understanding quite literally comes to a standstill. It has no form for thinking anything of the kind. For the principle of sufficient reason, the principle that phenomena are determined throughout and depend on one another, is the most general form of our capacity for knowledge. It takes different forms according to the different objects of that capacity. But here we are supposed to think of something that determines without being determined, that depends on nothing while other things depend on it, and that, without being necessitated, and therefore without a ground, now produces A, although it could just as well produce B, C, or D. It could do so completely, under the very same circumstances—that is, without there now being anything in A that would give it preference over B, C, or D. For such a preference would be motivation, and thus causality. This brings us back to the concept of the absolutely contingent established at the very beginning. I repeat: the understanding quite literally comes to a standstill here, if we can only get it to consider this.
But now let us also remember what a cause is in general: the preceding change that makes the following change necessary. No cause anywhere in the world produces its effect entirely, or makes it out of nothing. Rather, something is always already there for it to act on. The cause merely brings about a change at this time, in this place, and in this particular being. The change always agrees with the nature of that being, so the force needed for it must already have been present in that being. Every effect therefore comes from two factors, one internal and one external: the original force of what is acted on, and the determining cause that compels that force to express itself here and now. All causality, and every explanation based on it, presupposes an original force. That is precisely why such an explanation never explains everything, but always leaves something inexplicable. We see this throughout physics and chemistry. Their explanations everywhere presuppose the natural forces that express themselves in phenomena, and the entire explanation consists in tracing the phenomena back to these forces. A natural force itself cannot be explained. Rather, it is the principle of all explanation. Nor is it itself subject to any causality. Rather, it is precisely what gives every cause its causality—that is, its ability to produce an effect. The force itself is the common basis of all effects of this kind and is present in each of them. Thus the phenomena of magnetism are traced back to an original force called electricity. Explanation stops here. It merely states the conditions under which such a force expresses itself—that is, the causes that bring it into action. Explanations in celestial mechanics presuppose gravitation as the force through which the individual causes determining the movements of celestial bodies act. Explanations in chemistry presuppose the hidden forces that express themselves as elective affinities according to certain stoichiometric ratios. All the effects that occur precisely when brought about by specified causes ultimately depend on these forces. In the same way, all explanations in physiology presuppose the vital force, which reacts in definite ways to specific internal and external stimuli. This is the case everywhere, without exception. Even the causes studied by mechanics, which is so easy to grasp, such as impact and pressure, presuppose impenetrability, cohesion, rigidity, hardness, inertia, gravity, and elasticity. These are natural forces just as unfathomable as those already mentioned. Everywhere, then, causes determine nothing more than when and where original, inexplicable forces express themselves. Only on the assumption of these forces are they causes at all—that is, do they necessarily bring about certain effects.
What is true of causes in the narrowest sense and of stimuli is no less true of motives. For motivation is not essentially different from causality, but is only one kind of it: causality that passes through the medium of knowledge. Here too, then, the cause only brings about the expression of a force that cannot be traced back to further causes and therefore cannot be explained further. But this force, which is called will here, is known to us not merely from outside, like the other natural forces, but also from within and directly, through self-consciousness. Only on the assumption that such a will exists, and in the individual case that it has a definite nature, do the causes directed toward it, here called motives, take effect. This specifically and individually determined nature of the will, by which its reaction to the same motives differs in each person, makes up what is called that person's character. More precisely, it is called empirical character, because it is known not a priori but only through experience. This character directly determines how different kinds of motives affect a given person. It underlies all the effects produced by motives, just as the general forces of nature underlie effects produced by causes in the narrowest sense, and the vital force underlies the effects of stimuli. Like the forces of nature, it is original, unchanging, and inexplicable. In animals it differs from species to species; in human beings it differs from individual to individual. Only in the very highest and cleverest animals does a noticeable individual character already appear, though the character of the species still overwhelmingly predominates.
About this section
Chapter III, 7 is part of On the Freedom of the Will by Arthur Schopenhauer. This page sets the German original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is chapter 13 of 28 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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