Chapter I, 2
Original German
Dieser Begriff knüpft sich an den der physischen Freiheit von einer Seite, die auch seine, notwendig viel spätere, Entstehung begreiflich macht. Die physische Freiheit bezieht sich, wie gesagt, nur auf materielle Hindernisse, bei deren Abwesenheit sie sogleich da ist. Nun aber bemerkte man, in manchen Fällen, daß ein Mensch, ohne durch materielle Hindernisse gehemmt zu sein, durch bloße Motive, wie etwan Drohungen, Versprechungen, Gefahren u. dgl., abgehalten wurde zu handeln, wie es außerdem gewiß seinem Willen gemäß gewesen sein würde. Man warf daher die Frage auf, ob ein solcher Mensch noch frei gewesen wäre? oder ob wirklich ein starkes Gegenmotiv die dem eigentlichen Willen gemäße Handlung ebenso hemmen und unmöglich machen könne, wie ein physisches Hindernis? Die Antwort darauf konnte dem gesunden Verstande nicht schwer werden: daß nämlich niemals ein Motiv so wirken könne, wie ein physisches Hindernis; indem dieses leicht die menschlichen Körperkräfte überhaupt unbedingt übersteige, hingegen ein Motiv nie an sich selbst unwiderstehlich sein, nie eine unbedingte Gewalt haben, sondern immer noch möglicherweise durch ein stärkeres Gegenmotiv überwogen werden könne, wenn nur ein solches vorhanden und der im individuellen Fall gegebene Mensch durch dasselbe bestimmbar wäre; wie wir denn auch häufig sehen, daß sogar das gemeinhin stärkste aller Motive, die Erhaltung des Lebens, doch überwogen wird von andern Motiven: z. B. beim Selbstmord und bei Aufopferung des Lebens für andere, für Meinungen und für mancherlei Interessen; und umgekehrt, daß alle Grade der ausgesuchtesten Marter auf der Folterbank bisweilen überwunden worden sind von dem bloßen Gedanken, daß sonst das Leben verloren gehe. Wenn aber auch hieraus erhellte, daß die Motive keinen rein objektiven und absoluten Zwang mit sich führen, so konnte ihnen doch ein subjektiver und relativer, nämlich für die Person des Beteiligten, zustehen; welches im Resultat dasselbe war. Daher blieb die Frage: ist der Wille selbst frei? — Hier war nun also der Begriff der Freiheit, den man bis dahin nur in Bezug auf das Können gedacht hatte, in Beziehung auf das Wollen gesetzt worden, und das Problem entstanden, ob denn das Wollen selbst frei wäre. Aber diese Verbindung mit dem Wollen einzugehen, zeigt, bei näherer Betrachtung, der ursprüngliche, rein empirische und daher populäre Begriff von Freiheit sich unfähig. Denn nach diesem bedeutet „frei“ — „dem eigenen Willen gemäß“: frägt man nun, ob der Wille selbst frei sei; so frägt man, ob der Wille sich selber gemäß sei: was sich zwar von selbst versteht, womit aber auch nichts gesagt ist. Dem empirischen Begriff der Freiheit zufolge heißt es: „Frei bin ich, wenn ich thun kann, was ich will“: und durch das „was ich will“ ist da schon die Freiheit entschieden. Jetzt aber, da wir nach der Freiheit des Wollens selbst fragen, würde demgemäß diese Frage sich so stellen: „Kannst du auch wollen, was du willst?“ — welches herauskommt, als ob das Wollen noch von einem andern, hinter ihm liegenden Wollen abhinge. Und gesetzt, diese Frage würde bejaht; so entstände alsbald die zweite: „kannst du auch wollen, was du wollen willst?“ und so würde es ins Unendliche höher hinaufgeschoben werden, indem wir immer ein Wollen von einem früheren, oder tiefer liegenden, abhängig dächten, und vergeblich strebten, auf diesem Wege zuletzt eines zu erreichen, welches wir als von gar nichts abhängig denken und annehmen müßten. Wollten wir aber ein solches annehmen; so könnten wir ebensogut das erste, als das beliebig letzte dazu nehmen, wodurch denn aber die Frage auf die ganz einfache „kannst du wollen?“ zurückgeführt würde. Ob aber die bloße Bejahung dieser Frage die Freiheit des Wollens entscheidet, ist was man wissen wollte, und bleibt unerledigt. Der ursprüngliche, empirische, vom Thun hergenommene Begriff der Freiheit weigert sich also, eine direkte Verbindung mit dem des Willens einzugehen. Dieserhalb mußte man, um dennoch den Begriff der Freiheit auf den Willen anwenden zu können, ihn dadurch modifizieren, daß man ihn abstrakter faßte. Dies geschah, indem man durch den Begriff der Freiheit nur im allgemeinen die Abwesenheit aller Notwendigkeit dachte. Hiebei behält der Begriff den negativen Charakter, den ich ihm gleich anfangs zuerkannt hatte. Zunächst wäre demnach der Begriff der Notwendigkeit, als der jenem negativen Bedeutung gebende positive Begriff, zu erörtern.
Wir fragen also: was heißt notwendig? Die gewöhnliche Erklärung, „notwendig ist, dessen Gegenteil unmöglich, oder was nicht anders sein kann“, — ist eine bloße Worterklärung, eine Umschreibung des Begriffs, die unsere Einsicht nicht vermehrt. Als die Realerklärung aber stelle ich diese auf: notwendig ist, was aus einem gegebenen zureichenden Grunde folgt: welcher Satz, wie jede richtige Definition, sich auch umkehren läßt. Je nachdem nun dieser zureichende Grund ein logischer, oder ein mathematischer, oder ein physischer, genannt Ursache, ist, wird die Notwendigkeit eine logische (wie die der Konklusion, wenn die Prämissen gegeben sind), eine mathematische (z. B. die Gleichheit der Seiten des Dreiecks, wenn die Winkel gleich sind), oder eine physische, reale (wie der Eintritt der Wirkung, sobald die Ursache da ist) sein: immer aber hängt sie, mit gleicher Strenge, der Folge an, wenn der Grund gegeben ist. Nur sofern wir etwas als Folge aus einem gegebenen Grunde begreifen, erkennen wir es als notwendig, und umgekehrt, sobald wir etwas als Folge eines zureichenden Grundes erkennen, sehen wir ein, daß es notwendig ist: denn alle Gründe sind zwingend. Diese Realerklärung ist so adäquat und erschöpfend, daß Notwendigkeit und Folge aus einem gegebenen zureichenden Grunde Wechselbegriffe sind, d. h. überall der eine an die Stelle des andern gesetzt werden kann∗). — Demnach wäre Abwesenheit der Notwendigkeit identisch mit Abwesenheit eines bestimmenden zureichenden Grundes. Als das Gegenteil des Notwendigen wird jedoch das Zufällige gedacht; was hiemit nicht streitet. Nämlich jedes Zufällige ist nur relativ ein solches. Denn in der realen Welt, wo allein das Zufällige anzutreffen, ist jede Begebenheit notwendig, in Bezug auf ihre Ursache: hingegen in Bezug auf alles übrige, womit sie etwan in Raum und Zeit zusammentrifft, ist sie zufällig. Nun müßte aber das Freie, da Abwesenheit der Notwendigkeit sein Merkmal ist, das schlechthin von gar keiner Ursache Abhängige sein, mithin definiert werden als das absolut Zufällige: ein höchst problematischer Begriff, dessen Denkbarkeit ich nicht verbürge, der jedoch sonderbarerweise mit dem der Freiheit zusammentrifft. Jedenfalls bleibt das Freie das in keiner Beziehung Notwendige, welches heißt von keinem Grunde Abhängige. Dieser Begriff nun, angewandt auf den Willen des Menschen, würde besagen, daß ein individueller Wille in seinen Aeußerungen (Willensakten) nicht durch Ursachen, oder zureichende Gründe überhaupt, bestimmt würde; da außerdem, weil die Folge aus einem gegebenen Grunde (welcher Art dieser auch sei) allemal notwendig ist, seine Akte nicht frei, sondern notwendig wären. Hierauf beruht Kants Definition, nach welcher Freiheit das Vermögen ist, eine Reihe von Veränderungen von selbst anzufangen. Denn dies „von selbst“ heißt, auf seine wahre Bedeutung zurückgeführt, „ohne vorhergegangene Ursache“: dies aber ist identisch mit „ohne Notwendigkeit“. So daß, wenngleich jene Definition dem Begriff der Freiheit den Anschein gibt, als wäre er ein positiver, bei näherer Betrachtung doch seine negative Natur wieder hervortritt. — Ein freier Wille also wäre ein solcher, der nicht durch Gründe, — und da jedes ein anderes Bestimmende ein Grund, bei realen Dingen ein Realgrund, d. i. Ursache, sein muß, — ein solcher, der durch gar nichts bestimmt würde; dessen einzelne Aeußerungen (Willensakte) also schlechthin und ganz ursprünglich aus ihm selbst hervorgingen, ohne durch vorhergängige Bedingungen notwendig herbeigeführt, also auch ohne durch irgend etwas, einer Regel gemäß, bestimmt zu sein. Bei diesem Begriff geht das deutliche Denken uns deshalb aus, weil der Satz vom Grunde, in allen seinen Bedeutungen, die wesentliche Form unsers gesamten Erkenntnisvermögens ist, hier aber aufgegeben werden soll. Inzwischen fehlt es auch für diesen Begriff nicht an einem terminus technicus: er heißt liberum arbitrium indifferentiae. Dieser Begriff ist übrigens der einzige deutlich bestimmte, feste und entschiedene von dem, was Willensfreiheit genannt wird; daher man sich von ihm nicht entfernen kann, ohne in schwankende, nebelichte Erklärungen, hinter denen sich zaudernde Halbheit verbirgt, zu geraten: wie wenn von Gründen geredet wird, die ihre Folgen nicht notwendig herbeiführen. Jede Folge aus einem Grunde ist notwendig, und jede Notwendigkeit ist Folge aus einem Grunde. Aus der Annahme eines solchen liberi arbitrii indifferentiae ist die nächste, diesen Begriff selbst charakterisierende Folge und daher als sein Merkmal festzustellen, daß einem damit begabten menschlichen Individuo, unter gegebenen, ganz individuell und durchgängig bestimmten äußern Umständen, zwei einander diametral entgegengesetzte Handlungen gleich möglich sind.
∗) Man findet die Erörterung des Begriffes der Notwendigkeit in meiner Abhandlung über den Satz vom Grunde § 49, S. 184 f. dieser Ausgabe.
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
This concept connects with physical freedom on a side that also makes its necessarily much later origin understandable. Physical freedom, as we have said, concerns only material obstacles and is present as soon as they are absent. Yet people observed cases in which a person, though restrained by no material obstacle, was prevented by mere motives—threats, promises, dangers and the like—from acting as would otherwise certainly have accorded with his will. The question then arose: had such a person still been free? Could a strong counter-motive really obstruct an action corresponding to his actual will and make it impossible, just as a physical obstacle could? Common sense could have little difficulty answering that a motive could never act as a physical obstacle does. A physical obstacle may readily exceed human bodily strength altogether and unconditionally; a motive, by contrast, can never be irresistible in itself or possess unconditional power. It may always be outweighed by a stronger counter-motive, provided such a motive exists and the particular person in question is susceptible to it. We often see even what is generally the strongest of all motives, the preservation of life, outweighed by others: in suicide, for example, or in sacrificing one’s life for other people, for opinions, or for interests of many kinds. Conversely, every degree of the most ingenious torture on the rack has sometimes been overcome by the mere thought that otherwise one’s life would be lost. But although this showed that motives carry no purely objective and absolute compulsion, they might still possess a subjective and relative compulsion—one applying to the person concerned—which came to the same thing in the result. The question therefore remained: is the will itself free? The concept of freedom, previously thought of only in relation to ability, had now been brought into relation with willing, and the problem arose whether willing itself was free. Yet closer examination shows that the original, purely empirical and thus popular concept of freedom cannot enter into this connection with willing. For according to that concept, “free” means “in accordance with one’s own will.” To ask whether the will itself is free is therefore to ask whether the will accords with itself: something self-evident, but also something that tells us nothing. The empirical concept of freedom says: “I am free if I can do what I will”; the words “what I will” already settle the question of freedom there. Now, however, we are asking about the freedom of willing itself. On the same terms, the question would read: “Can you also will what you will?” This amounts to supposing that willing depends on another willing lying behind it. Suppose that question were answered in the affirmative: a second would immediately arise, “Can you also will what you will to will?” The question would thus be pushed back into infinity. We should always be thinking of one willing as dependent on an earlier or more deeply situated willing, vainly striving by this route to reach one that we would have to think of and accept as dependent on nothing at all. But if we wished to assume such a willing, we could just as well take the first as any arbitrarily chosen last one. The question would thereby be reduced to the perfectly simple “Can you will?” Whether merely answering this question affirmatively establishes freedom of willing is precisely what we wanted to know, and remains unsettled. The original empirical concept of freedom, derived from doing, thus refuses to enter into a direct connection with the concept of the will. To apply freedom to the will nevertheless, it had to be modified by being understood more abstractly. This was done by thinking of freedom, in general, simply as the absence of all necessity. In doing so, the concept retains the negative character I assigned to it at the outset. We must therefore first discuss necessity, the positive concept that gives this negative one its meaning.
We ask, then: what does necessary mean? The usual explanation, “Necessary is that whose opposite is impossible, or that which cannot be otherwise,” merely explains a word. It paraphrases the concept without increasing our understanding. As a definition of the thing itself, however, I propose this: necessary is whatever follows from a given sufficient reason. Like every correct definition, this proposition can also be reversed. According to whether the sufficient reason is logical, mathematical, or physical—in which last case it is called a cause—the necessity will be logical, as with a conclusion once its premises are given; mathematical, as with the equality of a triangle’s sides when its angles are equal; or physical and real, as with the occurrence of an effect once its cause is present. In every case, however, necessity attaches to the consequence with the same rigor once the reason is given. Only insofar as we understand something as a consequence of a given reason do we recognize it as necessary; conversely, as soon as we recognize something as a consequence of a sufficient reason, we see that it is necessary, for all reasons compel their consequences. This definition is so adequate and exhaustive that necessity and consequence of a given sufficient reason are interchangeable concepts: either can everywhere be put in place of the other∗). The absence of necessity would accordingly be identical with the absence of a determining sufficient reason. Contingency, however, is thought of as the opposite of necessity, and this does not conflict with what has been said. For everything contingent is so only relatively. In the real world—the only place where contingency is encountered—every event is necessary in relation to its cause, but contingent in relation to everything else with which it happens to coincide in space and time. Since absence of necessity is the mark of what is free, what is free would have to depend on no cause whatsoever. It would therefore have to be defined as the absolutely contingent: a highly problematic concept whose conceivability I do not guarantee, yet one that strangely coincides with the concept of freedom. In any case, what is free remains that which is necessary in no respect, meaning that it depends on no reason. Applied to the human will, this concept would mean that an individual will is not determined in its manifestations—its acts of will—by causes or by sufficient reasons of any kind. Otherwise, since a consequence of a given reason, whatever its kind, is always necessary, its acts would not be free but necessary. This is the basis of Kant’s definition of freedom as the capacity to begin a series of changes of itself. Reduced to its true meaning, “of itself” means “without a preceding cause,” which is identical with “without necessity.” Thus, although this definition gives freedom the appearance of a positive concept, closer examination brings its negative nature to light again. A free will, then, would be a will determined by no reasons—and since anything determining something else must be a reason, and in the case of real things a real ground, that is, a cause—a will determined by nothing whatsoever. Its individual manifestations, its acts of will, would therefore arise absolutely and originally from itself, without being brought about necessarily by prior conditions, and hence without being determined by anything in accordance with a rule. Clear thinking fails us at this concept, because the principle of sufficient reason, in all its meanings, is the essential form of our entire faculty of knowledge, yet here it is to be abandoned. There is nevertheless a technical term for this concept too: freedom of indifferent choice. It is, moreover, the only clearly defined, firm and definite concept of what is called freedom of the will. We cannot depart from it without falling into wavering, foggy explanations that conceal a hesitant refusal to go the whole way—as when people speak of reasons that do not necessarily bring about their consequences. Every consequence of a reason is necessary, and every necessity is a consequence of a reason. The immediate consequence of assuming such freedom of indifferent choice, one that characterizes the concept itself and must therefore be established as its defining mark, is this: for a human individual endowed with it, under given external circumstances that are entirely particular and determined in every respect, two diametrically opposed actions are equally possible.
∗) The concept of necessity is discussed in my treatise on the principle of sufficient reason, § 49, S. 184 f. of this edition.
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
This concept connects with physical freedom in a way that also explains why it must have developed much later. As I have said, physical freedom concerns only material obstacles. As soon as these are absent, that freedom is present. But people noticed that in some cases a person could face no material obstacle and still be kept by motives alone—threats, promises, dangers, and the like—from acting as he would otherwise certainly have wanted. So they asked whether such a person had still been free. Could a strong opposing motive really obstruct an action that followed his actual will, and make it impossible, just as a physical obstacle could? Common sense could answer this without much difficulty. A motive can never work in the same way as a physical obstacle. A physical obstacle can easily exceed human bodily strength altogether and without qualification. A motive, by contrast, can never be irresistible in itself or have unconditional power. It can always possibly be outweighed by a stronger opposing motive, provided such a motive exists and can determine the particular person’s will in that case. We often see even what is usually the strongest motive of all, preserving one’s life, outweighed by other motives. Examples include suicide and sacrificing one’s life for others, for opinions, or for all sorts of interests. Conversely, people have sometimes endured every degree of the most carefully devised torture on the rack simply because they thought they would otherwise lose their lives. This showed that motives do not exert a purely objective and absolute compulsion. Still, they might exert a subjective and relative one—one that applies to the particular person concerned. The result would be the same. So the question remained: is the will itself free?—The concept of freedom, previously understood only in relation to being able to act, had now been applied to willing. The problem had arisen of whether willing itself was free. But a closer look shows that the original, purely experience-based, everyday concept of freedom cannot be connected with willing in this way. According to that concept, “free” means “in accordance with one’s own will.” To ask whether the will itself is free is therefore to ask whether the will agrees with itself. Of course it does, but saying so tells us nothing. According to this experience-based concept, “I am free when I can do what I will.” Here the words “what I will” already settle the question of freedom. But now that we are asking whether willing itself is free, the question would accordingly become: “Can you also will what you will?” This amounts to making willing depend on another act of willing behind it. Suppose the answer were yes. A second question would arise at once: “Can you also will what you will to will?” This would push the question back endlessly. We would always be thinking of one act of willing as dependent on an earlier or deeper one. We would try in vain to reach, by this route, a final act of willing that we would have to think of and accept as dependent on nothing at all. But if we were willing to assume such an act, we could just as well choose the first as any arbitrarily chosen last one. That would reduce the question to the very simple one: “Can you will?” Whether merely answering yes to this question settles the freedom of willing is precisely what we wanted to know. It remains unsettled. So the original, experience-based concept of freedom, drawn from action, resists a direct connection with the concept of will. To apply freedom to the will nonetheless, people therefore had to change the concept by making it more abstract. They did this by taking freedom to mean, in general, only the absence of all necessity. Here the concept keeps the negative character I assigned to it at the outset. So we must first discuss necessity, the positive concept that gives this negative one its meaning.
We ask, then: what does necessary mean? The usual explanation is: “What is necessary is something whose opposite is impossible, or something that cannot be otherwise.” This merely explains a word. It restates the concept without increasing our understanding. Instead, I offer this definition of the thing itself: what is necessary is what follows from a given sufficient ground. Like every correct definition, this statement can also be reversed. That sufficient ground may be logical, mathematical, or physical, in which last case it is called a cause. The necessity will accordingly be logical (as with a conclusion when the premises are given), mathematical (for example, the equality of a triangle’s sides when its angles are equal), or physical and real (as with the occurrence of an effect as soon as its cause is present). But in every case the consequence follows with equally strict necessity once the ground is given. We recognize something as necessary only insofar as we understand it as following from a given ground. Conversely, as soon as we recognize something as following from a sufficient ground, we see that it is necessary. For all grounds compel their consequences. This definition of the thing itself is so fitting and complete that necessity and consequence from a given sufficient ground are interchangeable concepts: either can always be put in place of the other∗).—The absence of necessity would therefore be the same as the absence of a determining sufficient ground. Yet we think of the contingent as the opposite of the necessary. There is no contradiction here. Anything contingent is contingent only in relative terms. In the real world, the only place where anything contingent can be found, every event is necessary in relation to its cause. But it is contingent in relation to everything else it happens to meet in space and time. Now, since freedom is defined by the absence of necessity, what is free would have to depend on no cause whatsoever. It would therefore have to be defined as the absolutely contingent. This is a highly problematic concept. I cannot guarantee that it can even be thought, yet strangely it coincides with the concept of freedom. In any case, what is free remains what is necessary in no respect, which means what depends on no ground. Applied to the human will, this concept would mean that an individual will is not determined in its expressions (acts of will) by causes, or by sufficient grounds of any kind. Otherwise its acts would be necessary rather than free, since whatever follows from a given ground, of whatever kind, is always necessary. This is the basis of Kant’s definition: freedom is the ability to begin a series of changes by itself. Reduced to its true meaning, “by itself” means “without a preceding cause.” But that is the same as “without necessity.” So although this definition makes freedom look like a positive concept, a closer look brings out its negative nature again.—A free will, then, would be a will not determined by grounds. Anything that determines something else must be a ground, and in the case of real things, a real ground—that is, a cause. A free will would therefore be determined by nothing at all. Its individual expressions (acts of will) would come entirely and originally from itself, without being made necessary by preceding conditions, and therefore without being determined by anything according to a rule. At this point we can no longer think clearly. The principle of sufficient reason, in all its meanings, is the essential form of our entire capacity for knowledge, yet here we are supposed to give it up. Still, there is a technical term for this concept too: freedom of choice between alternatives with nothing determining the choice. This, incidentally, is the only clear, fixed, and definite concept of what is called freedom of the will. We cannot depart from it without getting caught in wavering, foggy explanations that conceal a hesitant refusal to take a definite position—as when people speak of grounds that do not necessarily bring about their consequences. Every consequence of a ground is necessary, and every necessity is a consequence of a ground. The immediate consequence of assuming such freedom of choice, and one that characterizes the concept itself, must therefore be established as its distinguishing feature: a human individual who has this freedom can equally well perform two diametrically opposed actions under given external circumstances that are completely specified in every particular.
∗) A discussion of the concept of necessity can be found in my treatise on the principle of sufficient reason, § 49, S. 184 f. of this edition.
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Chapter I, 2 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 2 of 28 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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