Chapter IV, 3
Original German
Auch Kant gerät, unabhängig von seinen Vorgängern, an den nämlichen Stein des Anstoßes, in der Kritik der praktischen Vernunft, S. 180 ff. der vierten Auflage, und S. 232 der Rosenkranzischen: „Es scheint doch, man müsse, sobald man annimmt, Gott, als allgemeines Urwesen, sei die Ursache auch der Existenz der Substanz, auch einräumen, die Handlungen des Menschen haben in demjenigen ihren bestimmenden Grund, was gänzlich außer seiner Gewalt ist, nämlich in der Kausalität eines von ihm unterschiedenen höchsten Wesens, von welchem das Dasein des ersteren und die ganze Bestimmung seiner Kausalität ganz und gar abhängt. — — Der Mensch wäre ein Vaucançonsches Automat, gezimmert und aufgezogen vom obersten Meister aller Kunstwerke, und das Selbstbewußtsein würde es zwar zu einem denkenden Automat machen, in welchem das Bewußtsein seiner Spontaneität, wenn sie für Freiheit gehalten wird, bloße Täuschung wäre, indem sie nur komparativ so genannt zu werden verdient, weil die nächsten bestimmenden Ursachen seiner Bewegung und eine lange Reihe derselben zu ihren bestimmenden Ursachen hinauf, zwar innerlich sind, die letzte und höchste aber doch gänzlich in einer fremden Hand angetroffen wird.“ — Er sucht nun diese große Bedenklichkeit durch die Unterscheidung zwischen Ding an sich und Erscheinung zu heben: durch diese aber wird so offenbar im wesentlichen der Sache nichts geändert, daß ich überzeugt bin, es sei ihm damit gar nicht Ernst gewesen. Auch gesteht er selbst das Unzulängliche seiner Auflösung ein, S. 184, wo er hinzufügt: „allein ist denn jede andere, die man versucht hat, oder versuchen mag, leichter und faßlicher? Eher möchte man sagen, die dogmatischen Lehrer der Metaphysik hätten mehr ihre Verschmitztheit als Aufrichtigkeit darin bewiesen, daß sie diesen schwierigen Punkt so weit wie möglich aus den Augen brachten, in der Hoffnung, daß, wenn sie gar nicht davon sprächen, auch wohl niemand leichtlich an ihn denken würde.“
Ich kehre, nach dieser sehr beachtenswerten Zusammenstellung höchst heterogener Stimmen, die alle dasselbe sagen, zu unserm Kirchenvater zurück. Die Gründe, mit welchen er die schon von ihm in ihrer ganzen Schwere gefühlte Bedenklichkeit zu beseitigen hofft, sind theologische, nicht philosophische, also nicht von unbedingter Gültigkeit. Die Unterstützung derselben ist, wie gesagt, der dritte Grund, zu den zwei oben angeführten, warum er ein dem Menschen von Gott verliehenes liberum arbitrium zu verteidigen sucht. Ein solches, da es sich zwischen den Schöpfer und die Sünden seines Geschöpfes trennend in die Mitte stellte, wäre auch wirklich zur Beseitigung der ganzen Bedenklichkeit hinreichend; wenn es nur, wie es leicht mit Worten gesagt ist und allenfalls dem nicht viel weiter als diese gehenden Denken genügen mag, auch bei der ernstlichen und tiefern Betrachtung wenigstens denkbar bliebe. Allein wie soll man sich vorstellig machen, daß ein Wesen, welches seiner ganzen Existentia und Essentia nach, das Werk eines andern ist, doch sich selbst uranfänglich und von Grund aus bestimmen und demnach für sein Thun verantwortlich sein könne? Der Satz Operari sequitur esse, d. h. die Wirkungen jedes Wesens folgen aus seiner Beschaffenheit, stößt jene Annahme um, ist aber selbst unumstößlich. Handelt ein Mensch schlecht, so kommt es daher, daß er schlecht ist. An jenen Satz aber knüpft sich sein Corollarium: ergo unde esse, inde operari. Was würde man von dem Uhrmacher sagen, der seiner Uhr zürnte, weil sie unrichtig ginge? Wenn man auch noch so gern den Willen zu einer tabula rasa machen möchte; so wird man doch nicht umhin können einzugestehen, daß wenn z. B. von zwei Menschen der eine, in moralischer Hinsicht, eine der des andern ganz entgegengesetzte Handlungsweise befolgt, diese Verschiedenheit, die doch irgend woraus entspringen muß, ihren Grund entweder in den äußern Umständen hat, wo denn die Schuld offenbar nicht die Menschen trifft, oder aber in einer ursprünglichen Verschiedenheit ihres Willens selbst, wo dann Schuld und Verdienst abermals nicht sie trifft, wenn ihr ganzes Sein und Wesen das Werk eines andern ist. Nachdem die angeführten großen Männer sich vergeblich angestrengt haben, aus diesem Labyrinth einen Ausgang zu finden, gestehe ich willig ein, daß die moralische Verantwortlichkeit des menschlichen Willens ohne Aseität desselben zu denken, auch meine Fassungskraft übersteigt. Dasselbe Unvermögen ist es ohne Zweifel gewesen, was die siebente der acht Definitionen, mit welchen Spinoza seine Ethik eröffnet, diktiert hat: ea res libera dicetur, quae ex sola naturae suae necessitate existit, et a se sola ad agendum determinatur; necessaria autem, vel potius coacta, quae ab alio determinatur ad existendum et operandum.
Wenn nämlich eine schlechte Handlung aus der Natur, d. i. der angeborenen Beschaffenheit, des Menschen entspringt, so liegt die Schuld offenbar am Urheber dieser Natur. Deshalb hat man den freien Willen erfunden. Aber woraus nun, unter Annahme desselben, sie entspringen soll, ist schlechterdings nicht einzusehen; weil er im Grunde eine bloß negative Eigenschaft ist und nur besagt, daß nichts den Menschen nötigt, oder hindert, so oder so zu handeln. Dadurch aber wird nimmermehr klar, woraus denn zuletzt die Handlung entspringt, da sie nicht aus der angeborenen, oder angeschaffenen Beschaffenheit des Menschen hervorgehen soll, indem sie alsdann seinem Schöpfer zur Last fiele; noch aus den äußern Umständen allein, indem sie alsdann dem Zufall zuzuschreiben wäre; der Mensch also jedenfalls schuldlos bliebe, — während er doch dafür verantwortlich gemacht wird. Das natürliche Bild eines freien Willens ist eine unbeschwerte Wage: sie hängt ruhig da, und wird nie aus ihrem Gleichgewicht kommen, wenn nicht in eine ihrer Schalen etwas gelegt wird. So wenig wie sie aus sich selbst die Bewegung, kann der freie Wille aus sich selbst eine Handlung hervorbringen; weil eben aus Nichts nichts wird. Soll die Wage sich nach einer Seite senken; so muß ein fremder Körper ihr aufgelegt werden, der dann die Quelle der Bewegung ist. Ebenso muß die menschliche Handlung durch etwas hervorgebracht werden, welches positiv wirkt und etwas mehr ist, als eine bloß negative Freiheit. Dies aber kann nur zweierlei sein: entweder thun es die Motive an und für sich, d. h. die äußern Umstände: dann ist offenbar der Mensch unverantwortlich für die Handlung; auch müßten alsdann alle Menschen unter gleichen Umständen ganz gleich handeln: oder aber es entspringt aus seiner Empfänglichkeit für solche Motive, also aus dem angeborenen Charakter, d. h. aus den dem Menschen ursprünglich einwohnenden Neigungen, welche in den Individuen verschieden sein können und kraft deren die Motive wirken. Dann aber ist der Wille kein freier mehr: denn diese Neigungen sind das auf die Schale der Wage gelegte Gewicht. Die Verantwortlichkeit fällt auf den zurück, der sie hineingelegt hat, d. h. dessen Werk der Mensch mit solchen Neigungen ist. Daher ist er nur in dem Fall, daß er selbst sein eigenes Werk sei, d. h. Aseität habe, für sein Thun verantwortlich.
Der ganze hier dargelegte Gesichtspunkt der Sache läßt ermessen, was alles an der Freiheit des Willens hängt, als welche eine unerläßliche Kluft bildet, zwischen dem Schöpfer und den Sünden seines Geschöpfs; woraus begreiflich wird, warum die Theologen sie so beharrlich festhalten, und ihre Schildknappen, die Philosophieprofessoren, sie pflichtschuldigst dabei so eifrig unterstützen, daß sie, für die bündigsten Gegenbeweise großer Denker taub und blind, den freien Willen festhalten und dafür kämpfen, wie pro ara et focis.
Um aber endlich meinen oben unterbrochenen Bericht über den Augustinus zu beschließen; so geht seine Meinung im ganzen dahin, daß der Mensch eigentlich nur vor dem Sündenfall einen ganz freien Willen gehabt habe, nach demselben aber, der Erbsünde anheimgefallen, von der Gnadenwahl und Erlösung sein Heil zu hoffen habe: — welches gesprochen heißt wie ein Kirchenvater.
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
Kant too, independently of his predecessors, comes upon the very same stumbling block, in the Critique of Practical Reason, S. 180 ff. of the fourth edition, and S. 232 of Rosenkranz’s edition: “It seems, nevertheless, that as soon as one assumes that God, as the universal original being, is the cause also of the existence of substance, one must also concede that human actions have their determining ground in that which is wholly beyond his power, namely in the causality of a supreme being distinct from him, on whom the existence of the former and the entire determination of his causality depend wholly and entirely.——Man would be a Vaucanson automaton, built and wound up by the supreme master of all works of art, and self-consciousness would indeed make him a thinking automaton, in which the consciousness of his spontaneity, if it is taken for freedom, would be mere illusion, since it deserves to be so called only comparatively, because the nearest determining causes of his movement, and a long series of them up to their determining causes, are indeed internal, while the last and highest is nonetheless found wholly in an alien hand.”—He now tries to remove this great difficulty through the distinction between thing in itself and appearance; but this so obviously leaves the matter essentially unchanged that I am convinced he was not in earnest about it. He himself also admits the inadequacy of his solution, S. 184, where he adds: “but is any other that has been tried, or may be tried, easier and more comprehensible? One might rather say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysics showed more of their cunning than of their sincerity in putting this difficult point out of sight as far as possible, in the hope that if they did not speak of it at all, no one would readily think of it.”
After this highly noteworthy assembling of the most heterogeneous voices, all saying the same thing, I return to our Church Father. The grounds with which he hopes to remove the difficulty, already felt by him in its full gravity, are theological, not philosophical, and therefore not of unconditional validity. Their support is, as I said, the third reason, in addition to the two cited above, why he seeks to defend a liberum arbitrium conferred on man by God. Such a thing, since it would interpose itself as a separating partition between the Creator and the sins of his creature, would really be sufficient to remove the whole difficulty—if only it remained at least conceivable under serious and deeper reflection, as it is easily said in words and may do well enough for a thinking that goes not much further than words. But how is one to imagine that a being which, in its whole existence and essence, is the work of another can nonetheless determine itself originally and from the ground up, and consequently be responsible for its doing? The proposition that action follows being, that is, that the effects of every being follow from its constitution, overturns that assumption, yet is itself unassailable. If a person acts badly, it is because he is bad. To that proposition, however, attaches its corollary: therefore, from whatever source a being has its existence, from that same source comes its action. What would one say of the watchmaker who was angry at his watch because it ran wrong? However gladly one might make the will a blank slate, one will still be unable to avoid admitting that if, for example, of two people one follows, in moral respects, a way of acting entirely opposite to the other’s, this difference, which must after all spring from something, has its ground either in external circumstances, in which case the guilt plainly does not fall on the people, or else in an original difference of their wills themselves, in which case guilt and merit again do not fall on them, if their whole being and essence is the work of another. Since the great men cited have strained in vain to find an exit from this labyrinth, I willingly confess that to conceive the moral responsibility of the human will without its aseity exceeds my powers of comprehension as well. It was without doubt this same incapacity that dictated the seventh of the eight definitions with which Spinoza opens his Ethics: “A thing is called free that exists from the necessity of its own nature alone and is determined to act by itself alone; but necessary, or rather compelled, that which is determined by another to exist and to operate.”
For if a bad action springs from the nature—that is, the innate constitution—of the human being, the guilt plainly lies with the author of this nature. That is why free will was invented. But from what the action is then supposed to spring, on the assumption of free will, is absolutely impossible to see; for free will is at bottom a merely negative property and says only that nothing compels or hinders a person from acting one way or another. This never makes clear from what the action finally does spring, since it is not supposed to come from the innate or created constitution of the person, for then it would be charged to his Creator; nor from external circumstances alone, for then it would have to be ascribed to chance; so that the person would remain guiltless in any case—while he is nonetheless held responsible for it. The natural image of a free will is an unloaded balance: it hangs there quietly and will never leave its equilibrium unless something is laid in one of its pans. As little as the balance can produce motion out of itself, can free will bring forth an action out of itself; because, precisely, from nothing comes nothing. If the balance is to sink to one side, a foreign body must be laid upon it, which is then the source of the motion. Likewise the human action must be produced by something that acts positively and is something more than a merely negative freedom. This, however, can be only one of two things: either the motives do it in and of themselves, that is, the external circumstances—in which case the person is plainly not responsible for the action, and, besides, all people would then have to act exactly alike under like circumstances; or else it springs from his susceptibility to such motives, hence from innate character, that is, from the inclinations originally inherent in the person, which can differ among individuals and by virtue of which the motives take effect. But then the will is no longer free: for these inclinations are the weight laid in the pan of the balance. Responsibility falls back on the one who put them in, that is, whose work the person with such inclinations is. Therefore he is responsible for his doing only in the case that he is himself his own work, that is, has aseity.
The whole standpoint set out here lets us gauge how much hangs on the freedom of the will, which forms an indispensable gulf between the Creator and the sins of his creature; from which it becomes comprehensible why the theologians cling to it so tenaciously, and why their squires, the professors of philosophy, support them in it so dutifully and so zealously that, deaf and blind to the most cogent counterproofs of great thinkers, they hold fast to free will and fight for it as for altar and hearth.
But to conclude, at last, my account of Augustine, interrupted above: his opinion on the whole comes to this, that man really had a wholly free will only before the Fall, but after it, fallen prey to original sin, has to hope for his salvation from election by grace and from redemption—which is speaking like a Church Father.
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
Kant, too, independently of his predecessors, runs up against the very same stumbling block in the Critique of Practical Reason, S. 180 ff. of the fourth edition, and S. 232 of Rosenkranz's edition: "It seems, after all, that as soon as we assume that God, as the universal original being, is also the cause of the existence of substance, we must also admit that the actions of a human being have their determining ground in something entirely outside the human being's power. That is, they have it in the causality of a highest being distinct from the human, on which the human's existence and the whole determination of the human's causality depend entirely.——The human being would be a Vaucanson automaton, built and wound up by the supreme master of all works of art. Self-consciousness would indeed make it a thinking automaton. But in it the consciousness of its spontaneity, if that is mistaken for freedom, would be mere illusion. For spontaneity deserves that name only in a comparative sense: the nearest determining causes of its movement, and a long series of them reaching up to their own determining causes, are indeed internal, but the last and highest is found entirely in a foreign hand."—He now tries to remove this great difficulty through the distinction between thing in itself and phenomenon. But this so plainly changes nothing essential in the matter that I am convinced he was not serious about it. He himself also admits that his solution falls short, S. 184, where he adds: "But is any other solution, whether one that has been tried or one that may yet be tried, easier and more graspable? One might rather say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysics have shown more cunning than honesty in this, by keeping this difficult point out of sight as far as possible, in the hope that if they never spoke of it, probably no one would easily think of it."
After this very noteworthy collection of highly different voices, which all say the same thing, I return to our Church Father. The reasons by which he hopes to remove the difficulty, which he already felt in its full weight, are theological, not philosophical. So they are not unconditionally valid. Supporting them is, as I said, the third reason, in addition to the two given above, why he tries to defend a free choice granted to human beings by God. Such a free choice, since it would stand in the middle and separate the Creator from the sins of the creature, would really be enough to remove the whole difficulty. That is so, if only it also remained at least conceivable under serious and deeper reflection. It is easily said in words, and it may satisfy thinking that goes hardly further than words. But how are we to picture that a being that is, in its whole existence and essence, the work of another can nevertheless determine itself from the very beginning and from the ground up, and so be responsible for its doing? The principle "action follows being"—that is, the effects of every being follow from its nature—overturns that assumption, but is itself unshakable. If a person acts badly, it is because they are bad. But a corollary attaches to that principle: therefore the place where a being's existence comes from is the place where its action comes from. What would we say of a watchmaker who was angry at their watch because it ran wrong? However much we might like to make the will a blank slate, we cannot avoid admitting the following. Suppose, for example, that of two people one follows a way of acting, in moral terms, that is quite the opposite of the other's. This difference must come from somewhere. Its ground lies either in outward circumstances, in which case the guilt clearly does not fall on the people, or in an original difference in their wills themselves. In that case too, guilt and merit again do not fall on them, if their whole being and nature is the work of another. The great men I have named have strained in vain to find a way out of this labyrinth. So I readily admit that to think the moral responsibility of the human will without its self-existence also goes beyond my power of understanding. Without doubt the same inability dictated the seventh of the eight definitions with which Spinoza opens his Ethics: "That thing will be called free which exists from the necessity of its own nature alone and is determined to act by itself alone. But a thing is called necessary, or rather compelled, if it is determined by another to exist and to act."
If a bad action springs from the nature of the human being, that is, from the inborn constitution, then the guilt clearly lies with the author of this nature. That is why the free will was invented. But from what the action is then supposed to spring, once free will is assumed, is absolutely impossible to see. For free will is at bottom a merely negative property. It says only that nothing compels the person or hinders them from acting this way or that. But that never makes clear what the action finally springs from. It is not supposed to come from the person's inborn or created constitution, because then it would fall on their Creator. Nor is it supposed to come from outward circumstances alone, because then it would have to be put down to chance. So in any case the person would stay blameless—while they are nevertheless held responsible for it. The natural picture of a free will is an unloaded scale. It hangs there calmly and will never leave its balance unless something is put into one of its pans. A free will can no more produce an action out of itself than the scale can produce movement out of itself, because nothing comes from nothing. If the scale is to sink to one side, a foreign body must be laid on it, and that body is then the source of the movement. In the same way, the human action must be produced by something that works positively and is something more than a merely negative freedom. But this can be only one of two things. Either the motives do it in and of themselves, that is, the outward circumstances. Then the person is clearly not responsible for the action, and all people would also have to act exactly alike in equal circumstances. Or else the action springs from the person's receptiveness to such motives, and so from the inborn character, that is, from the inclinations originally dwelling in the person, which can differ from one individual to another and by virtue of which the motives work. But then the will is no longer free. For these inclinations are the weight laid in the scale's pan. The responsibility falls back on whoever put them there, that is, on whoever's work the person with such inclinations is. So a person is responsible for their doing only if they are their own work, that is, have self-existence.
The whole view of the matter set out here lets us gauge how much hangs on freedom of the will. It forms an indispensable gulf between the Creator and the sins of the creature. That makes it understandable why the theologians hold on to it so stubbornly. It also explains why their shield-bearers, the philosophy professors, dutifully support them so eagerly in this. Deaf and blind to the most conclusive counterproofs of great thinkers, they hold on to free will and fight for it as for their altars and hearths.
But to close my account of Augustine at last, which I interrupted above: his opinion as a whole is that the human being really had a fully free will only before the Fall. After the Fall, having come under original sin, the human being must hope for salvation from election by grace and from redemption.—That is speaking just like a Church Father.
About this section
Chapter IV, 3 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 20 of 28 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
Open the work page for the full contents, every edition, and the download links, or go back to Explore to browse other complete works in the European tradition. The reader keeps your place when you are signed in and lets you compare the original with each translation, one edition at a time.