Chapter V, 2
Original German
Es gibt nämlich noch eine Thatsache des Bewußtseins, von welcher ich bisher, um den Gang der Untersuchung nicht zu stören, gänzlich abgesehen habe. Diese ist das völlig deutliche und sichere Gefühl der Verantwortlichkeit für das was wir thun, der Zurechnungsfähigkeit für unsere Handlungen, beruhend auf der unerschütterlichen Gewißheit, daß wir selbst die Thäter unserer Thaten sind. Vermöge dieses Bewußtseins kommt es keinem, auch dem nicht, der von der im Bisherigen dargelegten Notwendigkeit, mit welcher unsere Handlungen eintreten, völlig überzeugt ist, jemals in den Sinn, sich für ein Vergehen durch diese Notwendigkeit zu entschuldigen und die Schuld von sich auf die Motive zu wälzen, da ja bei deren Eintritt die That unausbleiblich war. Denn er sieht sehr wohl ein, daß diese Notwendigkeit eine subjektive Bedingung hat, und daß hier objective, d. h. unter den vorhandenen Umständen, also unter der Einwirkung der Motive, die ihn bestimmt haben, doch eine ganz andere Handlung, ja, die der seinigen gerade entgegengesetzte, sehr wohl möglich war und hätte geschehen können, wenn nur Er ein anderer gewesen wäre: hieran allein hat es gelegen. Ihm, weil er dieser und kein anderer ist, weil er einen solchen und solchen Charakter hat, war freilich keine andere Handlung möglich; aber an sich selbst, also objective, war sie möglich. Die Verantwortlichkeit, deren er sich bewußt ist, trifft daher bloß zunächst und ostensibel die That, im Grunde aber seinen Charakter: für diesen fühlt er sich verantwortlich. Und für diesen machen ihn auch die andern verantwortlich, indem ihr Urteil sogleich die That verläßt, um die Eigenschaften des Thäters festzustellen: „er ist ein schlechter Mensch, ein Bösewicht“, — oder „er ist ein Spitzbube“ — oder „er ist eine kleine, falsche, niederträchtige Seele“, — so lautet ihr Urteil, und auf seinen Charakter laufen ihre Vorwürfe zurück. Die That, nebst dem Motiv, kommt dabei bloß als Zeugnis von dem Charakter des Thäters in Betracht, gilt aber als sicheres Symptom desselben, wodurch er unwiderruflich und auf immer festgestellt ist. Ueberaus richtig sagt daher Aristoteles: Ἐγκωμιάζομεν πράξαντας· τὰ δ’ἔργα σημεῖα τῆς ἕξεώς ἐστι, ἐπεὶ ἐπαινοῖμεν ἂν καὶ μὴ πεπραγότα, εἰ πιστεύοιμεν εἶναι τοιοῦτον. — Rhetorica, I, 9. (Encomio celebramus eos, qui egerunt: opera autem signa habitus sunt; quoniam laudaremus etiam qui non egisset, si crederemus esse talem.) Also nicht auf die vorübergehende That, sondern auf die bleibenden Eigenschaften des Thäters, d. h. des Charakters, aus welchem sie hervorgegangen, wirft sich der Haß, der Abscheu und die Verachtung. Daher sind in allen Sprachen die Epitheta moralischer Schlechtigkeit, die Schimpfnamen, welche sie bezeichnen, vielmehr Prädikate des Menschen als der Handlungen. Dem Charakter werden sie angehängt: denn dieser hat die Schuld zu tragen, deren er auf Anlaß der Thaten bloß überführt worden.
Da, wo die Schuld liegt, muß auch die Verantwortlichkeit liegen: und da diese das alleinige Datum ist, welches auf moralische Freiheit zu schließen berechtigt; so muß auch die Freiheit ebendaselbst liegen, also im Charakter des Menschen; um so mehr, als wir uns hinlänglich überzeugt haben, daß sie unmittelbar in den einzelnen Handlungen nicht anzutreffen ist, als welche, unter Voraussetzung des Charakters, streng necessitiert eintreten. Der Charakter aber ist, wie im dritten Abschnitt gezeigt worden, angeboren und unveränderlich.
Die Freiheit in diesem Sinn also, dem alleinigen, zu welchem die Data vorliegen, wollen wir jetzt noch etwas näher betrachten, um, nachdem wir sie aus einer Thatsache des Bewußtseins erschlossen und ihren Ort gefunden haben, sie auch, soweit es möglich sein möchte, philosophisch zu begreifen.
Im dritten Abschnitte hatte sich ergeben, daß jede Handlung eines Menschen das Produkt zweier Faktoren sei: seines Charakters mit dem Motiv. Dies bedeutet keineswegs, daß sie ein Mittleres, gleichsam ein Kompromiß zwischen dem Motiv und dem Charakter sei; sondern sie thut beiden volles Genüge, indem sie, ihrer ganzen Möglichkeit nach, auf beiden zugleich beruht, nämlich darauf, daß das wirkende Motiv auf diesen Charakter treffe und dieser Charakter durch ein solches Motiv bestimmbar sei. Der Charakter ist die empirisch erkannte, beharrliche und unveränderliche Beschaffenheit eines individuellen Willens. Da nun dieser Charakter ein ebenso notwendiger Faktor jeder Handlung ist, wie das Motiv; so erklärt sich hiedurch das Gefühl, daß unsere Thaten von uns selbst ausgehen, oder jenes „Ich will“, welches alle unsere Handlungen begleitet und vermöge dessen jeder sie als seine Thaten anerkennen muß, für welche er sich daher moralisch verantwortlich fühlt. Dieses ist nun wieder eben jenes oben bei Untersuchung des Selbstbewußtseins gefundene „Ich will, und will stets nur was ich will“, — welches den rohen Verstand verleitet, eine absolute Freiheit des Thuns und Lassens, ein liberum arbitrium indifferentiae, hartnäckig zu behaupten. Allein es ist nichts weiter, als das Bewußtsein des zweiten Faktors der Handlung, welcher für sich allein ganz unfähig wäre, sie hervorzubringen, hingegen beim Eintritt des Motivs ebenso unfähig ist, sie zu unterlassen. Aber erst indem er auf diese Weise in Thätigkeit versetzt wird, gibt er seine eigene Beschaffenheit dem Erkenntnisvermögen kund, als welches, wesentlich nach außen, nicht nach innen gerichtet, sogar die Beschaffenheit des eigenen Willens erst aus seinen Handlungen empirisch kennen lernt. Diese nähere und immer intimer werdende Bekanntschaft ist es eigentlich, was man das Gewissen nennt, welches auch eben deshalb direkt erst nach der Handlung laut wird; vorher höchstens nur indirekt, indem es etwan mittelst der Reflexion und Rückblick auf ähnliche Fälle, über die es sich schon erklärt hat, als ein künftig Eintretendes bei der Ueberlegung in Anschlag gebracht wird.
Hier ist nun der Ort, an die schon im vorigen Abschnitt erwähnte Darstellung zu erinnern, welche Kant von dem Verhältnis zwischen empirischem und intelligibelm Charakter und dadurch von der Vereinbarkeit der Freiheit mit der Notwendigkeit gegeben hat, und welche zum Schönsten und Tiefgedachtesten gehört, was dieser große Geist, ja, was Menschen jemals hervorgebracht haben. Ich habe mich nur darauf zu berufen, da es eine überflüssige Weitläuftigkeit wäre, es hier zu wiederholen. Aber nur daraus läßt sich, soweit menschliche Kräfte es vermögen, begreifen: wie die strenge Notwendigkeit unserer Handlungen doch zusammenbesteht mit derjenigen Freiheit, von welcher das Gefühl der Verantwortlichkeit Zeugnis ablegt, und vermöge welcher wir die Thäter unserer Thaten und diese uns moralisch zuzurechnen sind. — Jenes von Kant dargelegte Verhältnis des empirischen zum intelligibeln Charakter beruht ganz und gar auf dem, was den Grundzug seiner gesamten Philosophie ausmacht, nämlich auf der Unterscheidung zwischen Erscheinung und Ding an sich: und wie bei ihm die vollkommene empirische Realität der Erfahrungswelt zusammenbesteht mit ihrer transcendentalen Idealität; ebenso die strenge empirische Notwendigkeit des Handelns mit dessen transcendentaler Freiheit. Der empirische Charakter nämlich ist, wie der ganze Mensch, als Gegenstand der Erfahrung eine bloße Erscheinung, daher an die Formen aller Erscheinung, Zeit, Raum und Kausalität gebunden und deren Gesetzen unterworfen: hingegen ist die als Ding an sich von diesen Formen unabhängige und deshalb keinem Zeitunterschied unterworfene, mithin beharrende und unveränderliche Bedingung und Grundlage dieser ganzen Erscheinung sein intelligibler Charakter, d. h. sein Wille als Ding an sich, welchem, in solcher Eigenschaft, allerdings auch absolute Freiheit, d. h. Unabhängigkeit vom Gesetze der Kausalität (als einer bloßen Form der Erscheinungen) zukommt. Diese Freiheit aber ist eine transcendentale, d.h. nicht in der Erscheinung hervortretende, sondern nur insofern vorhandene, als wir von der Erscheinung und allen ihren Formen abstrahieren, um zu dem zu gelangen, was, außer aller Zeit, als das innere Wesen des Menschen an sich selbst zu denken ist. Vermöge dieser Freiheit sind alle Thaten des Menschen sein eigenes Werk; so notwendig sie auch aus dem empirischen Charakter, bei seinem Zusammentreffen mit den Motiven, hervorgehen; weil dieser empirische Charakter bloß die Erscheinung des intelligibeln, in unserm an Zeit, Raum und Kausalität gebundenen Erkenntnisvermögen, d. h. die Art und Weise ist, wie diesem das Wesen an sich unsers eigenen Selbst sich darstellt. Demzufolge ist zwar der Wille frei, aber nur an sich selbst und außerhalb der Erscheinung: in dieser hingegen stellt er sich schon mit einem bestimmten Charakter dar, welchem alle seine Thaten gemäß sein und daher, wenn durch die hinzugetretenen Motive näher bestimmt, notwendig so und nicht anders ausfallen müssen.
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
There is, namely, one more fact of consciousness, which I have so far set entirely aside in order not to disturb the course of the inquiry. This is the wholly distinct and certain feeling of responsibility for what we do, of accountability for our actions, resting on the unshakable certainty that we ourselves are the doers of our deeds. By virtue of this consciousness it never occurs to anyone—not even to someone fully convinced of the necessity, set out so far, with which our actions occur—to excuse a transgression by appeal to that necessity and to shift the guilt from himself onto the motives, since once they appeared the deed was unavoidable. For he sees very well that this necessity has a subjective condition, and that objectively, that is, under the existing circumstances and so under the influence of the very motives that determined him, a quite different action, even the exact opposite of his own, was entirely possible and could have happened, if only he had been a different person: it was on that alone that the matter turned. For him, because he is this person and no other, because he has such and such a character, no other action was indeed possible; but in itself, that is, objectively, it was possible. The responsibility of which he is conscious therefore falls, first and ostensibly, merely on the deed, but fundamentally on his character: for this he feels responsible. And for this the others too hold him responsible, since their judgment at once leaves the deed behind in order to fix the qualities of the doer: “he is a bad man, a villain”—or “he is a scoundrel”—or “he is a small, false, base soul”—so runs their judgment, and their reproaches come back to his character. The deed, together with its motive, comes into consideration there merely as testimony to the doer’s character, but counts as a sure symptom of it, by which he is irrevocably and forever fixed. Aristotle therefore says most truly: “We praise those who have acted; for deeds are signs of a settled disposition, since we would praise even someone who had not acted, if we believed him to be of that kind.”—Rhetorica, I, 9. (We celebrate those who have acted with praise; but works are signs of a habit, since we would praise even one who had not acted, if we believed him to be of such a kind.) So it is not at the passing deed but at the enduring qualities of the doer, that is, at the character from which the deed came, that hatred, abhorrence and contempt are cast. Hence in all languages the epithets of moral badness, the terms of abuse that denote it, are predicates of the person rather than of actions. They are attached to the character: for it has to bear the guilt, of which it was merely convicted on the occasion of the deeds.
Where the guilt lies, the responsibility must lie as well; and since this is the sole datum that entitles us to infer moral freedom, the freedom too must lie in the same place, that is, in the character of the human being. This holds all the more since we have convinced ourselves sufficiently that freedom is not to be found immediately in individual actions, which, on the presupposition of the character, occur under strict necessity. The character, however, as was shown in the third section, is innate and unchangeable.
Freedom in this sense, then, the only one for which the data are at hand, we now wish to consider somewhat more closely, so that, having inferred it from a fact of consciousness and found its place, we may also comprehend it philosophically, as far as that may be possible.
In the third section it emerged that every action of a human being is the product of two factors: his character and the motive. This by no means signifies that the action is something intermediate, a compromise, as it were, between motive and character; rather it does full justice to both, in that, in its entire possibility, it rests on both at once, namely on the fact that the operative motive meets this character and that this character is determinable by such a motive. The character is the empirically known, persistent and unchangeable constitution of an individual will. Since this character is just as necessary a factor in every action as the motive, this explains the feeling that our deeds proceed from ourselves, or that “I will” which accompanies all our actions and by virtue of which everyone must acknowledge them as his deeds, for which he therefore feels morally responsible. This, once again, is precisely that “I will, and always will only what I will” found above in the examination of self-consciousness, which misleads the crude understanding into stubbornly asserting an absolute freedom of doing and refraining, a freedom of indifferent choice. But it is nothing more than the consciousness of the second factor of the action, which by itself would be wholly incapable of producing the action, yet equally incapable, once the motive enters, of leaving it undone. Only by being set in activity in this way, however, does that factor make its own constitution known to the faculty of knowledge, which, directed essentially outward and not inward, learns even the constitution of its own will only empirically, from its actions. This closer and ever more intimate acquaintance is what is properly called conscience, which for just this reason also speaks directly only after the action; before it, at most indirectly, in that, by means of reflection and a backward look at similar cases on which it has already pronounced, it is taken into account in deliberation as something that will occur in the future.
Here is the place to recall the account, already mentioned in the previous section, which Kant gave of the relation between empirical and intelligible character, and thereby of the compatibility of freedom with necessity—an account that belongs among the most beautiful and profoundly conceived things that this great mind, indeed that human beings, have ever produced. I need only appeal to it, since it would be superfluous prolixity to repeat it here. But only from it can one comprehend, so far as human powers allow, how the strict necessity of our actions nevertheless coexists with that freedom to which the feeling of responsibility bears witness, and by virtue of which we are the doers of our deeds and these are morally attributable to us.—That relation of the empirical to the intelligible character set out by Kant rests entirely on what makes up the basic feature of his whole philosophy, namely the distinction between phenomenon and thing in itself. Just as for him the complete empirical reality of the world of experience coexists with its transcendental ideality, so does the strict empirical necessity of action coexist with its transcendental freedom. The empirical character, namely, like the whole human being as an object of experience, is a mere phenomenon, and therefore bound to the forms of all phenomena—time, space and causality—and subject to their laws. By contrast, the condition and foundation of this whole phenomenon, which as thing in itself is independent of these forms and therefore subject to no difference of time, and so persisting and unchangeable, is his intelligible character, that is, his will as thing in itself, to which, in this capacity, absolute freedom does indeed belong, that is, independence of the law of causality (as a mere form of phenomena). This freedom, however, is a transcendental one, that is, one that does not emerge in the phenomenon but exists only insofar as we abstract from the phenomenon and all its forms in order to arrive at what, outside all time, is to be thought as the inner essence of the human being in himself. By virtue of this freedom all the deeds of a human being are his own work, however necessarily they proceed from the empirical character when it meets the motives; for this empirical character is merely the phenomenon of the intelligible one in our faculty of knowledge, bound to time, space and causality—that is, it is the manner in which the essence in itself of our own self presents itself to that faculty. Accordingly, the will is indeed free, but only in itself and outside the phenomenon. In the phenomenon it already presents itself with a determinate character, to which all its deeds must conform, and they must therefore, when more closely determined by the motives that have been added, necessarily turn out thus and not otherwise.
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
There is one more fact of consciousness that I have so far left entirely aside, so as not to disturb the course of the inquiry. This is the completely clear and certain feeling of responsibility for what we do, of being accountable for our actions. It rests on the unshakable certainty that we ourselves are the doers of our deeds. Because of this awareness, it never occurs to anyone to excuse a wrongdoing by this necessity and to shift the guilt from themselves onto the motives, on the grounds that once the motives appeared the deed could not fail to happen. This is true even of someone who is fully convinced of the necessity, set out above, with which our actions occur. For such a person sees very well that this necessity has a subjective condition. They see that, objectively, a quite different action was entirely possible under the given circumstances, that is, under the influence of the motives that determined them. It could even have been exactly the opposite of theirs, and it could have happened, if only they had been a different person. That alone was the cause. For them, because they are this person and no other, because they have this particular character, no other action was possible. But in itself, that is, objectively, it was possible. So the responsibility they are aware of falls, first of all and on the surface, only on the deed. At bottom, however, it falls on their character. For that character they feel responsible. And others, too, hold them responsible for it. Their judgment at once leaves the deed behind in order to fix the qualities of the doer: "he is a bad man, a villain," or "he is a scoundrel," or "he is a small, false, base soul." That is their verdict, and their reproaches come back to his character. The deed, together with the motive, counts here only as evidence of the doer's character. But it is taken as a sure symptom of that character, by which the person is fixed irrevocably and for good. Aristotle therefore says, very rightly: "We praise those who have acted. For deeds are signs of a settled disposition, since we would praise even someone who had not acted, if we believed him to be that kind of person."—Rhetorica, I, 9. (We celebrate with praise those who have acted; deeds are signs of a habit; for we would also praise one who had not acted, if we believed him to be such.) So hatred, disgust, and contempt are aimed not at the passing deed but at the lasting qualities of the doer, that is, at the character from which the deed came. That is why, in all languages, the words that name moral badness, the insulting names for it, are predicates of the person rather than of the actions. They are attached to the character. For the character has to bear the guilt, of which it was convicted merely on the occasion of the deeds.
Where the guilt lies, the responsibility must lie too. This responsibility is the only fact that entitles us to infer moral freedom. So the freedom must lie in the same place: in a person's character. This is all the more so because we have convinced ourselves sufficiently that freedom cannot be found directly in individual actions, since these occur with strict necessity once the character is given. And the character, as was shown in the third section, is inborn and unchangeable.
So we want to look somewhat more closely at freedom in this sense, the only one for which there is any evidence. We have inferred it from a fact of consciousness and found where it is located. Now we want to understand it philosophically as well, as far as that may be possible.
The third section showed that every human action is the product of two factors: the person's character and the motive. This does not mean at all that the action is something in between, a kind of compromise between the motive and the character. It satisfies both fully, because its whole possibility rests on both at once. That is, it rests on the fact that the acting motive meets this character, and that this character can be determined by such a motive. The character is the lasting and unchangeable nature of an individual will, as it is known through experience. This character is as necessary a factor in every action as the motive is. That explains the feeling that our deeds come from ourselves, the "I will" that accompanies all our actions. Because of it, everyone must acknowledge their actions as their own deeds, and so feels morally responsible for them. This is again the very "I will, and I always will only what I will" that we found earlier, when we examined self-consciousness. It misleads the unrefined understanding into stubbornly asserting an absolute freedom to do or not to do, a free choice of indifference. But it is nothing more than the awareness of the second factor of the action. By itself, this factor would be quite unable to bring the action about. But when the motive appears, it is just as unable to refrain from it. Only when it is set in motion in this way does it reveal its own nature to the faculty of knowledge. That faculty is directed essentially outward, not inward. It learns even the nature of its own will only from experience, from the will's actions. This closer acquaintance, which keeps growing more intimate, is what we really call conscience. For that very reason, conscience speaks up directly only after the action. Before the action it speaks at most indirectly. Through reflection and a look back at similar cases on which it has already pronounced, it can be counted in our deliberation as something that will come later.
This is the place to recall the account that Kant gave of the relation between the empirical and the intelligible character, and through it of how freedom can be reconciled with necessity. I already mentioned it in the previous section. It is among the most beautiful and profound things that this great mind, indeed that any human beings, have ever produced. I need only refer to it, since it would be needless length to repeat it here. But only from it can we understand, as far as human powers allow, how the strict necessity of our actions can still exist alongside the freedom to which the feeling of responsibility bears witness. By virtue of this freedom we are the doers of our deeds, and the deeds are morally to be charged to us.—This relation of the empirical to the intelligible character, as Kant set it out, rests entirely on what forms the basic feature of his whole philosophy: the distinction between phenomenon and thing in itself. In his system, the complete empirical reality of the world of experience exists alongside its transcendental ideality. In the same way, the strict empirical necessity of action exists alongside its transcendental freedom. The empirical character, like the whole human being, is a mere phenomenon, as an object of experience. So it is bound to the forms of all phenomena—time, space, and causality—and subject to their laws. By contrast, the condition and foundation of this whole phenomenon is the person's intelligible character. That is, it is the person's will as thing in itself. As a thing in itself, it is independent of those forms, and so not subject to any difference of time. It is therefore lasting and unchangeable. In that capacity it does have absolute freedom, that is, independence from the law of causality (which is a mere form of phenomena). But this freedom is transcendental. That is, it does not show up in the phenomenon. It exists only to the extent that we set aside the phenomenon and all its forms, in order to reach what must be thought of, outside all time, as the inner essence of the human being in itself. By virtue of this freedom, all of a person's deeds are their own work, however necessarily they follow from the empirical character when it meets the motives. For this empirical character is merely the phenomenon of the intelligible one in our faculty of knowledge, which is bound to time, space, and causality. In other words, it is the way the essence in itself of our own self presents itself to that faculty. Accordingly, the will is free, but only in itself and outside the phenomenon. In the phenomenon it already presents itself with a definite character, to which all its deeds must conform. And so, once the motives that come along determine it more closely, those deeds must turn out necessarily this way and no other.
About this section
Chapter V, 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 26 of 28 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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