The Rudolf Steiner Archive

1. Conscious Human Action

1. Conscious Human Action

[ 1 ] Is man, in his thoughts and actions, a spiritually free being, or is he subject to the coercion of an iron necessity governed purely by natural law? Few questions have been the subject of as much intellectual scrutiny as this one. The idea of the freedom of the human will has found both ardent supporters and stubborn opponents in great numbers. There are people who, in their moral fervor, declare anyone capable of denying such an obvious fact as freedom to be of limited intellect. Opposing them are others who see it as the height of unscientific thinking when someone believes that the laws of nature are suspended in the realm of human action and thought. The very same thing is here declared just as often to be humanity’s most precious asset as it is the worst illusion. Infinite sophistry has been expended to explain how human freedom is compatible with the workings of nature, to which man himself belongs. No less effort has been expended by others in attempting to explain how such a delusional idea could have arisen. That we are dealing here with one of the most important questions of life, religion, practice, and science is felt by everyone whose most striking character trait is not the opposite of thoroughness. And it is one of the sad signs of the superficiality of contemporary thought that a book which seeks to forge a “new faith” from the results of recent natural research (David Friedrich Strauss, The Old and the New Faith), contains nothing on this question but the words: “We have not here engaged with the question of the freedom of the human will. The supposedly indifferent freedom of choice has always been recognized by every philosophy worthy of the name as an empty phantom; the moral evaluation of human actions and dispositions, however, remains unaffected by that question. It is not because I believe that the book in which it appears has any special significance that I cite this passage here, but because it seems to me to express the opinion to which the majority of our thinking contemporaries are capable of rising in the matter in question. That freedom cannot consist in choosing one or the other of two possible actions entirely at will seems to be known today by everyone who claims to have outgrown the infantile stages of science. There is always, it is claimed, a very specific reason why, out of several possible actions, one carries out a particular one.

[ 2 ] That seems obvious. Nevertheless, to this day, the main attacks by the opponents of freedom are directed solely against freedom of choice. As Herbert Spencer—whose views are gaining ground with each passing day (The Principles of Psychology, by Herbert Spencer, German edition by Dr. B. Vetter, Stuttgart 1882): “But that everyone can desire or not desire at will, which is the actual proposition underlying the doctrine of free will, is of course negated just as much by the analysis of consciousness as by the content of the preceding chapters (of psychology).” Others also proceed from the same point of view when they challenge the concept of free will. The seeds of all relevant arguments on this subject can already be found in Spinoza. What he clearly and simply put forward against the idea of freedom has since been repeated countless times, though mostly cloaked in the most subtle theoretical doctrines, so that it becomes difficult to recognize the simple line of reasoning on which it all depends. Spinoza writes in a letter from October or November 1674: “For I call that thing free which consists and acts out of the mere necessity of its nature, and I call compelled that which is determined by something else to exist and act in a precise and fixed manner. Thus, for example, God, although necessary, is nevertheless free, because he consists solely of the necessity of his nature. Likewise, God knows himself and everything else freely, because it follows solely from the necessity of his nature that he knows everything. You see, then, that I place freedom not in a free decision, but in a free necessity.

[ 3 ] But let us turn to created things, all of which are determined by external causes to exist and act in a definite and precise manner. To understand this more clearly, let us create a mental image of a very simple thing. For example, a stone receives a certain amount of motion from an external cause that strikes it, with which it necessarily continues to move afterwards, once the impact of the external cause has ceased. This persistence of the stone in its motion is therefore a forced one and not a necessary one, because it must be defined by the impact of an external cause. What applies here to the stone applies to every other individual thing, no matter how complex or versatile it may be, namely, that every thing is necessarily determined by an external cause to exist and act in a fixed and precise manner.

[ 4 ] Now, please suppose that the stone, while it is moving, thinks and knows that it is striving as much as it can to continue moving. This stone, which is conscious only of its own striving and is by no means indifferent, will believe that it is entirely free and that it continues its movement for no other reason than that it wills it. But this is that human freedom which everyone claims to possess and which consists solely in the fact that people are conscious of their desires but do not know the causes that determine them. Thus the child believes that it freely desires milk, and the angry boy that he freely demands revenge, and the fearful one that he freely seeks flight. Furthermore, the drunkard believes that he speaks of his own free will what he, had he become sober, would gladly not have spoken; and since this prejudice is innate in all people, one cannot easily free oneself from it. For even though experience teaches us sufficiently that people are least able to moderate their desires, and that, driven by conflicting passions, they recognize what is better yet do what is worse, they nevertheless consider themselves free—namely, because they desire some things less strongly, and because certain desires can be easily restrained by the memory of other things that are often recalled.”—

[ 5 ] Because this is a clearly and decisively stated view, it is also easy to uncover the fundamental error inherent in it. Just as a stone is compelled to perform a certain movement when struck, so too is a person compelled to perform an action when driven to it by some cause. Merely because a person is conscious of his action, he considers himself the free instigator of it. In doing so, however, he overlooks the fact that he is driven by a cause which he must necessarily follow. The error in this line of thought is easily identified. Spinoza and all who think like him overlook the fact that a person not only has an awareness of his action, but can also have an awareness of the causes by which he is guided. No one will dispute that—the child is unfree when it craves milk, that the drunkard is so when he speaks things he later regrets. Both are unaware of the causes at work in the depths of their organism, and under whose irresistible compulsion they stand. But is it justified to lump actions of this kind together with those in which a person is not only conscious of his actions but also of the reasons that prompt him? Are human actions all of the same kind? Can the act of the warrior on the battlefield, that of the scientific researcher in the laboratory, or that of the statesman in complex diplomatic affairs be scientifically placed on the same level as that of the child when it craves milk? It is true that one best attempts to solve a problem where the matter is simplest. But often a lack of discernment has led to endless confusion. And there is, after all, a profound difference between knowing why I do something and not knowing why. At first glance, this seems to be a self-evident truth. And yet the opponents of freedom never ask whether a motive for my action—one that I recognize and understand—constitutes a compulsion for me in the same sense as the organic process that causes the child to cry out for milk.

[ 6 ] Eduard von Hartmann asserts in his *Phenomenology of Moral Consciousness* (5. 451) that human volition depends on two main factors: motives and character. If one regards all people as equal, or at least their differences as insignificant, their volition appears to be determined from the outside, namely by the circumstances that confront them. But if one considers that different people only make a mental image the motive for their actions when their character is such that it is prompted by the corresponding mental image to form a desire, then human beings appear to be determined from within and not from without. Man now believes—because, in accordance with his character, he must first make a mental image imposed on him from the outside into a motive—that he is free, that is, independent of external motives. The truth, however, according to Eduard von Hartmann, is that: “Even if we ourselves elevate mental images to the status of motives, we do so not arbitrarily, but according to the necessity of our characterological disposition, thus anything but freely.” Here, too, the distinction is completely ignored between motives that I allow to influence me only after I have thoroughly examined them with my consciousness, and those that I follow without possessing clear knowledge of them.

[ 7 ] And this leads directly to the perspective from which the matter should be considered here. Can the question of the freedom of our will even be posed in isolation? And if not, to what other question must it necessarily be linked?

[ 8 ] If there is a difference between a conscious motive for my action and an unconscious impulse, then the former will also result in an action that must be judged differently from one arising from blind impulse. The question of this difference will therefore be the first. And it is only on the outcome of this question that it will depend how we are to approach the actual question of freedom.

[ 9 ] What does it mean to have a knowledge of the reasons for one’s actions? This question has been given too little consideration because, unfortunately, we have always torn apart into two parts what is an inseparable whole: the human being. A distinction was made between the agent and the knower, and the only one to come away empty-handed was the one who matters above all else: the agent who acts out of knowledge.

[ 10 ] It is said that a person is free if they are governed solely by reason and not by animalistic desires. Or, in other words, freedom means being able to determine one’s life and actions according to one’s own purposes and decisions.

[ 11 ] But such assertions achieve absolutely nothing. For that is precisely the question: whether reason, whether purposes and decisions, exert a compulsion on human beings in the same way as animal desires. If a rational decision arises within me without my intervention, with precisely the same necessity as hunger and thirst, then I can only follow it out of necessity, and my freedom is an illusion.

[ 12 ] Another saying goes: To be free does not mean being able to want what one wants, but being able to do what one wants. The poet-philosopher Robert Hamerling articulated this idea in sharp terms in his *Atomistik des Willens*: “Man can indeed do what he wants—but he cannot want what he wants, because his will is determined by motives!—He cannot want what he wants? Let us take a closer look at these words. Is there any rational sense in them? Freedom of will would thus consist in being able to will something without reason, without motive? But what does “to will” mean other than to have a reason to prefer doing or striving for this rather than that? To will something without reason, without motive, would mean to will something without intending to. The concept of volition is inseparably linked to that of motive. Without a determining motive, the will is an empty faculty: only through the motive does it become active and real. It is therefore quite correct that the human will is not “free” insofar as its direction is always determined by the strongest of motives. But on the other hand, it must be admitted that it is absurd to speak, in contrast to this “lack of freedom,” of a conceivable “freedom” of the will, which would consist in being able to will what one does not will.” (Atomistik des Willens, Vol. 2, p. 213 ff.)

[ 13 ] Here, too, the discussion focuses solely on motives in general, without taking into account the difference between unconscious and conscious motives. If a motive exerts an influence on me and I am compelled to follow it because it proves to be the “strongest” among its peers, then the concept of freedom ceases to have any meaning. How can it matter to me whether I can do something or not if I am compelled by the motive to do it? What matters initially is not whether I can do something or not once the motive has affected me, but whether there are only such motives that act with compelling necessity. If I must want something, then under certain circumstances it is of the utmost indifference to me whether I can actually do it. If, because of my character and the circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is imposed upon me that proves unreasonable to my thinking, then I would even have to be glad if I could not do what I want.

[ 14 ] What matters is not whether I can carry out a firm resolution, but how the resolution arises within me.

[ 15 ] What distinguishes humans from all other living beings is their rational thought. The capacity to act is something they share with other organisms. There is no benefit in seeking analogies in the animal kingdom to clarify the concept of freedom in human action. Modern natural science loves such analogies. And when it succeeds in finding something in animals that resembles human behavior, it believes it has touched upon the most important question in the science of man. The misunderstandings to which this view leads are evident, for example, in the book *The Illusion of Free Will* by P. Rée (1885), who (May 5) says the following about freedom: “That it seems to us as though the movement of the stone is necessary, while the donkey’s volition is not, is easily explained. The causes that move the stone are, after all, external and visible. The causes, however, by virtue of which the donkey wills, are internal and invisible: between us and the site of their effect lies the donkey’s skull... One does not see the causal condition, and therefore assumes it does not exist. Will, it is explained, is indeed the cause of the turn (of the donkey), but it is itself unconditional; it is an absolute beginning.” So here, too, human actions in which one is conscious of the reasons for one’s actions are simply ignored, for Rée explains: “Between us and the site of their effect lies the donkey’s skull.” That there are actions—not of the donkey, but of humans—in which the motive that has become conscious lies between us and the action, Rée, as these words alone suggest, has no inkling of. He proves this again a few pages later with the words: “We do not perceive the causes by which our volition is conditioned; therefore, we believe that it is not causally conditioned at all.”

[ 16 ] But enough of these examples, which prove that many people fight against freedom without even knowing what freedom is.

[ 17 ] It goes without saying that an action cannot be free if the agent does not know why he is performing it. But what about an action whose reasons are known? This leads us to the question: what is the origin and meaning of thought? For without an understanding of the thinking activity of the soul, a concept of knowledge of anything—and thus also of an action—is not possible. If we recognize what thinking generally means, then it will also be easy to clarify what role thinking plays in human action. “Thinking is what transforms the soul—a faculty with which even animals are endowed—into spirit,” says Hegel rightly, and that is why thinking also gives human action its distinctive character.

[ 18 ] It is by no means intended to be claimed that all our actions stem solely from the sober deliberation of our reason. It is far from my intention to present as human in the highest sense only those actions that arise from abstract judgment. But as soon as our actions rise above the realm of satisfying purely animal desires, our motives are always interwoven with thought. Love, compassion, and patriotism are driving forces of action that cannot be reduced to cold intellectual concepts. It is said: the heart and the mind come into their own here. Without a doubt. But the heart and the mind do not create the motives for action. They presuppose them and incorporate them into their sphere. Compassion arises in my heart when the mental image of a pitiable person has entered my consciousness. The path to the heart goes through the head. Love is no exception to this. If it is not merely the expression of the sexual instinct, then it is based on the ideas we form of the beloved being. And the more idealistic these mental images are, the more blissful the love. Here, too, thought is the father of feeling. It is said that love makes one blind to the weaknesses of the beloved. The matter can also be approached from the opposite angle and it can be claimed that love opens one’s eyes precisely to their virtues. Many pass by these virtues without a clue, without noticing them. One person sees them, and that is precisely why love awakens in his soul. What else has he done but form a mental image of what a hundred others do not have? They do not have love because they lack the mental image.

[ 19 ] However we choose to approach the matter, it must become increasingly clear that the question of the nature of human action presupposes the question of the origin of thought. I shall therefore turn first to this question.