THE question of whether we make our own decisions, rather than act out of pure necessity, is one that has preoccupied some of the greatest minds in history and yet when it comes to accounting for the complex nature of human thoughts and actions the philosophical jury is still well and truly out:

There are those who, in their moral fervour, label anyone a man of limited intelligence who can deny so patent a fact as freedom. Opposed to them are others who regard it as the acme of unscientific thinking for anyone to believe that the uniformity of natural law is broken in the sphere of human action and thought. One and the same thing is thus proclaimed, now as the most precious possession of humanity, now as its most fatal illusion. (p.11)

Although it seems logical to accept that we have a propensity to arrive at one decision rather than another, those who seek to resist the idea that we have no say in the matter base their defence of freedom purely on the perceived inviolability of ‘free will’.

Steiner, however, quotes Baruch Spinoza (1632-1677) to the extent that God is free due to the “necessity of his nature” and therefore free necessity outweighs the notion of free decision. Spinoza contrasts this with an object such as a stone, which is merely acted upon by an external force and thus not prone to the necessity of its own nature. The philosopher applies the same rule to all other objects, insisting that they exist in a fixed and determined manner. At the same time, Spinoza asks us to imagine a stone rolling along the ground in the mistaken belief that it is somehow exercising its own will and that it is absolutely free. Needless to say, it is also claimed that we are no different in that humans claim to be free but have no real understanding of the causes “by which they are determined”. In order to demonstrate the validity of his point, Spinoza reminds us that neither a thirsty child in search of milk nor a drunken man spouting nonsense in a state of inebriation can be said to exercise free will.

Whilst some may be tempted to accept the simplistic determinism inherent within Spinoza’s theory, Steiner contends that his seventeenth-century counterpart overlooks

the fact that man not only is conscious of his action, but also may become conscious of the cause which guides him. Anyone can see that a child is not free when he desires milk, nor the drunken man when he says things which he later regrets. Neither knows anything of the causes, working deep within their organisms, which exercise irresistible control over them. But is it justifiable to lump together actions of this kind with those in which a man is conscious not only of his actions but also of their causes? (p.12-13)

It is difficult to imagine that there could ever be such confusion between possessing the ability to comprehend the motives behind one’s actions and being completely incapable of doing so, but those who discount the fundamental idea of human freedom in thought and deed rarely seem to consider whether it is acceptable to reduce one’s conscious recognition of a particular motive to the purely instinctual level of the hungry child.

Steiner notes how German philosopher Eduard von Hartmann (1842-1906), writing in his 1879 Phenomenology of Moral Consciousness, makes the point that human will depends on both motive and character. If men are to be regarded as identical, without any distinguishing character-istics, then it is easy to see how free will could be undermined by a uniformly deterministic force that affects us all in the same way. However, if one considers the fact that personal conduct may be attributed to a particular idea and that such a notion is dependant upon the character of the individual then it would seem logical to assume that the motive comes from within and that it is not shaped by any external force. On the other hand, some would argue that we receive an idea from without and that freedom is nonetheless maintained in the sense that the idea is either accepted or rejected by a given personality. Von Hartmann completely rejects this theory, arguing that free will is irrelevant because the motive is connected to a specific disposition that makes the decision on one’s behalf.

Again, the fact that Von Hartmann – like Spinoza before him – ignores the distinction between pure instinct and conscious intent leads Steiner to suggest that the latter should be approached rather differently:

What does it mean to have knowledge of the motives of one’s actions? Too little attention has been paid to this question, because, unfortunately, man who is an indivisible whole has always been torn asunder by us. The agent has been divorced from the knower, whilst he who matters more than everything else, viz., the man who acts because he knows, has been utterly overlooked. (pp.13-14)

Although there is a tendency among philosophers to separate the application of “reason” from “animal passions,” Steiner is adamant that it would be foolish to imagine that a rational decision must be instinctively obeyed in the same way as a hungry stomach and that freedom is still denied as a consequence.

The Austrian poet and philosopher, Robert Hamerling (1830-1889), comes in for special attention from Steiner due to his observation that a man can do as he wills but “cannot will what he wills,” meaning that his will is determined by motives. Hamerling made this suggestion in his 1891 work, Die Atomistik des Willens, explaining that to “will without ground” – i.e. without motive – would imply that one wills without willing and therefore the entire notion of will itself becomes entirely superfluous. Human will only becomes something tangible when there is a motive behind it. Whilst it is possible to say that one is not free when subject to the overriding influence of motive, to make the additional claim that the “freedom” of the will is restricted is contradictory in the sense that one simply cannot will what one is incapable of willing.

As with Spinoza and von Hartmann, however, Hamerling makes no attempt to distinguish between conscious and unconscious motives. According to Steiner, if

a motive affects me, and I am compelled to act on it because it proves to be the “strongest” of its kind, then the idea of freedom ceases to have any meaning. How should it matter to me whether I can do a thing or not, if I am forced by the motive to do it? The primary question is, not whether I can do a thing or not when impelled by a motive, but whether the only motives are such as impel me with absolute necessity. If I must will something, then I may well be absolutely indifferent as to whether I can also do it. And if, through my character, or through circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is forced on me which to my thinking is unreasonable, then I should even have to be glad if I could not do what I will. (p.14)

Regardless whether one is actually capable of enforcing a decision, Steiner is determined to establish that a motive becomes conscious prior to embarking upon any kind of action. He is more than prepared to accept that an action performed out of pure ignorance cannot be considered free on account of the individual having no idea why the action is being performed in the first place, but what are we to make of freedom in those cases in which we have reflected prior to acting? Steiner believes that the answer lies in understanding the “origin and meaning” of thought, particularly as it relates to human action, and agrees with G.W.F. Hegel (1770-1831) that thought essentially transforms the soul into spirit.

Whilst Steiner does not wish to limit human activity to the dictates of pure reason, he nonetheless states that when we transcend the parameters of our more basic animal instinct we reach the point when motives are shaped by thoughts. Needless to say, this fact should not lead us to assume that all forms of human perception are quite as robotic and calculating as the champions of reason would have us believe:

Love, pity, and patriotism are motives of action which cannot be analysed away into cold concepts of the understanding. It is said that here the heart, the soul, hold sway. This is no doubt true. But the heart and the soul create no motives. They presuppose them. Pity enters my heart when the thought of a person who arouses pity had appeared in my consciousness. The way to the heart is through the head. Love is no exception. (p.15)

It is thought, he argues, which gives birth to such feelings and thus conscious perception is capable of facilitating a deep awakening in the soul.