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4

\VHAT IS FREEDOM?

i :

1

To raise the question, whatis freedom? seems to be a ho enterprise. It, is as, though age-old contradictions and an rnies were lyinginwait to force.the mind into' dilemmas of ical impossibility so, that, depending which horn of the ..... ,~<u,.".~:

you are holding-on to, it becomes as impossible to ve-

freedom or its opposite as it is to realize the notion of a squ circle. In its simplest form, the difficulty may be summed up the contradiction between our consciousness and "VJ""'-,<"'··"",

telling us that we are free and hence responsible, and our .

f~ day experience in the outerworld, in which we orient according to the principle of causality. In all practical and

L dally in political m~tt~rs wehoI~ huo:an fr~edotn to h,e a evident truth,and it 1S· uponthis axiomatic assumption laws are laid down. in humancommunities, that decisions taken, that judgments are . passed. In all fields of scientifi,c theoretical endeavor, on the contrary, we proceedaccording the no less self-evident truth of nihil ex nihilo, of nihil causa that is on the assumption that even "our own lives in th; last analysis, subject to causation" and that if should be an ultimately free ego in ourselves, it certainly makes its unequivocal appearance in the phenomenal

[I and. therefor.e can. n.ev.,er become. the subject of:th~oretic.al \G tainmenr. Hence freedom turns out to he a mirage the u<v,...·.., .. ,

L . . .'

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

the cause of conduct."! It is true that the test of causality-the predictability of effect if aU causes are known-cannot be applied to the realm of human affairs; but this practical unpredictability is no test of freedom, it signifies merely that we are

in no_~q~itiQll ... ~~~LJQ know all causeLYi.hk~lQ_play,) ~~hlS1trtly be£<l.~e of the sheer number of factors involved _b_:r£_~lso ,~~u~~ human motives, ~'saTStinguTsEe{r:ftomnaturai forces, a~ti11 hidden from an onlookers, from inspection by

~ur fellow _!Tlenaswett~~ElIntrospecti~n~~~-------~

· The greatest clarification in these obscure matters we owe to

Kant and to his insight that freedom is no more ascertainable to the inner sense and within the field of inner experience than it is to the senses with which we know and understand the world. Whether or not causality is operative in the household of nature and the universe, it certainly is a category of the mind to bring order into all sensory data, whatever their nature may be, and thus it makes experience possible. Hence the antinomy between practical freedom and theoretical non-freedom, both equally axiomatic in their respective fields, does not merely concern a dichotomy between science and ethics, but lies in everyday life experiences from which both ethics and science take their respective points of departure. It is not scientific theory but thought itself, in its pre-scientific and pre-philosophical understanding, that seems to dissolve freedom on which our practical , conduct is based into nothingness. For the moment we reflect ':.1 upon an act which was undertaken under the assumption of i our being a free agent, it seems to come u,!lcl_er the swaY-Q(1Wo ! l~nds of causality, of the causality of inner motivation on one !

· hand and of the caus;Jp;inciple;hich rules theouter world on tEe other. KantSaved freedom from this twofold assault upon it by 3istinguishing between a " me" or theoretical reason and a " tactical reason" .whose center is free will, w ereby it is important to eep in mind that the free-willing agent, who is prac-

· tical! y . all -im p ortant,..D..eYeLap.pears...in_the . .phencmcnal, w;ocid, neither in the outer world of our five senses nor in the field of theinner sense with which I sense myself. This solution, pitting the dictate of the will against the understanding of reason, is ing:.-nious enough and may even suffice to establish a moral law

l44

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTURE·

whose logical consistency is in no way inferior to natural laws. But it does little to eliminate thegreatest and .most dangerous \\ difficulty., namely, tQ_at thought itself, in its theoretical as well ~s \1 its pre-theoretical form,makes ·freedomdisappear-quite apart from the fact that it must appea'rStrange maeea-that the faculty

of the will whose essential.activity consists in dictate and com- . mand should be the harborer of freedom.

. To-the question of politics, the problem of freedom is crucial, and no political theory can afford to remain unconcerned with the .fact that this problem has led into "the obscure wood wherein .philosophy .has lost- its way."2 It is the contention of the following considerations that the reason for this obscurity is that-the phenomenonoffreedorn does not appear in the realm of thought 'at all, that neither freedomnor its opposite is experi- . enced in the dialogue between meandmyself inthe course of ••. which-the. great philosophic and metaphysical questions arise;

I and thar-thephilosophical tradition,whoseot'igin in this ;re~

( spect we.shall consider late. r, 'has ~i_s_t_orted, instead of clarifying, the very idea of freedom such as it is given in human experience

\ br.srag§QQsing it_ from it.S original fi~ld, ~hereal~ of .POlit~Cs .' \ and h~tp.an--arrarrs m g~ t~ an lUward domain, tlie ~l~,

i) where It would be .0 en t _ elf-IQ_~ ectlOn.Asatlrst, preTum- 11'atYlustl cation of this appr:oach, it may be pointed out that historically the- problem of fr:edom'l:!as, been theJg_st of .the . time-honored great metaphysical queshOris=S'UcI1 . as-being, . nothingness, the soul; nature, timer.eternity, etc.-to become a .

topic of philosophic inquiry at all-There is no preoccupation with freedom in the whole history of great philosophy from the pre-Socratics up to Plotinus, the last ancient philosopher. And when freedom made its first appearaD.J:;u_(LollLp_h~osophical .

Ktradition, it was the experience 0 religious conversion) o~

> first and then .of AU'gustine,-which gave ' 1. --,-

. :-fhe. field where. freedom has aLwayS-been known, not as a problem; to-he sure, but, as a factofeveryday life, is the politi- . ~caLrealm. And:eventoday,'whetherwe'know it or not, the quesO:

don of" politics and the fact that man is a being endowed: with. - the gift of action must always be present to om mind whenwe speak of the problem of freedom; for action and politics,

I45 all the capabilities and potentialities of human life arc the only things of which we could not even conceive without at l:ast assur.n~ng ~hat freedom exists, and we can hardly touch a smgle pohtlcallssue - • plicitly or explicitly, touching '--l--,;::,c=--=::;_:;::::::::'_:::;:-~~~LU.~c!-L:J· Freedom, moreover, is not only one among many problems and phenomena of the political

realm prope~ly speaking, such as justice, or power, or equality; freedom, which only seldom-in times of crisis or revolutionbecomes tl:e direct aim. of political action, is actually the reason that men live together in political organization at all. Without

it, pol~t~cal.1ife as such wo~ld bemeaningle~.s, ~.!:e rai~9n d'hre_11 of POlltlCS I~Jreedom, and itsfield of experience is action. 11 .' This ~reeCiom which we take for granteam-an-pOlifi"cal theory and which even those who praise tyranny must still take into ac~ount iS,the ~X_£_PE?_~i_~~~C}___l1l1er freedom," the inward space mto which men may escape from external coercion and feel free. This inner feeling remains without outer manifestations and hence is by definition politically irrelevant. Whatever its legitimacy may be, and however eloquently it may have been described in late antiquity, it is historically a late phenomenon and

it was originally the result of an estrangement from the world in w?ic.h wor,ldly experiences were, trailsfor~ed into experiences \Ii within one s own self. The experiences of inner freedom afe derivative in that they always presuppose a retreat from the world, where freedom was denied, into an inwardness to which no other has access. The inward space where the self is sheltered against the world must f!_ot be mistaken.fce.rlae.hearz.cc.rhe ~_bQth of w~_~~~nd function only in interreJationsh ip_ WIth the world. Not the heart and not the mind, but inwardness

as a place of absolute freedom within one's own self was discov- 'I ered inl!1__t~_~~~9.t:~~~yjJL those who had no place 'of their _ _9__Fn in i the world and hence laCIZeaa--,,'orTdly"co-ndlilo-il-;];ich from i

early anti~uity to almost the middle of the nineteenth century, was unanimously held to be a prerequisite for freedom.

The c!erivative character .of this inner freedom, or of the theory that "the appropriate region of human liberty" is the "inward domain of consciousness,"! appears more clearly if we go back to its origins. Not the modem individual with his desire to

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTU,R:E

unfold', to develop and-to expand, with his justified fear lest SOc ciety get.the-better of his.individuality, with his emphatic insistence ,"on the importance of genius" and originality; but the ,popular and popularizing sectarians of late antiquity; who have hardlymore in common with philosophy than the n~me, are representative in this respect. Thus the most persuasIve ~rgu~ meritsfor the absolute superiority of inner freedom can still b,e found-in an essay of 1?:~tf-t.b1s, who begins by statin~ free 1S he who lives, as he wishes." a' definition which oddly echoes a sentence from Aristotle's Politics in which the statement "Freedom means the doing what .. a man likes" is put in the mouths of those who do. not know what freedom is.s Epicretus then goes on to show that a man ,is free.if he limits himself to what is in his power, if he does.notreach into a realm where he can be hindered.6The '!science"oHiving"7consists in knowing how to distinguish between the- alien ,world, over which m~£, h:s rl,?

power-and the self of which he may dispose as, he see_s_e' '

: Historically it is interesting to note that the appearance of the problem of _ freedom in' .Augustine's philosophy _w~s thus pre-'

, ,--":r:":r-"6-'-"'±'-_,""_-'-L-~temp-t to dl'VO~, t l,enotl, on of freececeo. y tue conscIOUS ,aL '._' ~.",,,.,,, __ .. ~.,~.-; __ ~- .

dom frompolitics, to arrive at a formulation through ~!::~~~?ne mai"be-:::a-:~ave- in the world ,and still b:_fr:e, ~onceptualry, : however;.EP1ctet~~wtlic~_~ons1sts 10 bemg free from one's own desires, is no more than a,reversal of the current ,an- . clent :pol1tkaLnotions; and the pqHtical background against which this whole, body 'Of popular philosophy was for.mulated, the obvious decline of freedom, in the late Roman Empire, , ..• '. ifests itself still quite clearly in the role which such notionsas power, domination,and propert~ play in. it. According to ~ndent understanding, man could liberate himself from necessity only through power over other men, and he ~ould be free ~lY if he owned a place, a.hofn.~in the ",:orld..Eplc~et~s tran~posed thesewoddly velatioriships into relationships within man sown , self, whereby he discovered that no power i~ so absolute as that ; . which mail yields over himself) and that the lllwa~dspac7 w~ere man struggles and subdues himself is tn?re .ent1rely his own ", namely, more securely sl~"f0?"~_o.,~£sld~terferenc~, than ,: anyworfdIfliomeCOUfc[ever be.

WHAT IS FREEDOM}

J:47

Hence, in spite of the great influence the concept of an inner, nonpolitical freedom has exerted upon the tradition of thought,

it seems safe to say that man would know nothing of inner freedom if he had not first experienced a condition of bei_!2S,Jree as a~orldl tangibJc;:,reality._We first become aware of freedom or 7 its opposite . ~r intercours~vith others, not in the intercourse I with ourselves. ~ame an attribute of thought or a quality of the will, freedom was understood to be the free man's status, which enabled him to move, to get away from home, to go out into the world and meet other people in deed and word. This freedom clearly was preceded by liberation: in order to be free; man must have liberated himself from the necessities of life. But the status of freedom did not follow automatically upon the act of liberation, Freedom needed; in addition to mere liberation, the company of other men who were in the same state, and it needed a common public space to meet them-:~JiticallY,prganized 'Y~, in other words, into which each of the

, free men could insert himself by word and deed. '

Obviously not every form of human intercourse and not every kind of community is characterized by freedom. Where men live together but do not form a body politic-as, for example, in tribal societies or in the privacy of the householdthe factors ruling their actions and conduct are not freedom but the ~cessities.Qf life and concern for its preservation. Moreover, wllereve;- the man-made world does not become the scene for action and speech-as in despotically ruled communities which banish their subjects into the narrowness of the home and thusprevenrthe'ris'e·'Ofa-pii5liC reilri1=£reedom has no worldly reality. With,S)U~!itical_ly g~ara~..!.~~d p~rrc real~:freeoom·1icks the worldly space to make its appearance, To be sure it may still dwell ill men's hearts as desire or will or hope or yearning; but the human hearL.1!S-YYe....a1Lknpw..Js_a..:v.er¥-rlarJc place1_ and whatever goes on in its obscurity can hardly be called a demonstrable fact. Freedom as a demonstrable fact and politics coincide and are related to each other like two sides of

tIie same matter. .

Yet it is precisely-this coincidence of olitics andJ!:~~~. __ which we cannot take for grante in the light of our present

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTU,RE

political experience. The rise of totalitarianism; its claim to having' subordinated all spheres of life to. the demands of politics and its consistent.nonrecognition of civil rights, above all the rights of privacy and the right to freedom from politics, . makes us doubt not only tne.coincidence af.palitics and freedom.but their very compatibility. Wyre inclined t6belieE,_that freedoinbegins where politics ends, because we have seen that freedom lias aisappeared when. sa-called political cansidera"' tions overruled everything else. Was not the 'liberal credo, "The less politics the more freedom," right after all? Is it not true that the smaller the space occupied by the political, the larger the domain left to freedom? Indeed, do we not rightly measure the extent of freedom in any given community by the free scope it grants to apparently nonpolitical activities, free economic enterprise or freedom of teaching" of religion, of cultural and intellectual activities? Is 'itnot true, as. we all. somehow believe,' that p~litics.is compa.t. ible.with freed. om only be~~usert·an insofar .as it guarantees a possible fr:~7dqrp. from 22.l.!!!.s:2? . ' '. This definition of political Hbertyas a potential reedorn from politics. is not urged upon us merely by our most recent experiences; it has played a large part in the history of polirlca! theory. We-need go no farther than the political thinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, who more often than not' .

1(shnpty identified political-freedom with~urity . .The highest ' purpaseofpalitics,' "theend ofgovernment, ,rwasthe guaranty' '. of security; security; in .niro.made freedornpossible, and thiF word "freedom" designated a quintessence of activities which occurred outside the political realm. Even Montesquieu, though: he. had nat only a different but a much higher opinion of the essence of politics than Hobbes ar Spinoza, could still occasionally e~1itical freedow with secuci.ty.9 The ri~e of the political and social sciences in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.has even widened the breach between freedom and polities; for government, which since the beginning of the modern age had been identified with the total domain of the political, was now considered to. be the appointed protector nat so much'

~{ of freedom as of the life process, the interests of society and its' . individuals. Security remained the decisive criterion, but not the

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

individual's security against "violent death," as in Hobbes (whe~e the ~onditian of all liberty is fre~.dom£rom.ie.ar.}., but a secu~lty which should permit an undistut:hed.....d.eY.elopmen_Lill t~ 11fe process af society as a whole, This life process is not bou~d up with freedom but fallows its own inherent necessity; and It can. be called free only in the sense that we speak of a f~eely flow~~g stream. Here freedom is not even the nonpolitical arm ofpoht_lCS, but a marginal phenomenon-which somehow ~orms the.ba~lndary government should flat overstep unless life Itself and Its immediate interests and necessities are at stake.

Thus nat only we, who. have reasons of our awn to distrust politics for the sake of freedom, but the en!it~.JTI.9~S s~~rated freedom and_Q~)ltis;s. I could descend even deeper into the past and evoke older memories and traditions. The pre~~dern secular concept of freedom certainly was emphatic in its tnSlste~ce an separating the subjects' freedom from any direct s?are .m go,:,ernment>\ the -people's "liberty and freedom consisted in having the government of those laws by which their life ~nd their goods may be dtost their awn: 'tis not for having share

III government, that is nothing pertaining to thetrt"-as Charles I summed it up in his speech from the scaffold. It was not out of a desire for freedom that people eventually demanded their share 'I in government or admission to the political realm but out of I mis~ru~t in those who held power over their life and goods. The j Christian concept of political freedom, moreover, arose out of the early Christians' suspicion of and hostility against the public realm ~s such, from whose concerns they demanded to be ab-il solved m order to be free. And this Christian freedom for the sake . of salvation had been preceded, as we saw before, by the philosophers' abstention from politics as a prerequisite for the highest and freest way of life, the vita contemplativa. .

Despite the enormous weight of this tradition and despite the perhaps even more telling urgency of our own experiences both pressing into. the same direction of a divorce of freedom' from politics, I think the reader may believe he has read only an old truism when I said that the raison d'etre of politics is freedom and that this freedom is primarily experienced in action. In the following I shall do. no mare than reflect on this old truism.

BET~EEN PAST AND FUTURE

II

Freedom as related to politics is not a phenomenon of the will. We deal here not with the liberum arbitrium, a freedom of choice, that arbitrates and decides between .two given things, one, good and one evil, and whose choice is predetermined by . motive which has only to' be argued to start its operation=« "And therefore, since I cannot prove a i9ver,i To entertain these fair well-spoken days,!I am determined ro.prove a villain,' And hate the idle . pleasures of these days." Rather it is; to remain • with Shakespeare, the freedom of Brutus: "That this shall be or we will fall for it," that is, the freedom to call something into being which did not exist before, which was not given, not even as an object of cognition or imagination, and which therefore,

[strictty.speakin .. g,. could not be known. Action, to be free, must' be free from motive on one side, from its intended goal as a predict~ble effect on the other. This is not to say that motives and • ~ aims are not important factors in every single act, but they are its determining factors, and action is free to the extent that it is

-,,'1'" able to transcend them. Action insofar as it is determined is guided by a future aim whose desirability the intellect has, grasped before the will wills it, whereby the intellect calls upon •. the will, since only the will can dictate action-to paraphrase. a·. characteristic description of this process by Duns.Scotus.l'' The, aim of action varies! and depends, upon the changing circum-] stances of the world; to: recognize the aim is not a matter-off freedom, but of right. or wrong judgment. Will,·seen as a tinct and separate human, faculty, follows·judgment, i.e, cognition of. the right aim, and then commands its execution. The power to command, to dictate action, is not a matter of freedom. ,but a question of strength or weakness.

Action insofar as it is free is neither under the guidance of. the intellect nor under the dictate of the will-ealthough-ij: needs.both for the execution of any particular goal-s-but springs from.something altogether different which (following Mon-t tesquieu's famous analysis of forms of government) I shall .• ..

1 a principle. Principles, do not operate from within the self as

WHAT IS FREEDOM)

motives do-"mine own deformity" or my "fair proportion"but inspire, as it were, from without; and they are much too general to prescribe particular goals, although every particular aim can be judged in the light of its principle once the act has been started. For, unlike the judgment of the intellect which precedes action, and unlike the command of the will which initiates it, the inspiring principle becomes fully manifest only in the performing act itself; yet while the merits of judgment lose their validity, and the strength of the commanding will exhausts itself, in the COurse of the act which they execute in cooperation, the principle which inspired it loses nothing in strength or validity through execution. In distinction from its goal, the principle of an action can be repeated time and again, it is inexhaustible, and in distinction from its motive, the validity of a principle is universal, it is not bound to any particular person or to any particular group. However, the manifestation of principles comes about only through action, they are manifest in the world as long as the action lasts, but no longer. Such principles are honor or glory, love of equality, which Montesquieu called virtue, or distinction or excellence-the Greek dd dprcrreV£lv ("always strive to do your best and to be the best of all"), but also fear or distrust or h~tred. Freedom or its opposite appears in the world whenever such principles are actualized; the appearance of freedom, like the manifestation of principles, coin-

. cides. with the performing act. Men are free-as distinguished from their possessing the .gift for freedom-as long as they act, neither before nor after; lor .!9..f?g_it~_~ .. and,tQ_<J£U.te-th_~1gE2~; __

, Freedom as inherent in action is perhaps best illustrated by Machiavelli's concept of virtu, the excellence with which man answers the opportunities the world opens up .before him in the guise of fortuna. Its meaning is best rendered by "virtuosity," that is, an excellence we attribute to the performing arts (as distinguished from the creative arts of making), where the accorn- \1 plishment lies in the performance itself and not in an end \ product which outlasts the activity that brought it into exis- 1. tence and becomes independent of it. The virtuoso-ship of Machiavelli's virtu somehow reminds llS of the fact) although Machiavelli hardly knew it) that the Greeks always used such

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTURE

metaphors as flute-playing, dancing, healing, and seafaring to distinguish political from other activities, that is, that they drew

.\ their analogies from those arts in which virtuosity of perforII mance is decisive, Since all acting contains an element of virtuosity, and be-

cause virtuosity is the excellence we ascribe to the performing arts, politics has often been defined as an art. This, of course, is not a, definition but a metaphor, and the metaphor becomes completely false ifonefalkinto the common error of regarding the state or government as a work ofart, as a kind of collective masterpiece, ItJ. the sense of the creative arts; which bring forth something tangible and ~y human thought to such an extent that the produced thing possesses an existence of its own, poli-

r tics is the-exact opposite of an art-s-which incidentally does not L_, mean that it is a science, Political institutions, no matter how well or how badlydesigued.vdepend for continuedexistence upon acting men; their conservation is achieved by the same means that brought them into .being. 'Independent existence marks the work .of art as' a product of making; utter depend-

\' enceupon further acts to keep it in existence marks the state it as a product of action, The point here is not whether the creative artist is free in the

process of creation, but that the creative process is not displayed in public and not destined to appear in the world. Hence the element of freedom, certainly present in the creative arts, remains hidden; it is not the free creative process which finally appears and matters for the world, but the work of art itself" the end product :0£ the process. The performing arts) on the contrary, have indeed a strong affinity with politics, Performing artistsdancers, play-actors,IDusicians, and the like~need an audience to show their virtuosity, just as acting men need the presence of others before whom they can appear; both need a publicly organizedspace for their "work," and- both depend upon others for .' the performance itself. Such a space of appearances is not to be taken' for granted wherever men live together in a community. The, Greek polis once was precisely that "form of government" which provided men with, a space-of appearances where they could act; with a kind of theater where freedom could appear,

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

153

:0 use t~e word "political" in the sense of the Greek polis is neither arbitrary nor far-fetched, Not only etymologically and not only for the learned does the very word, which in all Europe~n languages still derives from the historically unique organization o~ the Greek city-state, echo the experiences of the comrnunrty which first discovered the essence and the realm of the political. It is indeed difficult and even misleading to talk about politics and its innermost principles without drawing to some extent upon the experiences of Greek and Roman antiquity, and this for no other reason than that men have never either before or after, thought so highly of political activity and ~estowed so much dignity upon its realm. As regards the relanon of freedom to politics, there is the additional reason that only ancient political communities were founded for the express purpose of serving. the free-those who were neither slaves, subject to coercion by others, nor laborers, driven and urged on by the necessities of life, If, then, we understand the 'political in the sense of the polis, its end or raison d'etre would be to establish and keep in existence a space where freedom as

virtuosity can appear. This is the realm where freedom is a worldly reality, tangible in words which can be heard in deeds which can be seen, and in events which are talked about reinember~d, and turned into stories before they are finally incorporated into the great storybook of human history. Whatever occurs in this space of appearances is political by definition even when it is not a direct product of action. What remains ?utside ~t, such as the great feats of barbarian empires, may be impressive and noteworthy, but it is not political strictly

speaking, ' '

Eve:y attemp,t .to derive the concept of freedom from experiences 10 the political realm sounds strange and startling because all our theories in these matters are dominated by the notion that freedom is an attribute of will and thought much rather than of action. And this priority is not merely derived from the notion that every act must psychologically be preceded by a cognitive act of the intellect and a.command of the will to carry ?ut its decision, but also, and perhaps even primarily, because it IS held that "perfect liberty is incompatible with the existence of

\

BETWEEN ·PAST AND I'UTUR'E

society," .that it can be toleratedinits perfection only outside· the realm of human affairs. This current argument does not hold-what perhaps is true-that it is in the nature of thought to need more freedom than does any other activity of men, but rather that thinking in itself is not dangerous, so that only actionrieeds. to be restrained: "No .one pretends that actions should be asfree as, opinions." 11 This, of course, belongs among the fundamental tenets of liberalism, which, its .name notwithstanding, has done its share to banish the notionof liberty from the political realm. For politics, according to the same philosophy, must be concerned almost exclusively with the maintenanceof life and the safeguarding of its interests. Now, where life is at stake all action is by definition under the sway of necessity; and the proper realm to take. care of l~fe's necessities ~s .

"'"~ the gigantic and still increasing sphere .of SOCIal an~ ,economIc . life whose administration has overshadowed the political realm ever .since ~he beginning .of .the modern age. Only foreign affairs, because the relationships between nations still harbor'. hostilities and sympathies. which cannot be reduced to eco- . nomic factors seem to be left asa purely political domain. And even here the.prevailing tendency is to consider international power problems and rivalries as ultimately springing from economic factors and interests,

Yet just as we, despite all theories and isms, still believe that to say "Freedom is the raison d'etre of politics" is n~ more than a truism, so do we, in spite of our apparently exclUSIve, concern with life, still hold as. a matter of course that courage IS one of the cardinal political virtues, although-if all this were a matter of consistency, which it obviously is not-we sho~ld be the first to condemn courage as the foolish and even VicIOUS contempt for life and its interests; tl~at is, for the allegedly highest ,of all goods, Courage IS. a big word, and I do not mean t~e daring of adventure which gladly risks life for the sake of being as thor.ough1y and intensely alive as :one can be only in t~e f~ce of da~. ger and death. Temerityis no less con~erned Wlt~l h,fe than IS cowardice .. Courage; .which we' still believe to be indispensable . for-political action, .and.whichChurchill once called "the first of.human qualities, because itis the quality. which guarantees

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

155

all others," does not gratify our individual sense of vitality but

is demanded of us by the very nature of the public realm. For

this world of ours, because it existed before us and is meant to outlast our lives in it, simply cannot afford to give primary con,cern to individual lives and the'lnterests connected with them; -J>, as'such the public realm stands in the sharpest possible contrast !g,:Q!!~.priyat~.,domain, where, in the protection aHa-milyarid home, everything serves and must serve the security of the life

_process. It requires courage even to leave the protectIve'security OTOUrfour walls and enter the public realm, not because of particular dangers which may lie in wait for us, but because we have arrived in a realm where the concern for life has lost its valif!.ity. Courage liberates men frorii-thelr-wor~y about life for the i freedom of the world. Courage is indispensable because in politics not life but the world is at stake .

III

Obviously this notion of an interdependence of freedom and politics stands in contradiction to the social theories of the modern age, Unfortunately it does not follow that we need only to revert to older, pre-modern traditions and theories. Indeed, the greatest difficulty in reaching an understanding of what freedom is arises from the fact that a simple return to tradition, and especially to what we are wont to call the great tradition, does not help us. Neither the philosophical concept of freedom as it first arose in late antiquity, when freedom became a phenomenon of thought by which roan 'could, as it were, reason n himself out of the world, nor the Christian and modern notion 'i: of free will has any ground in political experience, Our philo- -'j sophical traditio.n is almost Unani11l0US in holding that freedom jl begins where men have left the realm of political life inhabited by the many, and that it is not experienced in association with others but in intercourse with one's self-whether in the form \ of an inner dialogue which, since Socrates, we call thinking; or in ,a conflict within myself, the inner strife between what I would and what Ldo.whose murderous dialectics disclosed first

BETWEEN.PASTAND FUTURE

to Paul and then to Augustine the equivocalities and impotence. of the human heart.

For the history of the problem of freedom, Christian tradition has indeed become the decisive factor. We almost automatieally ~quat~ .. :,Jt'~~4£~_'#lth__fre.Lwill, that is, with a faculty

[~ virtually unknown to classical.antiquity. For will, as Christianity discovered it, had so Iittle in common with the well-known capacities to .desire, to intend, and to aim at, that it claimed attention only after it had come into conflict with them. If freedom -were actually nothing but aphenomenon of .the will, we would have to conclude: that the ancients did not know freedom. This, of course, is absurd, but if one wished to assert it he could argue what I have mentioned before, namely, that the idea of freedom played no role in philosophy prior to Augustine. The reason for this striking fact is that,ih Creek as well as Roman antiquity, freedom was an exclusively political concept, indeed the quintessence of the city-state and of citizenship. Our

f philosophical tradition of polgical thought, beginning with

~I .. Pa.rmenipes an~ Pla:~, was .foun.' ded explicit1~ in opposition to . this polis-and Its citizenship.r'Ihe way oflife chosen. by the 'philosopher was understood 'in opposition to the {3toq 7ro.-tmK6;~ the political way of life. Freedom, therefore, the very center of

politics as the Greeks understood it, was an idea which almost

() by definition could not enter the framework of Greek philosophy. Only when the early Christians, and especially Paul, discovered a kind of freedom which.had no relation to politics, could the co~ept o!"~~~dq~' ente.J; __ ~_~<i! .~.is~?rY'0f philosophy:

Freedom becameone of the chief problems of philosophy when it was experienced as something occurring in the intercourse betwe~n me and myself, andoutside of the intercourse between men. Freewill and.freedom became synonymous notions, 12 and the presence of freedom was experienced in complete solitude,

1;1 "where no man might hinder the hot contention wherein I had engaged with myself," the deadly conflict which took place in the "inner dwelling" of the soul and the dark "chamber of the heart!'13

Classical antiquity was by no means inexperienced in the phenomena of solitude; it knew well enough that solitary man

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

IS? , is no. longer one but two-in-one, that an intercourse between me and myself begins the moment the intercourse between me and my fellow men has been interrupted for no matter what reason. In addition to this dualism which is the existential condition of thought, classical philosophy since Plato had insisted on a dualism between soul and body whereby the human faculty of motion had been assigned to the soul, which was supposed to move the body as well as itself, and it was still within the range of Platonic thought to interpret this faculty as a rulership of the soul over the body. Yet the Augustinian solitude of "hot contention" within the soul itself was utterly unknown for the fight in which he had become engaged was not between ~eason and passion, between understanding and BVJl6q,14 that IS, between two different human faculties, hut it was a conflict within the will itself. And this duality within the self-same faculty had been known as the characteristic of thought, as the dialogue which I hold with myself. In other words, the two-in-one of solitude which sets the thought process into motion has the exactly opposite .~#ect on the ~will:.i_t paralvzes and locks it

. hi , ~ __ . __ ._ .... ,_._..-~_-1::..:::.._.::::.:::J~---.--.. __ .. __

WIt 1ll itsel{;.willing in solitude is always velleand nolle; to will and not to will at the same time.

The paralyzing effect the will seems to have upon itself comes all the more surprisingly as its very essence obviously is to command and be obeyed. Hence it appears to be a "monstrosity" ~hat man may command himself and not be obeyed) a monstrosity which. can be explained only by the simultaneous presence of an I-will and an Lwill-not.P This, however, is already an interpretation by Augustine; the historical fact is that the phenomenon of the will originallymanifested itself in the experience that what I would, I do not; that there is such a thing as l-will-and-cannor. What was unknown to antiquity was not that there is a possible. .l-know-but-Lwill-not, hut that I-will and f-can are not the same-non hoc est uelle, quod posse.t':

For the l-will-and-f-can was of course very familiar to the ancients. We need only remember how much Plato insisted that only those who knew how to rule themselves had the right to rule others and be freed from the obligation of obedience. And it is true that self-control has remained one of the specifically

BETWEEN PAST.AND FUTURE

political virtues, if only because' it is·anoutstandingphenomenon of virtuosity where l-will and I-can must be so well attuned that they practically coincide.

Hadandent. philosophy known of a possible conflict betw:een what I can and what I will, it would certainly have understood.thephenornenon of freedom as an inherent quality of the.l-can, or it might conceivably have defined it as the coincidence.of.l-will.andl-can; it certainly would not have thought of itas.an attribute of the .l-will.orl-would, This assertion is no empty speculation; even the Euripidean conflict between reason and ,ev,u6;, both simultaneously present in the soul,is a relativelylate phenomenon. More typical, and in our context more relevant, was the conviction that passion may blind men's reason but that once reason has succeeded in making itself heard there is no passion left to prevent man from doing what he knows is right. This conviction still underlies Socrates' teaching that. virtue is a kind of knowledge, and our amazement that· anybody could ever have. thought that virtue was "rational," that. it could be learned and raught.varises from our acquaintance with: a willwhich is -broken in itself, .which. wills and wills-not at the same time, much ratherthan.from any, superior insight in the alleged powerlessness of reason.

. In other words, will, will-power, and will-to-power are for us almost identical notions; the-seat of power is to. us the faculty of the will as known and experienced by man in his intercourse with himself. And for the sake of this will-power-we have emasculated not only ourreasoning.and cognitive faculties but' other more "practical" faculties.as well. But is it not plain even to us that, in the. words ofPindar, "this :is the greatest grief: to stand with his .feet outside -. the right, and the beautiful one' knows [forced away], by necessity" ?17 The necessity which prevents me, from doing. what I know and will may arise from the world; or from my own body, or from an insufficiency of .talents, gifts, and qualities which are bestowed upon man by birth and over -which he has hardly more power than he has over

. other circumstances; all these factors, the psychological ones note~duded). condition .the person from the outside ~s far as the .l-will and the l-know, that is, the ego itself, are concerned;

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

the. power that meets these circumstances, that liberates, as it were, willing' and knowing from their bondage to necessity is the l-ean. Only where the I-will and the I-can coincide does freedom come to pass.

There exists still another way to check our current notion of free will, born of a religious predicament and formulated in philosophical language, against the older, strictly political experiences of freedom. In the revival of political thought which accompanied the rise of the modern age, we may distinguish between those thinkers who can truly be called the fathers of political "science," since they took their cue from the new discoveries of the natural sciences-their greatest representative is Hobbes-and those who, relatively undisturbed by these typically modern developments, harkened back to the political thought of antiquity, not out of any predilection for the past as such but simply because the separation of church and state, of religion and politics, had given rise to an independent secular, political realm such as had been unknown since the fall of the Roman Empire. The greatest representative of this political secularism was Montesquieu, who, though indifferent to problems . of a strictly philosophic nature, was deeply aware of the inadequacy oi the Christian and the philosophers' concept of freedom for political purposes. In order to get rid of it, he expressly distinguished' between philosophical and political freedom, and the difference consisted in that philosophy demands no more of freedom than the exercise of the will (l'exercice de fa uolontes, independent of circumstances and of attainment of the goals the will has set. Political freedom, on the contrary, consists in being able to do what one ought to will tla liberte ne peutconsister qu' a pouvoir [aire ce que l'on doit vouloir-the emphasis is on pouvoir).18 For Montesquieu as for the ancients it was obvious that an agent could no longer be called free when he lacked the capacity to do-whereby it is irrelevant whether this failure is caused by exterior or by interior circumstances,

I chose the example of self-control because to us this is dearly a phenomenon of will and of will-power. The Greeks, more than any other people, have reflected on moderation and the necessity to tame the steeds of the soul, and yet they never

160

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTURE

became aware of the. will as a distinct faculty, separate from other human capacities. Historically..men first discovered the

·~wi1l when they experienced its-impotence and not its power, when they said with Paul: "For to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not." It is the same will of which Augustine complained that it seemed "no monstrousness [for it} partly to will-partly tonill"; and although he points out that this is "a disease of the mind," he also admits that.this disease is,as it were, natural for a mind possessed of a will: "For the will-commands that there be a 'will, it commands not something else but itself .. ; . Were the will entire, it would not even command itself to be, because it would already be. '!l9 It!' other wordsyif man has a will at all, it must always appear as though there were two wills present in the same man, fighting with each other for power-over his mind. Hence, the will is both powerful and impotent, free and unfree •.

When we speak of impotence and the limits set to willpower,. we usually think of man's powerlessness with respect to the surrounding world.· It is, therefore, of some importance to notice that in these early testimonies the will was not defeated by someoverwhelming force of nature or circumstances; the contention.which its appearance raised was neither the conflict between the one against the many nor the strife between body and mind. On theoontrary, the relation of mind to body was for Augustine-even the outstanding example for the enormous power inherent in the will: "The mind commands the body, and the body obeys instantly; the mind commands itself, and is resisted."tp .The body represents in this context the exterior worldand.is by no: means identical with one'sself; It is within one's self, in the "interior dwelling" (interior domusi, where Epictetus still believed manto be an absolute master, that the conflict between manand'himselfbroke out and that the wiH was defeated. Christian will-power was discovered as an organ of self-liberation and immediately found wanting. It is as though the .l-will immediately paralyzed the l-ean, as though the mo-

~-mentinen ivilledfreedom, they lost their capacity to be free. In the deadly conflict with worldly desires and intentions from which·will~powerwas.supposed.to·liberate the. self, the most

.. ,,~., ': .. ~

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

willing seemed able to achieve was oppression. Because of the will's impotence, its incapacity to generate genuine power its constant defeat in the struggle with the self, in which the po~er ?f the I-~an exhauste? itself, the will-to-power turned at once i I mto a will-to-oppression. I can only hint here at the fatal con- I! sequences for political theory of this equation of freedom with the human capacity to will; it was one of the causes why even today we almost automatically equate power with oppression or, at least, with rule over others.

Ho~ever . that may be, what we usually understand by will and will-power has grown out of this conflict between a willing and aperforrning self, out of the experience of an l-will-andcannot, which means that the I-will, no matter what is willed remains subject to the self, strikes back at it, spurs it on incites it further, or is ruined by, it. However far the will-to-power may reach out, and even if somebody possessed by it begins to conquer the whole world, the l-will can never rid itself of the self· it always remains bound to it and, indeed, under its bondage. This bondage to the self distinguishes the l-will from the f-think which also is carried. on between me and myself but in whose dialogue the self is not the object of the activity of thought. The fa~t that the l-will has become so power-thirsty, that will and will-to-power have become practically identical, is perhaps due to its having been first experienced in its impotence. Tyranny at any rate, the only form of government which arises directly out of the l-will, owes its greedy cruelty to an egotism utterly absent from the utopian tyrannies of reason with which the philosophers wished to coerce men and which they conceived on the model of the I-think.

... I have said that the philosophers first began to show an inter-

est i11 the problem of freedom when freedom ';"as no longer experienced in acting and in associating with others but in willing

and in the intercourse with one's self, when, briefly, freedom

had become free will. Since then, freedom has been a philosophical problem of the first order; as such it was applied to the 1".\/ political realm and thus has become a political problem as well. f' Because ·of the philosophic shift from action to will-power,

from freedom as a state of being manifest in action to the

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTURE

liberum.atbitriurn, the. ideal. of freedom ceased to he virtuosity in the sense we mentioned.beforeand became.~pvereig_~y~e ideal of a freewill; independendrom others and eventually-prevailing against them. The philosophic ancestry of our current political notion of-freedom is still quite manifest in eight~en~hcentury political writers, when, for instance, Thomas P~lOe, l~: sisted that "to be free it is sufficient [for man] that he wills it,

a word which Lafayette applied to the nation-state: "Pour qu'une nation.solt fibre, il suffi.t qu'ell.e ,veuille, l'etre."

.. Obviously such words echo. the political.philosophy ofJeanJa~quesJ;i_Q»~§'{:,~u, who: has remained, the. most cons,istent :-epr~. sentative of the theory oC~~reignty, which he denveddl~ect1y from the will 'so that he could conceive of political power .m the ~td~t~i"~~ ~f individual. will-power. He. arg~e~ ag,ai?-~t;Montesquieu that powermust be sovereign.rthat is, mdl:lslble, because"a divided wi1lwouldbeinconceivable.~' He did not shun the' consequences of. this extreme individualism, ='. he held that in- an ideal state. ffthe citizens .had no commumcat1on~ ,one with another," that in order to avoid' factions "each-citizen should think only his own.thoughts,' In reality Rousseau's theory stands refuted fqf'the.simpie reason that "it is absurd for the will to. bind itself for the future" ;21 a community. actually founded on this sovereign will would be built not on sand, but on quicksand. All political business is, and al~ays has been, transacted within an elaborate framework of ties and bonds for the future-such as laws and constitutions, treaties and alliances-all of which derive in the last instance from the £~culty to promise andto keep promises in the fac~. of t~e essent1~l .uncertainties of the future. A state,mor.eover, 111 which there IS no communication: between the -citizens and where each man thinks only his own thoughts is by definition a tyranny. That

, the.facultyof will and.will-power in ,and by itsel~"unconnected with-any other faculties.Js-an essentially nonpoiltlcal. and ev~n anticpolitical capacity. is perhaps nowhere ,~lse so m~ntfest as 1~1 . rheabsurdities to which Rousseau was drivenandin the cun-

ous cheerfulness with whkhhe accepted them. .

.Politically, this identification of freedom .with sovereignty IS perhaps the most perniciousand dangerous consequence of-the

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

philosophical equation of freedom and free will. For it leads either to a denial of human freedom-namely, if it is realized that whatever men may be, they are never sovereign-or to the insight that the freedom of one man, or a group, or a body politic can be purchased only at the price of the freedom, i.e., the sovereignty, of all others. Within the conceptual framework of traditional philosophy, it is indeed very difficult to understand how freedom and non-sovereignty can exist together or, to put

it another way, how freedom could have been given to men under the condition of non-sovereignty. Actually it is as unrealistic .'/. to deny freedom because, of the fact of human non-sovereignty

as it is dangerous to believe that Me can befree-s-as an individuaior as a group-s-only if he is sovereign. The famous sovereignty of political bodies has always been a11 illusion, which, moreover, can be maintained only by the instruments of violence, that is, with essentially nonpolitical means. Under human conditions, which are determined by the fact that not man but men live on the earth, freedom and sovereignty are so little identical that they cannot even exist simultaneously. Where men wish to be sovereign, as individuals or as organized groups,

. they must' submit to the oppression of the will, be this the individual will with which Lforce myself, or the "general will" of an organized group. If men wish to be free, it is precisely sovereignty they must renounce.

IV

Since the whole problem of freedom arises for us in the horizon of Christian traditions on One hand, and of an originally antipolitical philosophic tradition on the other, we find it difficult to realize that there may exist a freedotn which is not an attribute of the will but an accessory of doing and acting. Let us therefore go back once more to antiquity, i.e., to its political and pre-philosophical traditions, certainly not for the sake of erudition and not even because of the continuity of our tradition; but merely because a freedom experienced in the process of acting and nothing else-though, of course, mankind never

BETWEEN PAST .AND FUTURE

lost this "experience alrogether=-has never again been, articu-: lated with the, same classical clarity.:' .

However, for-reasons we mentioned before' and which we cannot .discuss here,' this articularion.is nowhere more difficult

. to grasp than in the writings of the philosophers. It would of course-lead us too far to try to distill, as it were, adequate concepts from the body of non-philosophical literature, from poetic, dramatic, historical, and political writings, whose articulationlifts experiences into a realm of splendor which is not the realm of conceptual. thought. And for our purposes this is not necessaryFor whatever ancient literature, Greek as well as Latin, .has to tell us about these .matters is ultimately rooted in the curious' fact that both the' Greek and the Latin language possess two' verbs to designate what we uniformly call "to act." The two Greekwords are apxelv: to begin, to lead, and, finally, ·toru1e;and ltpo:r"reLv:to carrysomething through, The corresponding.Latin.verbsare agere:to'set'something in motion; and gerere, which is hard to translate-and somehow means the enduring-and supporting continuation of past acts whose results are the res gestae, the:tdeeds.and events we call historical. In both instances'! action occurs in two -different stages; its first stage is . a beginning by which something newcdmes .into the world .. The Greek word apxew, which' covers 'beginning, leading, ruling, that is, the outstanding qualities of the free man) bears witness to an experience in which being free and the capacity to begin something new coincided. Freedom, as we

fI would say today, was experienced in spontaneity. The manifold ~ meaning of aPXEL v indicates the following: only those could begin something new who werew.h:eady rulers (i.e., 'household heads who ruled overslaves.and family) and had thus Iiberated themselves 'from the necessities of life.for enterprises in distant lands or citizenship in the polis; in either case, they no longer ruled, but were rulers among rulers,moving among their peers, whose, help they enlisted as leaders in or.der to begin something new, to start a new enterprise; for only with the help of others could the apxOJv, the" ruler, beginner and leader, really act, 1Tpait'stV,'carry through whatever he had started to do.

.Tn: Latinv.to be free and.ito begin are .also interconnected,

WHAT IS FRl:'.li.D.OM?

165 though in a different way. Roman freedom was a legacy bequeathed by the founders of Rome to the Roman people; their freedom was tied to the beginning their forefathers had established by founding the city, whose affairs the descendants had to lnan~ge, whose consequences they had to bear, and whose foundations they had to "augment." All these together are the res gestae of the Roman republic. Roman historiography therefore, esse~tially as political as Greek historiography, never was content WIth the mere narration of great deeds and events' unlike Thucydides Or Herodotus, the Roman historians always felt bound to the beginning of Roman history, because this beginning contained the authentic element of Roman freedom and thus made their history political; whatever they had to relate, they started ab urbe condita, with the foundation of the city, the guaranty of Roman freedom.

I have already mentioned that the ancient.concept of freedom played no role in Greek philosophy precisely because of its exclusivelypolitical origin. Roman writers, it is true.irebelled occasionally against the anti-political tendencies of the Socratic school but their strange lack of, philosophic talent apparently preventedtheir finding atheoretical concept of freedom which could have been adequate to their own experiences and to the great institutions of liberty present in the Roman res publica. If the history of ideas were as consistent as its historians sometimes imagine, we should have even less hope of finding a valid political idea of freedom in Augustine, the great Christian thinker who in fact introduced Paul's free will, along with its perplexities, into the history of philosophy. Yet we find in Augustine not only the discussion of freedom as liberum arbitrium, though this discussion became decisive for the tradition but also an entirely differently conceived nouon which charac~ teristically appears in his only political treatise, in De Civitate Dei. In the City of God Augustine, as is only natural, speaks more from the background of specifically Roman experiences than in any of his other writings, and freedom is conceived there not as ail innerhuman disposition but as a character of human existence in the world. Man does not possess freedom so much as he, or better his coming into the world, is equated

~.-.

166

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTURE

with the. appearance of .freedom in the universe.man is free' because. he isa beginning and-was so created after the universe hadalreadycome into existence: [Initium] ut esset, creatus est f;omo,an'te.quemnemo.fuitA In.the birth of each man-this initial beginning is reaffirmed, beca use in each instance something new comes' into an. already existing world which will continue to exist after each individual's. death .. Because he is a beginning, man 'can begin; .to behumanand to be free are one and the same. God created man in order to introduce into. the world the

l faculty .0£ beginnings. freedom.' .

~rhe strong-anti-political. tendencies of early Christianity are so familiar. that. the notion of a Christian thinker's having been the first to·£ormulate:the;philosophicaf.implications of the ancient political idea of.freedom strikes us as almost paradoxical. The only explanation that comes to.mind.is that Augustine was a Roman as wellasa Christian, and that in this part of his work he formulated the central political experience of Roman antiquity, which was .that freedom qua beginning became manifest in the act of foundation; YetI am convinced that this impression would considerably .. change; if the sayings of Jesus of Nazareth were taken-more seriously in their. philosophic implications; We find in these.partsef the New Testamentan.extraordioary understanding of freedom, and.particularly.of the power inherent in human freedom; but the human-capacity which corresponds to this power, which, in the words of the.Gospel, is capable of removing

\ mountains, is .not will but faith. The work .of faith, . actually its product,is what the gospels called.i''miracles," a word with many. meanings-in the iNew Testament and difficult- to under-

stand.Wecan neglect-the difficulties here and refer only to those passages where miracles are clearly not supernatural events but only what all miracles, thoseper.formedbymen no less th,an those performed by a divineagentcalways must be, namely, m-

terruptions of some.natural-series.of events, of some automatic process, in whose context they constitute the wholly unexpected,

No.doubt human life, placed 011· the earth, is surrounded by automatic processes-by the natural processes of the earth, which, in· turn, are surroundedby cosmic processes, and we ourselves aredrivenby similar forces insofar as we too are a

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

part of organic nature. Our political life, moreover, despite its being the realm of action, also takes place in the midst of processes which we call historical and which tend to become as automatic as natural or cosmic processes, although they were started by men, The truth is that automatism is inherent in all processes, no matter what their origin may be-which is why no single act, and no single event, can ever, once and for all, deliver and save a man, or a nation, or mankind. It is in the nature of the automatic processes to which man is subject, but within and against which-he can assert himself through action, that they can only spell ruin to human life. Once man-made, historical processes have become automatic, they are no less ruinous than the natural life process that drives our organism and which in its own terms, that is, biologically, leads from being to nonbeing, from birth to death. The historical sciences know only too well such cases of petrified and hopelessly declining civilizations where doom seems foreordained, like a biological necessity, and since such historical processes of stagnation can last and creep on for centuries, they. even occupy by far the largest space in recorded history; the periods of being free have always been relatively short in the history of mankind.

;. What usually remains intact in the epochs of petrification and foreordained doom is the faculty of freedom itself, the sheer capacity to begin, which animates and inspires all human activities andis the hidden source of production of all great and beautiful things, But so long as this source remains hidden, freedom is not a-worldly, tangible reality; that is, it is not politicaL Because the source of freedom remains present even when political life has become petrified and political action impotent to interrupt automatic processes, freedom can .so easily be mistaken for an essentially nonpolitical phenomenon; in such circumstances) freedom is not experienced as a mode of being with its Own kind of "virtue" and virtuosity, but as a supreme gift which only man, of all earthly creatures, seems to have received, of which we cart find traces and signs in almost all his activities, but which, nevertheless, develops fully only when action has created its own worldly space where it can come out of hiding, as it were, and make its appearance,

168

BETWEEN PAST AND FUTU1U!.

. Every act, .seen from-the perspective not of the agent but of the process. in whose framework-it occurs and whose automatism it-interrupts.cis a"rniracle"~thatis, something which could not.be expected-lfic istruethat-action and beginning are

r essentially rhe same;' it follows. thata. capacity for performing miracles must likewise-be withinthe.range of human faculties. This' sounds.stranger than it actually: is. It is in the very nature

\ of every new; beginning that it breaks into the world as an "infinite improbability," and yet ids precisely this infinitely improbable which actually constitutes the very texture of everything we

call real. Our whole existence rests, after all; on a chain 'of 'mira-

, cles, as it.were-e-thecoming.into being-of.the.earth, thedevelopmentof.organic lifeonit.-theevolution.of mankind out of the animal species. For, from the viewpoint of the processes in the universe and in nature, and their statistically overwhelming probabilities, the coming into being of the earth out of cosmic processes" the· formation of organic life out. of inorganic processes, the evolutionof-man, finally, out of the processes of organic life are all "infinite improbabilities," they are "miracles" in everydaylanguage, It is because ofthis elementof the "miraculous" present in .all reality that events, no matter how well anticipated in fear or hope, strike us with a shock of surprise once they have come to pass. The very impact of an event is never wholly explicable; its factuality transcends in principle all anticipation; The experience which tells us that events are miracles is neither arbitrary nor sophisticated; it is, on the contrary, most natural-end, indeed; in ordinaryIife almost commonplace. Without this commonplace experience, the part assigned by religion, to supernatural-miracles would be well "nigh incompre-

hensible. '

. I chose the example of natura 11. processes which are interrupted by the advent ofsomer infinite irnprobability'tin order to illustrate that what wecallreal in ordinary experience has mostly -come into existence through: coincidences which are stranger than fiction. Of course the example has its limitations and cannot be simply applied to the realm of human affairs. It would-be sheer superstition. to hope for miracles, for the "infinitely improbable," in the' context of automatic historical or

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

political processes, although even this can Dever be completely excluded. History, in contradistinction to nature, is full of events; here the miracle of accident and infinite improbability occurs so frequently that it seems strange to speak of miracles at all. But the reason for this frequency is merely that historical processes are created and constantly interrupted by human initiative, .b~ the i~itium man is insofar as he is an acting being. Hence It IS not III the least superstitious, it is even a counsel of realism, to look for the unforeseeable and unpredictable, to be prepared for and to expect "miracles" in the political realm. And the more heavily the scales are weighted in favor of disaster, .th,e n~ore miraculous will the deed done in freedom appear; for it IS disaster, not salvation, which always happens automatically and therefore always must appear to be irresistible.

Objectively, that is, seen from the outside and without taking into account that man is a beginning and a beginner, the chances that tomorrow willbe like yesterday are always overwhelming. Not quite so overwhelming, to be sure, but very nearly so as the chances were that no earth would ever rise Out of cosmic occurrences, that no life would develop Out of inorganic processes, and that no man would emerge out of the evolution of animal life. The decisive difference between the "infinite improbabilities" on which the reality of our earthly life rests and the miraculous character inherent in those events which establish historical reality is that, in the realm of human affairs, we know the author of the "miracles," It is men who perform them-e-men who because they have received the twofold gift of freedom and action can establish a reality of their own.

hlNC !i ~ti'~ 'Imfl '[ii. iiXit: e\i,aL1~ itlUi ind !pr"~,y '~,. d&!s WLIth ifilidUfiAiiOin. r.mm 1CC'EIC!p:. ndIct 'rlilu ""rflI, pl3l.Uc!Iii

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