These manifold possibilities are certainly possibilities within it, founded in its own peculiar character, but they are not possibilities for it, because it is incapable of such an idea, and cannot choose or of itself put an end to this state of indecision: there must be external grounds by which it may be determined to some one of those various possibilities to which it is unable to determine itself. This determination can have no previous existence within it, for it is capable of but one mode of determination, that of real existence. Hence it was, that I formerly felt myself compelled to maintain that the manifestation of every power must receive its final determination from without. I, doubtless, only took cognizance of such powers as are incapable of consciousness, and manifest themselves merely in the outward world. To them the above assertion may be applied without the slightest limitation; with respect to intelligences, the grounds of this assertion are not admissible, and it appears, therefore, rash to extend it to them.
Freedom, such as I have laid claim to, is conceivable only of intelligences; but to them, undoubtedly, it belongs. Under this supposition, man, as well as nature, is perfectly comprehensible. My body, and my capacity of operating in the world of sense, are, as in the former system, manifestations of certain limited powers of Nature; and my natural inclinations are the relations of these manifestations to my consciousness. The mere knowledge of what exists independently of me arises under this supposition of freedom, precisely as in the former system; and up to this point, both agree. But according to the former,—and here begins the opposition between these systems,—according to the former, my capacity of physical activity remains under the dominion of Nature, and is constantly set in motion by the same power which produced it, and thought has here nothing whatever to do but to look on; according to the latter, this capacity, once brought into existence, falls under the dominion of a power superior to Nature, and wholly independent of her laws,—the power of design and of will. Thought is no longer the mere faculty of observation;—it is the source of action itself. In the one case, it is forces, external and invisible to me, that put an end to my state of indecision, and limit my activity as well as my immediate consciousness of it—that is, my will—to one point, just as the indeterminate activity of the plant is limited;—in the other, it is I myself, independent, and free from the influence of all outward forces, who put an end to my state of indecision, and determine my own course, according to the knowledge I have freely attained of what is best.
Which of these two opinions shall I adopt? Am I free and independent?—or am I nothing in myself, and merely the manifestation of a foreign power? It is clear to me that neither of the two doctrines is sufficiently supported. For the first, there is no other recommendation than its mere conceivableness; for the latter, I extend a proposition which is perfectly true in its own place, beyond its proper and natural boundary. If intelligence be merely the manifestation of a power of Nature, then I do quite right to extend this principle to it: but, whether it be so or not, is the very question at issue; and this question I must solve by deduction from other premises, not by a one-sided answer assumed at the very commencement of the inquiry, from which I again deduce that only which I myself have previously placed in it. In short, neither of the two opinions seems to be proved.
As little can this matter be determined by immediate consciousness. I can never become conscious either of the external powers, by which, in the system of universal necessity, I am determined; nor of my own power, by which, in the system of freedom, I determine myself. Thus, whichever of the two opinions I may accept, I still accept it without sufficient evidence, and simply on its own account.
The system of freedom satisfies my heart; the opposite system destroys and annihilates it. To stand, cold and unmoved, amid the current of events, a passive mirror of fugitive and passing forms,—this existence is insupportable to me; I scorn and detest it. I will love;—I will lose myself in sympathy;—I will know the joy and the grief of life. I myself am the highest object of this sympathy; and the only mode in which I can satisfy its requirements is by my actions.