Isaiah Berlin’s Philosophy of History and My Position (2020.4.13)

Isaiah Berlin was one of the most important political philosophers of the 20th century. Born a Baltic Jew under the Russian Empire, he fled to England with his family during the Russian Revolution. Having experienced the turmoil of complex political upheavals in his formative years, Berlin eventually developed a political philosophy characterized by caution, restraint, and profound insight into the human condition.

※This article is an English translation of our blog post dated April 13, 2020,（Translated by ChatGPT）
イザイア・バーリン（Izaiah Berlin）の歴史哲学と私の立場: 本に溺れたい

His view of history—or philosophy of history—was deeply intertwined with his political thought. The course of human history in the 20th century was marked, in its first half, by the folly of two world wars and the Cold War, and in its second half by the triumphant advance of natural science and technological innovation. Berlin was active mainly during the 1950s to 1980s, a period defined by the Cold War and rapid technological change. It is also worth noting that he served in World War II as an intelligence officer for the British Army.

In that era, intellectual discourse was dominated by Marxism and a belief in the supremacy of science and technology. The philosophies of history derived from those ideologies were, respectively, the deterministic historical materialism of Marxism and the technocratic determinism of what might be called a “techno-cult.” Berlin was among the most prominent critics of these positions.

Berlin did not simply argue that historical determinism was wrong. Instead, he pointed out that determinism is incompatible with moral and ethical discourse: if determinism is true, then there is no room in the world for categories like good and evil, responsibility, or moral agency.

It was in this context that Berlin tied his critique to the idea of freedom. Humans are capable of both error and correctness; they can choose by will, and even when they err, they can learn from their mistakes and continue to correct and improve themselves. This, he argued, is the fundamental meaning of human freedom. Berlin’s persistent advocacy of “negative liberty”—freedom from interference—was surely grounded in this conviction.

I completely agree with Berlin’s position. More accurately, it would be fair to say that I was taught to think this way. Looking from the vantage point of the 21st century, if I may add anything, it would be the suggestion that there are actually two kinds of determinism.

We cannot revise our past actions or leap back in time to do things over. The past cannot be reset—this is obvious. Also, the fact that we were born of a particular man and woman, with specific names and identities, is a human reality we must accept. That is something “decisive.” In other words, the past is determined, and even our future actions are, to some extent, constrained by it. If one’s parents were physically attractive, it is impossible to say that this would have no influence on one’s life.

On the other hand, no matter how long we live, we cannot reach the age of 150. Our eventual death is a non-negotiable fact. Moreover, given the massive amount of radioactive nuclear waste now piled on Earth, it is difficult to believe humanity will still exist 100,000 years from now—when that waste is finally expected to become harmless. In that sense, the extinction of humanity by then may also be considered “determined.”

Thus, we may accept that the long-term, macro-scale historical trajectory of the human species is deterministic. This view is also consistent with the Second Law of Thermodynamics—the principle of entropy increase. Let me call this view “ontological determinism.”

Then what should we call the non-deterministic realm that Berlin and I believe in, the realm that guarantees freedom? Let us name it “agentic indeterminism.” And in this framework, one’s parentage, nationality, historical era (Reiwa or Showa), or gender should not be seen merely as burdens that constrain us. Rather, I argue that these conditions should be regarded as “resources” that support our capacity to act freely. “Tradition” is often regarded as something that binds and opposes freedom, but if we deliberately reinterpret “tradition” as a resource, perhaps it can empower and enable freer action. I call this line of thought the “theory of historical resources.”

My own philosophy of history—or historical theory—aims to reconcile Berlin’s philosophy of history with contemporary scientific discourse from a long-term, macro-historical perspective, and to reinforce and further develop Berlin’s political philosophy of freedom through the theory of historical resources. In this project, I also draw upon the ecological view of history by Tadao Umesao, the philosophy of science by Satoshi Watanabe, and the complex systems social science of Yoshinori Shiozawa. But those discussions, I hope, can be elaborated upon at another opportunity.