CHAPTER II.
RELATION OF THE WILL TO OTHER POWERS OF THE MIND
Activity of the Intellect in Volition.—It is a matter of some importance to ascertain the relation which the will sustains to the other mental powers. There can be no doubt that the activity of the will is preceded, in all cases by that of the intellect. I must first perceive some object presented to my understanding, before I can will its attainment. In the case already supposed, the book lying on my table is an object within the cognizance of sense, and to perceive it is an act of intellect. Until perceived, the will puts not forth any volition respecting it. Nor does the mere perception occasion volition. In connection with the perception of the book, ideas present themselves to the mind, curiosity is awakened, the mind is set upon a train of thought, which results in the desire and the volition to take the book. In all this the intellect is active. In a word, whatever comes in as a motive to influence the mind in favor of, or against a given course, must in the first instance address itself to the understanding, and be comprehended by that power, before it can influence the mental decisions. A motive which I do not comprehend is no motive; a reason which I do not perceive, or understand, is, to me, no reason.
Activity of the Sensibilities also involved.—But does volition immediately follow the action of the intellect in the case supposed? Do we first understand, and then will; or does something else intervene between the intellectual perception and the volition? Were there no feeling awakened by the intellectual perception, would there be any volition with regard to the object perceived? I think, I feel, I will; is not that the order of the mental processes? "We can easily imagine," says Mackintosh, "a percipient and thinking being without a capacity of receiving pleasure or pain. Such a being might perceive what we do; if we could conceive him to reason, he might reason justly; and if he were to judge at all, there seems no reason why he should not judge truly. But what could induce such a being to will or to act? It seems evident that his existence could only be a state of passive contemplation. Reason, as reason, can never be a motive to action. It is only when we superadd to such a being sensibility, or the capacity of emotion, or sentiment of desire and aversion, that we introduce him into the world of action."
Opinion of Locke.—To the same effect, Locke: "Good and evil, present and absent, it is true, work upon the mind, but that which immediately determines the will from time to time, to every voluntary action, is the uneasiness of desire, fixed on some absent good, either negative, as indolence to one in pain, or positive, as enjoyment of pleasure. That it is this uneasiness that determines the will to the successive voluntary actions, whereof the greatest part of our lives is made up, and by which we are conducted through different courses to different ends, I shall endeavor to show both from experience and the reason of the thing." Elsewhere again: "For good, though appearing and allowed ever so great, yet till it has raised desires in our minds, and thereby made us uneasy in its want, it reaches not our wills; we are not within the sphere of its activity."
Testimony of Consciousness.—The general opinion of philosophical writers is now in accordance with the views thus expressed. The intellect they regard as acting upon the will not directly, but through the medium of the sensibilities, the various emotions and desires which are awakened by the perceptions of the intellect. That this is the correct view, admits of little doubt. The question is best settled by an appeal to consciousness. In the case supposed, the perception of the book upon the table does not, of itself, directly influence my will. It is not until some feeling is aroused, my curiosity excited, or desire, in some form, awakened, that my will acts. The object must not only be perceived, but perceived as agreeable, and the wish to possess it be entertained, before the volition is put forth.
Whether this Rule applies in all Cases.—That this is so as regards a large class of our volitions, will hardly be denied. When the motive to action is of the nature of desire, it is the sensibility, and not the intellect, that is directly, concerned in shaping the action of the will. I first perceive the object to be agreeable; I next desire its possession, as such; then I will its attainment. The intellectual activity gives rise to emotion, and the latter leads to volition.
It may be supposed, however, that when the motive which influences the will is not of the nature of desire, but rather of a sense of obligation or duty, then the case is otherwise, the intellectual perception of the right, and of the obligation to do the right, being sufficient of themselves to lead the mind to action. But as the intellectual perception of the agreeable is followed by emotion or desire in view of the same, so the intellectual perception of the right is followed, in like manner, by a certain class of feelings or emotions, usually called moral sensibilities; and it is the feeling, in either case, and not the knowing, the sensibility, and not the intellect, that is directly in contact with the will. I know that I ought, and I feel that I ought, are states of mind closely connected, indeed, but not identical; and it is the latter which leads directly to volition.
Desire and Volition not always distinguished.—Another point requiring investigation, is the precise relation between volition and desire. Are they the same thing, and if not, wherein do they differ? It has been the custom of certain writers not to distinguish between desire and volition, as states of mind, or to regard them as differing, if at all, only in degree. Thus Condillac, and writers of the French school, as also Brown, Mill, and others, in Great Britain, have treated of volition as only a stronger degree of desire, which, again, is only a form of emotion. Even McCosh, in his treatise on moral government, while insisting on the distinction between emotions and desires, regards wishes, desires, and volitions, as belonging essentially to the same class of mental states. "Appealing to consciousness," says that able and elegant writer, "we assert that there is a class of mental states embracing wishes, desires, volitions, which cannot be analyzed into anything else. These mental states or affections are very numerous, and occupy a place in the human mind second to no other. They differ from each other in degree, and possibly even in some minor qualities but they all agree in other and more important respects and so are capable of being arranged under one head." And in a subsequent paragraph he remarks to the same effect, "Later mental inquirers are generally disposed to admit that the volition the positive determination to take a particular step, the resolution, for instance, to give a sum of money to take our friend to a warmer climate for the restoration of his health, is more than a mere emotion. But if we are thus to constitute a separate attribute to which to refer volition, it is worthy of being inquired whether we should not arrange, under the same head, wishes, desires, and the cognate states, as being more closely allied in their nature to volitions than to the common emotions."
The Difference generic.—It is on this latter point that we are compelled to join issue with the writer just quoted. A wish, a desire, are forms of feeling; a volition is not. The difference is generic, and not one of degree merely. A desire differs from any other form of feeling, not so much, not so radically, as it differs from a volition. A wish or desire may lead to volition, or it may not. We often wish or desire what we do not will. The object of our desires may not be within the sphere of our volitions, may not be possible of attainment, may not depend, in any sense, upon our wills. Or it may be something which reason and the law of right forbid, yet, nevertheless, an object of natural desire. And so, on the other hand, we may, from a sense of duty, or from the dictates of reason and prudence, will what is contrary to our natural inclinations, and our volitions, so far from representing our desires, in that case, may be directly contrary to them.
Opinion of Reid.—Accordant with the view now expressed, are the following remarks of Dr Reid: "With regard to our actions, we may desire what we do not will, and will what we do not desire, nay, what we have a great aversion to. A man a-thirst has a strong desire to drink, but, for some particular reason, he determines not to gratify his desire. A judge, from a regard to justice and the duty of his office, dooms a criminal to die, while, from humanity and particular affection, he desires that he should live. A man, for health, may take a nauseous draught for which he has no desire, but a great aversion. Desire, therefore, even when its object is some action of our own, is only an excitement to the will, but is not volition. The determination of the mind may be not to do what we desire to do."
Opinion of Locke.—To the same effect is the following from Locke: "This caution, of being careful not to be misled by expressions that do not enough keep up the difference between the will and several acts of the mind that are quite distinct from it, I think the more necessary, because I find the will often confounded with several of the affections, especially desire, and one put for the other, and that by men who would not willingly be thought not to have had very distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very clearly about them. This, I imagine, has been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in this matter; and therefore is, as much as may be, to be avoided. For, he that shall turn his thoughts inward upon what passes in his mind when he wills, shall see that the will or power of volition is conversant about nothing, but that particular determination of the mind, whereby, barely by a thought, the mind endeavors to give rise, continuation, or stop to any action which it takes to be in its power. This well considered, plainly shows that the will is perfectly distinguished from desire, which, in the very same action may have quite a contrary tendency from that which our will sets us upon. A man whom I cannot deny, may oblige me to use persuasions to another, which, at the same time I am speaking, I may wish may not prevail on him. In this case, it is plain, the will and desire run counter. I will the action that tends one way, while my desire tends another, and that right contrary. Whence it is evident," he adds, "that desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind; and, consequently, that the will, which is but the power of volition, is much more distinct from desire."
Testimony of Consciousness.—The testimony of consciousness seems to be clearly in accordance with the views now expressed. We readily distinguish between our desires and our volitions. We are conscious of willing, often, what is contrary to our desires; the course which honor and duty approve, and which we resolutely carry out, is in disregard of many fond and cherished desires which still agitate the bosom. And even when our desires and volitions coincide, it requires but little reflection to discover the difference between them. It is a difference recognized in the common language of life, and in the writings and conversation of men who are by no means theorists or metaphysicians.
Further Illustrations of the Distinction.—Mr. Upham, who has very clearly and ably maintained the distinction now in question, refers us, in illustration, to the case of Abraham offering his son upon the altar of sacrifice, sternly, resolutely willing, in obedience to the divine command, what must have been repugnant to every feeling of the father's heart; to the memorable instance of Brutus ordering and witnessing the execution of his own sons, as conspirators against the State, the struggle between the strong will and the strong paternal feeling evidently visible in his countenance, as he stood at the dreadful scene; and the case of Virginius, plunging the knife into the bosom of a beloved daughter, whose dishonor could in no other way be averted. In all these, and many other similar cases, private interests and personal affections are freely and nobly sacrificed, in favor of high public interests, and moral ends; yet, to do this, the will must act in opposition to the current of natural feeling and desire.
CHAPTER III.
FREEDOM OF THE WILL.
Problems respecting the Will.—Our attention has thus far been directed to the psychological facts respecting the will, in itself considered, and also in its relations to the other mental powers. It becomes necessary now, in order to the more complete understanding of the matter, to look at some of the disputed points, the grand problems, respecting the human will, which have for ages excited and divided the reflecting world. The way is prepared for these more difficult questions, when once the simple facts, to which our attention has already been directed, are well understood. These questions are numerous, but, if I mistake not, they all resolve themselves virtually into the one general problem of the freedom of the will, or, at least, so link themselves with that as to admit of discussion in the same connection.
Freedom, what.—In approaching this much-disputed question, it is necessary to ascertain, in the first place, what is meant by freedom, and what by freedom of the will, else we may discuss the matter to no purpose. Various definitions of freedom have been given. It is a word in very common use, and, in its general application, not liable to be misunderstood. Every one who understands the ordinary language of life, knows well enough what freedom is. It denotes the opposite of restraint; the power to do what one likes, pleases, is inclined to do. My person is free, when it can come and go, do this or that, as suits my inclination. Any faculty of the mind, or organ of the body, is free, when its own specific and proper action is not hindered. Freedom of motion, is power to move when and where we please Freedom of speech, is power to say what we like. Freedom of action, is power to do what we like.
Freedom of the Will, what.—What, then, is freedom of the will? What can it be but the power of exercising, without restraint or hindrance, its own specific and proper function, viz., the putting forth volitions, just such volitions as we please. This as we have seen, is the proper office of the will, its specific and appropriate action. If nothing prevents or restrains me from forming and putting forth such volitions as I please, then my will is free; and not otherwise.
Freedom of the will, then, is not power to do what one wills, in the sense of executing volitions when formed that is simple freedom of the limbs, and muscular apparatus, not of will—a freedom which may be destroyed by a stroke of paralysis, or an iron chain;—it is not a freedom of walking, if one wills to walk, or of singing, or flying, or moving the right arm, if one is so disposed. That is freedom, but not freedom of the will. My will is free, not when I can do what I will to do, but when I can will to do just what I please. Whatever freedom the will has, must lie within its own proper sphere of action, and not without it; must relate to that, and not to something else. This distinction, so very obvious, has, nevertheless, been sometimes strangely overlooked.
Is, then, the human will free, in the sense now defined? Let us first notice some presumptions in favor of its freedom then the more direct argument.
§ I.—Presumptions in Favor of Freedom.
The general Conviction of Freedom a Presumption in its Favor.—1. It is a presumption in favor of freedom that there is among men, a very general, not to say universal conviction of freedom. It is a prevalent idea, an established conviction and belief of the mind. We are conscious of this belief ourselves, we observe it in others. When we perform any act, or choose any course of conduct, we are impressed with the belief that we could have done or chosen differently, had we been so disposed. We never doubt or call in question this ability, in regard to the practical matters of life. The languages and the literature of the world bear witness to the universality of this belief. Now this general conviction and firm belief of freedom constitute, to say the least, a presumption, and a strong one, in favor of the doctrine. If men are free to do as they like, then they are free to will as they like, for the willing precedes the doing; and if they are not thus free, how happens this so general conviction of a freedom which they do not possess?
The Appeal to Consciousness.—The argument is sometimes stated, by the advocates of freedom, in a form which is liable to objection. The appeal is made directly to consciousness. We are conscious, it is said, of freedom, conscious of a power, when we do any thing, to do otherwise, to take some other course instead. Strictly speaking, we are conscious only of our present state of mind. I may know the past; but it is not a matter of consciousness; I may also know, perhaps, what might have been, in place of the actual past, but of this I am not conscious. When I experience a sensation, or put forth a volition, I am conscious of that sensation or volition; but I am not conscious of what never occurred, that is, of some other feeling or volition instead of an actual one. I may have a firm conviction, amounting even to knowledge, that at the moment of experiencing that feeling, or exercising that volition, it was possible for me to have exercised a different one; but it is a conviction, a belief, at most a knowledge, and not, properly, consciousness. I am conscious of the conviction that I am free, and that I can do otherwise than as I do; and this, in itself, is a presumption, that I have such a power; but I am not conscious of the power itself. It may be said, that if there were any restraint upon my will, to prevent my putting forth such volitions as I please, or to prevent my acting otherwise than I do, I should be conscious of such restraint; and this may be very true; and from the absence of any such consciousness of restraint, I may justly infer that I am free; but this, again, is an inference, and not a consciousness. One thing, however, I am conscious of, that my actual volitions are such, and only such, as I please to put forth; and this leads to the conviction that it is in my power to put forth any volition that I may please.
Our moral Nature a Presumption in Favor of Freedom.—2. It is a further presumption in favor of the entire freedom of the will, that man's moral nature seems to imply it. We approve or condemn the conduct of others. It is with the understanding that they acted freely, and could have done otherwise. We should never think of praising a man for doing what he could not help doing, or of blaming him for what it was utterly out of his power to avoid. So, also, we approve and condemn our own actions, and always with the understanding that these actions and volitions were free. There may be regret for that which was unavoidable, but never a sense of guilt, never remorse. The existence of these feelings always implies freedom of the will, the power to have done otherwise. Let any man select that period of his history, that act of his whole life, for which he blames himself most, and of which the recollection casts the deepest gloom and sadness over all his subsequent years, and let him ask himself why it is that he so blames himself for that course, and he will find, in every case, that it is because he knows that he might have done differently. Take away this conviction, and you take away the foundation of all his remorse, and of self-condemnation. The same thing is implied, also, in the feeling of obligation. It is impossible to feel under moral obligation to do what it is utterly and absolutely out of our power to do.
This View maintained by Mr. Upham.—"There are some truths," says Mr. Upham, "which are so deeply based in the human constitution, that all men of all classes receive them, and act upon them. They are planted deeply and immutably in the soul, and no reasoning, however plausible, can shake them. And, if we are not mistaken, the doctrine of the freedom of the will, as a condition of even the possibility of a moral nature, is one of these first truths. It seems to be regarded, by all persons, without any exception, as a dictate of common sense, and as a first principle of our nature, that men are morally accountable, and are the subjects of a moral responsibility in any respect, whatever, only so far as they possess freedom, both of the outward action, and of the will. They hold to this position, as an elementary truth, and would no sooner think of letting it go than of abandoning the conviction of their personal existence and identity. They do not profess to go into particulars, but they assert it in the mass, that man is a moral being only so far as he is free. And such a unanimous and decided testimony, bearing, as it absolutely does, the seal and superscription of nature herself, is entitled to serious consideration."
Also by Dr. Reid.—Dr. Reid, also, takes essentially the same view. He regards it as a first principle, to be ranked in the same class with the conviction of our personal existence and identity, and the existence of a material world, "that we have some degree of power over our actions, and the determinations of our will." It is implied, he maintains, in every act of volition, in all deliberation, and in every resolution or purpose formed in consequence of deliberation. "It is not more evident," he says, "that mankind have a conviction of the existence of a material world, than that they have the conviction of some degree of power in themselves, and in others, every one over his own actions, and the determinations of his will—a conviction so early, so general, and so interwoven with the whole of human conduct, that it must be the natural effect of our constitution, and intended by the Author of our being to guide our actions."
Consequences of the Opposite.—3. The consequences of the opposite view afford a presumption in favor of freedom.
If the will is not free, if all our liberty is merely a liberty to do what we will to do, or to execute the volitions which we form, but we have no power over the volitions themselves, then we have no power whatever to will or to act differently from what we do. This is fatalism. All that the fatalist maintains is, that we are governed by circumstances out of our own control, so that, situated as we are, it is impossible for us to act otherwise than as we do. From this follows, as a natural and inevitable consequence, the absence of all accountability and obligation. The foundation of these, as we have already seen, is freedom. Take this away, and you strike a fatal blow at man's moral nature. It is no longer possible for me to feel under obligation to do what I have absolutely no power to do, or to believe myself accountable for doing what I could not possibly avoid. Morality, duty, accountability, become mere chimeras, idle fancies of the brain, devices of the priest and the despot, to frighten men into obedience and subjection.
This View sustained by Facts.—These are not random statements. It is a significant fact, that those who have undertaken to deny accountability, and moral obligation, have, almost without exception, I believe, been advocates of the doctrine of necessity. Indeed, it seems impossible to maintain such views upon any other ground; while, on the other hand, the denial of the freedom of the will leads almost of necessity to such conclusions. "Remorse," says Mr. Belsham, "is the exquisitely painful feeling which arises from the belief that, in circumstances precisely the same, we might have chosen and acted differently. This fallacious feeling is superseded by the doctrine of necessity."
Equally plain, and to the same effect, are the following passages from the correspondence of Diderot, as quoted by Mr. Stewart: "Examine it narrowly, and you will see that the word liberty is a word devoid of meaning; that there are not, and that there cannot be, free beings; that we are only what accords with the general order, with our organization, our education, and the chain of events. These dispose of us invincibly. We can no more conceive of a being acting without a motive, than we can of one of the arms of a balance acting without a weight. The motive is always exterior and foreign, fastened upon us by some cause distinct from ourselves.... We have been so often praised and blamed, and have so often praised and blamed others, that we contract an inveterate prejudice of believing that we and they will and act freely. But if there is no liberty, there is no action that merits either praise or blame; neither vice nor virtue; nothing that ought either to be rewarded or punished.... The doer of good is lucky, not virtuous.... Reproach others for nothing, and repent of nothing; this is the first step to wisdom."
These Opinions not to be charged upon all Necessitarians.—It is not to be supposed, of course, that all who deny the freedom of the will, adopt the views above expressed. Whether such denial, however, consistently followed out to its just and legitimate conclusions, does not lead to such results, is another question.
§ II.—The Direct Argument.
Another Mode of Argument.—Thus far we have considered only the presumptions in favor of the freedom of the will. We find them numerous and strong. The question is, however, to be decided not by presumptions for or against, but by direct argument based upon a careful inquiry into the psychological facts of the case. To this let us now proceed, bearing in mind, as we advance, what are the essential phenomena of the will, as already ascertained, and what is meant by freedom of the will as already defined.
The Will free unless its appropriate Action is hindered.—It is evident that, if we are right in our ideas of what freedom is, the will is strictly and properly free, provided nothing interferes with, and prevents, our putting forth such volitions as we please and choose to put forth. The specific and appropriate action of the will, as we have seen, is simply to put forth volitions. Whatever freedom it has, then, must lie within that sphere, and not without it, must relate to that, and not to something else; whatever restraint or want of freedom it has, must also be found within these limits. My will is free, when I can will to do just what I please.
Strength of Inclination, no Impediment.—If this be so, then it is clear, 1. That mere strength of inclination can by no means impair the freedom of the will. Be the inclination never so strong, it matters not. Nay, so far from interfering with freedom, it is an essential element of it. Freedom presupposes and implies inclination. One is surely none the less free because very strongly inclined to do as he likes, provided he can do what he wishes or prefers. This is as true of the action of the will as of any other action.
The Source of Inclination, of no Consequence to the present Inquiry.—2. It is evident, furthermore, that freedom has nothing to do with the source of my inclinations, any more than with their strength. It makes no difference what causes my preference, or whether any thing causes it. I have a preference, an inclination, a disposition to do a given thing, and put forth a given volition—am disposed to do it, and can do it—then I am free, my will is free. It is of no consequence how I came by that inclination or disposition. The simple question is, Am I at liberty to follow it?
The Interference must be from without, and must affect the Choice.—It is evident, moreover, according to what has now been said, that if there be really any restraint upon the will, or lack of freedom in its movements, it must proceed from something extraneous, outside the will itself, something which comes in from without, and that in such a way as to interfere, in some way with my choice; for it is there that the element of freedom lies. But whatever interferes with my choice, interferes with my willing at all; the act is no longer a voluntary act. Choice is essential to volition, the very element of it. In order to an act of will as we have seen, there must be liberty to choose, deliberation, actual preference. Volition presupposes them, and is based on them. Whatever prevents them, prevents volition. Whatever places me in such a state of mind that I have no preference at all, no choice, as to any given thing, places me in such a state that I have also no volition as to that thing. The question of freedom is forestalled in such a case, becomes absurd. Where there is no volition, there is of course no freedom of volition, nor yet any want of freedom. Freedom of will is power to will as I like, but now I have no liking, no preference.
The Supposition varied.—But suppose now that I am not prevented from choosing, but only from carrying out my choice in actual volition; from willing, according to my choice. Then, also, the act is no longer properly a volition, an act of will, for one essential element of every such act, viz., choice, is wanting. I have a choice, indeed, but it is not here, not represented in this so-called volition, lies in another direction, is, in fact, altogether opposed to this, my so-called volition. There can be no such volition. The human mind is a stranger to any such phenomenon, and if it did occur, it would not be volition, not an act of the will, not a voluntary act. Whatever, then, comes in, either to prevent my choosing, or to prevent my exercising volition according to my choice, does, in fact, prevent my willing at all. If there be an act of the will, it is, in its very nature, a free act, and cannot be otherwise. Allow me to choose, and to put forth volition according to my choice, and you leave me free. Prevent this, and you prevent my willing at all.
The Limitation, as usually regarded, not really one.—Those who contend that the will is not free, place the limitation back of the choice. Choice is governed by inclination, they say, and inclination depends on circumstances, on education, habits, fashion, etc., things, in great measure, beyond our control; and while these circumstances remain the same, a man cannot choose otherwise than he does. To this I reply, that, as we have already seen, the will is strictly and properly free, provided nothing interferes with, and prevents, our putting forth such volitions as we choose to put forth. Is there, then, any thing in these circumstances which are supposed to control our choice, and to be so fatal to our freedom, is there in them any thing which really interferes with, or prevents our willing as we choose? Does the fact that I am inclined, and strongly so, to a given choice, prevent me from putting forth that choice in the shape of executive volition? So far from this, that inclination is the very circumstance that leads to my doing it. All that could possibly be contended, is that the supposed inclination to a given choice is likely to prevent my having some other and different choice. But that has nothing to do with the question of the freedom of my will, which depends, as we have seen, not on the power to choose otherwise than one is inclined, or than one likes, but as he likes. What force, I ask again, is there in any circumstance, or combination of circumstances, which go to mould and shape my inclinations and my disposition, and have no further power over me, what force in them, or what tendency, to prevent my willing as I choose, as I like, as I am inclined? Nay, if my will acts at all, it must, as I have shown, act in this way, and therefore act freely.
Freedom of Inclination not Freedom of Will.—But suppose I have no power to like, or to be inclined, differently from what I do like, and am now inclined? I reply, it matters not as to the present question. The supposition now made, takes away or limits, not the freedom of the will, it does not touch that; but the freedom of the affections. Can I like what I do not like—and can I put forth such volitions as I please or choose—are two distinct questions, and again I repeat that the freedom of our will depends, not on our having this or that particular choice, but on our being able to carry out whatever choice we do make into our volitions; not on our being able to will otherwise than we choose, nor yet on our ability to choose otherwise than we do, but simply on our being able to will as we choose, whatever that choice may be.
Are the Sensibilities Free.—Have I, in reality, however, any freedom of the affections, any power under given circumstances, to be affected otherwise than I am, to feel otherwise than I do? I reply, the affections are not elements of the will, are not under its immediate control; are not strictly voluntary. It depends on a great variety of circumstances, what, in any given case, your affections or inclinations may be. You have no power of will directly over them. You can modify and shape them, only by shaping your own voluntary action so far as that bears upon their formation. By shaping your CHARACTER which IS under your control, you may, in a manner, at least, determine the nature and degree of the emotions which will arise, under given circumstances, in your bosom.
The two Questions entirely distinct.—But, however that may be, it has nothing to do, I repeat, with the question now under discussion. The freedom of the affections, and the freedom of the will, are by no means the same thing. We have already seen that there may be a fixed and positive connection between my inclinations and my choice, and so my will, and yet my will be perfectly free. This is the main thing to be settled; and there seems to be no need of further argument to establish this point; and if this be so, it decides the question as to the freedom of the will.
Bearing of this View upon the divine Government.—The view now taken, leaves it open and quite in the power of Providence, so to shape circumstances, guide events, and so to array, and bring to bear on the mind of man, motives and inducements to any given course, as virtually to control and determine his conduct, by controlling and determining his inclinations, and so his choice; while, at the same time, the man is left perfectly free to put forth such volitions as he pleases, and to do as he likes. There can be no higher liberty than this. To this point I shall again revert, when the question comes up respecting the divine agency in connection with human freedom.
CHAPTER IV.
CERTAIN QUESTIONS CONNECTED WITH THE PRECEDING.
§ I.—Contrary Choice.
The Question stated.—In the preceding chapters our attention has been directed to the psychological facts respecting the will, and also to the general question respecting the freedom of the will. Closely connected with this main question, and involved in its discussion, are certain inquiries of a like nature, which cannot wholly be passed by, and for the consideration of which the way is now prepared. One of these respects the power of contrary choice. Have we any such power? Is the freedom, which, as we have seen, belongs to the very nature of the will, such a freedom as allows of our choosing, under given circumstances, any otherwise than we do? When I put forth a volition, all other things being as they are, can I, at that moment, in place of that volition, put forth a different one in its stead?
Not identical with the preceding.—This question is not identical with that respecting the freedom of the will, for it has been already shown that there may be true freedom without any such power as that now in question. My will is free, provided I can put forth such volitions as I please, irrespective of the power to substitute other volitions and choices in place of the actual ones.
Such Power not likely to be exercised.—The question, however, is one of some importance, whether we have any such power or not. And whether we have it or not, one thing is certain—we are not likely to exercise it. If among the fixed and given things, which are to remain as they are, we include whatever inclines or induces the mind to choose and act as it does, then, power or no power to the contrary, the choice will be as it is, and would be so, if we were to try the experiment a thousand times; for choice depends on these preceding circumstances and inducements—the inclination of the mind—and if this is given, and made certain, the choice to which it will lead becomes certain also. A choice opposed to the existing inclination, to the sum total of the existing inducements to action, is not a choice at all; it is a contradiction in terms. The power of contrary choice, then, is one which, from the nature of the case, will never be put in requisition, unless something lying back of the choice, viz., inclination, be changed also.
But does such Power exist.—The question is not, however, whether such a power is likely to be employed, but whether it exists; not whether the choice will be thus and thus, but whether it can be otherwise. When, from various courses of procedure, all practicable, and at my option, I select or choose one which, on the whole, I will pursue, have I no power, under those very circumstances, and at that very moment, to choose some other course instead of that? Can my choice be otherwise than it is?
In what Sense there is such Power.—Abstractly, I suppose, it can. Power and inclination are two different things. The power to act is one thing, and the disposition to exert that power is another thing. Logically, one does not involve the other. The power may exist without the disposition, or the disposition without the power. There is power, logically, abstractly considered, to choose, even when inclination is wanting; you have only to supply the requisite inclination, and the power is at once exerted, the choice is made, the act is performed. But the change of inclination does not create any new power; it simply puts in requisition a power already existing.
§ II.—Power to Do what we are not Disposed to Do.
The Question under another Form.—Closely analogous to the question last discussed, virtually, indeed, the same question under another form, is the inquiry, whether we can, at any moment, will or do what we are not, at that moment, inclined to do. Have I any such power or freedom as this, that I CAN do what I am not DISPOSED or do not wish to do? My disposition being to pursue a given course, is it really in my power to pursue a different one?
In order to determine this question, let us see what constitutes, or in what consists, the power of doing, in any case, what we are disposed to do; and then we may be able to judge whether that power still exists, in case the disposition is wanting.
In what Power consists.—It is admitted that I can do what I wish or am disposed to do. Now, in what consists that power? That depends on what sort of act it is that I am to put forth. Suppose it be a physical act. My power to do what I wish, in that case, consists in my having certain physical organs capable of doing the given thing, and under the command of my will. Suppose it be an intellectual act. My power, in that case, of doing what I like, depends on my having such mental faculties as are requisite for the performance of the given act, and these under control. So long, then, as I have the faculties, physical or mental, that are requisite to the performance of a given act, and those faculties are under the control of my will, so that I can exert them if I please, and when I please, so long my power of doing what I like is unimpaired, and complete, as, e. g., the power of walking, or adding a column of accounts.
But suppose the Disposition wanting.—Suppose, now, the disposition to be wanting; does the power also disappear, or does it remain? I have the same faculties as before, and they are as fully under the control of the will as ever, and that constitutes all the power I ever had. I have the power, then, of doing what I have no inclination to do. Whatever I can do if I like, that also I can do, even if I do not like. In itself considered, the power to do a thing may be quite complete, and independent of the inclination or disposition to do or not to do.
Will it be put in Requisition?—But will this power be ever exercised? Certainly not, so long as the disinclination continues. In order to the doing of any thing, there must not only be power to do it, but disposition. If the latter be wanting, the former, though it may exist, will never be put forth.
Our Actions not consequently inevitable.—Have I, then, no power, that is really available, to do what I do not happen to be, at this moment, inclined to do? Am I shut up to the actual inclinations and choices of any given hour or moment? Am I under the stern rule of inevitable necessity and fate to do as I do, to choose as I choose, to be inclined as I am inclined? By no means. My inclinations are not fixed quantities. They may change. They depend, in part, on the intellectual conceptions: these may vary; in part on the state of the heart: divine grace may change the heart.
Actual Choices not necessary ones.—The actual choice of any given moment is by no means a necessary one. Another might have been in its stead. A different inclination is certainly possible and conceivable, and a different inclination would have led to a different choice. If, instead of looking at the advantage or agreeableness of a proposed course, and being influenced by that consideration, I had looked at the right, the obligation in the case, my choice would have been a different one, for I should have been influenced by a different motive. Two different objects were presented to my mind, a and b. As it is, I choose a, but might have chosen b, and should, had I been so inclined. Why did I choose a? Because, as the matter then presented itself to my mind, I was so inclined. But I might have taken a different view of the whole thing, and then my inclination and my choice would have been different. It was in my power to have thought, to have felt, to have acted differently. What is more, I not only might, but, perhaps, ought to have felt and acted differently. I am responsible for having such an inclination as leads to a wrong choice responsible for my opinions and views which influence my feelings; responsible for my disposition, in so far as it is the result of causes within my own control.
Different Uses of the Term Power.—It ought to be clearly defined in all such discussions what we mean by the principal terms employed. In the present instance what we mean by the words power, ability, can, etc., ought to be distinctly stated. Now, there are two senses in which these words are used, and the question before us turns, in part, on this difference.
1. We may use the word power, e. g., to denote all that is requisite or essential to the actual doing of a thing, whatever is so connected with the doing, that, if it be wanting, the thing will not be done.
Or, 2. In a more limited sense, to denote merely all that is requisite to the doing the thing, provided we please or choose to do it, all that is requisite in order to our doing what we like or wish.
The latter distinguishes between the ability and the willingness to do; the former includes them both in the idea of power. In order to the actual doing there must be both. But does the word power properly include both? In ordinary language, certainly, we distinguish the two. I can do a thing, and I wish to do it, are distinct propositions, and neither includes the other. It is only by a license of speech that we sometimes say I cannot, when we mean simply, I have no wish or disposition. If we make the distinction in question between power and disposition, then we can do what we have no wish to do. If we do not make it, but include in the term power the disposition to exert the power, then we cannot do what we have no disposition to do.
§ III.—Influence of Motives
I. Is the Will always as the greatest apparent Good?
The Answer depends on the Meaning of the Question.—If by this be meant simply whether the mind always wills as it is, on the whole, and under all the circumstances, disposed or inclined to will, I have already answered the question. If more than that be meant, if we mean to ask whether we always, in volition, act with reference to the one consideration of advantage or utility, the good that is to accrue, in some way, to ourselves or others from the given procedure—and this is what the question seems to imply—I deny that this is so. I have already shown, in presenting the psychological facts respecting the will, that our motives of action are from two grand and diverse sources: desire and duty—self-love, or, at most such love as involves mere natural emotion, and sense of obligation; that we do not always act in view merely of the agreeable, but also in view of the right, and that these two are not identical. Now the greatest apparent good is not always the right; nor even the apparent right. We are conscious of the difference, and of acting, now from the one, now from the other, of these motives. But to say that the will is always according to the greatest apparent good, is to resolve all volition into the pursuit of the agreeable, and all motives of action into self-love. It is to merge the feeling of obligation in the feeling of desire, and lose sight of it as in itself a distinct motive of action.
Defect in the Socratic Philosophy.—This was the capital defect in the ethical system of Socrates, who held that men always pursue what they think to be good, and, therefore, always do what they think is right, since the good and the right are identical; sometimes, indeed, mistaking an apparent good for a real one, but always doing as well as they know how; from which it is but a short step to the conclusion that sin is only so much ignorance, and virtue so much knowledge—a conclusion to which the modern advocates of the doctrines under discussion would by no means assent, but from which that shrewd thinker and most consistent logician saw no escape.
II. Is the Will determined by the strongest Motive?
The Term "strongest" as thus employed.—Much depends on what we mean by "strongest" in this connection, and what by the word "determined?" If we mean, by the strongest motive, the one which in a given case prevails, that in view of which the mind decides and acts, then the question amounts merely to this. Does the prevalent motive actually prevail? To say that it does, is much the same as to say, that a straight stick is a straight stick. And what else can you mean by strongest motive? What standard have you for measuring motives and gauging their strength, except simply to judge of them by the effects they produce? Or, who ever supposed that, of two motives, it was not the stronger but the weaker one that in a given case prevailed?
The Word "determined."—The question may be made, however, to turn upon the word determined. Is the will determined by that motive which prevails? Is it determined at all by any motive or by any thing? If by this word it be meant or implied that the motive, and not the mind itself is the producing cause of the mind's own action, then I deny that the will is, in any such sense, determined, whether by the strongest motive, or any other. The will is simply the mind or the soul willing; its acts are determined by itself, and itself only. If you mean simply that the motive influences the will, prevails with it, becomes the reason why the will decides as it does, this I have already shown to be true, and in this sense, undoubtedly, the motive determines the volition, just as the fall of an apple from a tree is, in the first instance, produced or caused by the law of gravitation; but the particular direction which it takes in falling, depends on, and is determined by, adventitious circumstances as, e. g., the obstacles it meets in its descent. Those obstacles, in one sense, determine the motion; they are the reason and explanation of the fact that it falls just as it does, and not otherwise; but they are not the producing cause of the motion itself.
III. Are Motives the Cause, and Volitions the Effect?
Incorrect Use of the Term Cause.—It is common, with a certain class of writers, to speak of motive as the cause of action or volition. This is, if at all correct and allowable, certainly not a fortunate use of terms. The agent is properly the cause of any act, and in volition the soul itself is the agent. It is the mind itself, which is, strictly, the efficient cause of its own acts. The motive is the reason why I act, and not the producer or cause of my act. In common speech, this distinction is not always observed. We say, I do such a thing because of this or that, meaning for such and such reasons. In philosophical discussion it is necessary to be more exact.
Liable to be misunderstood.—The use of the word, as now referred to, is particularly to be avoided as liable to mislead the incautious reader or hearer. It suggests the idea of physical necessity, of irresistibility. Given, the law of gravitation, e. g., and a body unsupported must fall—no choice, no volition; whereas, the action of the mind in volition is, by its essential nature, voluntary, directly opposed to the idea of compulsion. Those who use the word in this manner are generally careful to disclaim, it is true, any such sense; but such are our associations with the word cause, as ordinarily employed, that it is difficult to avoid sliding, unawares, into the old and familiar idea of some sort of absolute physical necessity. It were better to say, therefore, that motives are the reasons why we act thus and thus. To go further than this, to call the motive the cause of the volition, is neither a correct nor a fortunate use of terms, since the idea is thereby conveyed, guard against it as you will, that, in some way, the influence was irresistible, the event unavoidable.
The Phrase "moral Necessity."—The same objections lie with still greater force against the phrase moral necessity as applied to this subject. Those who use it are careful, for the most part, to define their meaning, to explain that they do not mean necessity at all, but only the certainty of actions. The word itself, however, is constantly contradicting all such explanations, constantly suggesting another and much stronger meaning. That is necessary, properly speaking, which depends not on my will or pleasure, which cannot be avoided, but must be, and must be as it is. Now, to say of an act of the will, that it is necessary, in this sense, is little short of a contradiction in terms. The two ideas are utterly incongruous and incompatible.
A volition may be certain to take place; it may be the motive that makes it certain, but if this is all we mean, it is better to say just this, and no more. If this is all we mean, then we do not mean that volitions are necessary in any proper sense of that term. There is no need to use the word necessity, and then explain that we do not mean necessity, but only certainty. It is precisely on this unfortunate use of terms that the strongest objections are founded, against the true doctrine of the connection of motive with volition. Even Mill, one of the ablest modern necessitarians, objects to the use of this term, and urges its abandonment.
The true Connection.—What, then, is the connection between Motive and Volition?—I have all along admitted, that there is such a connection between volitions and motives, that the former never occur without the latter, that they stand related as antecedent and consequent, and that motives, while not the producing cause of volitions, are still the reason why the volitions are as they are, and not otherwise. They furnish the occasion of their existence, and the explanation of their character. So much as this, the psychology of the subject warrants—more than this it does not allow. More than this we seem to assert, however, when we insist on saying that motive is the cause, and volition the effect. We seem, however we may disclaim such intention, to make the mind a mere mechanical instrument, putting forth volitions only as it is impelled by motives, these, and not the mind, being the real producing cause, and the volitions following irresistibly, just as the knife or chisel is but the passive instrument in the hand of the architect, and not at all the producing cause of the effects which follow.
Difference of the two Cases.—Now there is a vast difference between these two cases. The impulse, communicated to the saw, produces the effect irresistibly; not so the motive. The saw is a passive instrument; not so the mind. There is, in either case, a fixed connection between the antecedent and the consequent, but the nature of the connection is widely different, and it is a difference of the greatest moment. It is precisely the difference indicated by the two words cause and reason—as applied to account for a given occurrence—the one applicable to material and mechanical powers and processes, the other to intelligent, rational, voluntary agents. There is a cause why the apple falls. It is gravitation. There is a reason why mind acts and wills as it does. It is motive.
But IS the Mind the producing Cause of its own Volitions?—This, the advocates of moral necessity deny. "If we should thus cause a volition," says Dr. Edwards, "we should doubtless cause it by a causal act. It is impossible that we cause any thing without a causal act. And as it is supposed that we cause it freely, the causal act must be a free act, i. e., an act of the will, or volition. And as the supposition is, that all our volitions are caused by ourselves, the causal act must be caused by another, and so on infinitely, which is both impossible and inconceivable." That is, if the mind causes its own volitions, it can do it only by first acting to cause them, and that causative act is, itself, a volition, and requires another causative act to produce it, and so on ad infinitum.
The Dictum Necessitatis proves too much.—This celebrated argument has been called, not inappositely, the dictum necessitatis. It rests upon the assumption, that no cause can act, but by first acting to produce that act. Now this virtually shuts out all cause from the universe, or else involves us in the infinite series. Apply this reasoning to any cause whatever, and see if it be not so. Suppose, e. g., that motive, and not the mind itself, is the producing cause of volition. Then, according to the dictum, motive cannot act, but by first acting in order to act, and for that previous causative act, there must have been an ulterior cause, and so on forever, in an endless succession of previous causative acts.
The Dictum as applicable to Mind.—But it may be said this dictum applies only to mind, or voluntary action. How, then, is it known, that mind cannot act without first acting in order to act? Would not this virtually shut out and extinguish all mental action? The mind thinks; must it first think, in order to think? It reasons, judges, conceives, imagines; must it first reason, judge, etc., in order to reason, and judge, and conceive, and imagine? If not, then why may it not will without first willing to will?
The Dictum as applicable to Deity.—If mind is not the cause of its own volitions, then how is it with the volitions of the infinite and eternal mind? Are they caused or uncaused? If caused, then by what? If by himself, then there is again the infinitely recurring series according to the dictum. If by something else, still we do not escape the series, for each causative act must have its prior cause. Are the volitions of Deity, then, uncaused? Then certainly there is no such thing as cause in the universe. Motives, then, are no longer to be called causes. Deity is not, in fact, the cause of any thing, since not the cause of those volitions by which alone all things are produced. If he is not the cause of these, then not the cause of their consequences and effects. In either case, you shut out all cause from the universe, whether the dictum be applied to mind or to motion, to man or to God; or else you are, in either case, involved in the vortex of this terrible infinitive series.
To give up the dictum, is to admit that mind may be the producing cause of its own volitions.
CHAPTER V.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE WILL VIEWED IN CONNECTION WITH CERTAIN TRUTHS OF RELIGION.
The Relation of Psychology to Theology.—The very close connection between the philosophy of the will, and the science of theology, has already been remarked. We have discussed the questions which have come before us thus far, on purely psychological grounds, without reference to their theological bearing. It would be manifest injustice to the matter in hand, however, were we to overlook entirely the relation of our philosophy to those higher truths which pertain to the domain of theological science.
The whole question respecting the freedom of the human will, especially, assumes a new importance, when viewed in connection with the truths of natural and revealed religion. It ceases to be a speculative, and becomes an eminently practical question when thus viewed.
There are two points which require special attention, as regards that connection; the one, God's power over man, the other, man's power over himself.
§ I.—The Power which God Exerts over the Human Mind and Will.
Dependence of Man.—It seems to be the teaching of reason, no less than of religion, that man stands to the Creator in the relation of absolute dependence. The one is the subject, the other the sovereign. The control of Deity extends, not merely to the elements and forces of nature, which are by no means the chief and most important part of his works, but over all intelligent, rational beings. This is implied, not only in the fact that he is the Creator of all, but in the fact of moral government, and of a superintending providence. Manifestly, there could be no such thing as moral government, and no control over the affairs of the world, if the conduct of men, the minds and hearts of intelligent beings, were not subject to that control. This is not only the inference which reason draws from the acknowledged supremacy of the Creator, it is not only thus a tenet of natural religion, but it is also one of the plainest doctrines of revealed truth. In the most explicit and direct terms, the Scriptures ascribe to God the supreme control of human conduct, of the human mind and heart. This power over the thoughts and purposes of intelligent beings is the very highest power.
This Control unlimited.—This control, moreover, in order to be complete and effective, must reach beyond the present and passing moment, must take in the future, must sweep through the whole range of coming duration, and comprehend whatever is to be. Nothing must take place without his foreknowledge and permission. The minutest events, the falling of a sparrow, the number of the forest leaves, and of the hairs of our head, must be no exception to this general law.
Implies a Plan, and that Plan embraces human Conduct.—If we suppose the supreme Being to be, not only a Creator and Ruler, but a wise and intelligent one, then we must suppose him to have some plan of operations. The very idea of providence, indeed, implies this. And this plan must be supposed to extend to, and include, future events, all events, minute events; for the little and the great are linked together, the future and the present are linked together, and the plan and government that has to do with one, must have to do with all, and with human conduct among the rest. This, again, is not more clearly the doctrine of reason than of revelation.
The Difficulty stated.—Whatever freedom man has, then, it must be such a freedom as is consistent with God's complete control and government of him. Neither his present nor his future conduct, neither his thoughts, his feelings, nor his purposes, must be beyond the reach of the divine purpose and control. But how are these things to be reconciled—man's entire freedom, God's entire control and government of him?
Different Positions assumed.—Both are facts, and, therefore, true. Either, by itself, can be well enough conceived and comprehended, but, taken together, they appear inconsistent. Many do not hesitate to pronounce them so. Some, who accept them both as true, regard them as still inexplicable and incomprehensible. Others receive one and reject the other, or, at least, assume such a position as amounts to a virtual rejection of one of these truths. Thus the fatalist secures the supreme government of God, only at the expense of human freedom, and thus weakens, if not destroys, the foundation of human accountability. Others again, in their horror of fatalism, preserve the freedom and accountability of man, at the expense of the divine government and purposes, thus virtually placing man beyond the power and control of Deity.
Application of the preceding Psychology to this Question.—How, then, are these two great facts to be reconciled? If we mistake not, a true psychology, a correct view of the nature of the will, prepares the way for this. What have we found to be the process of the mind in volition? The several steps of the process are found to be these: In the first place, some object to be accomplished is presented, as such, to the understanding. This object, thus presented, appealing to the desires or to the sense of duty influences or inclines the mind. This, again, leads to choice, choice to volition, volition to action.
Freedom lies where.—Now in this whole process, where does the element of freedom lie? Not in the final executive act—the doing as we will to do—for that is merely a bodily function, a physical and not a mental power; nor yet in the control of the motives which influence or incline us; for these are, for the most part, out of our power. Evidently freedom, so far as it pertains to the human will, lies in the power of forming and putting forth such volitions as we please, in other words, of choosing as we like, and willing as we choose, so that whatever our inclinations may be, we shall be at liberty to choose and to will accordingly. This is the highest practical freedom of which it is possible to conceive, and it is all the freedom which pertains to the human will.
How this may consist with the divine Control.—Let us see, now, if this be not a liberty perfectly compatible with the divine government and control over us. These volitions and choices of ours are by no means arbitrary or casual; there is a reason for them; a reason why we choose as we do. We choose thus and thus, because we are, on the whole, so disposed or inclined; and this inclination or disposition depends on a great variety of circumstances, on the nature and strength of the motive presented, our physical and mental constitution and habits, our power of self-control, the strength of our desires, as compared with our sense of duty, the presence or absence of the exciting object; in fine, on a great variety of predisposing causes and circumstances, all of which are to be taken into the account, when the question is, why do we choose thus, and not otherwise? Now, these circumstances which go to determine our inclinations, and so our choices and volitions, are, in a great measure, beyond our direct control. Our physical and mental constitution, our external condition, our state of mind, and circumstances at any given moment, whatever in the shape of motive or inducement may be present with moving power to the mind, inclining us this way or that, all this lies much more under divine control than under our own.
The Point of Connection.—Here, then, to speak reverently, lies the avenue of approach, through which Deity may come in and take possession of the human mind, and influence and shape its action, without infringing, in the least, on its perfect freedom. He has only to present such motives as shall seem to the mind weighty and sufficient, has only to touch the main-spring of human inclination, lying back of actual choice, has only to secure within us a disposition or liking to any given course, and our choice follows with certainty, and our volition, and our action; and that action and volition are free in the highest sense, because our choice was free. We acted just as we pleased, just as we were inclined.
The Influence of Man over his fellow Men an Illustration of the same Principle.—Now this is just what we, in a limited way, and to a small extent, are constantly doing with respect to our fellow men. We present motives, inducements, to a given course, we work upon their inclinations, we appeal to their sensibilities, their natural desires, their sense of duty, and in proportion as we gain access to their hearts, we are successful in shaping and controlling their conduct. The great and difficult art of governing men lies in this. We have only to suppose a like power, but complete and perfect, to be exercised by the supreme disposer and controller of events, so shaping and ordering circumstances as to determine the inclinations of men, gaining access, not in an uncertain and indirect manner, but by immediate approach to the human heart, all whose springs lie under his control, so that he can touch and command them as he will; we have only to conceive this, and we have, as it seems to me, a full and sufficient explanation of the fact that man acts freely, and just as he is inclined, while yet he is perfectly under the divine control.
Power which the Scriptures ascribe to God.—And this, if I mistake not, is precisely the sort of control and power over man which the Scriptures always ascribe to God, viz., power over the inclinations, affections, dispositions, from which proceed all our voluntary actions. In his hand are the hearts of men, and he can turn them as the rivers of water are turned.
The Theory does not suppose a divine Influence to Evil.—It is not necessary to suppose that God ever influences men to evil; the supposition is inconsistent with the divine character, with all we know and conceive of Deity. Nor is any such influence over man necessary in order to the accomplishment of evil, but, on the contrary, much is needed to restrain and prevent him from sin. Sufficient already are the motives and influences that incline him to go astray; feeble and inefficient, the inducements to a better life. Could we suppose, however, any influence of this sort to be exerted over man, inclining him to evil, we can still see how such influence might be perfectly consistent with his entire freedom. It is not the integrity of human freedom, but the integrity of the divine character, that forbids such a supposition.
Does not interfere with Responsibility.—Does such a power over human conduct, as that now attributed to the supreme Being, interfere with human responsibility? Not in the least. Responsibility rests with him who acts freely and as he pleases, doing that which is right or wrong, of his own accord, knowing what he does, and because he has a mind to do it. And it is thus man acts, under whatever decree of divine influence we may suppose him placed.
§ II.—Man's Power over Himself.
Unjust to require what it is impossible to perform.—Have I power, in all cases, to do what the divine will requires; power to do right? It would seem to be the verdict of reason, and the common sense of mankind, that to require of any man what is literally and absolutely beyond his power, is unjust, and that such a requirement, if it were made, would impose no obligation, since obedience would be impossible. We cannot suppose God to be guilty of such manifest injustice. His commands are right. They carry with them the judgment and reason of men. Conscience approves them. Obligation attends them. They must, therefore, be such commands as it is possible for us to obey. It would be manifest injustice and wrong to require of me what it is actually and absolutely out of my power to do.
Supposed Disinclination.—But suppose I have really no inclination, no disposition, to do right. My affections and desires are all wrong, inclining me to evil, and my sense of duty or moral obligation is not strong enough to prevail against these natural desires and evil inclinations; suppose this, which, alas! is too often true, and what then becomes of my power to do right? Does it any longer exist? Have I any power to change those affections and inclinations; or, they remaining as they are, have I any power to go contrary to them? A question this, at once profoundly philosophical, and intensely practical.
Position of the Fatalist.—The fatalist has no hesitation in replying no, to these questions. Man has no power to change the current of his own inclinations, nor yet to go against that current. He is wholly under the influence of motives; they turn him this way and that. He has power to do as he wills, but no power over the volitions themselves. He has power to do only what he has a mind to do. He has no mind, no inclination to do right, therefore, no power to do so.
This Position at Variance with a true Psychology.—A correct psychology, as we have already seen, gives a different answer. It is not true, as a matter of fact in the philosophy of the human mind, that man has no power to do what he has no disposition to do; nor is it true that his inclinations and affections are wholly out of his power and control. In both respects, fatalism is at war, not more with the common sense of mankind, than with a sound and true philosophy.
Confounds Power with Inclination.—To say that man has no power to do what he is not inclined to do, is to confound power with inclination. They are distinct things. The one may exist without the other. I have power to do what I have no disposition to do; on the other hand, I may have the disposition to do what is not in my power. I have power to set fire to my own house, or to my neighbor's, or to cut off my right hand; power, but no disposition. Present a motive sufficiently weighty to change my mind, and incline me to the act, and you create, in that way, a new disposition, but no new power. This point has been fully discussed in the previous chapter, and I need not here repeat the argument. It was shown that in order to the actual doing of a thing, two things are requisite, namely, the power to do, and the inclination to exert that power; and that neither involves the other. Where the power alone exists, the thing can be done, but will not be; where both exist, it both can and will be done. It is not true, then, in any proper use of terms, that want of inclination is want of power.
Our Inclinations not wholly beyond our Control.—Equally incorrect is the position that our inclinations and affections are wholly out of our own control. Within certain limits it is in our power to change them. Inclination is not a fixed quantity. It may change. It ought to change. In many respects it is constantly changing. We take different views of things, and so our feelings and inclinations change. Circumstances change, the course of events changes; and our disposition is modified accordingly. So that while the affections and inclinations are certainly not under the direct and immediate control of the will, it is still, in a great measure, in our power to modify and control them. While they remain as they are, it is quite certain that we shall do as we do; but it is not necessary that they should, nor certain that they will, remain as they are.
The true Answer.—To the question, then, can the man whose inclinations are to evil, whose heart is wrong, do right? a true psychology answers yes. He can do what he is not inclined to do; nor is that evil inclination itself a fixed quantity; he can be, he may be, otherwise inclined.
Something else needed beside Power.—- It must be admitted, however, that so long as the heart is wrong, so long as the evil disposition continues, so long the man will continue to do evil, notwithstanding all his power to the contrary. Left to himself, there is very little probability of his effecting any material change in himself for the better. In order to do this, there is needed an influence from without, and from above; an influence that shall incline him to obedience, that shall make him willing to obey.
The Gospel meets this Necessity.—This is precisely the want of his nature which divine grace meets. It creates within him a clean heart, and renews within him a right spirit. This is the sublime mystery of regeneration. The soul that is thus born of God is made willing to do right. The inclinations are no longer to evil, but to good, and the man still doing that which he pleases, is pleased to do the will of God. The change is in the disposition; it is a change of the affections, of the heart; thus the Scriptures always represent it. This was all that was wanted to secure obedience, and this divine grace supplies.
It is not our province to discuss theological questions, as such. It has been our aim, simply, to show the relation of a true psychology to the system of truth revealed in the Scriptures. The perfect coincidence of the two is an argument in favor of each.
CHAPTER VI.
POWER OF WILL.
Differences in this respect.—There are great differences among men, as regards the strength and energy of this, as compared with the other departments of mental activity. The difference is, perhaps, as great in this respect, as in regard to the other mental faculties. Not all are gifted with equal power of imagination, not all with equal strength of memory, or of the reasoning faculty; not all with equal strength of the executive power of the mind. Some persons exhibit a weakness of will, a want of decision and firmness, an irresolution of character and purpose. They waver and hesitate in cases of doubt and emergency, requiring decision and energy. They are governed by no fixed purpose. The course which they adopt to-day, they abandon to-morrow for the opposite. They are controlled by circumstances. Opposition turns them from their course, difficulties discourage them. They are easily persuaded, easily led; ill fitted to be themselves leaders of men.
Others, again, are firm and inflexible as a rock. They choose their course, and pursue it, regardless of difficulties and consequences. Difficulties only arouse them to new effort. Opposition only strengthens their decision and purpose. They are hard to be persuaded, when once their minds are made up, and harder still to be driven. They take their stand, nothing daunted by opposing numbers, and, with Fitz-James, when suddenly confronted and surrounded by the hosts of Roderic Dhu, exclaim,
"Come one, come all, this rock shall fly
From its firm base, as soon as I."
Instances of Firmness.—Napoleon, fiery and impetuous as he was, possessed this energy and strength of will. Obstacles, difficulties, insurmountable to other men, established usages, institutions, armies, thrones, all were swept away before the irresistible energy of that mighty will, and that determined purpose, as the wave, driven before the storm, clears itself a path among the pebbles and shells that lie strewn upon the shore. In the character of his brother Joseph, King of Spain, we have an example of the opposite. Mild, cultivated, refined, amiable, of elegant tastes, a man of letters, loving retirement and leisure, he was lacking in that energy and decision of character which fit men for command in camps and courts. We have in the firm and terrible energy of Cromwell, as contrasted with the mildness and inefficiency of his son and successor Richard, the same difference illustrated. The Puritan leaders of the English Revolution were men of stern and determined energy of character. Among the Romans, Cæsar presents a notable example of that strength of will which fits men for great enterprises; while the great Roman orator, with all his acquisitions of varied learning, and all his philosophy, and all his eloquence, was deficient in firmness of purpose.
Often exhibited in military Leaders.—In general it may be remarked that great military commanders have usually been distinguished for this trait of character. It was by virtue of their energy, and decision, and firmness of purpose, that they accomplished what they did, succeeding where other men would have failed. Thus it was with Hannibal, with Frederic the Great, with Wellington, with our own Washington. They were, by nature, endowed with those qualities which fitted them for their important and difficult stations; while, at the same time, the work to which they were called, and the circumstances in which they were placed, tended greatly to develop and strengthen those peculiar traits and qualities, and this among the rest.
The same Trait exhibited in other Stations of Life.—Strength of will shows itself, however, in other relations and stations of life, as well as in the military commander. The leader of a great political party, as, for example, of the Administration, or of the Opposition, in the English Parliament, has abundant occasion for firmness and strength of purpose. It was not less strength of will, than of moral principle, in Socrates, that led him resolutely to withstand the popular clamor, and the opinions of his associate judges, and refuse to sentence the unsuccessful military commanders, on the day when the decision lay in his hands; the same trait showed itself in that retreat after the battle of Delius, so graphically described by Plato, when he walked alone and slowly from the field, where all was confusion and flight, with such coolness and such an air of calm self-reliance, that no enemy ventured to approach him; it was shown not less in his determined refusal to escape from prison, and the unjust sentence of death, notwithstanding all the entreaties and remonstrances of friends.
Strength of Will in the Orator.—The truly great orator, rising to repel the assaults of his antagonist, or to allay the prejudices and take command of the passions and opinions of a popular assembly, calm and collected, and conscious of his strength, master of his own emotions, and of all his powers, presents an illustration of the same principle. It was seen in Webster, when he rose in the Senate to reply to Hayne. The very aspect of the man conveyed to all beholders the idea of power—a strength, not merely of gigantic intellect, but of resolute will determined to conquer.
Strength of Will as shown in the Endurance of Suffering.—The same principle is sometimes manifested in a different manner, and in different circumstances. If it leads to heroic actions, it leads also to heroic endurance and suffering. It was the firm and stubborn will of Regulus, that sent him back to Carthage, to endure all that the disappointed malice of his foes could invent. It was the firm will of Jerome of Prague, that kept him from recantation in the face of death; the firm will of Cranmer, that thrust his right hand into the flames, and kept it there till it was quite consumed. A like firmness of purpose has been exhibited in thousands of instances, both in the earlier and later annals of Christian martyrdom. Rather than renounce a principle, or abandon the deeply-cherished convictions of the soul, natures, the most frail and feeble, have calmly met and endured the greatest sufferings, with a firmness, and courage, and power of endurance, that nothing could shake or overcome.
How to be attained.—To multiply instances is needless. But how shall this strength of will, so desirable, so essential to true greatness and nobleness of character, be attained?
In part it is the gift of nature, doubtless—the result of that physical and mental constitution with which some are more fortunately endowed; in part it is an acquisition to be made, as any other mental or physical acquisition, by due care and training. It will be of service, especially, in any endeavor of this sort, to accustom ourselves to decide with promptness, and act with energy in the many smaller and less important affairs of life, and to carry out a purpose, once deliberately formed, with persistence, even in trivial matters. The habit thus formed, we may be able afterward, and gradually, to carry into higher departments of action, and into circumstances of greater embarrassment and difficulty. On the other hand, this must not be carried to the extreme of obstinacy, which is the refusal to correct a mistake, or acknowledge an error, or listen to the wiser and better counsels of others.
CHAPTER VII.
HISTORICAL SKETCH.—OUTLINE OF THE CONTROVERSY RESPECTING FREEDOM OF THE WILL.
Question early Discussed.—The question respecting human freedom, was very early a topic of inquiry and discussion. It enters prominently into the philosophy of all nations, so far as we know, among whom either philosophy or theology have found a place. It is by no means confined to Christian, or even to cultivated nations. It holds a prominent place in the theological systems and disputes of India and the East, at the present day. The missionary of the Christian faith meets with it, to his surprise, perhaps, in the remotest regions, and among tribes little cultivated. It is a question, at once so profound, and yet of such personal and practical moment, that it can hardly have escaped the attention of any thoughtful and reflecting mind, in any country, or in any age of the world.
The Greek Philosophy.—Among the Greeks, conflicting opinions respecting this matter prevailed in the different schools. The Epicureans, although asserting human liberty in opposition to the doctrine of universal and inexorable fate, were, nevertheless, necessitarians, if we may judge from the writings of Lucretius, whose idea of liberty, as Mr. Stewart has well shown, is compatible with the most perfect necessity, and renders man "as completely a piece of passive mechanism as he was supposed to be by Collins and Hobbes." This liberty is, itself, the necessary effect of some cause, and the reason assigned for this view is precisely that given by modern advocates of necessity, namely, that to suppose otherwise, is to suppose an effect without a cause.
On the other hand, the Stoics, while maintaining the doctrine of fate, held, nevertheless, to the utmost liberty of the will. With the consistency of these views, we are not now concerned. Epictetus is referred to by Mr. Stewart, as an example of this not unusual combination of fatalism and free-will.
The Jewish Sects.—Very similar was the relation of the two rival sects among the Jews, the Sadducees and the Pharisees, the former holding the doctrine of human freedom, the latter of such a degree, at least, of fatality, as is inconsistent with true liberty.
The Arabian Schools.—Among no people, perhaps, has this question been more eagerly and widely discussed, than by the Arabians, whose philosophy seems to have grown out of their theology. When that remarkable book, the Koran, first aroused the impulsive mind of the Arab from his idle dreams, and startled him into consciousness of higher truth, the very first topic of inquiry and speculation about which his philosophic thought employed itself, seems to have been this long-standing question of human ability and the freedom of the will. The Koran taught the doctrine of necessity and fate. A sect soon arose, called Kadrites, from the word kadr, power, freedom, holding the opposite doctrine, that man's actions, good and bad, are under the control of his own will. From this was gradually formed a large body of dissenters, as they styled themselves, and in maintaining these views on the one side, and opposing them on the other, the controversy became more and more one of philosophy, and for some three centuries, with varied learning and skill, Arabian scholars and philosophers disputed, warmly, this most difficult and abstruse of metaphysical questions. Fatalism seems ultimately to have prevailed, as, indeed, a doctrine so congenial to error, and to every false system of religious belief, would be quite likely to do, where any such system is established.
The Scholastics and the Reformers.—Among the scholastic divines of the middle ages, some held to the liberty of the will, while many allowed only what they called the liberty of spontaneity, i. e., power to do as we will, in opposition to liberty of indifference, or power over the determinations of the will itself.
Among the moderns, the Reformers differed among themselves on the matter of liberty, the Lutherans, with Melanchthon, opposing the scheme of necessity; Calvin and Bucer maintaining it, as the necessary consequence of their views of divine predestination.
Distinguished modern Advocates of Necessity.—Among the philosophical writers of the last and the present century, a very strong array of eminent names is on the side of necessity. Hobbes, Locke—who is claimed, however, by each side—Leibnitz, Collins, Edwards, Priestley, Belsham, Lord Kames, Hartley, Mill, advocate openly the doctrine of necessity.
Doctrine of Hobbes.—The views of Hobbes seem to have given shape to the opinions of subsequent advocates of this theory. The only liberty which he allows, is that of doing what one wills to do, or what the scholastics called the liberty of spontaneity. Water is free, and at liberty, when nothing prevents it from flowing down the stream. Liberty he defines, accordingly, to be "the absence of all impediments to action that are not contained in the nature and intrinsical quality of the agent." A man whose hands are tied, is not at liberty to go; the impediment is not in him, but in his bands; while he who is sick or lame, is at liberty, because the obstacle is in himself. A free agent is one who can do as he wills.
This is essentially the view of freedom adopted by the later advocates of necessity, and almost in the same terms it is the view of Collins, Priestley, and Edwards.
Doctrine of Locke.—It is, also, Locke's idea of freedom. Liberty, he says, is the power of any agent "to do or forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferred to the other." This extends only to the carrying out our volitions when formed, and not to the matter of willing or preferring; power over the determinations of the will, itself, is not included in this definition.
Locke Inconsistent.—In this, Locke was inconsistent with himself, since, in his chapter on power, he seems to be maintaining the doctrine of human freedom. The liberty here intended, it has been justly remarked by Bledsoe, is not freedom of the will, or of the mind in willing, but only of the body; it refers to the motion of the body, not to the action of the mind.
Locke expressly says, "there may be volition where there is no liberty;" and gives, in illustration, the case of a man falling through a breaking bridge, who has volition or preference not to fall, but no liberty, since he cannot help falling. In this, again, Locke is inconsistent, since, elsewhere, he distinguishes between volition and desire or preference, while here he does not distinguish them.
There can be no doubt that Locke supposed himself an advocate of human freedom, for such is the spirit of his whole treatise, especially of his twenty-first chapter; at the same time, it must be confessed, his definitions are incomplete, and his language inconsistent and vacillating, so that there is some reason to class him, as Priestley does, with those who really adopt the scheme of necessity without knowing or intending it.
View of Leibnitz.—Leibnitz was led to adopt the doctrine of necessity from his general theory of the sufficient reason, that is, that nothing occurs without a reason why it should be so, and not otherwise. This principle he carries so far as to deny the power of Deity to create two things perfectly alike, and the power of either God or man to choose one of two things that are perfectly alike. This principle presents the mind as always determined by the greatest apparent good, and establishes, as its author supposed, by the certainty of demonstration, the absolute impossibility of free agency.
View of Collins.—Collins maintains the necessity of all human actions, from experience, from the impossibility of liberty, from the divine foreknowledge, from the nature of rewards and punishments, and the nature of morality. He takes pains to reconcile this doctrine with man's accountability and moral agency, and is careful to define his terms with great exactness. Thus the terms liberty and necessity are defined as follows: "First, though I deny liberty in a certain meaning of the word, yet I contend for liberty as it signifies a power in man to do as he wills or pleases. Secondly, when I affirm necessity, I contend only for moral necessity, meaning thereby that man, who is an intelligent and sensible being, is determined by his reason and his senses; and I deny man to be subject to such necessity as is in clocks and watches, and such other beings, which, for want of sensation and intelligence, are subject to an absolute, physical, or mechanical necessity".
Coincidence of Collins and Edwards.—The coincidence of these views and definitions, and, indeed, of the plan of argument, with the definitions and the arguments of Edwards, is remarkable. No two writers, probably, were ever further removed from each other in their general spirit and character, and in their system of religious belief; yet as regards this doctrine, the definitions and views of one were those of the other, and as Mr. Stewart has justly remarked, the coincidence is so perfect, that the outline given by the former, of the plan of his work, might have served with equal propriety as a preface to the latter.
Views of Edwards.—No writer has more ably discussed this question than the elder Edwards. He is universally conceded to be one of the ablest metaphysicians, as well as theologians, of modern times. His work on the Freedom of the Will is a masterpiece of reasoning. At the same time, as to the character and tendency of the system therein maintained, the greatest difference of opinion exists. By some he is regarded as a fatalist, by others he is claimed as an advocate of human freedom. There is some ground for this difference of opinion. No writer, from Plato downward, was ever perfectly self-consistent; it would be strange if Edwards were so. That the general scheme of necessity, maintained by Edwards, tends, in some respects, to fatalism,—that the ablest champions of fatalism, and even writers of atheistic, and immoral views, have held essentially the same doctrine, and maintained it by the same arguments—must be conceded; that such was not the design and spirit of his work, that such was not his own intention, is perfectly evident.
Main Positions of Edwards.—The definitions of Edwards, as we have already seen, are the same with those of Collins and Hobbes. He understands by liberty merely a power to do as one wills. The mind is always determined by the greatest apparent good. The motive determines the act, causes it. The mind acts, wills, chooses, etc., but the motive is the cause of its action. That the mind should be the cause of its own volitions, implies, he maintains, an act of will preceding the volition, that is a volition prior to volition, and so on forever in an infinite series. This argument, the famous dictum necessitatis, has been considered in a previous chapter. Now, to say that motive is the producing cause, and volition the effect, especially if the connection of the two is of the same nature as that between physical causes and effects, as Edwards affirms, is certainly to say that which looks very strongly toward fatalism.
Necessity, what.—Edwards maintains the doctrine of necessity. But what did he mean by moral necessity? The phrase is unfortunate, for reasons already suggested—it does convey the idea of irresistibility, of something which must and will be—in spite of all contrary will and endeavor. This, however, he is careful to disclaim. He means by moral and philosophical necessity simple CERTAINTY, "nothing different from certainty." "No opposition or contrary will and endeavor," he says, "is supposable in the case of moral necessity, which is a certainty of the inclination and will itself." Now we must allow him to put his own meaning upon the terms he uses; and to say that under given circumstances, there being given such and such motives, inclinations, and preferences, such and such volitions will certainly follow, is not to say that the will is not free in its action—is not to shut us up to absolute fate—is not, in fact, to say any thing more than is strictly and psychologically true. In defending himself from this very charge, he uses the following explicit language in a letter to a minister of the Church of Scotland: "On the contrary, I have largely declared that the connection between antecedent things and consequent ones, which takes place with regard to the acts of men's wills, which is called moral necessity, is called by the name of necessity IMPROPERLY; and that such a necessity as attends the acts of men's wills is more properly called certainty than necessity; it being no other than the certain connection between the subject and predicate of the proposition which affirms their existence." "Nothing that I maintain supposes that men are at all hindered by any fatal necessity, from doing, and even willing and choosing as they please, with full freedom; free with the highest degree of liberty that ever was thought of, or that could possibly enter into the heart of man to conceive." This is explicit, and ought to satisfy us as to what Edwards himself thought of his own work, and meant by it. Still a man does not always understand himself, is not always the best judge of his own arguments, is not always consistent with himself, does not always express his own real opinions, nor do himself justice, in every part of his reasonings. This is certainly the case with Edwards. We are at a loss to reconcile some passages in his treatise with the foregoing extract, e. g., the dictum necessitatis; also his declaration that the difference between natural and moral necessity "lies not so much IN THE NATURE of the connection as in the two terms connected." This is an unfortunate admission for those who would shield him from the charge of fatalism. If the necessity, by which a volition follows the given motive, is, after all, of the same nature with that by which a stone falls to the earth, or water freezes at a given temperature, it is all over with us as to any consistent, intelligible defence of the freedom of the will.
If, moreover, the doctrine of Edwards leaves man full power, as he says above, to will and to choose as he pleases, what becomes of the dictum, which makes it impossible for the mind to determine its own volitions?
Does not distinguish between the Affections and the Will.—It should be remembered that Edwards does not distinguish between the will and affections. This distinction had not, at that time, been clearly drawn by writers on the philosophy of the mind. The twofold division of mental powers, into understanding and will, was then prevalent; the affections, of course, were classed with the latter. Hence there is not that definiteness in the use of terms which modern psychology demands. Had Edwards distinguished between the affections and the will, it must have given a different cast to his entire work. Even Locke, whose philosophy Edwards follows in the main, had distinguished between will and desire, as we have already seen; but in this he is not followed by Edwards, who, while he does not regard them as "words of precisely the same signification," yet does not think them "so entirely distinct that they can ever be said to run counter."
Views of the later Necessitarians.—Of the views of the later advocates of necessity, Priestley, Belsham, Diderot, and others, of that school, we have already spoken in a previous chapter. They carry out the scheme, with the greatest boldness and consistency, to its legitimate consequences, fatalism, and the denial of free agency and accountability. God is the real and only responsible doer of whatever comes to pass, and man the passive instrument in his hand. Remorse, regret, repentance, are idle terms, and to praise or blame ourselves or others, for any thing that we or they have done, is merely absurd.
Advocates of the Opposite.—On the other hand, the doctrine of the freedom of the will has not wanted able advocates among the more recent philosophical writers. In general it may be remarked, that those who have treated of the powers of the human mind, as psychologists, have, for the most part, maintained the essential freedom of the will, while the advocates of the opposite view have been chiefly metaphysicians, rather than psychologists, and, in most cases, have viewed the matter from a theological rather than a philosophical point of view. Among the more recent and able advocates of the freedom of the will, are Cousin and Jouffroy, in France, Tappan and Bledsoe, in our own country. Previously, Mr. Stewart, in his appendix to his "Active and Moral Powers," had concisely, but very ably, handled the matter, and earlier still, Kant, in Germany, had conceded the liberty of the will as a matter of consciousness, while unable to reconcile it with the dictates of reason.
View of Hamilton.—Substantially the same view is taken by the late Sir William Hamilton, who, by general consent, stands at the head of modern philosophers, and who accepts the doctrine of liberty as a fact, an immediate dictum of consciousness, while, at the same time, he is unable to conceive of its possibility, since "to conceive a free act, is to conceive an act which, being a cause, is not, in itself, an effect; in other words, to conceive an absolute commencement;" and this he regards as impossible. At the same time, it is equally beyond our power, he thinks, to conceive the possibility of the opposite, the doctrine of necessity, since that supposes "an infinite series of determined causes," which cannot be conceived. But though inconceivable, freedom is not the less a fact given by consciousness and is to be placed in the same category with many other facts among the phenomena of mind, "which we must admit as actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly unable to form a notion."
Remarks upon this View.—The difficulty here presented,—if I may venture a remark upon the opinions of so profound a thinker, and the same is true of Kant,—turns evidently on the peculiar idea of freedom entertained by those writers, namely, that in order to be free, an act of the will must be wholly undetermined, not itself an effect, but an absolute commencement. Any influence, from any source, going to determine or incline a man to will as he does, renders the act no longer free. Such freedom is certainly inconceivable; and what is more, impracticable; it exists as little among the possibilities of the actual world, as among the possibilities of thought. We never act, except under the influence of motive and inclination; and if acts thus performed are not free then no acts that we perform are so.
View of Coleridge.—This eminent disciple of the earlier German philosophy, derives from Kant the view of freedom now explained, and carries it to the furthest extreme. All influence and inclination are inconsistent with freedom. The disposition to do a thing renders the will, and the act of the will, no longer free. A nature, of any kind, is inconsistent with freedom. This, of course, shuts out all freedom from the actual world. Nor is it possible to conceive how even the acts of Deity can be any more free than ours, on this supposition; nor how, if any such freedom as this were supposed to exist, an act thus performed, without any motive, or any disposition or inclination on the part of the agent, could be a rational or accountable act.
Views of Cousin, and Jouffroy.—Cousin and Jouffroy while by no means denying the influence of motive upon the mind, place the fact of liberty in the power which the mind has of being itself a cause, and of putting forth volitions from its own proper power. The law of inertia, contends Jouffroy, which requires a moving force proportioned to the movement of a material body, does not apply to the human mind, and "to apply this law to the relation which subsists between the resolutions of my will and the motives which act upon it, is to suppose that my being, that I myself, am not a cause; for a cause is something which produces an act by its own proper power." Cousin, in like manner, places liberty in the absolute and undetermined power of the will to act as cause; and "this cause, in order to produce its effect, has need of no other theatre, and no other instrument than itself. It produces it directly, with out any thing intermediate, and without condition; ... being always able to do what it does not do, and able not to do what it does. Here, then, in all its plenitude, is the characteristic of liberty."
View of Tappan.—One of the ablest defenders of the freedom of the will in our own country, Mr. Tappan, in his review of Edwards, takes essentially the position just explained. All cause lies ultimately in the will. It is this which makes the nisus or effort that produces any event or phenomenon. Of this nisus the mind or will is itself the cause, and, as such, it is self-moved. It makes its nisus of itself, and of itself it forbears to make it, and within the sphere of its activity, and in relation to its objects, it has the power of selecting, by a mere arbitrary act, any particular object. It is a cause, all whose acts, as well as any particular act, considered as phenomena demanding a cause, are accounted for in itself alone.
Position of Bledsoe.—Similar is the position of Mr. Bledsoe, one of the most recent reviewers of Edwards, a writer of marked ability and candor. He denies, however, that volition is the effect of any thing, whether motive of mind, in the sense that motion of the arm is an effect. It is activity, action, the cause of action, but not effect. In distinction from most writers of the same theological views, he denies that the will is self-determined, or that it is determined at all, and by any thing. It is the determiner, but not the determined.