[24] Ibid. p. 506 sqq.
[25] Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, p. 71 sq.
If these conclusions are correct it is obvious that, whether the infliction of punishment be justifiable or not, the feeling of moral indignation or moral approval is, from the deterministic point of view, absurd. And yet, as a matter of fact, these emotions are felt by determinists and libertarians alike. Apparently, they are not in the least affected by the notion that the human will is subject to the general law of cause and effect. Emotions are always determined by specific cognitions, and last only as long as the influence of those cognitions lasts. It makes me sorry to hear that some evil has befallen a friend; but my sorrow disappears at once when I find that the rumour was false. I get angry with a person who hurts me; but my anger subsides as soon as I recognise that the hurt was purely accidental. My indignation is aroused by an atrocious crime; but it ceases entirely when I hear that the agent was mad. On the other hand, however convinced I am that a person’s conduct and character are in every detail a product of causes, that does not prevent me from feeling towards him retributive emotions—either anger or gratitude, or moral resentment or approval. Hence I conclude that a retributive emotion is not essentially determined by the cognition of free-will. I hold that Spinoza is mistaken in his assumption that men feel more love or hatred towards one another than towards anything else, because they think themselves to be free.[26] And I attribute the conception that moral valuation is inconsistent with determinism either to a failure to recognise the emotional origin of moral judgments or to insufficient insight into the true nature of the moral emotions. At the same time it seems easy to explain the fallacy which lies at the bottom of that conception.
[26] Spinoza, Ethica, iii. 49, Note.
We have seen that the object of moral approval and disapproval is the will, and that a person’s responsibility is lessened in proportion as his will is exposed to the pressure of non-volitional conations. Full responsibility thus presupposes freedom from such pressure, and, particularly, freedom from external compulsion. Hence the inference that it also presupposes freedom from causation, and that complete determination involves complete irresponsibility. Compulsion is confounded with causation; and this confusion is due to the fact that the cause which determines the will is actually looked upon in the light of a constraining power outside the will.
The popular mind has a strong belief in the law of cause and effect. When reflecting on the matter, it admits that everything which happens in this world has a cause; and if the natural cause is hidden, it readily calls in a supernatural cause to account for the event. Now, in the case of human volitions the chain of causation is often particularly obscure; as Spinoza said, whilst men are conscious of their volitions and desires, they “never even dream, in their ignorance, of the causes which have disposed them so to wish and desire.”[27] Hence, when in a philosophic mood, they are liable to attribute their acts to the influence of an external power ruling over human affairs, a god or an all-powerful fate. No doubt, Providence and Fate[28] may effect their purposes without the will of man as their tool; what happens “by chance,” being frequently no less wonderful than any decree of a human will, may likewise be traced to a supernatural cause. But, on the other hand, the fact that the deeds of men are generally preceded by volitions, is so obvious that it could not escape even the simplest mind—indeed, so strongly are primitive men impressed by this fact that they are apt to attribute every event to a will. Acknowledging, then, the connection between volition and deed, the fatalist regards the former only as an instrument in the hands of a force outside the agent, which compels his will to execute its plans. Sometimes it reaches its goal in a way quite unforeseen by the agent himself. Muhammed said, “When God hath ordered a creature to die in any particular place, He causeth his wants to direct him to that place”;[29] and it is a popular saying throughout Islam that “whenas Destiny descends she blindeth human sight.”[30] Sometimes the external power causes its victim to will its decree, by exciting in him some irresistible passion, as when Zeus urged Clytemnestra to the slaughter of Agamemnon; or the volitions of a person are themselves regarded as decreed by that power. In Wärend, in Sweden, when somebody has killed another, as also when the manslayer himself suffers the penalty of death, the women say, full of compassion, “Well, this was his destiny, to be sure,” or “Poor fellow, it was a pitiful fate.”[31] In one of the Pahlavi texts the following words are put into the mouth of the Spirit of Wisdom:—“Even with the might and powerfulness of wisdom and knowledge, even then it is not possible to contend with destiny. Because, when predestination as to virtue, or as to the reverse, comes forth, the wise becomes wanting in duty, and the astute in evil becomes intelligent; the faint-hearted becomes braver, and the braver becomes faint-hearted; the diligent becomes lazy, and the lazy acts diligently. Just as is predestined as to the matter, the cause enters into it, and thrusts out everything else.”[32]
[27] Ibid. pt. i. Appendix.
[28] In a Pahlavi text fate is defined as “that which is ordained from the beginning,” and divine providence as that which the sacred beings “also grant otherwise” (Dînâ-î Maînôg-î Khirad, xxiv. 6 sq.).
[29] Lane, Arabian Society in the Middle Ages, p. 6.
[30] Burton, in his translation of the Arabian Nights, i. 62, n. 2.